by Cathy Duke
John and Arden started to exam the rest of her injuries when Belle came back with water and cloth. John reached in his pocket for a coin and held it out for Belle. “Go see if you can round up some ice for us to pack on her face, Belle.” Belle took off while the two men did what they could for this unfortunate woman they had seen too many times before. They found broken ribs and maybe she had internal bleeding too. Arden set to work stitching some cuts while John bound her ribs.
“You going to make a cold poultice?” John asked as he blotted some blood from her face.”
“I'm of a mind to just pack her in ice.” John nodded his agreement.
Belle had not been gone long when the front door burst open with a hard crash to the wall behind it. Ben stumbled in drunk and bloodied from fighting. He was a big man, thick, muscled with huge hands that were flexing with the urge to hit something.
Both men turned around to see Ben look at them with rage. He looked crazed. Too much drink and anger for his lot in life. Ben took in the scene taking place on the bed and it seemed to anger him more. Here were two men doctoring his woman, like he wasn't in charge of his own business. Like he did something wrong that had to be fixed.
“Get away from that harlot, you hear me? This is my bloody house and you ain't welcome! Now get the hell out before I rip you in two.” Ben bellowed as he drew a long knife from his belt and lunged for Arden. Without thinking, John dove in front of Arden blocking Ben from stabbing Arden in the chest. John was cut across the shoulder which caused the knife attack to slice a shallow wound on Arden's chest, instead of the intended stab to the heart.
While John and Arden stared in disbelief at their wounds already bleeding profusely, Molly reached with her fingers beneath her mattress and pulled out a gun. She lifted her head up from the mattress and leaned to the side to avoid the two wounded men leaning over her. With focused effort, she was able to open one swollen eye just enough to see the monster she called husband and shot without hesitation. The smoke cleared to show she had hit Ben in the head and he lay dead on the floor. There was quiet for a moment as everyone took stock of the bloody scene. John and Arden looked at each other before seeing Molly drop the gun and sink back down on the mattress with a groan.
Belle ran into the room and screamed. “Oh, Lordy. I heard a shot!” Her eyes were wide with surprise and horror. Her mouth was open in a silent scream.
Arden looked at John and his bloody shoulder for one second when he said, “Know a good doctor?” John's lips quirked up a fraction…almost a smile.
“We have a long night ahead of us, lad. Now we need to get the constable, if he'll come.”
Belle handed John the ice she had in a cotton sack in her hand and said, “I will go fetch him. There was one in the pub where I got the ice.” She rushed out the door, obviously glad to be useful and out of the house.
Later than night, John and Arden drank their brandy as they were recovering from their attacks. They had bandaged each other with the skill they used every day on their patients.
“Bloody hell, John. You should never have jumped into the way of that knife. You could have been killed.” Arden said as he watched the man he had grown to love like a father. He had been so focused on his patient that he hadn't even paid attention to Ben coming at them with a knife. His friend had saved his life and risked his own.
“But if I hadn't, you would be dead, my friend. He was aiming for your heart. Even as drunk as he was, he had perfect aim. Besides, you are like a son to me. I always wanted a son just like you. I'd do anything for you, lad.” John sipped his brandy as he settled back in his comfortable chair in the library.
“But what of your daughter? Surely she brings great satisfaction…” Arden said in response.
“And she does. She reminds me of my dear departed wife. Did I ever tell you she died in child birth?” He gave a painful sigh. “I wasn't here. I was treating some damn drunk that got his fool head bashed in. I think about that all the time. I saved his life only long enough so he could get himself killed in a gambling argument seven days later.” John said with regret. “My daughter is precious to me. She is the only part of my Beth I have left. But my daughter is not here in my life,” John added with emotion. “You are.”
“Why not bring her home? Make her part of your life. As it is, you spend bare little time with her at school during the holidays. Why don't you bring her home for the holidays?”
“Because I can't have her here in this slummy part of town, having her see into the bowels of hell and the even worse of mankind. I sent her away for more than an education. I keep thinking I will move. Start treating another kind of patient,” John said and sighed.
“But you won't move. You can't give up what has been your passion…your reason for being, what's in your heart…” Arden said with understanding. “But Amy will be eighteen soon enough and she will want to come home to you.”
“What can I offer her?” I have spent every penny I have on her clothes and schooling…insuring she has a better life.”
“Offer her your love. Believe me, that's the biggest gift you can give her. I grew up without love and yet had the advantages money can buy. It's not what it's cracked up to be.”
“That sounds good, lad. But who will she marry? Another…Ben? I just can't see what choice I have. I must protect her the best way I can.” John poured them a second drink.
Arden had never experienced such devotion and love in a family. He felt an alarming burst of love for this man who took him on without much thought. Arden had worked hard to make certain John never regretted that decision. He wished he could do something in return for this kind man, make his life easier in some way…
The mail came about once a week depending on weather or a number of things unbeknownst to Arden. He never heard from his brother Dalton or his parents. He received pamphlets on medicine and reports on the latest discoveries in medicine. John and Arden would enjoy a colorful discussion on those articles with a glass of whisky or brandy.
Then one dreary day in September Arden received a letter from home. He stood in the library reading it and rereading the same words that never changed on the one page of parchment. It was curt with no other information to soften the message. The ink was smudged and nearly illegible. But the message was clear just the same. Arden could not have felt more wounded if he had been stabbed in the heart. The dreary cold September day gave a sobering atmosphere to this message. The weather was a suitable setting for such news.
“My God, lad…what is it?” John asked as he came in to the library to banter with Arden. “You look like you'll seen a ghost.” He put an arm around Arden's shoulder in a gesture of support.
Arden turned and looked to John with such pain and agony, that John stepped back a step to better take the news. “My brother is dead. I must go back.”
Chapter 1
Kent, England 1830
Arden poured his second glass of brandy and stared at the letter before him on his desk. He had become the Duke of Brightmore, but he didn't feel like it now. He felt incredible pain in the pit of his stomach and a knot in his throat. He wanted to cry, but a Duke did not cry. Of course, he did not having the training of a Duke.
In the years since he left Boston, his beloved practice of medicine and his friend John Barrett, John sadly buried his mother after cleaning up the mess his brother Dalton had created in his short reign as Duke of Brightmore. Their father had died two years before, giving Dalton ample opportunity to cause mayhem. Since then, John's brother had ignored the tenants of the estates and nearly gambled away everything. Dalton's careless and insensitive attitude had nearly driven the servants off. Some had served Brightmore their entire lives. His death in a duel had stopped that journey to complete failure.
It had taken Arden several years to put everything right, although his mother had not approved of his methods of investing in shipping and other businesses to create revenue streams. They argued about his methods and his business dealings. Even the gh
ost of his father had meddled in his brain trying to create guilt where there was none. After all, he was a businessman, a working man…which was frowned upon when one was a Duke. Tradition was something that could ruin a man who didn't watch his steps. His decisions to put things “right” within the estate had given his mother to drink port. She uttered not a word to him in her spite. He had tried to be kind, but she found him repulsive and usually left the room rather than suffer his presence. A stroke came later to put her out of her misery. Shame. He brought them all shame. But he had done well nevertheless. He had put the estates back in order and that was his duty, and he ignored the lack of support from his family which went back to his birth…now they all were deceased.
He had set up residence in his estate in Kent, south of London. Brightmore Manor was comfortable and spacious. Mass gardens of assorted roses and other flowers lined clusters of fruit and decorative trees. Arden preferred his country estate, with the fresh air and the escape from the ton, the soot, the fog and the cold bleak days. The strong traditional views of the ton could be crippling and too many mamas were attaching themselves to him as a good catch for their unmarried daughters. That was reason enough to avoid the season in London and all the coming out balls and events. No, he was wise to escape to the country and work in peace. And he had more work to do than any reasonable man could dream of accomplishing.
He was diligent with his duties as a Duke and built up the estate to be profitable. But the truly rewarding element for Arden was visiting his tenants. On his first visit to the village several years ago, he unexpectedly came across a young boy with a broken arm. He set the arm and that was the beginning of a quiet medical practice, which was what kept Arden sane and content with his lot in life. The turn of events since leaving Boston challenged Arden between his duty as Duke, a peer of the realm, and his passion for medicine and assisting the poor and disadvantaged.
Arden looked forward to his correspondences with John. They wrote lively letters back and forth talking of medicine, new medical theories and of the people they had become fond of in Boston. John would talk of his daughter, Amy, who came home from school shortly after Arden had sailed for England. Amy had insisted on helping her father since there was a huge void after Arden had left. It turned out that Amy had been quite competent in assisting, although John never wanted her out on calls after dark or without him to protect her.
Arden would smile at some of the stories that popped from the page and there would sometimes be tears too. Evidentially Amy had a knack for mischief that drove John near crazy. She taught some children in the neighborhood to read and caused havoc with fathers who saw no purpose in the ability. Then she organized a women's group to build strength for women that suffered abuse. She even asked John if he had knowledge of a ruffian that could teach them to protect themselves. How he missed John and the great talks they had and the love and passion they shared for so many subjects. He said that he needed Arden to help get Amy in line. He was worn out from all the shenanigans.
Millie was a school friend of Amy's and came home with her to assist in the work. Millie had no family and Amy was very attached to her friend, so there were stories too of these young girls and their adventures with the patients and caring for John. The two were trouble together John whined.
This last letter left Arden struggling with the unfairness of life, the lack of choices on his part to help his friend. John was terminally ill with cancer and had little time left. Arden would not be able to see his friend in time even if he left now for Boston. The letter was good-bye and some tear wrenching thoughts from John on the care of his daughter and how much he had loved Arden. Even Arden's own father had not one word of praise or forgiveness upon his death. No parting words for Arden whatsoever. So John's well thought out words of support and praise was truly treasured by Arden.
But it was the dying wish that had Arden planning the next set of actions to bring comfort to his friend before his ultimate death. He was angry, too, that John had not confided in him earlier, but that was explained. John was unselfish and, being so, he did not want to bring Arden away from his duties, especially since it was all so hopeless.
The dying wish. It was not such a surprise really. John was always worried about his daughter's future because there was no one else to worry about it but him. John respected and loved Arden, so it was no surprise that John wanted Ardent to marry Amy and take care of her for the rest of her life bringing peace to John in his hour of need. Just being a guardian leaves too many variables open. John wanted to witness the marriage and be father of the bride even though there was no time for Arden to get there in time. The two people he loved most would be together.
Marriage by proxy. It was strange to get married and not have the bride beside him and for that matter she would marry him in Boston by her father's bedside without himself present. He was to be a married man with his bride already chosen. He had seen a miniature painting of Amy once when she was thirteen and she looked like an awkward thirteen year-old. He couldn't imagine being married to her. For John, however, he owed him his life, his loyalty and more. So he would direct his solicitor to make the arrangements.
Amy would stay with her father until the end and take care of closing the business and then set sail for England. Arden was dreading it all because it meant his friend would be dead. He never thought he would go back…but the opportunity and hope that he could was still there until now. Just a dream, after all. How he would miss his friend and his colorful letters and support. The brandy hardly made a difference to his suffering. His life would yet change again. But he was strong and had gone through other difficult times. He needed to be strong for Amy now. She had no one else.
At least Amy shared an understanding of his life, much like her father's and he certainly didn't lead the typical social life of a Duke that could challenge her. He had shunned that artificial life that was empty and unproductive.
Amy could fit in with his country life in Kent and they could make a good life out of this. Although he only knew her though a father's loving eyes. There was so much he didn't know.
Arden had written Amy of his shipping business and although they weren't passenger vessels, they could bring her to England. He sent schedules but heard nothing as yet. He hated being in the dark, being so helpless and wondering how he should proceed. Not being in control was alarming and also who would be her chaperone? She wouldn't try and come alone, for God's sake, would she? Maybe this is how a father felt. It was stressful and unproductive and he felt so damned helpless.
Godwin, Arden's butler tapped softly on the library door.
“Yes, what is it?” Arden asked as he finished the last of the brandy.
The very proper butler said, “I am sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but the Duke of Somerset is here to see you.”
Before, Arden could answer, Bradley Somerset barged past Godwin to face Arden, with a smirk on his handsome face. Bradley was nearly as tall as Arden and they made a remarkable handsome duo since Arden was well over six feet tall. Where Arden was muscled and thick, Bradley was the ton ideal of a Duke in stature. Arden had the look of a common laborer with thick muscles and broad shoulders. Bradley's light complexion and his fairness contrasted with Arden's nearly black hair and unfashionably sun-tanned skin, which was the result of his hours in the village attending his tenants. Arden had been known to pick up an ax and help chop wood for a widow, or assist a farmer in fixing his roof.
“Starting without me, old chap? Doesn't seem quite fair. The least you could do is invite me to this pity party of yours.” Bradley deposited himself in a chair opposite Arden and glared at him. He stretched out his long legs in front of him and twiddled his thumbs in a direct effort to annoy his boyhood friend, which he was quite accomplished at doing.
Godwin bowed, his face reddened. “Sorry, Your Grace.” Godwin quietly shut the library door as he backed his way out shaking his head in defeat.
Bradley watched Arden for a moment, and then s
ighed a deep, exaggerated breath. “Good God, man. I heard you were out of sorts, but really Arden.” Arden slipped Bradley a glance before pouring him a glass of brandy. Arden stood up and handed the glass to his friend.
“Who told you I was out of sorts? That gossip of a maid that knows your footman? We should fire both of them, you know. Although…it has been just as entertaining for me to hear about your debauchery though our less than discriminating servants.” Arden winked at Bradley in amusement. Then he poured a half glass for himself and began sipping the brandy. He sat back in his comfortable leather chair and studied Bradley for a moment. “I suppose you will be the first to know, that I am to be married.”
The glass of brandy nearly slipped from Bradley's fingers and he choked on the sip of brandy still swimming in his mouth.” His face turned red with a fit of coughing. Arden looked on amused. He waited patiently for his friend to calm himself.
“Come now. It can't be all that shocking. After all, even you said I was a catch.” Arden watched his friend over the rim of his glass as he took another sip of brandy. “I've never seen you speechless, my friend.”
“Bloody hell, Arden. Did you agree to marry that little charlatan from the Willington ball? Did she entrap you? I know at least five gentlemen she…”
“If you would shut up a moment I will tell you who. I am to marry Amy Elizabeth Barrett and I hope you will congratulate me.” Arden couldn't believe the raw pain there was in talking about this. And yet he had to face it. Things were moving fast and his friend, Bradley, would experience some pain too if he kept the news to himself.
“Barrett? You mean your American friend, the physician...”
“The very same. In fact, there is a situation…maybe you would like to attend. It will take place as a marriage by proxy.”
“Bloody hell, Arden. Why would you do that? Have you even met the chit?” Bradley was raising his voice with each word. He leaned over the desk setting his empty glass down with a bang.
