THE HARTLEIGHS OF SOMERSHAM
A Match of Honour
By
Margaret Brazear
Copyright © Margaret Brazear 2017
Chapter One – The Only Suitable Match
Chapter Two – Susan’s Secret
Chapter Three – The Marriage
Chapter Four – The Birth
Chapter Five – My Child is Not an Orphan!
Chapter Six – the New Duke
Chapter Seven – The Search for Susan
Chapter Eight – Murderer!
Chapter Nine – Scandal
Chapter Ten – Mrs Lewis aka The Duchess of Somersham
CHAPTER ONE
The Only Suitable Match
Christopher laughed out loud. He could not quite take this conversation seriously, could not believe his father was even suggesting it.
“It is no jest, Christopher,” George said. “I am but passing on the suggestion your Uncle has made, as I promised him I would. If the idea does not appeal to you, if you are firmly set against such a plan, then that will be the end of it.”
“Will it?” Christopher turned to face his mother, who sat quietly with her hands clasped loosely in her lap. She wore an enigmatic smile and he would have given a year’s allowance to know what she was thinking. “Mother? What is your opinion of this ridiculous suggestion?”
He thought she would reject the idea out of hand, but she surprised him by not answering straight away. When she did find her voice, it was to utter words he would never have expected.
“I think it would be a good match,” she said quietly.
Her husband turned to look at her sharply and raised his eyebrows.
“Jane? That is not what you said when I first mentioned it.”
Jane stared at her husband, George, Lord Hartleigh, brother of the Duke of Somersham and father of her sons, Christopher and Mason. The elder of those sons was the heir and would inherited the title when the Duke died, which everyone expected to be very soon.
Finally, Jane replied.
“No, but I have had time to consider.” She turned to her son. “If you, as the future Duke, do not marry Susan, who will you marry? You will be an important and wealthy man. Something should have been arranged years ago.”
“Then why was it not?” Christopher demanded.
“Because,” George replied, “it would have been disrespectful to your Uncle. Not knowing if he would one day have a son meant that we could not in all conscience find the right bride for you.”
“Well, Mother, you probably know that I would prefer to find my own bride. The days of arranged marriages are long gone, I hope.”
“Yes, they are, but even so you must choose from among maidens of your own class. We have neglected our duty by doing nothing to introduce you to such girls. That being the case, your cousin would be the most suitable match.”
Christopher shook his head and got to his feet. He still wore a little grin, still found the situation amusing. Marry Susan, indeed! He had nothing against her, except the slight resemblance to her mother’s superior attitude that he found hard to tolerate. She was a nice enough maid, and, as the eldest daughter of the present Duke, certainly of the correct status to wed the future Duke. But this was not something he had ever expected.
She was his cousin, a childhood playmate of his own age. He had thought about a marriage over the years, of course he had, but if he had considered anything it was that he might go to London, perhaps to court and meet some young lady there. Lord knew there were enough of them paraded before suitable young men every season and Christopher was certainly suitable. He was an excellent catch for all the mothers desperate to have their daughters well married. Indeed, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in the country and would be more so when his uncle passed away.
It was rumoured that the Prince Regent kept a jovial court and quite informal. Christopher would not be averse to spending time there, to discovering for himself whether the rumours were true.
“Give it some thought,” George said as his son moved toward the door.
Christopher turned back with his hand resting on the doorknob, still wearing that amused smile.
“I will, Father,” he said. “But do not hold out too much hope. I trust you have made no promises to His Grace.”
“Of course not. I would like to see his mind at rest though. That I cannot deny.”
Christopher was still grinning when he saddled his horse and went for a ride about the estate. It was something he liked to do when he had things to think about and this was certainly something to think about.
Marriage to Susan? He tried to imagine it, tried to envisage having her in his bed, making love to her. She was a comely maid, it was true, beautiful dark hair like her father, like Christopher himself, and smooth skin from which shone dark eyes. Were she a stranger, he would certainly take a second look, or even a third and fourth. But she was not a stranger, was she?
No, he could not marry her. It would be too bizarre, too peculiar and uncomfortable. Of course, should the need arise, he would be sure of her safety and her comfort, and that of her sisters, but he expected that they would all marry and move away. He would have to think about taking himself to London, soon, perhaps stay with the Duchess’s family, there to meet a suitable bride. While he remained unmarried, this question would hang over them indefinitely.
Susan surely would not be any more eager for this marriage than he was himself. Would she agree to marry him just to keep Somersham Abbey? He had no idea, but he knew how he felt. He could think of nothing that would make him agree to this match.
His father’s brother was a powerful duke, the owner of Somersham Abbey and the vast estates and property which came with it. He was also the father of three daughters, Susan being the eldest. Then came Georgina and Penelope. George, Lord Hartleigh, had waited for years for his brother to produce a son and heir and the time had now arrived when the Duchess was past child bearing age. There would be no son and heir and the Duke wanted to bypass his brother, with his full consent, and name his nephew, Christopher, as his heir.
This was acceptable to him; what young man would refuse, after all, and his father had no desire to take the title of Duke of Somersham? He would far rather see his son in that position and it was obvious to all of them why the Duke wanted to by pass his brother and make his nephew his heir.
Christopher’s mother was a humble teacher of the pianoforte, before she met and fell in love with Lord Hartleigh. Having her wear the title of Lady Hartleigh grated on the Duchess; she could never tolerate a woman from such humble stock being called ‘Duchess of Somersham’.
Christopher was certain of the reasoning behind this proposed match with his cousin, as well. Had the Duchess had a say in matters, George’s marriage to a piano teacher would never have been permitted. She wanted the title to stay within her own bloodline but, without a son, the only way to achieve that was to marry the heir to her own daughter. Christopher was not inclined to accommodate the Duchess and her snobbish ways, but he was very fond of his uncle and had no wish to distress him in his final months.
He returned his horse to the stables, ordered the groom to brush him down and release him into the paddock. He never liked the horses to be kept inside any longer than necessary. He always imagined how he would feel, a powerful creature like that who wanted to canter about acres of fields, kept shut in a small stable or loosebox.
He turned away from his horse to see his father standing behind him.
“Well?” Lord Hartleigh said. “Have you made up your mind? Will you soothe your Uncle’s l
ast days and wed his daughter?”
He looked and sounded serious, making Christopher think his earlier assurance that the choice was his and his decision would be accepted, was done solely for the benefit of Christopher’s mother. This stance would only make him less likely to comply with the Duke’s wishes. Surely his father knew that.
He glanced at the stable hand who was brushing his horse and kept his voice low so as not to be overheard.
“Nothing would give me more pleasure than to soothe my Uncle’s final days,” Christopher replied. “But I cannot tie myself to a woman I do not love to achieve that. Really, Father, I am surprised you would even ask.”
“I ask on Arthur’s behalf,” he answered. “You know that.”
“I do, but here you are pushing me for an answer and that answer is no, I will not marry Susan.”
“But you like her, you get on well with her.”
“I get on well with her sisters, too, but no one is suggesting I marry one of them.” He sighed heavily, still feeling a little dazed by this turn of events. “Susan is just that, a sister to me; it would be like incest to have her in my bed.”
“Christopher! How can you speak so?”
“It has to be thought of, Father. Surely you realise that? And what of her, what of Susan? I cannot believe that she has accepted this suggestion without protest either.”
“I believe she was made aware of the suggestion this morning.”
“Made aware? I wonder how that went.” He shook his head, tried to recapture that amusement he’d felt earlier, but it refused to come. “I’m sorry, Father. When I marry, I want it to be to a young lady of my choosing, one I can fall in love with. You should know about that; you defied the family and your peers to marry a commoner because you loved her too much to let her go. I, too, would like to feel that sort of love and I’m quite sure my cousin wants that too.”
Lord Hartleigh turned away while Christopher watched him make his way back to Hartleigh House, their manor house on the other side of the park from Somersham Abbey. He could see his father did not seem too disappointed, but he didn’t expect a similar reaction from the Duke.
He stood for a few minutes, not really certain of where he wanted to go next. It seemed that being at home might prove awkward and he really wanted to speak to Susan, to discover her opinion of the matter. He imagined she would share in his earlier amusement and they could laugh about it together.
He looked about at the vast estate, stretching as far as he could see. There were the little cottages of the estate workers, some standing alone, some in rows which made up a village. There was Hartleigh House, his own father’s residence, and on the other side of the park, the Dower House. This was built for the dowager duchesses when they were left as widows and their sons married, thus bringing a new duchess into Somersham Abbey. It had stood empty for many years, and talk of the present Duke’s imminent demise had made Christopher wonder if his aunt would be prepared to retire to the place when he inherited the title and married.
As he stepped away from the stable building, he caught sight of a figure, wrapped up in a grey wool cloak of the type worn by the poorer of the villagers. She was hurrying and looking about in a surreptitious manner, obviously hoping to avoid detection. But he would recognise her figure and her way of walking anywhere.
He knew Susan would also be pondering their parents’ surprising suggestion and he wondered what her reaction had been. He thought it would be a good idea to ask her, but he was also curious as to why she was sneaking through the trees dressed like that.
***
Susan wore a grey, woollen cloak borrowed from one of the tenant women. Well, rented really, as she had paid the woman a hefty sum to keep it to herself and for the use of the cloak. It resembled one of the blankets from Susan’s bed, just a plain piece of cloth, but it served her purpose.
As she entered the woods, she looked about quickly to be sure she was not seen. This morning had begun as had every morning for the past few weeks, awaking after a night of little sleep and bad dreams. Time was growing short for her to make a decision and while she lay in bed and considered her options, it seemed easy enough to carry out a plan to go away until it was all over. But when it came to actually doing it, her courage deserted her.
This morning was different. She couldn’t start her day with her plans, think about them till nightfall, decide to carry them out, then retire to bed with nothing acted upon. This morning a servant had come to her chamber just as she had finished dressing and told her that her father wanted to see her. That was when all her half formed plans collapsed and she realised she had, at last, run out of time.
“My dear,” he said from his chair beside the fire, holding out a welcoming hand.
Susan’s heart stopped for a second. She was sure he had learned her secret and that was what he wanted to discuss with her. But if that were the case, he would not have referred to her as ‘my dear’ would he? Neither would her mother be smiling benignly at her, the smile she employed when she wanted to convey some compliment, some empty flattery that she thought would help gain her an advantage with her daughter.
Susan had been so concerned with her own worries, she hadn’t noticed how thin and frail her father was becoming, how grey his hair, how lined his face.
In the chair on the other side of the hearth sat her mother, the Duchess, the former Lady Veronica Westerby, a lady very aware of her own importance and position in life.
“Come and sit down,” the Duke continued. “Your mother and I have something to discuss with you, something important.”
She was right! He did know. But he wasn’t angry, so he couldn’t know, could he? It was her own guilty conscience speaking.
She moved to the spare armchair beside her father and settled herself on the edge, ready to flee should the need arise.
“What is it, Father?” She asked.
He reached out a hand and took hers, gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled. No, he could not know; that was impossible. He would not be behaving like this if he knew.
“As you know, my health is not good,” he said. “I want to be sure the estate is settled while I still can. You understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she answered. “But Christopher is your heir. There is no need to concern yourself on that score.”
“He is indeed and will make a fine Duke when the time comes, I am sure. But he has no bride and your mother and I are concerned that he chooses the right lady to wear the title of Duchess of Somersham.”
Not someone like his mother, she meant. Not a commoner.
“I’m sure he will,” Susan replied. Now a little frown had formed on her brow. She couldn’t quite fathom where this conversation was leading. “But shouldn’t you be talking to him about this?”
“I wish I had your confidence,” the Duchess said sourly. “His father certainly was not thinking about the family name when he married a music teacher.”
Susan turned her head to cover a smile. She had always found the situation of Uncle George and his piano teacher to be amusing, but her mother’s attitude to it was laughable. In this day and age, it was not so unusual for a titled gentleman to marry beneath him, especially a second son, as Lord Hartleigh was. It wasn’t as though he had married one of the servants.
She turned back to force a grave expression before facing her mother.
“I was hoping to have a son,” the Duchess said. “As you know, I was hoping we would produce an heir to inherit the title and estates and keep everything within the bloodline of the Hartleighs and the Westerbies. But alas, we have not been blessed and now it is too late.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “Your father and I have discussed matters between us and with your Uncle George and it is apparent to us all that the only suitable match for Christopher is for him to marry you.”
Susan’s amusement fled and she sat stiffly, staring at the Duchess with wide eyes. She wondered if perhaps this strange conversation had crept into her dreams, b
ut she could see it was all real. And now her heart pounded and her cheeks flamed.
“No,” she declared loudly, jumping to her feet. “You cannot tell me who to marry. We are not living in the dark ages any more.”
“I realise it is unusual,” the Duke said, “and not what you have been expecting. But you must see how it would be the best thing all round. It will put my mind at rest, to know that the duchy is settled with my own daughter.”
“No,” she said again.
“Think about it,” he went on. “You have always got on well with Christopher, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have, like a brother. How can you even ask this of me?”
“We have given it a lot of thought, a lot of consideration.” His expression was grave, the sort of expression he showed to servants he was reprimanding. “It is what we have decided, Susan, and you are not yet of age. I expect you to comply with our wishes.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing with her half formed plans to climb one important hurdle in her life, to clear it, leave it behind and get on with that life. Yet here she was being presented with another hurdle, one which made her present situation even worse, her present hurdle even higher.
Then a spark of optimism crept into her thoughts.
“He will never agree,” she said hopefully. “I’ll wager he is at this moment thinking the same as me, that it is a ridiculous idea.”
“Possibly,” the Duke said. “But it is what we want. I do not want to pressure you, but I have to tell you that should Christopher agree, we will expect you to do the same. Please do this for me, Susan. It will be my dying wish.”
CHAPTER TWO
Susan’s Secret
Before her father came out with this scheme, Susan had vaguely formed plans to go away, perhaps pretend to stay with her mother’s sister. Her cousin, David, on that side of the family, would help her; she was sure he would. He was in London, starting his law studies and they had ever been close. She had written to him early on and he suggested she come to him, that he was in the best position to give her practical help, as long as she had funds.
A Match of Honour (The Hartleighs of Somersham Book 1) Page 1
