The Duke’s Daughter - Lady Amelia Atherton: A Regency Romance Novel (Heart of a Gentleman Book 3)

by Isabella Thorne

  Patience busied herself with her cake, and took a sip of tea but she didn’t speak. Patience waited and finally Amelia nodded. “Tell me.”

  “The most popular rumor is that your father was involved in some illegal activity, and the shysters got the better of him. That he is or was…” said Patience softly, “fairly flush in the pocket, and the money was paid to protect his name…keep it clear of the activities. When he did not pay…” She trailed off. She did not meet Amelia’s eyes.

  “Someone was blackmailing my father! That’s ridiculous. And he would never be involved in something illegal.” A chill crawled up her back as she thought of the book of cyphers. That certainly hinted at something untoward. No. Not Father.

  “And the second rumor is that he was bankrupted by your spending habits; that you ran up bills at every shop in London.”

  Amelia reddened. “That is ridiculous. Both of them are. Of course I shopped, but it was well within our means, I…”

  Amelia trailed off. She did not know if that was true. Obviously, it had not been within their means, she realized now. But father had never told her…

  “That’s just a fudge, of course,” Patience said. “Even you could not spend enough to bankrupt a duke.”

  “So you believe my father was a criminal?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “What else are they saying?” Amelia asked.

  “That your father’s death was not an accident, either that he killed himself or…”

  “Killed himself? By carriage?” Amelia said aghast.

  “Or that he was murdered by one of the people he owed money to. It is awful, Amelia, the things they say. No one believes them,” Patience insisted.

  But Amelia knew she was wrong. There were many people who believed rumors; not those who loved her father, but there were always people willing to believe the worst. Amelia raised a brow. “No one? Not even Charity?”

  “Well, perhaps Charity. She was always jealous of you, you know.”

  That Charity had nothing to be jealous of now, went unspoken between them.

  “I do not know what is true, Patience,” said Amelia, with a hitch in her voice. “The rumors could be true. Or something worse could be. There is this…” She hesitated. Should she tell Patience about the book? She shook her head. “My uncle has not told me anything, though I have written to him. It makes me fear the worst.”

  “I have heard he is a cold man,” said Patience. She sipped her tea.

  Amelia nodded. “He is nothing like father. I can see why they did not get along.” Her voice softened to a whisper. “I do not think he wants me here.”

  “But what will you do, Amelia?” Patience asked. Her eyes were watery and Amelia felt herself tearing up in response. What was wrong with her?

  “I will do as my Aunt Ebba has recommended and find a husband as soon as possible. It is the only way to get out from under my uncle’s thumb and to prove that this disaster has not ruined me.” Each time she thought of her plan, it strengthened her. “And I will find out what happened to my father, whether or not my uncle will tell me.”

  Patience was shocked, though Amelia could not imagine why, when it was obvious that there were no other options left to her. “A husband? But I thought you did not wish to be married.”

  “What I wish is no longer important, Patience, what I need is. And I need to be married, so I will be.”

  “But is there a man you have in mind?” Patience asked. “I have never seen you take a particular interest in one. Oh, well, except for that Navy man at the ball.”

  Amelia paused with the fork lifted as she remembered dancing with the handsome Commander Samuel Beresford, his awkward steps and witty repartee. He had been so brash, telling Lord Cornishe that he was boring her. Lord Cornishe was boring her, but it was so delightfully rude for the Commander to say so. And so she had danced with him. It was just a lark. She had thought it just a game at the time. After all, Samuel Beresford was below her, a second son, with no great inheritance or title. She was a Duke’s daughter, but now…

  For just a moment she thought of his commanding attitude pitted against her uncle. He would get answers about her father’s death of that she was sure.

  Amelia frowned and dug her fork into the cake, wrenching a bite free. “I did not take a particular interest in that Navy man,” she said. “However, I do have some rather exciting news for you on that account.” Amelia said brightly eager to turn the conversation away from herself and her father. Patience perked up.

  “You do? Is it about the gentleman I saw at the ball? Oh Amelia, how did you have any time to spare for my troubles when you’ve had so many of your own? You are too good a friend.”

  Amelia inclined her head graciously. “You are in luck, because the man you shared smiles with is the eldest son of the Earl of Blackburn. His name is Percival Beresford.”

  Samuel Beresford’s brother she added silently.

  “Percival Beresford,” Patience repeated, her lips curling into a smile. “What a wonderful name.”

  Struck by sudden inspiration, Amelia said, “What if we were to invite Lord Beresford here? I have been so bored; a little gathering would be just the thing. We shall think of some pretense for it. I will ask my Aunt Ebba to help. I know she will. She knows I am positively wilting here with nothing to do. What do you think?”

  “Oh my, I do not know. It seems so sudden, and awfully forward,” said Patience, bringing one hand up to her freckled chest.

  “Nonsense. Men love forward. And he smiled at you, did he not? He is clearly interested,” said Amelia. In truth, she did not have the slightest idea if the man was interested, but she was desperate for a distraction, and just the thought of it made her feel more herself.

  “If you truly think so,” said Patience, breathless.

  “I do,” said Amelia.

  ~.~

  Amelia composed a letter to Aunt Ebba and sent it off straight away. Four days later, they had a response. Patience and Amelia sat down on the sofa to read it, side by side, in front of a fire, as the spring weather had turned rainy and damp. Aunt Ebba was thrilled to hear that Amelia had a friend staying with her, she had been worried about her emotional state, and she would be happy to attend in a chaperone capacity for their little get together. However, and here Patience grabbed hold of Amelia’s hand, she had news that Lord Beresford had taken ill after the last dance, and sequestered himself away at his country estate while his health recovered. She would write to him and inquire as to whether he was well enough for such an excursion.

  “Oh goodness,” said Patience, when Amelia had finished reading the letter aloud. “I cannot believe he is ill. How awful. We cannot have him over; the traveling could cause him to relapse, especially if this damp weather continues.”

  “You are being frantic, Patience,” said Amelia. “It is probably nothing more than a mild sickness, you know how the end of winter brings those on, and Lord Beresford will be grateful to have something to lift his spirits. That will be you!”

  “Are you certain?” Patience asked.

  Amelia tried to resist sighing at Patience nervousness. “Yes, darling, I am certain.”

  Although Patience had done wonders for her own spirits, Amelia was far from certain of Lord Beresford’s feelings, but now that she had a potential distraction at hand she refused to give it up. Amelia penned a brief response to her aunt thanking her.

  That evening she played her work in progress, a song for the sea, on the piano trying to devise the next movement. It occurred to her that the piano now belonged to her uncle, and she became discouraged. She retired to her bedroom for the night. She did a bit of needlepoint and read for a while, but the tasks did nothing to relax her. In the end, she opened father’s book again and read the lists of words trying to decide what they meant. She fell asleep with a poem in her lap.

  ~.~

  Chapter Four

  Samuel Beresford took the letter from the footman and waved him away.


  “That is for Lord Beresford, sir,” said the footman, still standing there, eyeing the letter as if he meant to wrest it out of Samuel’s hands. Samuel gave the footman a hard glare and tucked it beneath his jacket.

  “And my elder brother is too ill to be reading his own correspondence, so I will take this to him straight away and read it aloud for him. Now go,” said Samuel. He turned around before the footman could lodge another rude protest and went to find Percival. It was a good thing the man was not under his command, Samuel thought uncharitably. He pondered what he would do with him: sack him; beat him; throw him overboard. Samuel smiled at the thought, but he knew he was just anxious being on land so long. It was not the footman’s fault.

  Percy was, Samuel was pleased to see, sitting up in their father’s office. There was a nearly empty cup of tea at his side and yet another half-eaten meal. Samuel surveyed the nearly whole fowl, crisp and spiced, but the soup and potatoes were picked over, which was more than he had seen Percy eat in weeks. Some color had returned to his face and he did not shake so.

  “Why Percival, I do believe you have managed to swallow a whole cup of tea,” he said with light rancor.

  Percy scowled at him. “I ate the potato,” he said. “And the soup.”

  “And you almost look like one of the living now, rather than a corpse dragged out of the river,” said Samuel, lightly. He did not tell his brother that he had truly worried for his life just a few short weeks ago. “Oh well. I guess I shall not become the Earl after all,” Samuel said tossing himself into one of the armchairs beside the windows. “And I shall have to continue to look on your sullen face.”

  “Is that how you say you care about me? No wonder you must pay women for their company,” said Percy. He did not glance up from the book he was reading. The cover was so worn Samuel could not make out the title. It almost looked like someone had fished it out of the bilges.

  “Almost funny, brother, keep trying and I am sure you can find a sense of humor somewhere,” said Samuel. “I have a letter for you.”

  “Hand it over, then,” said Percival, holding out one hand.

  “Nonsense. As I told the footman, you are too ill to be reading, so I shall it read it to you,” said Samuel.

  “One is never too sick for reading,” Percy said as Samuel unfolded the letter and scanned it.

  “Well? Are you going to read it out or just keep it to yourself? It is my letter, you know. Who is it from?” Percival asked, sliding a bookmark between the pages and shutting the book at last.

  “You will not believe this brother, but it is from Lady Amelia Atherton,” said Samuel.

  Percy snorted. “I am sure it is. Give it to me, if you are just going to make up tall tales.”

  Samuel flung the letter over to his brother. “See for yourself.”

  Percy read it and then reread it, his brow growing more and more furrowed with every word. “Did you have something to do with this, Samuel?”

  Samuel shook his head. He got up from his chair and prowled around the room, opening cabinets until he found the crystal bottle of brandy, which he took back with him to his armchair. “Do you know the woman she mentions? This ‘friend you met at the ball’?” He asked as he poured.

  “Perhaps… it could be the woman I passed, but what are the chances of that? She was so pretty,” said Percival, smiling at the memory. “Riotous red hair,” he said fondly. “But it could not be. How fortuitous, that we would find each other again, despite not having ever been introduced. It’s almost as if it is fate’s hand, reaching out to us. It would be too strange. Do you not think so, brother?”

  As much as Samuel would have wanted to tell his brother to go and enjoy himself, he could not see his way clear to allowing it. He had horrible visions of his brother toppling from his horse. “You are too ill to be riding out there,” said Samuel. “We will have to write back and tell her no; you will not be coming to visit.”

  “Nonsense,” said Percy. He opened drawers in the desk until he found paper and ink, then set straight to writing. “I will accept the invitation, and tell them you will be joining me. That way you can make sure I do not strain myself.”

  Samuel almost coughed out his mouthful of brandy. “You will do no such thing. I do not want to spend another moment in Lady Amelia Atherton’s company. If father found out that you travelled again after the doctor’s strict orders that you do not exert yourself, he will be furious at me for allowing it. Besides, what about all the light foods the doctor ordered? Who will prepare them?”

  “I am not a child,” Percival complained. “I feel like all I eat is milk and porridge.”

  “And that is why you finished your quail,” Samuel said gesturing to the nearly untouched bird on his plate.

  Percival’s face fell, and Samuel sighed. He wanted to help his brother get well, but healing his body, seemed to be at the expense of his heart. His foolish brother had already fallen for a girl he did not know, and now Samuel had no choice but to help him court her. He could not let his brother down.

  “Very well then, invite them.”

  “Invite them,” Percival said. “Here?”

  “Why not? Tell them you are not up to travel. If they accept, fine, if not, you can go another time. That seems best, don’t you think?” Samuel got up to look over Percival’s shoulder as he wrote out the new reply. His brother’s hand was not as crisp and eloquent as it was in good health, but it still was far more legible than it had been just a week ago. He had apparently been copying a poem…for his lady love, Samuel wondered.

  Samuel glanced down at the book on the desk. Papers were scattered around beneath it, filled with unknown handwriting and some of Percival’s. At this range, he could make out the details of the cover. The brown leather was embossed with a strange symbol, one Samuel had never seen before, a semicircle crosshatched by two sharp lines. Once he had seen it there, he spotted it twice more on the papers, written like a signature, at the bottom of the page.

  “What is that?” he asked, pointing at the symbol.

  Percy moved with a speed Samuel had not known he had, gathering up the papers in his arms, including the poem and flipping the book over, which Samuel now saw, was heavily water damaged. He dumped the bundle into a drawer and shut it again.

  “Just ledgers. Boring things that father wanted me to look over,” said Percival, not meeting Samuel’s eye. He shifted nervously in his seat.

  Samuel knew at once that Percy was lying to him. It was so rare a behavior from his brother that he could hardly believe it, and had no idea how to respond.

  “I see,” said Samuel. “Nothing I wish to get involved with.”

  Percival laughed a strained high sound. “No, certainly not. Will you post this for me, brother?”

  Percival sealed the reply to Lady Amelia with hot wax and handed it to Samuel. Mutely, he took it, getting the distinct impression that he was being dismissed.

  ~.~

  “Will all of those fit in here?” Patience asked, peering out of the carriage window at the train of servants. They were all weighed down by luggage, Aunt Ebba’s luggage, and were attempting to stow it in the carriage. Patience and Amelia had brought two pieces each, but Aunt Ebba had at least ten to herself.

  “I do not think so. Aunt Ebba will throw a fit if it does not, so that will be entertaining to see,” said Amelia, settling herself back against the seat. Waiting for Aunt Ebba was an act of enormous patience. She took hours to get ready for anything, even for traveling, and the more fuss she could build up around it, the more pleased with herself she was.

  Sure enough, Aunt Ebba stormed out of the front door a minute later and began berating the servants. Three of her luggage pieces had fit and the rest were sitting on the stone drive. Amelia turned from the scene and closed her eyes.

  “She is on a tear,” said Patience, rubbing her hands together nervously. “Should we do something? Offer to help?”

  “The only way we could help is by giving up our seats so sh
e may pack her things in here. Do you want to walk behind the carriage all the way to Beresford’s estate? I do not. No, it will pass. She does not need half of the things she is bringing,” said Amelia.

  “What if we only brought one piece each? Then she could fit two more. Oh dear, she is rather cross now,” said Patience. “I think I should go out there.”

  Amelia reached across to stop Patience from climbing out of the carriage. “You are liable to get your own head chewed off if you go out there. And nonsense, we need everything we packed because we are not prone to excess as she is.”

  Amelia could not leave behind a case because tucked in one of them, wrapped in a shift, was the book and the papers she had stolen from her father’s office. She was not certain what had compelled her to bring them, only that she could not bear to leave them behind and risk one of the staff finding them when they cleaned her room.

  Two of the servants ran back to the house with a suitcase in each hand. The carriage rocked and shook as the remaining servants attempted yet again to squeeze the remaining cases in.

  “Good heavens,” said Patience. “Is this what seasickness feels like?”

  “You are just nervous about meeting Lord Beresford on proper footing. You will have to do more than smile at him today, though you look lovely,” said Amelia.

  Patience was outfitted for traveling in her new yellow dress with a moss green spencer jacket and a green bonnet bedecked with small yellow flowers. Amelia had purchased the bonnet for her as a gift before all the trouble started. Additionally tucked away in Patience luggage was a dinner dress in a deeper shade of emerald that set off her porcelain skin and flame-red hair. It was one of Amelia’s and of a more daring cut than Patience had worn before, but Amelia had insisted, pleased that Patience could look stunning even if she could not. Amelia herself was still restricted to black crepes but that was all to the better since the attention would be focused on Patience alone. This was her friend’s chance for a husband, and Amelia would not spoil it.