His Majesty’s Hounds – Book 4
Sweet and Clean Regency Romance
Arietta Richmond
Dreamstone Publishing © 2017
www.dreamstonepublishing.com
Copyright © 2017 Dreamstone Publishing and Arietta Richmond
All rights reserved.
No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.
ISBN-13: 978-1-925499-20-9
Books by Arietta Richmond
His Majesty’s Hounds
Claiming the Heart of a Duke
Intriguing the Viscount
Giving a Heart of Lace (a prequel to Winning the Merchant Earl)
Being Lady Harriet’s Hero
Enchanting the Duke (coming soon)
Redeeming the Marquess (coming soon)
Healing Lord Barton (coming soon)
Winning the Merchant Earl (coming soon)
Loving the Bitter Baron (coming soon)
Rescuing the Countess (coming soon)
Attracting the Spymaster (coming soon)
The Derbyshire Set
A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)
A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)
The Earl’s Unexpected Bride
The Captain’s Compromised Heiress
The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair
The Count’s Impetuous Seduction
The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption
The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress
A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)
The Marchioness’ Second Chance (coming soon)
A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)
Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish
The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)
Other Books
The Scottish Governess (coming soon)
The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)
The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series, (coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
About the Author
Here is your Preview of Enchanting the Duke
Chapter One
Chapter Two
For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book, and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence, who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.
For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about these books, and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening, I promise to write more about your favourite characters.
For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers – it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best presentation possible!
And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.
Lord Geoffrey Clarence tapped on the rickety door before opening it carefully. No matter how many times he had been here, the whole place still felt fragile to him – he was a big man, and worried that, if he pushed too hard, the stairs or the doorframe would simply break.
On the other side of the door, the room was warm as the early winter afternoon’s sunlight streamed in through the large glass windows. Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, waved him to a chair and handed him a cup of coffee, which was, as usual, perfectly prepared, and exactly as he liked it. One day, Geoffrey thought, he would find out how Setford managed that – the miraculous appearance of perfect hot coffee, when there seemed no-one else in evidence, and there had been no exact time for the meeting.
For now, he simply accepted the cup, and sipped with pleasure. This was a place in which he could be totally relaxed, certain that there was no danger – which was a sensation to treasure.
“You’ve done well these last few months, m’boy. The Prince Regent appreciates still being alive.”
Geoffrey raised an eyebrow, a somewhat cynical expression on his face.
“Is that ‘appreciates’ in a ‘here’s your reward’ way, or in a ‘since you’re so clever at this, here’s your next nasty job’ way?”
Setford guffawed and leant back in his chair, his piercing pale grey eyes sparkling. Once the laughter had run its course, his face took on a more serious expression.
“You always were damn sharp – straight to the crux of it. And you’re right about it being able to go either way. But in this case, it’s actually a bit of both. There’s a reward, but there’s also another ‘nasty job’ as you so aptly put it.”
He reached over to the table beside him, and produced a folder. From the folder, he withdrew a large sealed document. Sealed with the Prince Regent’s seal, if Geoffrey wasn’t mistaken. Silently, Setford passed it to Geoffrey.
“That’s the reward.”
Geoffrey broke the seal carefully. A minute’s perusal of the document revealed that he was now the owner of a rather large estate, located not too far from Charlton’s country seat, Pendholm Hall. An estate called, apparently, Witherwood Chase. He wondered what it was like. Gifts from Prinny had an alarming potential to come with ‘issues’. Who knew if the estate had been well maintained or not? He may have just been gifted an expensive repair and maintenance bill.
“Do you know anything about it?”
Setford shook his head.
“Nothing at all, beyond the fact that it has reverted to the crown after the previous owner proved treasonous. So you may find interesting things within its walls. And that’s the ‘nasty job’ bit. We are not at all sure that we have all of the conspirators in the treason. So, you need to develop a sudden desire to look into your new property – in VERY great detail. I would personally be extremely grateful if you manage to find the papers and other evidence that we believe are hidden there.”
Geoffrey grimaced – digging through dusty cellars and trying to find secret compartments in wainscoting might have amused him when he was a boy, but it certainly wasn’t exactly appealing now! Still, a decent estate wasn’t a gift one received every day. It might even turn out to be a pleasant place. With Charlton’s family nearby, he’d even have good company if he wanted it.
And... far better to spend the next few months, and then the holiday season, in a place of his own, rather than in his miserable brother’s house, watching him bicker with his miserable wife. Alfred’s opinion of what Geoffrey should do with his life stopped at ‘being a good heir and doing everything the way I do’.
Setford watched him carefully, and smiled wryly as the expressions flowed across Geoffrey’s face.
“Yes, I rather thought you’d appreciate having a bolt hole of your own, and a damn good reason to stay there.”
“Astute as ever, sir. I just hope it’s not quite a crumbling ruin – this ‘reward’ doesn’t happen to come with any convenient cash, to help deal with any repairs needed, does it?”
Setford lau
ghed again.
“A gift from Prinny, that came with money?? Surely you know better!”
Geoffrey sighed, and went back to the excellent coffee.
~~~~~
Five sennights later.
Lady Harriet Edgeworth arrived in the morning room at Pendholm Hall like a whirlwind (which was not an uncommon occurrence...). Her brother looked up with an amused smile on his face. Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm, was quite used to his sister’s tendency to be all energy – behaving like a good little society miss was challenging for her at the best of times, and here at Pendholm Hall, where they had grown up, she simply didn’t try most of the time.
The two dogs lying by the hearth looked up, their sleep disturbed by her arrival, but, after a few thumps of their tails, they settled back to rest.
“Did you have a good ride Harriet?”
“Wonderful! Thank you again for buying Moonbeam for me – she is just the best horse that I have ever had! Poor John can barely keep up with me, and Miss Carpenter quite refuses to ride with me anymore.”
Charlton knew that the last statement was the most important to Harriet. His sister’s long-suffering companion had never been much of a rider, and Harriet had been making her life miserable by causing her to ride as often as possible during the last year.
“Where did you ride to today?” Lady Pendholm asked her daughter, smiling at her exuberance.
Harriet’s face took on an expression which could be described as ‘false innocence’, if one was to be uncharitable.
“Oh, just across the park to the river near Witherwood Chase.” Whilst her tone of voice was casual, the whole effect was spoilt by the blush that coloured Harriet’s cheeks. Her mother’s eyes sparkled with a mischief that made it quite obvious where Harriet’s volatile demeanour came from.
“It’s a lovely ride, isn’t it? You didn’t, perchance, happen to see Lord Geoffrey did you? I wanted to invite him to dinner tomorrow.”
Harriet’s blush deepened, to a colour that was not exactly flattering against her dark gold hair. Her family teased her about her interest in Lord Geoffrey. They were sure that she would grow out of it. She was equally sure that she would not. It was not a childish infatuation, not at all.
She had decided, when she had first met him, just after he had heroically saved her brother and mother’s lives, as well as the lives of four other people, that he was wonderful. He looked like the hero he was.
And he was going to be her hero. No matter how long it took for her to convince him.
Whilst she had been the toast of the Season earlier in the year, and had been flattered by the attention of a large number of eligible gentlemen, she had not wanted to marry any of them. She had shuddered at the thought. She knew what she wanted, and she planned to get it.
“He did ride by, in the distance. Unfortunately he didn’t see me.” She sighed in disappointment, firmly telling herself that he had NOT ignored her, that he simply hadn’t seen her. “So you’ll have to send a footman over with a message to invite him.”
Watching Harriet’s eyes light up at the thought of Lord Geoffrey coming to dinner, her mother had a hard time not laughing. But it really wouldn’t do to belittle her daughter’s tendre for the man – that would, of a certainty, only make her more stubborn.
“I will do so this morning.”
Harriet produced a large smile at her mother’s words, and whirled out of the room again, to change from her riding habit to a gown suitable for luncheon.
Lord Geoffrey’s first sight of Witherwood Chase had not been inspiring. The gates were uneven and looked not to have been shut for a very long time, the drive was rutted so badly that he feared for the wheels of his carriage, and the winter bare trees that lined it did nothing to improve the prospect.
The house itself was larger than he might have expected – a graceful and well-proportioned H shape, where the side wings enclosed a formal garden and a grand approach to the porticoed entry at the front. Between the wings at the rear was a terrace onto a once elegant herb and scent garden, which was protected from the elements by a decorative wall between the ends of the wings. An impressive four stories of windows had looked down on him as he alighted from his carriage and approached the doors.
Everything had shown signs of some recent neglect, but not so much as he had feared might be the case. He had discovered, upon his arrival, that the property had come with staff – a point which had not been mentioned in the missive granting him ownership.
The staff (a butler of a rather venerable age, a housekeeper, an estate manager, two footmen, a cook, two maids and two grooms, plus a gardener) had responded to his arrival with courtesy, but obvious suspicion. Now, a month later, as Christmas approached, that had at least faded to them treating him with cordial distance. That suspicion and distance was not aiding his investigations one bit.
He had added another two footmen, and a valet, to his staff – men who came well recommended, via Baron Setford, and who had skills and knowledge not commonly found in footmen or valets – which they took great care not to reveal to the other staff. The house had also seen a continuing parade of persons in the business of providing various types of repairs, cleaning services, furniture supply and restoration, and more. The costs were rather alarming, but the ledgers presented by the estate manager had at least given him hope that the place might actually be capable of funding itself, with a little attention to the tenant farmers.
That realisation had led to a round of visits to the village, and all of the tenant’s cottages, to assess what repairs would be needed, and to start the long process of building their trust. It was increasingly obvious that the previous owner, apart from having been foolish enough to commit treason, had never been a very likeable man, and had never put the slightest effort into caring about those whose work generated much of his income. Geoffrey hoped that, eventually, the tenants would trust him enough to actually reveal exactly what they had so disliked about the previous master of Witherwood Chase.
On this particular day, Geoffrey had just returned from checking on the repairs to various farmers’ cottages. He was well pleased with progress, as the fact that their cottages had been restored to a weatherproof state, before the worst of winter, had led to a markedly more positive attitude from the farmers and their families.
The day was brisk, and the early snow had partly melted in the weak sunlight. He had enjoyed being out and moving, as he always did. At one point, in the distance near the small river that bounded one side of his land, he had seen Lady Harriet riding that quality grey mare that Charlton had bought her a few months ago. He had admired her seat, and, if he was honest, her fine figure, from a distance, but had carefully pretended not to notice her. However attractive the chit was, she was only eighteen, and the sister of one of his closest friends – definitely not a girl that he should be getting interested in!
Handing Rajah to the waiting groom and leaving the horse to his well-earned rub down, Geoffrey took himself inside, via the kitchen door – why walk all the way around the house in the cold and the sleet which had begun to fall? Cook gave him her best disapproving look, glaring at the small trail of wet slush left on the floor from his boots. He swept her a somewhat mocking bow.
“I must apologise, Mrs Chester, for trailing mud in here. But I quite refuse to freeze for any longer than necessary. I am certain that the maid can manage to deal with it expeditiously.”
Her expression suggested that his frivolous attitude was unsuitable for a Lord, but she said nothing of it, simply turning back to the preparation of what looked like a sumptuous meal.
As he stepped into the hall, on his way to his study to warm up with a glass of good brandy in front of the fire, his butler intercepted him.
“Good afternoon, my Lord. A letter has just been delivered for you.” Barnstable proffered the letter on an aged and elegant silver salver.
“Thank you, Barnstable.” Geoffrey swept the letter up as he continued towards the study,
determinedly ignoring Barnstable’s rather pointed look at the final drips of muddy snow which had fallen from his boots onto the patterned marble floor. This having a collection of staff was still a strange experience. So many years of looking after himself during the war had made him unused to needing others, or paying any heed to their fussiness.
Still, there were some advantages – such as the excellent meals that Mrs Chester produced each day. Brandy in hand, he dropped into his favourite chair with a sigh, and brought his attention to the letter. It was addressed simply ‘Lord Geoffrey’ in a hand which he recognised. He wondered what Lady Sylvia wished of him.
Opening it, he smiled. It was, for a letter from a member of the ton, utterly short and to the point. It invited him to dine with Lady Sylvia and her family, at Pendholm Hall, the following day. A relaxing, and likely entertaining, evening in Charlton’s company was definitely appealing.
Lady Sylvia was also an excellent conversationalist, and a pleasure to speak with, as she was intelligent, and not afraid to have opinions. The only thing which gave him a moment’s pause was knowing that it would also be an evening spent in Lady Harriet’s company.
Since the unfortunate incidents of early in the year, when he had been forced to dispose of some ruffians to save the lives of a number of people, including Charlton and his mother, Lady Harriet had conceived a vision of him as some sort of hero. Which idea rather horrified him. He was certain that she harboured a tendre for him, and he found dealing with her somewhat obvious regard difficult. Especially as the girl was so damned attractive!
So be it. He would not let the chit’s obsession with making him out as a ‘hero’ stop him from spending time with Charlton. Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm, was, like Lord Geoffrey, one of a group of six men who had, during their service in France and Spain, come to be called ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ for their tenacious ability to sniff out French spies and troop movements, and deal with them. For all of those years, they had been closer than family – each owed the others his life, multiple times over. Geoffrey was overwhelmingly glad that Witherwood Chase was so close to Pendholm Hall.
Being Lady Harriet's Hero: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 4) Page 1
