A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke

by Bridget Barton

  “I wonder what Derbyshire is like,” Catherine said miserably. “I wonder if it is as pretty as Hertfordshire.”

  “I am told that the peak country is very beautiful,” Philip said in an attempt to cheer her. “Perhaps you will get to explore a little.”

  “And perhaps I will be kept a prisoner by an evil aunt. Perhaps I am only being sent to her because she is cruel and our father thinks that a fitting punishment for one such as me.”

  “Catherine, there is no reason to think that our aunt is cruel.”

  “She is our father’s sister, Philip. If she is even just a little like him, that will be too much to bear. To be separated from you only to find that I am to be kept a prisoner in the North and treated cruelly by my father’s sister will be more than I can manage. It is all too much, you see. The punishment does not fit the crime because, in the end, there is no crime. As much as I am in pain for all that is to come, I am more in pain for what I am to lose. And I include Thomas in that, and I always shall. His loss is as great a blow to my heart as the loss of you is, and that is my crime. Falling in love is my crime. But the awful thing is, the evil, vile thing is, that Thomas and I were kept apart by two angry, spiteful old men. None of this need have been, none of it.”

  “I know, and I do not blame you for any of it.”

  “Even when you tried to warn me?”

  “I only warned you because I did not want you to come to harm. But there is no blame in any of this unless it is towards our father. He is, in everything, to be blamed. I thought I despised him before, but I cannot have done so for what I feel now is truly almost murderous. I will never forgive him for what he is doing to you, for in doing it he is hurting me also.”

  “I cannot bear to think of you here alone with him, living day after day with just his company here.”

  “I will survive it, Catherine. My loathing and anger will be my constant companions; they will keep me going.”

  “Oh, Philip, do not let him harden your heart. You are a good man, a tender-hearted human being, and it would finish me entirely if that changed.”

  “My heart will remain tender in all the important ways, I promise.” He smiled and lowered his voice to a whisper. “In fact, in one very important way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You will not leave Hertfordshire without saying goodbye to Thomas Carlton,” Philip said in a voice that was barely audible.

  “I am to have a final meeting with Thomas?” she said, her eyes filling with grateful tears. “But where? When?”

  “I managed to get a message to Thomas asking him to meet me. It was not an easy thing for him because his father has also been made aware of your friendship,” Philip said, and she wondered once again who it was had given them away. “But he met me nonetheless, and I told him of your plight. It is true to say that the devastation I saw upon his face was not only genuine but gut-wrenching. If you never have a moment’s love again in this life, know that you had the very best from Thomas Carlton. I could see it.”

  “Oh, Philip. If only things could have been different.”

  “He knows that tonight is your last night here, his only chance to say goodbye.” Philip looked instinctively over his shoulder only to find that they were still alone. “I have shown him the best way to come into the estate at night, and I have seen to it that the door to the unused lodge is unlocked. I will help you get out of the house when it is dark, and you may spend whatever time you care to in his company. I will not hover, and I will not wait for you; you must make your own way back to the house.”

  “I have no fear of it, Philip. I have no fear of making my way back in. As long as I can get to the lodge and spend my last hours there with him, I ask for nothing else in this life.”

  And so it was, a little after midnight, that Philip came to her chamber and found her sitting fully dressed, waiting for her opportunity.

  They crept through the house hand-in-hand and, finally finding themselves outside, tore off across the grounds at a run, not stopping until they had reached the cover of the trees beyond. When they finally reached the deserted little lodge that was in such great need of repair, she stopped and gripped Philip’s hand once again.

  “Is he here?” she said, feeling the very worst of her fears and imagining that Thomas had never made it out of Shawcross Hall at all.

  “Yes, I can see the vaguest light through the window, look,” he said and pointed. “He has a candle.”

  “Philip, I cannot thank you enough for this. My heart shall break anyway, but perhaps the break will be all the easier for having been able to say goodbye. I shall never forget what you have done for me this night.”

  “Go on inside, sister. Take this last slice of happiness, and do not waste a moment of it,” he said and kissed her forehead before turning to leave.

  She let herself into the little lodge and stood as still as a statue for a moment simply staring at Thomas. And Thomas, for his part, seemed also to be rooted to the spot, unable to move as he stared at her helplessly.

  “Thomas, I am so very sorry,” she said and, before she had even finished speaking, he had crossed the room and pulled her into his arms.

  “There is nothing on this earth for you to be sorry for, Catherine. You have done nothing wrong, neither one of us has.” He held her tightly to him, and she felt safe for the first time in days. “I just cannot bear this, Catherine. I cannot think how to go on with life here in Hertfordshire without you.”

  “Then Philip has told you that I am to go to Derbyshire to live with my aunt?” she said, sniffing loudly as her tears flowed.

  “He has, although he declares he does not know where exactly.”

  “It is true, neither one of us even knew that my father had a sister.” She sniffed. “And what of you? What is your father going to do? Please tell me that he is not going to punish you as mine is punishing me?”

  “He has discovered that you are to be sent away, Catherine, and he is pleased in the knowledge that that is punishment enough. There could be no greater punishment to give me than to deny me your society. To live without your beautiful face and your wonderful, wise words, is as a death sentence to me. What more could my father do? And I think he knew it. It is enough to him that I am broken.”

  “You must not be broken, Thomas. You are young, and you have a life ahead of you. You must not allow bitterness to take you, not ever. Do not let it fester in your heart as our fathers have done for so many years; as their fathers before them did. We are different, Thomas. Have we not proved that by getting this far?”

  “Yes, we have. We have lived these last months in love, and there is nothing more wonderful in the world than that. I cannot believe that I had become discontent; that I wanted so much more, especially now when I would give my last drop of blood to be able to go on as we were forever. How content I would be now with just one meeting a week, just an hour of your company. It is true that we do not ever know what it is we have until it is taken away from us. How precious that time was, Catherine. I will never regret these last months with you, for they have been the only days of my life to make sense to me, to feel real and true.”

  “If only it could have gone on forever, Thomas. If only we could have been left in peace to continue in our secretive world. If only we had not been given away. And even now, I do not know who did it.”

  “It was my own brother, Pierce,” Thomas said flatly. “He has mistrusted me for some while, and I did not credit him with any intelligence at all. But he has carefully followed me, intent upon discovering the truth. It was my brother who wrote to your father to give him the news and my brother who spoke to my own father on that same day.”

  “But why would he do such a thing?”

  “It is hard for you to understand, given that your own brother is such a fine man. But my brother is weak and clamours daily for our father’s approval. This was not so much to spite me as to win him the regard of my father. And even in that, he has failed, for my father
treats him the same as he ever did.”

  “Then it was all for nothing,” Catherine said and fought hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  “Let us not talk about our families for a moment longer. Let us not waste these last hours together, my darling Catherine. I will be gone from here before the sun comes up, as you must be. Let us spend this time speaking of the day when we will be reunited, for one day, let us hope, that will come.”

  “It is a wonderful dream, Thomas, and is something I will hold tightly to in my darkest hours. Even though we shall be parted by so many miles, by so much rough ground, when I close my eyes at night, I will see your face. I will imagine you as if you are as close to me as you are now, and in my heart, you will be.”

  “And I will do the same, Catherine, and that way we shall be together in our hearts forever.”

  Chapter 9

  Even as the carriage slowed at the road signs for Little Hayfield, still Catherine was not sure they had reached their destination. Her father’s driver, whilst he had been as polite and amiable as ever, was clearly under strict instructions to give her little or no information about the precise location of her new home.

  Before they had even made it as far as the Midlands, Catherine had stopped asking. She knew she was making the man uncomfortable, and it would be he, rather than Catherine, who would eventually have to return to Barford Hall and her father.

  She understood why he could not risk it, for if her father suspected the man of telling her anything, he would very likely lose his position without the promise of a reference. That was how her father operated, and all his servants knew it.

  Catherine decided not to put the man under any obligation to her other than to get her to her destination safely. And realizing it, the driver was clearly relieved.

  Catherine was aware that they had been in the Peak District for some time, and she had been awestruck by the sheer size of it. Not only its size but its extraordinary remoteness.

  There were towns, busy little places, but it did not take long for the carriage to drive straight through them and back into the wilds of the hills once more.

  The northern part of Derbyshire was so different from the flat, rolling meadows of Hertfordshire. There were hills in Hertfordshire, of course, but there was nothing to rival the hills and peaks she had seen in this new landscape.

  It was a breathtaking scene, sometimes lush, green, and inviting, but other times harsh, windswept, rugged, and remote. It seemed to Catherine that there would always be something to look at there, and the idea of it had transported her for a while, taking her away from her fears and cares as she studied all that passed by her carriage window.

  The journey from Hertfordshire had already taken several days, and they had stopped at various coaching inns en route so they might rest the horses overnight.

  At first, Catherine had felt very vulnerable. She had never travelled anywhere alone before, not even nearer to home. Her driver was good company enough, and she was sure that he would have protected her had she needed him to, but his presence did not stop her feeling conspicuous; a young woman who was obviously travelling without her family or a chaperone of any kind.

  She had felt a little humiliated by it, in the beginning, suffering the barely concealed glances of others as she had taken meals at coaching inns and other hostelries. But after the first few days, she had grown accustomed to the enquiring looks and had found it a little easier to ignore them as time had passed.

  Catherine thought it likely that her father would have been well aware of her discomfort in it all, but as in all other things, he did not care. Perhaps it was a further act of punishment, a last reminder of the power he had over her.

  As Catherine stared out at a vast, grass-covered hill, she thought once more of the strange relief at the idea that she would never have to look upon her father’s face again. Even if everything else in her uncertain future terrified her, she at least had that small mercy to fortify herself with.

  The carriage had drawn to a halt at the side of the road, and Catherine fought the urge to lower the window and listen as the driver jumped down and approached a well-dressed man just a few feet away. She could hear nothing but mumbled conversation, and seeing the animated pointing and explaining that the man was doing, Catherine realized that her driver was asking for final directions.

  So, Little Hayfield was to be her home, was it?

  With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the huge green hill. It was so wide that she could not see where it ended, and she thought it rather more a mass of land than a distinct hill. She could see a pathway snaking this way and that along its steep incline and thought that on such a sunny day, it seemed rather an inviting place.

  The sky was blue with not a cloud anywhere, and the green of the hill stood out against its brightness. For a moment, Catherine wondered if she would ever be permitted to walk along that snaking pathway and make her way to the top of that broad mass. Or would she simply be a prisoner somewhere, never allowed out on her own again to enjoy the beautiful scenery around her?

  Suddenly, Catherine felt the debilitating fear that had overtaken her more than once on her long journey. As much as she tried to take things as they came to her, not to assume anything at all, she could not help wondering how much her aunt would resemble her father.

  They were brother and sister after all, and Catherine knew that she would be naive not to expect some measure of cruelty from the woman. And even if she were not cruel, surely she could not be pleased to have a young woman, a stranger despite their relationship, foisted upon her indefinitely. Whatever way she looked at it, Catherine must surely be an imposition.

  Hearing the driver’s heels clicking along the narrow stone pavement, she looked over to see him hastening back to the carriage. Her palms were clammy, and her breathing was becoming a little ragged as she realized that her journey was coming to an end.

  She was here in Little Hayfield in the Peak District of Derbyshire for good or ill, and there was no turning back now. And where could she turn back to? There was nowhere else for her to go in all the world. Her father would not have her, and so it was a fact that Hertfordshire could never be her home again.

  She closed her eyes tightly when she felt the familiar prickling of hot tears begin to sting again. Catherine did not want to cry now, not so close to meeting the woman who was to be her jailer. It was too soon to give away any advantage and make herself look weak before her father’s sister.

  But the tears would not stop, and so all she could do was keep her eyes closed and hope to stem them. With her eyes closed, her mind’s eye seemed to open, bringing to her once again the dreadful image of her brother’s devastated face.

  His handsome fairness had been reddened with the effort to contain his emotions in those last terrible moments before she had left Barford Hall for the last time. As he had embraced her tightly, Catherine had felt the little tremors that ran through him like spasms and knew that he was struggling to hold back his own tears.

  Catherine had never seen her brother cry since he was a little boy, and the idea that Philip, the man, was about to be reduced to weeping almost tore her heart out. How could any of it be true? How could any of it really be happening? How could her father think she was so bad that this dreadful heartbreak was a fitting punishment?

  She had felt hot and sick, her emotions swaying wildly from the deepest sadness to the vilest hatred. She would never forgive her father for what he had done, even if he one day allowed her to return. That he would hurt his own children in such a way was unforgivable, for there was no circumstance on this earth that could justify it.

  As Catherine had been about to climb into the carriage, her father had finally appeared. She had not seen him all morning when she and Philip had sat silently in the breakfast room, holding hands and eating nothing. In the end, she had thought that she would never see him again, and in truth did not care much about it.

  But he strode out of the great
entrance and down the steps, and she had thought that he was about to approach the carriage and speak to her. However, he did not even look in her direction and continued past the carriage and towards the stables as if on some matter of business there.

  Catherine knew him of old and knew that the whole thing was nothing but an act. He had timed his exit from the hall to coincide with her final moments, and he had done so to let her know that she would not be missed.

  This was the Earl of Barford’s way of dismissing his daughter, of telling her that she was already nothing more than a distant memory. She was done; finished.

  She was not upset by his appalling behaviour; she was simply made angrier by it. Her determination never to forgive him was made all the firmer by her belief that her father was nothing better than a spoiled, arrogant child.

  With the carriage door closed, she stared desolately out of the window to where Philip stood. She could see that he was barely holding himself together, and she wished that the driver would quickly pull away and leave her brother to his grief.