The Obscure Duchess of Godwin Hall: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

“Good night, Miss Swanson,” he said, bowing to the lady with as much politeness as he could muster. “I pray that you will forgive me for turning to my bed at this moment. I am much tired by all the excitement of this evening.”

  “Not at all, Lord Andrew.” Miss Swanson met his bow with a curtsey of her own. “I hope that the situation may be much improved in the morning.”

  Andrew nodded. He wished, rather than believed, that might be the case. He knew that it would take a great deal more than his mere wishes to call off an engagement or change his father’s will.

  He grimly made his way through the great gallery of the house and to his bedchamber, a candelabra lighting his way and his favorite hound at his feet. Perhaps it is time to rely on something more useful than mere wishes to improve this circumstance.

  Chapter 13

  Charles stood on the terrace, allowing the cloud of smoke from his pipe to imbibe him with a sense of calm that he did not truly feel.

  He was agitated. He had been agitated since the moment that Rebecca had stepped down from her carriage, and he had seen the look in her eyes when she caught sight of him. It was a look of clear misery and, worst of all, a look of disappointment.

  It was a look that Charles recognized perfectly well, having often seen it on his father’s countenance.

  He just did not understand what it was that Rebecca had to be disappointed about. By all accounts, Godwin Hall was the finest house in the whole of the north of England. There would be balls and parties and dresses and diversions, and everything else that he understood young ladies desired.

  Furthermore, it was not as if he intended to be anything other than an attentive husband. He had been devoted to Rebecca for a long time. At least, he had been devoted to her since his father had informed him of their betrothal. Ever since then, he had looked feverishly forward to the moment that he would possess this beautiful, clever and accomplished young woman as his wife.

  His brother was the problem, of that he was certain. Without Andrew to create trouble, he was sure that Rebecca would have fallen quickly into the role of an eager, compliant fiancée. It was only Andrew and his customary disruption that had caused things to be otherwise.

  He fell to wondering what pretense he might be able to come up with to send Andrew away until the wedding. His brother would stand as groomsman on the day itself, of course, but there was no other reason why Charles should have to endure his presence until then.

  Andrew would know what his brother was about, of course, but that would not matter, as long as he was gone.

  He was interrupted from his reverie by the sound of a door closing further down the terrace. He looked in the direction of the sound to see Rebecca’s friend, Miss Swanson, walking toward him.

  Charles sighed. Attempting to change Rebecca’s mind about the wedding was taking up much of his time, and he did not wish to pass his remaining time making conversation with this little nobody, Miss Swanson.

  He had never liked the girl, that was the truth. He had never understood those intimate friendships that existed between women, and he felt them to be exclusive and unhealthy. He felt that he would have to make sure that Miss Swanson was dispatched with as soon as the wedding was over.

  Where would she go? He knew not, nor did he care. He supposed that the Earl might be able to set her up in some little cottage or another. Or perhaps she could be a governess to her betters. Charles was always irritated by the way that a woman like Miss Swanson allowed the charity of others to elevate them as imposters into good society. Far better that they make themselves useful at the service of others.

  The size of his esteem for Miss Swanson was reflected in the manner of his bow as he greeted her. She for her part smiled.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  He observed that her smile in isolation was quite pretty, but that it somehow did not render the rest of her face so.

  “Miss Swanson.” He was about to resume his smoking and his silence, reasoning that there was no sense in surrendering his chance for reflection to a distraction as minor as Miss Swanson. But then he reconsidered, realizing that now was an opportunity to ask Miss Swanson how he might better fall into her friend’s — that is, into his fiancée’s — good favor.

  “Lady Rebecca has already retired?”

  She smiled demurely. “She is much tired from all the traveling and excitement of the day.”

  “I hope that she shall be well refreshed in the morning,” he responded, doing his best to ensure that his tone was light and jovial.

  “Indeed.” She smiled again and turned back to the lawn. “The smell of the roses at Godwin Hall is quite wonderful in the night air, Your Grace.”

  “Hmm?” Charles frowned in confusion at the sudden change of subject, before taking in a good sniff of the night air. “Oh… yes, I suppose it is.”

  Flowers. Perhaps that was the solution. He made a note to instruct the servants to fill Rebecca’s apartment with roses. He was not sure what kind of flowers were her favorite, but he had a vague notion that she was fond of flowers. Of nature in general. Woods, hills, long walks, those sorts of things have always seemed to please her.

  “What are Lady Rebecca’s favorite flowers?” he asked Miss Swanson. She blinked, her countenance appearing a little simple in her apparent confusion. He realized that he had directed the question in imperious fashion, and perceived that the way to Rebecca’s heart might well be through this odd creature, Miss Swanson.

  I would do well to get her on my side.

  “I mean, I am sure that a friend as esteemed by Lady Rebecca as you are knows all sorts of little things about her tastes and preferences that are quite beyond the understanding of most gentlemen.”

  He knew that his expression was a little florid and that he was overcompensating, but Miss Swanson did not seem disturbed. Rather, she brightened, realizing that he was asking her if he might enlist her help.

  “Oh, she is very fond of lilies,” she replied. “But I must add that as a general rule she prefers wildflowers to anything that can be picked in the hothouse. And on the whole, of course, she prefers to make up her bouquets herself.”

  Charles could have cursed her. His idea of plying Rebecca with roses seemed to fall apart beneath her innocently-made comments, and he was back to having no ideas at all. He was certain that whatever Miss Swanson knew held the key to Rebecca’s heart, and he realized that he was going to have to work harder to befriend this little companion, as unappealing as the prospect was to him.

  He held out his arm to her to invite her to walk with him along the terrace, and she took it with obvious pleasure. He supposed that she did not get many opportunities to walk and talk with gentlemen like him.

  “Miss Swanson,” he said, looking down at her magnanimously. “It makes me most uneasy that you are a guest in my house, and the dearest friend of my future wife, yet I know so little about you. Will you do me the honor of telling me a little about yourself?”

  “There’s little to tell,” came the reply, in the strangely world-weary tone that he had heard Miss Swanson use once or twice before. “I do not know whom my parents are, or even if their name really is Swanson at all.”

  So the little companion is the natural daughter of some ignominious tradesman, Charles thought grimly, making a show of looking at Miss Swanson attentively in order to conceal his musings. Well, that scarcely comes as a surprise, but it does confirm my belief that she is an inappropriate companion for my wife. I will have her dispatched as soon as I am able.

  “I attended boarding school until I was fifteen years old,” Miss Swanson continued. “The Earl’s brother was my protector, though he was not, I must confess, the most attentive of guardians. However, I could never speak ill of him, as it was through him that I was introduced to dear Rebecca.”

  The story was so dull to Charles that he was not sure if he had actually heard it before, or if it was so predictable that it seemed as though it were already familiar to him.

  H
e could imagine it clearly, two young girls, each starved of companionship, each longing for friendship so intensely that they became bosom friends with the first young girl of their age that they spent much time with.

  Or at least, that was what he hoped. He was concerned that Rebecca’s intimacy with Miss Swanson demonstrated a predilection on her part for forming friendships with a lower type of person. He hoped sincerely that this was not the case, and reassured himself that when they were married Rebecca would be exposed only to the right sort of people.

  “What a charming story,” he said aloud. “And you have been dearest friends ever since?”

  Miss Swanson nodded, then smiled at him a little coyly. “Of course sir. Although I must own that I have been somewhat dismayed by Rebecca’s response to the prospect of your impending marriage. It seems that she does not recognize how wonderfully fortune has treated her in this matter.”

  Pleased to be vindicated by none other than Rebecca’s closest friend, Charles laughed indulgently and patted the hand that was threaded through the crook of his arm. He saw Miss Swanson blush at the touch, and realized that this was just another kind of attention girls like her were not accustomed to receiving.

  “My future wife needs only a little time to accustom herself to the prospect of our marriage,” he said, enjoying the strengthening feeling that the bravado gave him. “Given time, I believe that she will find Godwin Hall a very pleasant place to live and myself a faithful and attentive husband.”

  Miss Swanson did not say anything, and he could not read her face in the dark, but this emboldened him to continue.

  “Has Lady Rebecca ever expressed to you any small attention that she might pleasurably receive from a gentleman?” He gave Miss Swanson his most appealing look, thinking that her natural feminine tender-heartedness was likely to enlist her in support of his endeavors.

  But his beliefs had been misplaced, he realized, when she abruptly let go of his arm and turned to face him.

  “Why should you concern yourself with winning her favor?” Miss Swanson asked. It struck Charles that her voice was rather petulant. “Is it not for her to see for herself how fortunate she is to be betrothed to you?”

  She stopped at once as if remembering where she was. When she continued, her voice was far more restrained.

  “I would not have you believe that I envy Rebecca her happy situation, Your Grace,” she said. “It is only that I should consider myself blessed beyond measure to hold her situation in life.”

  You are correct in that estimation. Rebecca is loved and desired by all who see her and has the added happiness of being betrothed to me. I cannot believe that any man will ever wish to make you his wife.

  “I have seen enough of your conduct to know that you could never experience emotion as base as envy, Miss Swanson,” he said, patting her hand again and this time letting his hand rest upon hers. “Your humility and honesty do you great credit.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Miss Swanson replied. Charles noted that her voice sounded a little deflated as if she had been disappointed by something.

  “If our situations were different,” Charles continued, realizing that he was getting carried away in the task of flattering Miss Swanson for his own gain and not much caring, “I should consider you as fine a prospect as any in England for a bride. But you see,” here he flashed her what he thought was probably a debonair smile, “I am an engaged man.”

  “Of course,” Caroline breathed. Charles felt the unfamiliar but unmistakable sensation that here was a woman who was hanging onto his every word. He had to own that he enjoyed the novelty of the experience.

  Had he been a more sensible young man, he might have reminded himself that it likely had little to do with Miss Swanson’s personal feelings toward him, and everything to do with the headiness that a young lady might justifiably feel when taken into intimacy by a man socially far above her.

  But Charles Godwin was not a terribly sensible young man.

  “I hope that I might rely upon you to help me in my efforts to establish a happy and harmonious relationship with my fiancée?” As he said this, he gave a light squeeze of the hand on which his own was resting. In the dark, he could hear Miss Swanson catching her breath.

  The poor simple creature is quite taken in by me. Well, hopefully, I shall be able to exert a similar effect on her friend.

  Even as he found himself thinking this, he was struck by a small pang of shame. After all, Rebecca had been a great friend of his for many years, and he had no wish to trick her nor to make her do anything that she did not want to do.

  He had no wish to do either of those things… and yet….

  Chapter 14

  Rebecca could not sleep.

  It was not that she was not extremely tired. Indeed, she had scarcely been more tired in her life, both from the journey and from the strain of having to play the part of the happy fiancée, however half-heartedly.

  Now that she had been liberated from her dinner dress, jewels and corsets, she was at least able to breathe easily. She seated herself on the window-seat in her bedroom and looked out across the lawn.

  Upon occasion, someone would open a door from the house, and the house and a golden shape would be thrown upon the grass, with the silhouette of a footman or one of the dinner party. But for the most part, the night was completely dark.

  I suppose that at least seems like an accurate depiction of what my life will be like here.

  But then she was ashamed. Though she could not think of a single good thing about being married to Charles, she despised the kind of person who indulged in self-pity.

  She knew rationally that the behavior that Charles had been exhibiting since she had arrived was a combination of grief and swagger, partly prompted by the death of his father and partly to demonstrate his dominance to Andrew who had always been the more well-favored of the two brothers.

  The truth was that she felt for Charles. Since she had developed an albeit childish notion of what love was, she had suspected that he had been in love with her. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, she had suspected that he had believed himself in love with her.

  Charles was not the sort of person who she felt to be capable of real love. He was sentimental but ultimately unfeeling, and too concerned with what everyone else thought of him to entirely give himself over to any strong feeling.

  Nonetheless, he had demonstrated a sort of devotion toward her, his young friend, for the entirety of his adolescence. Later, when he considered himself a man and she was merely a girl, he had changed and rather snubbed her, but as soon as she had come out, he had reverted to a newer manifestation of his previous attentions.

  That was all to say, she could see that Charles had convinced himself that he had got that which he had always longed for and that everything would be perfect from now on.

  And could she really fault him for that? She realized now that she had always admired Andrew with a youthful devotion that was not altogether dissimilar to that which Charles exhibited.

  Andrew, in return, had always been rather critical of her.

  When she cried in exasperation that she did not understand her lessons, he had always teased her, insisting that she could do better than she believed if she would only stop being so feeble. It had been Andrew who had convinced her that she was equal to the strength of the finest horses in her father’s stable. It was Andrew who, when she was presented at court for her coming out, had looked at her dress with good-humored derision and said, ‘Isn’t this all rather fussy for you, Rebecca?’

  That was to say, it had always been Andrew who had made her feel the most like herself. But now, when she was going to have to play the part of a dutiful fiancée and later that of a wife, feeling like herself was less of liberation and more of a burden.

  Chapter 15

  The whole party rose late the following morning, each for different reasons. Rebecca had sat awake on her window seat, staring out at the moonlit park. Andrew
had attempted to read for most of the night, during which time he cursed the inadequacy of the candlelight, the content of the book, and the noise of the night’s wind.

  That is to say, he did everything he could to try not to think about Rebecca.

  “Good morning, brother,” Charles greeted Andrew as the latter arrived at the breakfast table. “I am sorry to see that you do not appear much refreshed by your slumber.”

  Andrew guessed that his brother was referring to the dark circles that he had discerned under his eyes in the looking glass a few minutes before. He gave a curt noise that conveyed nothing in particular, and then signaled to the butler to pour him some hot chocolate.

  “My future wife is making arrangements for her trousseau today,” Charles continued smoothly.

  Andrew did his best not to hear him over the noise of the coffee being poured. Is there anything more maddening than my brother’s facial expression? It is surely the obsession with trousseau that seems to be shared by everyone currently under the roof of Godwin Hall.