Her Determined Duke: Clean Regency Romance

by Arietta Richmond

  “I am Miss Charlotte Baskerville,” the woman said, staring at Elizabeth with wide, watery dark brown eyes. “And I heard that you and the Duke of Blackstone are newly betrothed.”

  Elizabeth felt a thrill go through her, then a curious chill traveled from the top of her head down to her toes.

  “Yes – what of it?” she asked faintly.

  The young woman sighed.

  “What of it? Put simply, it cannot be. You cannot be betrothed to Gavin, because I already am.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Your Grace, you simply must calm yourself.”

  Milton, the Blackstone butler, stood stoic and calm as Gavin paced around his bedchamber in a blind panic.

  “Calm down? Calm down?”

  Gavin’s voice was increasing in pitch and temper the more he paced.

  “Your Grace!” Milton exclaimed loudly. Gavin stopped and looked at his butler, momentarily surprised out of his mounting hysteria. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Milton apologised, although he didn’t sound sorry. The butler strode over, took the letter out of Gavin’s hand and indicated a chair nearby. “If you will just take a chair, Your Grace, I may be of service to you.”

  Gavin swallowed hard and sat down, running a hand through his dishevelled hair and unshaven face.

  “Yes, Milton, of – of course.”

  Milton stepped back.

  “Respectfully, Your Grace, I have known you since you were born,” the butler said, putting his hands and the letter behind his back. “And you can often be a trifle hot-headed, if I say so myself, Your Grace.”

  “But she doesn’t love me, Milton,” Gavin mumbled, his voice rather muffled, his head now in his hands. “Perhaps she never did.”

  “What if she doesn’t?” the butler demanded with emotion, “…Your Grace.” The elderly man looked positively incensed. “If you don’t mind me saying so, Your Grace, a woman who couldn’t love you is hardly worthy of your affections.”

  “But she’s not like that, Milton,” Gavin exclaimed, immediately springing to his beloved’s defence. “That’s just it, Elizabeth is not like that at all. I simply cannot comprehend it.”

  “Did she really say she did not love you, Your Grace?” Milton asked somewhat forlornly.

  “You read the letter, Milton – it’s in your hands. She said as much, if not in those exact words. I don’t know what I am to do.”

  He laid his head down in his arms on the dresser before him and was silent. Milton cleared his throat and carefully unfolded the letter with his white gloved hands.

  “Dear Gavin,” he began readily. “Are you sure you want me to read this, Your Grace?”

  Gavin merely nodded silently, without looking up. Milton straightened out the letter and continued on.

  “Dear Gavin; thank you for coming to London. I enjoyed every minute of our time together. I speak frankly, because I am leaving London and returning home. Please don’t try to see me again. A further betrothal is impossible, and I am sure you will agree, impractical.

  Sincerely, Lady Elizabeth.”

  Milton turned to Gavin, whose head lay still on his arms. He folded the letter neatly, then walked over to his employer and set the letter down on the dresser, then put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder, breaking his usual role to act as adviser and comforter, which he had been doing increasingly since the late Duke’s death. Gavin looked up at the comforting gesture and wildly searched his old servant and friend’s face.

  “Is there anything I can do, Milton? I can’t just let her go – can I?”

  “Your Grace, she does love you.”

  Gavin looked up. “What?”

  Milton folded his hands and smiled wistfully.

  “I may be a little dry and old-fashioned, but I still know a thing or two about the fairer sex. And Lady Elizabeth is most definitely still in love with you.”

  “How can you be sure?” Gavin asked, although his eyes were bright and his voice full of hope.

  Milton leaned over and tapped the letter, then his head.

  “Lady Elizabeth’s words are full of pain and sadness. She doesn’t want to leave you.”

  “Why leave, then?” Gavin demanded of the room at large, sounding bewildered. “When I left her earlier this week, we were planning our wedding. She was coming to see my mother. Then suddenly I call on her and she’s not there. Her sister doesn’t know where she went and she writes that she’s going home to the country!”

  “Something must have occurred in the day after your last meeting,” the butler cut in steadily.

  “But what?” Gavin exclaimed, tugging at the ends of his hair. His servant stayed silent. Gavin stared into space, then abruptly decided, “I’m going to find out.” He jumped up and rushed towards the door. “You’re brilliant, Milton.”

  “Wait, sir – first, let’s get you dressed and shaven. I will call Rogers.”

  Gavin ran a hand over his stubbled chin and looked down at his nightclothes.

  “Right, Milton. Exactly. This is why I keep you around, you know.”

  The butler smiled, and stepped out of the room. Soon, Rogers, Gavin’s valet, came in, carrying a basin and a jug of heated water. Gavin looked in the mirror as Rogers set about shaving him, and saw his usually carefree face transformed into one which was concerned and drawn.

  He had certainly changed in the past three years. Although he had always loved Elizabeth, now he felt sick at the thought of losing her.

  I must not lose her.

  *****

  Elizabeth stared out of her open bedroom window at the dark night sky, with its multitude of small stars, feeling very lonely. The past two days had been absolute torture. Many times, she had asked ‘Why me’?

  Her parents had been surprised by her return, but she had obstinately insisted that everything was fine. They couldn’t be certain of anything different until a letter or visit from Anne, which Elizabeth suspected would be soon. Her mother had looked very worried when she had tried to discuss the betrothal and Elizabeth had refused to do so, but had not pushed further.

  She flopped over onto her stomach and hid her tears in her pillow. She didn’t know why she was acting this way – leaving London without telling her sister, hiding the break up from her parents, hiding in her room and refusing to come down for dinner.

  Elizabeth sighed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. No. If she was honest with herself, she knew why. She knew what the district would be abuzz with, soon enough. Elizabeth – proud, pretty Elizabeth – was jilted again. And by the same man! Elizabeth wondered if anyone had ever had such bad luck as she had. Gavin had been kind, engaging, forthright - she had spent weeks, months in his company.

  How could I be such a bad judge of character?

  The question had fought for dominance in her mind through the torturously long journey home, as well as the tedious day that followed. A tedious day, because she was missing her best friend. Well, her ex-friend. If Gavin was really her friend… well, Elizabeth would not have as a friend one who did what he had done to Charlotte Baskerville. How could he have abandoned her too? It seemed that she didn’t know him at all.

  Soon enough, everyone would know her shame – this time, her reputation would be utterly destroyed – for this time, the betrothal had been announced to the world. But until it became widely known, she would hide.

  And cry.

  *****

  Gavin rode through the night. It had been a tiring twenty-four hours – what with the emotional exhaustion of Elizabeth’s shocking letter that afternoon, then the long journey to the estate of the Earl of Shotteringham, Elizabeth’s father.

  He had been forced to change mounts many times along the way, paying extra for the best mounts the livery stables at the Coaching Inns had to offer. Milton would send a groom in the morning to retrieve his own horse from the first Inn.

  Each time he tiredly jumped off one mount and onto another, the aching in his body felt compounded. But none of that would matter if his heart was a
t rest. The restless aching of his heart was causing him a far more real pain, and he didn’t think he could take much more suspense.

  His heart would simply explode if he didn’t quickly know Elizabeth’s true feelings and intent, and understand the reasoning behind it.

  Soon Gavin drew within sight of Shottercroft Hall. He urged his mount onward, and finally reined the poor horse in at the Earl’s front door. He had only met the Earl and Countess once, when they had attended one Ball at the start of the Season, three years before.

  But this was no time for pleasantries. A footman, obviously the only one on duty so late, came running to him, concern etched on his face. Gavin leapt off his horse and stumbled, his legs almost numb from the intense riding, threw the reins to the footman with a curt instruction to walk the horse cool, then ran, as best he could, up to the door, where he pounded loudly and insistently.

  He knew that his behaviour was atrocious – arriving in the middle of the night in such a manner – but he hoped to act first and beg forgiveness later. He simply had to know what had caused Elizabeth to hate him.

  After what seemed like forever, the Chartwell’s butler came to the door, opening it with a very unappreciative face and the muzzle of a musket.

  “Away with you! What want ye?” the butler growled.

  “I must see Lady Elizabeth Chartwell,” Gavin said urgently, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender but peering into the house desperately, before thrusting the calling card, which he had fortuitously remembered to bring with him, at the butler. “She will know me – Gavin Villiers, the Duke of Blackstone – and the Earl and Countess have also met me. Please, it’s an emergency.”

  The butler muttered something about ‘hot-headed dandies disturbing decent people late at night’ and retreated, slamming the door.

  The wait was so long that Gavin, pacing frantically back and forth, was tempted to pound on the door again.

  He had just decided that breaking down the door might be necessary, when it slowly creaked open. He glimpsed a gaggle of interested servants through the doorway, huddled in the background, before Elizabeth appeared and slipped out, shutting the door behind her. The moon provided their only light, and Gavin almost forgot to breathe as he saw Elizabeth again – had she possibly become more beautiful in just two days?

  “Your Grace,” Elizabeth said shakily. “Why have you come here, when I asked you not to?”

  Gavin wanted to sweep her into his arms, wanted to demand that she tell him what had scared her away, so near to their blessed union. But he restrained himself and simply stepped closer to her. She refused to look at him.

  “Elizabeth – I just received your letter. I rode all night.” Now his voice shook with emotion and Elizabeth finally looked up at him. “I had to ask you, to your face - why?”

  He tried to say more, but the words got stuck in his throat.

  Elizabeth looked despondently away, breaking their eye contact. Gavin had never seen her like this - where she was usually reserved, composed, and self-aware, now her long blonde hair lay untended down her back, a dressing gown untidily thrown about her. Her usually alert and assessing gaze was unfocused, her big blue eyes glazed and filled with tears.

  “I think you know,” she whispered, then put a hand on the front door as though to return inside.

  But Gavin had not come all that way for an incomprehensible four-word answer. He seized both of her hands.

  “Please, Elizabeth – please. I must know. And I do not.”

  Elizabeth slowly pulled her hands out of his and turned away to stare into the dark trees surrounding the house.

  “There was a young woman named Charlotte Baskerville,” she began in a quiet, strained voice. Gavin staggered as though shot with a bullet. Elizabeth continued, oblivious; her voice a monotone which only partially masked the pain dripping from her words. “She loved you very much, Gavin. You were the perfect suitor. An intelligent, handsome university student courting the Vicar’s daughter. All the town was talking about it, celebrating it.” She turned to look at Gavin. He stood, stock-still, pale and shocked, so surprised that he was unable to gather even a word to speak in his own defence. “There she was, the most beautiful, sought after woman in town,” Elizabeth continued softly, now gazing straight at Gavin, accusations in her eyes and on her lips. “A beautiful church wedding, with her father presiding. A church full of guests. A bride in white. And a groom who never made an appearance.”

  Gavin stared at Elizabeth in shock, unable to speak. When he finally did, his voice was thick with anger.

  “Is that what she told you?”

  Elizabeth nodded, then spoke, her voice full of anguish.

  “Naturally, I don’t wish to end up in a similar manner,” Elizabeth hurried on, and he could see that she was attempting to stifle her tears as she lifted her chin determinedly. “So… you – you may as well save us both the trouble.”

  Gavin thought, for a few seconds, that he might lose his temper; but after a moment of wrestling for self-control, he merely gazed at Elizabeth solemnly, searching for the right words.

  *****

  Elizabeth hadn’t expected this calm response to her accusations, and she tossed her head indignantly, her tears giving way to anger.

  “A man of your position can afford to make mistakes, Your Grace,” she said bitingly, her words cutting through the cold night air like a knife. “But for we women – well, it’s different.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to be cruel… but how could Gavin be so oblivious to the heartbreak that he had caused to two young women, so vulnerable to gossip? To the ruination of reputations which followed such acts? How could he be so lacking in care?

  The cold night air seemed to fill her, to emphasise the aching void in her heart. She had allowed herself to trust him again, to love him again, and now, here she was, hurt all over again.

  Yet he stood before her looking somewhat shocked at what she had said, almost as if it surprised him, as if it was not something he had heard of before.

  But that was a silly thought – for after all, he had lived that story, had led on and abandoned Miss Baskerville.

  She stood there, feeling utterly cold and lost, and watched the expressions twisting across his face.

  *****

  Gavin sought for control of his mouth. Like Milton had said, he could be quite reckless when angry, and Elizabeth’s unfair judgment of him, based solely on the gossip of a stranger, cut him deeper than she could ever know.

  He took a deep, calming breath.

  At least she was sad about losing him, which let him hope that Milton had been correct, when he’d said that she still loved him.

  That was what was important.

  “Elizabeth,” he said in a low voice. “I’m afraid that Miss Charlotte Baskerville was not entirely truthful with you.”

  “Not truthful…?”

  Gavin reached for Elizabeth and took her hands again. This time she didn’t draw away, but watched him with quivering lips and distrustful blue eyes.

  “I did pay attention to Miss Baskerville while I attended university,” Gavin said seriously, holding Elizabeth’s eyes. “We danced at a few Balls, spoke at a few socials, attended a play or two with a group of other young people – we were hardly a couple. And we were most certainly not betrothed.”

  “You two were – never betrothed?” Elizabeth said slowly.

  It was as though her brains were made of quicksand – he watched her trying to think, to comprehend. His heart warmed at the sight, at the fact that she was considering his words, rather than simply casting him aside.

  “We had no planned wedding, no church full of guests, no vicar ready to marry us, and definitely no white gowned bride left at the altar,” Gavin went on. The anger was slowly departing, his voice growing gentle.

  “Why? Why would she lie?” Elizabeth whispered incredulously.

  “I knew that Miss Baskerville favoured me,” Gavin said with a touch of embarrassment. He looked awa
y awkwardly. “I wasn’t doing well in my classes at the time. I was irresponsible and carefree. Then, on a short trip to London, I met you at a Ball – and I decided then and there to give up university and court you in London. As it happened, they sent me down before I could leave by my own choice. I let Miss Baskerville know as gently as I could. Call me a rake – others have before,” he looked desperately back at Elizabeth, “but what could I do? I had found the love of my life. You.”

  He waited, afraid, yet knowing that he needed to let her consider, and make her own decision.

  Chapter Nine

  Elizabeth stared conflictedly at the man she loved, the man who she had been trying hard to see only as her ex-friend.

  She didn’t know who to believe.

  The young woman had seemed to know just what to say to her - Elizabeth could relate to her feeling of abandoned hopes and dashed dreams. Yet, truthfully, she didn’t know anything of Charlotte Baskerville. Could the girl possibly have a vendetta against Gavin, tracking down his potential wives to poison them against him? Or was she truly convinced that he still loved her – if he ever had?

  “You are weighing Miss Baskerville’s virtues,” Gavin broke into her thoughts, “But please give me equal consideration in your heart. Do you not know my dedication to you?”

  “I – I don’t know,” Elizabeth stuttered, caught off guard at being so obviously read. “I don’t know who to believe. I need more time.”

  Gavin sighed and met Elizabeth’s eyes.

  “Surely you know, Elizabeth. If you trust you heart, you will know.”

  “How can I trust you, though?” The cry came from deep within Elizabeth’s subconscious, and suddenly they both were forced to accept the reason for her uncertainty. Elizabeth impatiently sniffed back the tears which threatened to break through in a flood. “How can I know you won’t leave me… like you left me before… like you left her for someone else.”

  Her quiet words were barely audible.

  She watched as Gavin took a deep breath and smiled faintly.

  “Elizabeth – I can’t convince you – it is a decision you must make from the heart, not because of any convincing words. Do you love me? For I love you. You must choose who to trust.”