“Damn her!” he said, as he looked at the face of his unconscious heir. “Damn her and damn all women! Under the skin they are all exactly alike!”
CHAPTER TWO
The Duke and Major Haverington galloped their horses for over a mile before they pulled them up to a slow trot.
It was still very early in the morning – the sun had not yet dispersed the mist over the river and the dew was heavy on the grass.
Despite the fact that the Duke had not gone to bed until five o’clock, he looked amazingly fit.
After bringing Richard back to Kingswood, he had sent a groom post haste for the local doctor, and, when he arrived, there had been the difficult task of locating the bullet and removing it.
Fortunately Doctor Emerson was a skilled surgeon. He had served in the Army and was therefore experienced in gunshot wounds.
“A fraction of an inch lower, Your Grace,” he said when the operation was over, “and there would have been no hope of saving Mr. Richard.”
“I have been told you can perform miracles, Emerson,” the Duke replied, “and on this occasion I was present at one.”
The doctor however, did not smile at the compliment.
“We are not yet out of the wood,” he said. “Mr. Richard will need very careful nursing, but he is in good health and he has always been so since he was a small boy.”
“That is definitely a point in his favour,” the Duke remarked dryly.
But after everything was over, he had found it difficult to sleep and had lain awake hoping not only that Richard would live, but that Delyth would get her just deserts for bringing him to such a pass.
At the same time, when he related what had happened to Major Haverington while they breakfasted together at seven o’clock, the latter had exclaimed,
“You will have difficulty, Nolan, in getting rid of Lady Delyth. After this has happened, more doors will be closed in her face and only marriage will save her.”
“Do you imagine that I would allow her to marry Richard?” the Duke asked. “It would be over my dead body!”
The Major did not reply, but both men felt as if the threat of Delyth Maulden hung in the air.
Now riding over the fields golden with buttercups that seemed to echo the glory of the sun, the Duke said,
“If Richard lives, I will find him a decent wife.”
“That is exactly the same tone of voice you used to use, Nolan, whenever you said, ‘we will take the enemy position whatever the odds against us!’”
“At least that woman should have cured him of expecting to find happiness with her sort,” the Duke exclaimed savagely.
“However much you may hate her,” Major Haverington replied, “you have to admit that she is beautiful.”
“It is not the sort of beauty I admire,” the Duke retorted.
“Then you are different from every other man in London. Even though I despise her, even though I know exactly how evil her influence can be on younger men, I still have to say that she is beautiful.”
“Stop talking about her,” the Duke stormed. “You have to help me, Bevil, not only to make sure that Richard forgets her, but also to find somebody to put in her place.”
“Are you not being a little premature in your plans for him?”
“I have always believed that the only antidote to one love affair, is another.”
“I suppose that is true,” his friend replied. “But when a man loves as wildly and fervently as Richard loves Lady Delyth, it is going to be hard to divert his interests into another channel.”
“It may be hard, but that is what we have to do,” the Duke added sharply. “As soon as he is convalescent, I will have the right sort of girls to stay.”
Major Haverington did not reply.
He was thinking that in his usual manner the Duke was planning out a campaign, considering every detail and leaving nothing to chance.
It amused him to see him back in his old place of authority, plotting, scheming, going into action in a way that was peculiarly his own.
He wondered if it would be as easy for him to win a victory when he was not concerned with soldiers and their duty to destroy the enemy, but with a man and a woman – and with love.
“I know what you are thinking,” the Duke said sharply, “and make no mistake, Bevil, in this instance, I intend to be the victor.”
“I wish you luck,” Major Haverington said, “but don’t underestimate your adversary.”
“Meaning Delyth Maulden?”
“I was really thinking of Richard’s feelings,” the Major answered. “Delyth may be difficult, but I am certain you will be able to deal with her. What I am finding it impossible to visualise, is somebody who could take her place in that wretched boy’s affections.”
The Duke was silent, then he muttered beneath his breath,
“There must be somebody!”
He was thinking, as he spoke, of women he knew, but however beautiful or glamorous they might be, they would, none of them, be of the slightest use in this particular instance.
To begin with, the majority of them were married, the rest were widows, sophisticated and certainly on the lookout for another husband, but far too old for Richard and not the type of woman he wished to see as the future Duchess of Kingswood.
Feeling as if he was following his friend’s train of thought, the Major remarked,
“Richard is just twenty-one. What you want to find is a girl of eighteen or nineteen.”
“I know,” the Duke agreed. “The extraordinary thing is that I cannot remember when I last spoke to a girl of that age, let alone had any knowledge of her personality or character.”
He saw the Major was smiling and went on,
“Dammit all, do girls of that age have any character? I have a feeling that most of them, when they leave the schoolroom are nit-witted.”
“They learn quickly enough,” the Major said laconically, “and don’t forget that the charmers you now find so alluring were once half-baked schoolgirls, innocent of all the temptations of the wicked world outside.”
The Duke was silent.
The Major had spoken jokingly, but he knew there was truth in what he said.
At the same time, vaguely at the back of his mind, he was forming an image of the sort of girl he wanted his heir to marry.
Someone quiet and gentle, sweet and understanding. Someone who would love Richard for himself and not only make him a charming wife, but be an admirable mother to his children.
Although the idea of what he wanted presented itself to him, he could not put a face to this creature of his imagination and certainly not a name.
“I have a feeling, Nolan,” the Major remarked beside him, “that you will have to start attending the balls that will be given during the Season and peer into the drawing rooms at Buckingham Palace, when the debutantes are presented.”
The Duke groaned audibly and the Major went on in a more serious tone,
“You know as well as I do that the sort of wife you want for Richard will not be found at Carlton House or in the Royal Pavilion at Brighton, and you certainly will not be introduced to her by a member of White’s.”
“Stop needling me!” the Duke ordered.
“As it happens, I am speaking the truth,” the Major said. “At the same time, I am making you understand that your task is not going to be an easy one.”
“I have asked you to help me and you are more likely to find the sort of girl I want than I am. You know that if I am thought to be looking around the marriage market, the ambitious Mamas will be onto me like a pack of wolves!”
That was true enough, the Major agreed, for of all the catches in the matrimonial world, the most important and the most unlikely ever to be ensnared was the Duke of Kingswood.
But that would not prevent every mother hoping fondly that he might take a fancy to her particular chick, and the mere hint that the Duke’s eye was looking in a particular direction would raise forlorn hopes and undoubtedly ensu
re that he never had another moment’s peace.
“I will tell you what I will do, Nolan,” the Major said aloud. “When we go back to London, I will talk to my sister. She is extremely sensible and in fact has a daughter of her own coming out next year.”
“Perhaps she would do for Richard?” the Duke suggested.
“I doubt it,” the Major replied. “Jane is a nice child, but unfortunately she takes after her father and is no beauty.”
“I wonder if Richard would obey me, if I tried to pressurise him into marriage?” the Duke remarked reflectively. “After all, if his father was still alive, an alliance would doubtless have been arranged by now.”
“The modern young woman has become very independent,” the Major replied. “Perhaps it is the result of the war. The Earl of Thame was telling me only a month ago, that his oldest daughter refused, a most advantageous marriage point blank and nothing he could say would alter her decision.”
The Duke laughed.
“Thame said to me,” the Major went on. “‘In my grandfather’s and indeed in my father’s time, she would have been whipped and kept on bread and water until she agreed to do as she was told, but nowadays the girls do as they like!’”
“As you say, it must be the war, but I always understood that a girl obeyed her parents and any rebellious thoughts were soon crushed out of her.”
“You must certainly meet my niece,” the Major laughed. “Jane is a fearless rider to hounds, as are all my sister’s children, and if they are brave in one way, they are brave in another – I have heard her defy her father a dozen times.”
“You had better find someone more pliable,” the Duke said briefly. “I am relying on you, Bevil. Since Richard will take a long time to get back on his feet, he will not be able to escape either the attentions or the attractions of anyone you provide for him.”
“Really, Nolan, you do give me the most impossible tasks!” Major Haverington complained. “I remember you were just the same when we reached France and there was no food and the transport wagons were miles behind.”
“I seem to recall that after a most unmilitary protest to your Commanding Officer,” the Duke said, “you did as you were told and came back from a forage with quite a number of edible animals.”
“I nearly lost my life when I commandeered them from the farmer they belonged to,” Major Haverington retorted. “But fortunately, unlike the French, the English paid for what they took, otherwise I should certainly not be talking to you now!”
“What I am pointing out, is that whatever methods you used, you were successful.”
“Buying a few old cows and some fat pigs is rather different from producing a wife for Richard,” the Major replied, “and let me tell you here and now, you are not going to get what you require.”
“Why should you say that?”
“Because you are asking the impossible!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you want a girl who is innocent, pure, attractive and clever, to make Richard forget a witch, who has cast a spell both on his heart and on his mind.”
“Quite an acceptable summary of my requirements,” the Duke commented briefly. “At least you know what is required.”
“Damn you, Nolan, find her yourself!” Bevil Haverington replied.
He spurred his horse as he spoke and moved ahead while the Duke with a smile, followed him.
The smile however, was undoubtedly cynical, for the Duke was well aware he was in fact asking the impossible.
Even if Richard despised or even loathed Delyth for the way in which she had behaved, that was not to say he would not still yearn after her or that her hold on him was weakened to the point when he no longer wished to see her.
‘He will get over her in time,’ the Duke told himself. But he was not as confident as he might have been where somebody else was concerned.
Richard, who had been brought up by a doting mother and father, was absurdly idealistic.
The Duke was sure that he wrote poetry for Delyth and would have compared her in his mind, not only with Aphrodite, but with every fair Goddess dwelling on Olympus.
There was no denying that she was witty as well as beautiful, talented and intelligent.
It was just unfortunate that the picture was spoilt by a temperament that was as lustful as any man’s, and that purity of either mind or body was a word not included in her particular vocabulary.
“Delyth is not the only woman in the world,” the Duke said when he caught up with the Major.
“Thank God for that!” was the fervent reply.
The two friends rode on, until, as the sun rose and it grew warmer, they turned their horses for home.
They were still a long way from Kingswood when they saw it silhouetted on the horizon, its roofs and towers gleaming in the sunshine, the trees vivid with the green of spring, circling it like a jewel.
“I have often thought,” the Major remarked as he looked at it, “that Kingswood is the most beautiful house in the whole country.”
“I agree with you,” the Duke replied, “but then I presume I am prejudiced.”
“It is too big for one man alone,” the Major went on. “It should be filled with children – your children, Nolan.”
The Duke rode on without speaking and his friend wondered, as he had wondered so often before, what was the secret which had obviously erected a barrier between him and the women who chased after him so ardently.
‘It is not Richard whom we should be worrying about, but Nolan,’ the Major thought. ‘He would surely be happier if he was married.’
His own thoughts startled him because it presupposed that the Duke was not happy. Yet how could he be anything else in view of not only his great possessions, but his personal attributes as a man?
There was no one who rode better, who could drive a four-in-hand with more expertise, who was a better shot with a pistol or could fence on equal terms with the professionals.
Besides all this, the Major knew, although it was an interest he could not share with his friend, that the Duke was a great reader.
Even on the battlefield he had always carried a supply of books with him, and the Major had an idea that, when he wanted to escape from the horrors of war, he could do so because he was concentrating on a book which carried his mind away from present reality.
‘There must be a woman who can share such a taste with him,’ the Major thought.
But even if there was, there was no use in speaking of it. To do so resulted in the Duke’s immediately retreating into his shell and there was a reserve about him which even his closest friends could not penetrate.
They rode on a little further, talking about the spring crops, noting the partridges that had mated and the teal swimming in twos on the stream which ran along the foot of the meadow over which they were riding.
They neared the Home Farm and the Duke remarked,
“I have a good man at the farm now. He is raising a better herd of Jerseys for the house than we have had for a very long time.”
“I would like to see them,” the Major suggested.
“We will go there tomorrow,” the Duke promised. “I think we ought to return now and see how Richard is progressing.”
“Yes, of course,” the Major agreed. “What time is the doctor coming?”
“He said about nine o’clock,” the Duke replied.
There was no doubt from the way he spoke that he was perturbed about the boy and the Major hoped for the Duke’s sake that Richard would survive.
It had been a shock when the Duke told him what had happened. At the same time, he was not surprised. Delyth Maulden’s devastating effect on young men had been certain, sooner or later, to end in tragedy.
“Tomorrow I will also show you the mares I have in foal – ” the Duke was saying.
Then unexpectedly from a barn on the outskirts of the farm a woman came running towards them.
She was waving her arms as if to attract their a
ttention and the Duke reined in his horse as did the Major.
As she came nearer, they saw that she was very young and had fair hair the colour of sunshine. She was obviously a peasant or a milkmaid, for the gown she wore was faded and the skirt was patched.
“I wonder who this is?” the Duke asked as she came nearer.
When she reached the side of his horse, she was breathless and for a moment found it impossible to speak.
Then, as both the Duke and the Major waited, she said earnestly,
“Help – me! Please – help me!”
“What is the matter?” the Duke asked.
As the girl, for she was nothing more, spoke, the Major was aware that she was exceptionally pretty.
Her eyes were very large in a small pointed face and surprisingly, although her hair was fair, her eyelashes were dark, while her eyes instead of being blue, as might have been expected, were the colour of a cloudy sky.
At least that was what they appeared, but it might have been because she was obviously frightened and her pupils were dilated.
“What has happened to you?” the Duke asked.
“It is my father – my father,” she gasped. “He is ill – unconscious. I am afraid – he may have suffered a – stroke!”
The Major noticed that the words were spoken in an educated voice, which he had certainly not expected from the shabby appearance of the speaker.
“Where is your father?” the Duke asked.
“In the barn,” the girl replied. “It is where we – slept last – night.”
“Then let us go and see what we can do for him,” the Duke suggested.
He moved his horse forward and the girl walked beside, him, still struggling to get her breath.
The Major riding behind, realised she was very slender and moved with a grace that was unmistakable.
‘She is certainly not a gypsy,’ he told himself, ‘but who else would wander about the countryside, sleeping in a barn?’
He thought her hair, as she walked beside the Duke, was a colour that most women would envy – it was that which opera dancers unsuccessfully tried to achieve with a dye.
It was not far to the barn and the girl ran ahead of the Duke to pull the door that was ajar, a little wider open.
The Duke & the Preachers Daughter Page 3
