A Passionate Endeavor

by Sophia Nash

  “I don’t know what you are referring to, Father. But I have come to discuss a very grave matter, something that will disturb you a great deal. But, I want to assure you that I will take full responsibility in seeing that everything is rectified in a satisfactory manner. I am only sorry I will have to break my promise to you to do so. But I must do this whatever your reaction will be. I owe it to my family, as well as to all the good people of the counties who depend on us.”

  “What is it, my son?” the father asked.

  Nicholas sat on his father’s bed and took one of his frail hands in his own. “Edwin and the steward have been draining funds from the estates. I have only reviewed the ledgers for the last two years, but in that time I estimate that over ten thousand pounds has been taken. For what uses, I have no idea.”

  The duke closed his eyes. A moment or two later his father waved his hand, urging him to continue.

  When Nicholas was sure his father was alert enough for him to carry on, he did so. “At first, I thought it was just Coburn. I mean, why would Edwin take that which was already his?” Nicholas paused to search his father’s face.

  “Perhaps it is because I chastised him many times over the years for overspending. He has an addicted taste for high-flying.”

  “My best guess is that Coburn discovered Edwin’s methods of taking funds, then blackmailed him into receiving money of his own,” Nicholas said. “I confirmed Edwin’s role when I found his signature approving five hundred pounds for rethatching all the cottages’ roofs. There is not one rethatched dwelling in all of Wiltshire, I assure you. And Edwin toured the area with me.”

  “My son, you do not have to tell me any more. I believe and trust you. I have always trusted you.”

  “Father, I will remove Coburn and consult with the magistrate. I daresay this scandal will grow, as Coburn will surely try to blackmail us to keep Edwin’s name out of the proceedings. I will not accept a scheme of this nature. But I fear this will cause you great embarrassment.”

  “It will not cause me pain, only joy in the knowledge that you will do what I always hoped,” replied the duke in a ragged whisper.

  “Father, do you understand me rightly? I will have to take control of the Cavendish estates.”

  His father closed his eyes again, yet patted his son’s hand. “Nicholas, my son, I have waited so long to hear these words. I prayed for them. And now, as I lie here, my prayers have been answered.”

  “But I thought you wanted Edwin to oversee Wyndhurst and your other holdings. He was the more capable one. He was the one with the high marks from university. I was only capable of blasting our country’s enemies to bits.”

  “No, Nicholas. You were always more capable than that. You are a leader of men. And you have integrity. And that is much more important than any intellectual pursuit.”

  “Well, then why didn’t you tell me this and insist that I remain here?”

  Nicholas had to lean close to his father’s lips to hear him.”Because you needed to want to lead the people of our estate, and you did not. You needed to be willing to face the taunts and embarrassment of your one failing in life, and you weren’t.” His father squeezed his hand slightly. “And I would not force you to do it. You see, I am very similar to you. I faced difficulties learning too, although not as great as yours. If you did not think you were up to the challenge, I thought it better for you to choose a different course. But I never stopped believing in you.”

  “Oh, Father,” he said. “I wish you had confided in me.”

  “No, Nicholas, you had to choose to become head of this family by yourself.” His father’s eyes opened and were watery. “And I was wrong about Miss Kittridge. I am glad you married her. She will make a fine wife and duchess, and will help you find your way if you allow her. I believe your pride is now up to the challenge. It shall be almost easy to let her be of assistance to you, for I have not seen a lady so in love with her husband.” The duke seemed overcome with his long speech. He began to cough, but was too weak to produce more than a wisp of a sound.

  Nicholas did not dare worry his father about the disastrous state of his marriage. He brushed a thin lock of white hair from his father’s brow. “Father, you must rest now.”

  “No. I must know if you will now have the courage to have children,” the duke whispered.

  “I… I don’t know, Father.”

  “Well, I made a mess of it. But, I do think you have the benefit of learning from my mistakes.” The father’s breath was becoming shallower. “I never blamed you for any of it, Father. I blamed myself.”

  “It is time to stop blaming yourself. And I will do the same. You have much work to do.” The older man raised his painfully thin fingers, and after fumbling for a moment, he placed something hard and cold in Nicholas’s hand. “I have been wanting to give you this. It has been waiting for you. But I would not force it on you.”

  Nicholas looked down to find the long familiar signet ring in the palm of his hand. As it blurred before him, he squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself to rein in his emotions.

  “It has always been yours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The ring that had become too heavy and large for his father’s thin fingers fit him perfectly.

  “Now, my son, you have made me the happiest of men. Will you read to me the Twenty-third Psalm?” The duke indicated a bible on the nightstand. “I wish to rest a bit now. I am afraid I am worn out.”

  “Of course, sir.” Nicholas rose to retrieve the bible, the ribbon indicating his father’s favorite psalm. Nicholas knew the words by heart, but read the verse from the page to please his father, until he got through the first section and almost broke down. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for thou art with me…”

  Nicholas could go no further.

  “Remember, my son, that I will be with you too, in your heart always,” his father said on a slow exhalation. “I will never forget. Father… I love you.” His father’s breath rattled. “And I you…” Exhaustion poured through every pore of Nicholas’s body. He lay down next to his father and gently clasped his elder’s cold hand in his own large warm one. Head pounding, he closed his eyes and remembered being a child and holding his father’s hand then, Nicholas’s small one engulfed by the powerful Duke of Cavendish’s. A title he most likely would obtain all too soon.

  The tears he had so successfully held in check silently coursed down the corners of his eyes, drenching his temples. He forced himself to relax his clenched chest.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Think only of the past as its remembrance gives

  you pleasure.”

  —Pride and Prejudice

  “GOODNESS me.” Charley jumped up from his bed when Nicholas entered the small chamber adjoining his own rooms. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Lord Nick. Didn’t hear you come in last night, or I would’ve performed my duties.”

  “I didn’t retire here after all, Charley. I stayed with my father.” At the inquisitive gaze of his faithful young batman, Nicholas forced himself to continue. “He is gone. He died just before dawn.”

  “Oh, Lord Nick.”

  “I know, Charley, I know.” Nicholas accepted the embrace of his young charge, and they said nothing for long moments.

  “I am glad then that I did not bother him with the ruckus going all around us yesterday,” Charley said into Nicholas’s shoulder.

  “What ruckus?”

  “Well, I don’t know the whole of it, sir. Only that the overdressed frog left without a word the night before last, and a female went with him or after him.”

  “Which female, Charley?” asked Nicholas. He felt a certain stabbing sensation in his chest. “I don’t know. One of the ladies I think, sir.”

  “Mr. Roberts, the fever has broken, finally. Your wife, I hope, with good care will recover. You will have to be patient, as she will be quite weak after such a long illness,” Charlotte said, and removed the compress
from the woman’s forehead.

  It was very late, or rather, early, almost dawn. The distraught man had brought his wife to Charlotte’s old cottage yesterday evening in the back of a crude wagon.

  “I shouldn’t have brought her in the wagon. It was too hard a ride for her. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch her get worse,” he said.

  “No, Mr. Roberts. Don’t blame yourself. I am sorry your note wasn’t brought down from the abbey. You are lucky you found me here at all. I was packing a few last things before my journey.” She looked down at the patient, who was sleeping peacefully for the first time in a fortnight. “I will send for Wyndhurst’s finest carriage to transport her back to your home. And I will send Doro to nurse her. She will also be able to help you with your children and your meals. This will be a gift from me to you. Please don’t say no.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Owen Roberts said, bowing awkwardly. “There’s not many from the abbey who would lower themselves to care for my Sally. And I have naught to give you for me thanks,” Mr. Robertses concluded.

  “I am pleased to be at your service. Let’s allow her to rest awhile. She is very comfortable here.”

  “If it be all right with you, Lady Charlotte, I would like to stay with my Sally until the carriage comes.”

  “Of course, Mr. Roberts,” she said, rising to leave.

  Doro was taking too long, Charlotte thought an hour later, while pacing the front room. It was almost full light and she had sent the maid to Wyndhurst’s stables to make arrangements with the stable master. He was to bring to the cottage the carriage for the Robertses. The gig she had ordered for her own use was to be brought to the cottage as well, instead of to the abbey as she had arranged yesterday. Charlotte looked at the letter she had propped on the bookshelf for Nicholas.

  When she had left for the cottage last night, the abbey had been at sixes and sevens with the disappearance of Lady Susan and Alexandre. She had tried to calm them, explaining that her cousin had quit Wiltshire alone on an errand for her of the utmost importance. But that only served to make Susan’s grandmother more hysterical. The old lady left in her carriage, wailing and bemoaning her worries and calling Alexandre every vile name she could concoct. Only the dowager duchess had remained calm, assuring the Dowager Countess of Elltrope that the family would employ every effort to find Lady Susan and help repair any damage to the young lady’s reputation. Nicholas had been locked up in the library, blissfully unaware of the events.

  The first letter Charlotte had written to Nicholas had been hurt and angry. The second, less so. The third was devoid of any emotion. It gave the address of her father’s old solicitor in London and an assurance that she had made arrangements in town for a comfortable apartment and that he was not to worry about her furthermore. She expressed her sadness over his father’s impending demise, and wished him a happy future in Paris. It was everything proper. There was only the smallest part of her that dared hope that he would fly to the solicitor in London and demand to see her. She squashed the thought each time it raised its relentless head.

  Her thoughts fled at the appearance of the gig in the yard. With a sigh, she went to the front entrance, where her trunk lay waiting, and opened the door to her future.

  “Mr. Coburn! What are you doing here? Where is the driver I requested?”

  “Lady Charlotte, I am at your service.” Mr. Coburn removed his hat and bowed down before her. “The duchess required Mr. Harper for some pressing errands this morning. I was planning a day trip to London this week or next, as the duke has asked me to attend to several things in town. I volunteered to drive you to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  She didn’t trust the man, never had. But he returned her gaze with a pleasant, open expression. She could hardly refuse. It was a few short hours to London. She would take Doro, and arrange for another maid from the abbey to help Owen’s wife. Mr. Coburn got down from the gig and began loading her trunk in the back.

  “Well, then, Lady Charlotte, let me help you up.”

  There was something wrong. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach. She wouldn’t go with this man.

  “And where is the carriage for Mr. and Mrs. Roberts?”

  “The other driver will be along any moment for them.”

  He urged her by the elbow before she halted. Why couldn’t the other driver take her to London? “I am sorry to force a delay, sir. However, I must wait for Doro.”

  “There’s no room for her, my dear Lady Charlotte. Her large bulk would never fit. Come, come let us be off now. If we wait much longer it will be full dark before we arrive.”

  In her distress, Charlotte did not notice a lone rider coming over the small hill in front of the cottage.

  “You there, wait,” Nicholas called out on his approach.

  A moment later he verified it was indeed Charlotte near the gig with Mr. Coburn. What the devil? Something was very wrong.

  Nicholas’s horse slid to a halt in front of them. He remained on the animal, the pistol he always carried in the saddle near his hand.

  “What the devil is going on here, Coburn?”

  “Why, nothing out of the ordinary, my lord,” replied Coburn, with an easy smile. “I am escorting your wife to London, per her request.”

  “Escorting my wife to London? Per her request? I think not. Charlotte?” Nicholas asked, looking at his wife.

  “That is partially correct. I had made plans to depart. But not with Mr. Coburn. I’ve left you a letter in the cottage.” She avoided his gaze. “I believe I will wait for the driver to arrive with the other carriage, Mr. Coburn, if you don’t mind. I would prefer to go with him and I will wait for Doro too.”

  “But, my dear Lady Char—” began Mr. Coburn. “Charlotte, get away,” Nicholas shouted as he fired his pistol before the steward’s weapon was cocked and visible.

  The man yelped, and made an attempt to grab her, his hand bleeding. She evaded his grasp and fled to the safety of the cottage.

  Nicholas leapt off his horse, grabbed the pistol that Coburn had dropped on the ground, and pointed it at the man.

  “Mr. Coburn… How kind of you to offer to help my wife.”

  “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with,” said the man.

  “If I had wanted to kill you, you would be dead, my friend. As it is, you are lucky I didn’t maim you in a more satisfying part of your anatomy,” Nicholas said, looking at the man’s crotch.

  “I guess I should be thankful, my lord.”

  “You will refer to me as ‘Your Grace’ henceforth, Coburn. As of a few hours ago, my title changed, as will yours. Now, I will give you precisely one minute to tell me what you were planning to do with my wife and about the embezzlement of funds from the Cavendish holdings,” he said. “And remember, please, that the penalties for lying to a duke will not improve your lot.”

  The steward kept his gaze riveted to the ground.

  “All right, Mr. Coburn. What have you to say?” Nicholas said, pulling his pocket watch from his pocket.

  “Nothing, my… sir.”

  “I shall help you along then. According to Wyndhurst’s ledgers, you have become rich, in my estimates, siphoning off thousands of pounds annually from the abbey alone. Actually I am amazed you still dare to be in Wiltshire. I was certain you had hightailed it out of here once you learned I was locked in the library. But then, perhaps I have caught you just as you were leaving? Planning to take my wife too for extra insurance, were you?”

  “Your brother, he is the guilty party, not me.” This was going to be easier than he thought. Self-incrimination was a beautiful thing.

  “Perhaps you are correct, Mr. Coburn. However, he is not here. And he was not the one who was about to put a pistol to my wife.”

  Nicholas heard a sound from the doorway and did a double take upon sighting the form of Owen Roberts. “I won’t even ask what you are doing here, Owen. Your timing is impeccable.”

  “Glad to be of service. I h
eard your question to Coburn, here, and thought you might want to know that there’s been some gossip in the village, there has. Seems someone heard that Coburn bought a prettyish sort of estate for his, er, his mammy in the next county. Mr. Coburn is a kindhearted soul to be providin’ for his mammy, don’t you think?”

  Charlotte was peeking from behind the large man.

  “That’s an out and out lie—” said Coburn.

  “Not another word,” said Nicholas. “Owen, find some rope to bind Coburn’s hands, will you?”

  “I tell you, it is your brother who is guilty. This was his idea,” Coburn whined. “But perhaps we can work something out, Your Grace. Surely you would not want to implicate your own brother. I would be willing—”

  “I am sure you would be, Coburn,” interrupted Nicholas. “However, I shall leave it to the magistrate to decide. Until then, you shall spend a night in The Quill & Dove’s strong room.”

  Owen was tasked with securing Coburn’s hands with a bit of rope. Charlotte disappeared for a moment and returned to wrap a small piece of cloth with ointment on Coburn’s hand.

  “It is just a flesh wound, Mr. Coburn. You are lucky. It should heal in a fortnight,” she said.

  “All right, enough lollygagging, Coburn. Into the gig, now. That’s a good man,” Nicholas said, then turned to Owen. “Will you take him, then?”

  Charlotte spoke up. “I see Doro coming, Mr. Roberts. I will have her stay with Mrs. Roberts until your return.”

  “All right,” Owen replied.

  “After he’s secured, may I count on you to find the magistrate and tell him what happened? I will call on him tomorrow morning after I arrange for my father’s burial.”

  Owen clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, that I am. There’s been no’ a moment to say it.”