Redeeming the Marquess: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 6)

by Arietta Richmond

  The letter had been written by Oliver and brought to the chambermaid that very evening, by her sister who worked at the Inn, for delivery into Georgiana’s hand. A moment later, she had to seek the support of her bed as she sat down to read the missive again and digest its importance.

  “Lady Georgiana,

  First and foremost, I must abjectly beg your forgiveness. I apologise profoundly for departing Canterwood Park without tendering to you an explanation. Given the Duke’s direct order to leave his house, I found myself unable to delay. Honour and polite behaviour bound me to obey his order on the instant.

  I cannot fault Rotherhithe for his actions in bidding me depart, for he was not present in the hallway to see or hear the events which led to my rather precipitate actions.

  Therefore, it was understandable that he believed the lies he was told.

  Yes, lies. I beg that you read on, and allow me to explain myself. I had settled myself on the chair in the hall, to brace myself a moment before joining the gentlemen in the Study. I was not looking forward to another evening as the target of their crude comments. As I sat there, a few of the men walked down the hall, conversing.

  They were discussing you, in a manner which I found most impolite and offensive. The men doing most of the talking were Bentwick and Eggmorton. It was obvious to me that they had imbibed rather more of the Duke’s fine wine and brandy than was, perhaps, wise, and that the drink had loosened their tongues.

  I do not wish to shock or hurt you, but I believe it only fair that you know the truth of what they said.

  They spoke spitefully, impugning your character and mocking what they claimed was your lack of manners. The Earl, in particular, made rather crude comments, to the effect that he would marry you, but only for the prize of your inheritance, for he declared, he would rather bed a common tavern girl than you, dear Lady Georgiana.

  He described you as a wilful wench, a headstrong mare who should be whipped into obedience, for she behaved more like a stallion than a broodmare – which was all that a good wife should be.

  They spoke on, becoming cruder and nastier as they went, until I could bear it no longer. How dare they speak so of you! For them, behaving as they were, to speak of you as having no manners was the darkest of humour to hear.

  I simply could not stand by and hear such a buffoon, in silken breeches and a collar so high he could barely turn his head, besmirch you so.

  I know that I am not a fit man to be a suitor for your hand, and that, therefore, I have no true right to be the defender of your honour, yet I could not bear to let it pass.

  I do, most humbly apologise for interfering, but I simply could not allow it to pass. I stepped forth from the corner where I sat, and called upon the Earl to cease his foolish, untrue and offensive remarks.

  He looked down his nose at me, and laughed in my face, calling me a crude peasant, then had the poor judgement to swing a fist at me.

  I should have simply pushed it aside, for his inebriated state meant that he was not very accurate in his swing, but my reflexes took over.

  I have, in the past, had need to defend myself, and my reactions were faster than my thoughts. I felled him with a solid punch to the jaw. Eggmorton then attempted to lay me out, with a punch from behind, and again, without though, I dealt with him in a similar manner. The fools lay on the floor wailing, and I stood, frozen with horror at what I had done, yet unable to truly regret it, as it was done in your defence.

  At that moment, the Duke entered the hall, hearing the sounds of our altercation, and wrongly deduced that I had initiated the impromptu boxing bout. The other gentlemen, outraged to see two of their number laid low by a poorly dressed outsider, outbid one another in their loud condemnation, accusing me of starting the fight and demanding that the Duke set the dogs on me. If I had attempted to deny them, it would have been impossible – they would have claimed that I lied, and who would believe a paupered outsider over the cream of the ton?

  So, at the Duke’s stern behest, I reluctantly left the great house in disgrace.

  I want to make absolutely clear to you, Lady Georgiana, that I only acted in defence of your honour and reputation. I could not bear the thought that you might think ill of me for my actions.

  I am not proud of the violent manner in which I acted, yet I saw no other option in the moment.

  I am, and always will be, your devoted servant, my Lady. And, should I be able to assist you in any way, I beg that you call upon me. I would face any disapprobation of the nobility in service to your honour.

  Yours, always,

  Oliver Kentworthy,

  Marquess of Dartworth”

  Georgiana let the letter drop into her lap. She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. As the tears sprang from her eyes she could not be entirely sure if they came from sadness or from joy. Or from both.

  The Ball was drawing to a close when Georgiana finally emerged from her room. She had spent some time alternating between tears and laughter, her heart immeasurably lighter with the evidence that she had not, after all, so badly misjudged Oliver. In fact, she was feeling rather guilty about doubting him – she would need to apologise to him, when next she saw him – as she was determined to do, at the earliest opportunity.

  She was feeling more composed now, although very angry at the insults and injustices that had taken place beneath the Duke’s roof. The Earl of Bentwick had blackened her name and had compounded the injury by accusing Oliver of striking him without cause or provocation. If she had been a man, she would have taken a stout riding crop and whipped the young Earl for his falsehoods, or, better still, called him out in a duel. She would have boxed his ears and given him a sound thrashing. In the circumstances, he had escaped lightly with just a solid punch to the jaw and the indignity of being knocked to the floor.

  Now that she had wiped the tears from her face, and made herself presentable, Georgiana ran, in a whirl of lace and petticoats, to find her sister.

  Cordelia had spent evening dancing with almost every gentleman in the room. All of the nobility present had wanted to honour the soon-to-be Duchess of Rotherhithe by seeking her hand for a dance. Cordelia had relished every moment, revelling in the chance to show off her accomplishments as a finely tutored dancing partner. The Duke had spent the evening smiling broadly, proud to see his future bride’s grace and beauty and knowing that many a man would envy him for his good fortune in wedding such a fine woman. He nodded at her as she passed his chair, whirling gracefully by with an elderly Marquess. Cordelia was born to the role. She was born to be a Duchess. Philip raised his glass of punch to her as she looked over the Marquess’ stooped shoulder and smiled at her future husband.

  As she took a welcome break and thought about how sore her poor feet were after a whole evening on the dance floor, Cordelia looked up and saw Georgiana standing alone in the grand doorway. She looked different this time, no longer troubled and sad, as she had looked earlier in the evening, worrying Cordelia. When Miss Millpost had informed Cordelia that Georgiana had fled to her room, she had not known whether to be relieved, or even more worried. She had not expected Georgie to return to the Ball.

  Cordelia recognised the look on her face now. Georgiana was angry. She was holding something in her hand. A paper. A letter perhaps, and she signalled to her sister that she needed to speak to her. Outside the ballroom.

  Cordelia curtsied to the Duke and asked permission to leave the ballroom for a few minutes to get some fresh air. The Duke laughed and implored her to return as quickly as possible for she was the sun that lit up the room and she would be leaving her poor guests in the miserable darkness of her absence. Cordelia smiled as she turned towards the doorway and quickly left the warm, stuffy, candlelit room behind her. Georgiana was waiting for her in the corridor. There was a fire in her eyes and a firmness in her jaw that spoke of a terrible, seething anger.

  “Sister, what on earth has possessed you? You look as if you a
re ready to declare war upon the whole world!”

  Georgiana proffered the letter.

  “Read this and learn what could bestir me to so intense an anger.”

  Cordelia found a small, silk-covered chair next to a bright candelabra and sat to rest her weary feet and read the letter.

  “My dear, this is from the Marquess Dartworth. How did he contrive to deliver a letter to this house when the Duke has forbidden him entrance?”

  “Never mind how he spirited the letter into the house, Cordelia. Read what he has to say.”

  Cordelia’s mouth opened and her jaw became slack as she digested the words. Her eyes moved across the well-formed characters and then her mouth tightened. She whispered the single word “Scoundrel!” even before she had finished the letter. She looked up at Georgiana. There were tears in her eyes. “You have been wronged, my dear. Grievously and unpardonably wronged.”

  Georgiana inclined her head in agreement.

  “So, you can understand now why my temper has been so roused, can you not?”

  “It’s a ghastly situation and we must inform Philip of this development at the earliest opportunity.”

  Georgiana nodded, fully aware that all decisions would ultimately rest in the hands of the Duke.

  “But we cannot disturb him with this news tonight. The Ball is almost over and we must leave him to play the gracious host until everyone has retired for the night. This news must wait until morning, my darling. Can you be patient and wait until breakfast?”

  With another nod of the head, Georgiana accepted the wisdom of her sister’s counsel. It would be rash to disturb the Duke in the midst of the celebrations. Better indeed to wait until the morning when clear heads and fresh coffee would aid in finding the best way forward.

  Cordelia stood, wincing slightly from the tenderness of her feet and leaned forward to embrace her sister.

  “You are in pain, Cordelia?”

  “I have discovered that not every gentleman is dainty enough with his footwork to avoid stepping on my toes! But it’s nothing. Now away to bed with you, and let us resolve to deal with this matter first thing in the morning.”

  Georgiana returned her sister’s kiss and watched as she stepped lightly back into the ballroom, a gracious smile upon her pretty face, a perfect mask to disguise both her pain and her concern for her sister’s future.

  As she turned to return to her room, Georgiana felt her agitation slip away – if Cordelia could present a calm and gracious face until morning, so could she. At least now there was hope. Hope that she might not be doomed to a life with the Earl, at the very least, for, surely, after this revelation, the Duke would not force her to marry the odious man!

  No one could be sure how the Duke would react to the letter’s contents, but he prided himself upon being a man of fairness and honour, and Georgiana prayed that he would cleave to both virtues when he had the chance to read Oliver’s letter in the light of day. Georgiana was only too aware that her entire future depended on it.

  In spite of the stresses and excitements of the day, Georgiana slept deeply and well. No dreams came to disturb her rest and she awoke with the morning birdsong and felt as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. It was entirely possible that the Duke might not believe Oliver’s version of events, but he would be duty bound to discover the truth. She found that notion deeply reassuring.

  The Duke had risen early to take a small group of friends out into the fields with his prized falcons and he returned in excellent spirits. The sport gave him a healthy appetite and he was keen to break his fast with Cordelia at his side in the breakfast room.

  As he sipped his coffee with eyes closed and a deep appreciation of the beverage’s delicate flavours, Cordelia gently touched his arm and begged leave to show him something of importance.

  The Duke opened his eyes and frowned at her.

  “What is of such import that it needs to be seen before I have finished breaking my fast, my dear?”

  “A letter, Philip. From the Marquess of Dartworth. A letter that you should read, regardless of what you think of the man.”

  “A letter from Dartworth, you say? What’s this all about, my dear? You know the man’s a scoundrel and a rogue. Is he begging for money? Hah! Nothing would surprise me less.”

  Cordelia passed the letter to her future husband.

  “Philip, I would urge you to read what he has to say and reserve judgement until you have had seen what he has to say. And no, he is not begging for money. You will see that there is no advantage in this for him.”

  The Duke coughed lightly to display his evident scepticism, but he took the letter nonetheless, and began to peruse it, the bone china coffee cup poised halfway between lip and saucer. Within a few moments, the Duke frowned, pursing his lips and his face began to darken. He placed the cup carefully onto its saucer. He said nothing for a full two minutes. Then he summoned a footman with a hand gesture and told him to present his complements to the Earl of Bentwick, who was still sleeping after a surfeit of fine wine and cognac, and to invite him to attend upon the Duke in his study at ten that very morning. The Duke waved to another footman who hurried across to the table.

  “Martin. Take a horse and ride post haste to the Bell and Whistle Inn and present my complements to the Marquess of Dartworth, who is lodging there. Ask him to attend upon me as my guest at the house this morning at ten. And make sure he understands that I mean ten of the hour and not a minute later.”

  The footman bowed and hurried off to the stables to find a fast mount.

  Calling for yet another footman, the Duke asked that Baron Setford and Baron Tillingford be requested to attend upon him at nine of the morning. He owed Setford an apology, it seemed. Best get that out of the road first. Setford was a good man to have at your back, and would be of great assistance in ensuring that the truth was discovered. As would young Tillingford, he suspected, from what Setford had said of him. There were not many men that Setford treated with that sort of respect.

  “Well my dear, we shall soon get to the bottom of this affair, and woe betide the man who has brought shame and lies into my house, whatever his rank and station may be!”

  The Duke was about to leave the table, but Cordelia once more touched his sleeve and begged him to remain. “Philip, I fear that I have spoiled your appetite, and I ask your forgiveness. Pray stay with me a while longer and feed your strength. Coffee alone cannot sustain you! This injustice cannot go unrecognised. You will need something more substantial to fortify you for the events that seem likely to unfold.”

  The Duke could not help but smile. His future wife was the personification of grace and charm. How could he refuse her? He could see so clearly the love in her eyes.

  “Very well, my dear. You have persuaded me! Let us revive our spirits with a good breakfast and feed the body as your presence feeds my very soul.”

  The footman rode at full speed, all the way to the Inn, which stood at the centre of the small, bustling community and dismounted swiftly, leaving his sweating horse with the ostler.

  He removed his hat as he strode into the tavern, stamping his boots to warm his feet and give notice to the landlord that a visitor was waiting to be served.

  “And what can we do for you on this fine March morning, young Martin?”

  The innkeeper was a cheerful man, who had known Martin since he was a boy – and still rather saw him as one.

  “I’ll take a quart of ale, if you please, and would you send to the Marquess of Dartworth for I have a message for him from His Grace, the Duke.”

  The footman was halfway through his jug of ale when Oliver descended the stairs and asked why he had been disturbed. Martin relayed the Duke’s message, impressing upon him how much importance the Duke had placed upon his timely attendance.

  Oliver knew better than to ask further questions, as he was sure that the servant would be unlikely to be able to answer.

  “My compliments to the Duke, and please inform him that I wi
ll be honoured to attend upon his pleasure at the stroke of ten.”

  The footman nodded, and drained his ale before heading out to his horse to ride back to the great house.

  “Landlord? Do I have time for a hearty breakfast before I leave for the Duke’s? You never know when such a meal may be a man’s last!”

  Oliver spoke lightly, but his humour was underlaid with an element of true concern.

  The landlord nodded with a knowing look, all too aware of the capricious nature of many of the nobility, men who held the power of life and death over their tenants and others at times, simply because of the accident of their birth.

  “Aye, Sir. A fine breakfast it will be. And if you are not certain of your return, you might want to settle your bill before you leave.”

  Oliver laughed.

  “Of course. I would not leave this world as my father did with more debts than friends!”

  “No offense, my Lord, but I do have a business to run and would surely grieve for you if anything amiss were to befall you. But I shall remember you more fondly when the account has been settled in full.” The landlord smiled as he spoke, to take the potential sting from his words.

  Oliver spilled a few silver coins across the counter and the landlord touched his balding head in appreciation of the gesture.

  “Thank ye most kindly Sir. Now let us give you a fine breakfast to bid you God’s speed and the hope that you may return in as good a health as you departed.”

  ~~~~~

  The footman found both Setford and Gerald to be awake and readied for the day, about to descend to break their fast. They, like the Duke, kept rather earlier hours than most of the nobility.

  Setford merely nodded at the request, and assured the footman that they would present themselves to the Duke at the time that he had named.