Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Hamilton, Hanna

“Now, be off with you lest you lose the entire afternoon.” He said his farewells to Stirling and headed for the door that the butler hastily opened for him. “Hope to see you again soon, young man,” he barked on his way out.

  The man’s charming and relaxed attitude to life gripped Stirling. He had never met anyone quite like him. Not once had he made sure that his daughter would be chaperoned during their outing – he trusted his Clementine implicitly and in some way, he felt that the earl trusted him also.

  “Come on, Stirling,” said Clementine, whispering his name and flashing him a captivating smile. “Let’s go.” She took his hand and pulled him toward the door. She tittered when she saw the colour on the butler’s face take on the hue of the white-stuccoed frontage of the townhouse.

  Chapter 16

  “Oh, tis such a lovely day, Stirling. I could just dash off and run over the grass. Yes, that’s it…the last one to reach the Serpentine is a rotten egg.” In a flurry of giggles, Clementine lifted her skirts and tore up the grassy hill to the lake.

  Stirling shook his head. She was so vivacious that it was infectious. Just being near her had eradicated the sombre mood that had held him with its dark tentacles. He could hardly move. The sight of Clementine racing up the small incline made his heart beat faster. She resembled a minxy pixie, dancing under a sunlit caress on a meadow full of daisies – she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  “Well, come on, old man. You’ll never catch up with her if you continue gaping at her. Run!”

  Royce and Elizabeth had finally caught up with him. They had kept a respectful distance the entire time. Elizabeth smiled sweetly at Stirling. She was so happy that her sister was at last behaving a little more like a woman who knew what was important in life. She was certain by the way Stirling behaved in her presence and her sister’s return of his affections that wedding bells would ring shortly.

  “Royce…”

  “Yes, my friend.” Royce frowned. “Why so serious?” he added.

  “My behaviour toward you earlier was most un-gentlemanly, and worst of all not befitting the much needed and deserved comportment toward a dear friend. I am sorry, Royce. I was such a bore. You were only trying to help me and I behaved rudely. Please accept my apology,” said Stirling.

  “There’s no need for an apology, Stirling. If it had been me in your situation, I would have behaved just as you did – now, go. She is getting away.”

  Stirling needed no further prompting. Like a whippet, he lurched forward. In moments, he caught up with Clementine on his long legs, while she struggled to keep her skirts in place.

  “It is so unfair. Look what I have to put up with. All of this fabric makes it nigh impossible to run any faster. I would like to see you do it and run.”

  “But you are lovely, Clementine,” said Stirling, slowing down as he reached her position.

  A brief flush populated her cheeks. “Thank you, Stirling, you are too kind.”

  She took a moment to steady her breathing, as they took the final few steps toward the banks of the lake in the centre of the park.

  “You can tell me now, Stirling. You have been the most wonderful and learned conversation partner since leaving my papa’s residence, but I know when there is something bothering you. Out with it.”

  Shaking his head, Stirling chuckled. “Nothing gets past you.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She crinkled her nose while she waited for him to continue.

  The breath hitched in Stirling’s throat. The gesture had the most endearing effect on him. He cleared his throat. “Do you remember my mentioning the black bottle affair at the mess?”

  Clementine nodded. “Quite ridiculous – how could I ever forget. That pompous toad, Cardigan, never ceases to lower himself to further debasing exploits.” After allowing herself a heartbeat of irritation thinking about the earl, she again focused her attention on Stirling. “Go on,” she encouraged.

  “Well, it’s like this. Lord Cardigan wants to have me arrested, well, uh, I think I am already arrested – tis what he said.”

  “Arrested? How is that even possible?”

  “For not decanting my moselle at his table and allegedly not comporting myself as a gentleman.”

  “But, Stirling, I know no finer gentleman than you.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it.

  “Listen to me. Firstly, it was not you who drank the moselle and secondly, that baboon cannot have you arrested for supposed un-gentlemanly comportment. He is completely misinformed.”

  “He seems to think that he is in the right, Clementine. I don’t quite know what to do.”

  He remained silent as they took a few more steps on the path that encircled the lake.

  “Soldiering is all I know; I believe that I will have to transfer to another regiment.”

  “That is wrong, Stirling, and you know it. You are the epitome of the English officer gentleman and you belong in the 11th Hussars more than any other man. I will not have it.”

  Clementine furrowed her brow and pressed her lips together like she always did when she tried to think of a solution to a problem.

  Stirling chuckled. “My dear Clementine, I truly am astounded by your dynamism and high esteem of my person, but I am afraid there really is nothing we can do about it. Cardigan has the entire regiment in his pocket and the men love him for it.”

  “Oh, does he now? But he doesn’t have the entire city of London in his pocket.” Clementine pulled on his hand and started to guide Stirling in the other direction toward the Strand with the intent of a crash of rhinos on the rampage.

  “Where are you going? What’s happened?” asked Elizabeth with concern on her face as they raced past her and Royce. When she saw her sister holding Stirling’s hand, her worry waned a little.

  “The walk is over. We have an appointment in the city. Come along, Stirling, there is not a moment to lose.”

  Stirling shrugged when he saw his friend’s questioning gaze. He did not protest. Clementine’s manner intrigued him. And more importantly, in the short time he had come to know her, he was definitely not going to stand in her way when she had made up her mind. He decided to go with the flow and see where this would take him.

  “You know that you need papa’s consent if you are going to marry,” said Elizabeth, starting to worry whether that was her sister’s intention.

  “By Jove, Elizabeth, is that all you can think of,” snapped Clementine who was already a few skips ahead - she did not linger any longer. Her urging and fast pace soon had the group of four trooping down the road bisecting the park toward the city in silence.

  “Clementine, can you tell us what this is all about. You haven’t said a word the entire excruciating walk over here,” complained Elizabeth who, like the others, had only walked the relatively short distance down Serpentine Road to Hyde Park Corner.

  “Stop winging and hurry up. There! I can see a hansom cab.” This only spurred Clementine to an even greater speed.

  Behind her, the others exchanged curious glances. As all of them knew of Clementine’s moods, they said nothing and without further protest, followed her to the horse-drawn carriage pulled up close to the curb. The driver sat on a sprung seat at the back of the black vehicle, above a small cab that seated two.

  “Where are you going, missus?” asked the elegantly liveried coachman when Clementine reached the front of the vehicle.

  “Fleet Street.” Without waiting for the coachman to step down or for Stirling to catch up, Clementine opened the cab door and placed her foot on the small step that sprung out from the side of the conveyance. She stepped in. “Hurry up, Stirling. We’ll never get there if you keep dawdling.

  “Get where?”

  Clementine gave him an impish grin. “You’ll see.”

  “Clementine, there is only space for two in there. How on earth do you expect us to chaperone you. This is most unseemly. Papa will have my neck if he finds out about this,” protested Elizabeth. Next to her, Royce sm
irked.

  “Oh, do hush up, Elizabeth. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? I am courting an officer and a gentleman and now you worry about me spending time with him. Tis not like I am going to do the bear with him on the back seat.”

  Having said it, the thought of hugging and maybe even kissing Stirling rather appealed to her. She did not let her mind linger on the notion for long. There were important matters to attend to.

  “Driver, carry on,” she hailed through the flap at the front of the small cabin.

  Her hand slipped onto Stirling’s leg when the conveyance lurched into motion as she tried to keep from slipping off the seat. Her eyes flew open as she turned her head to look into his eyes. The greenness therein had taken on a darker hue. The sight of them blotted out her sister’s cries of protest as they pulled away. Their gazes remained locked for a few heat-ridden heartbeats until she skated her hand off his thigh far too slowly.

  The place where her hand had been burned like a livestock’s branding on his skin. Stirling had trouble controlling his breathing. Looking at Clementine, he could see that she was equally moved by their brief intimate contact. They remained silent. Each one trying to come to terms with what was happening between them. It was terra incognita for both of them.

  “I wanted to say…” they said in unison.

  The heady, torrid current running between them and the fact that they had uttered the same words simultaneously had them laughing. Neither of them knew what it was about. It just felt right: them being together in the hansom alone, the way they had met, the fact that the closest people in their lives were married and even their nemesis Lord Cardigan who seemed to hang over their shoulders whenever they were together confirmed what they were becoming.

  “You first,” said Stirling, recovering from his mirth.

  “No, you,” she retorted.

  This silly banter went on for a while until Clementine raised her hands in defeat.

  “I see you are too much the gentleman to deign to go first, even upon a lady’s insistence. So much for Cardigan’s claim that you are not one.”

  She ran her hand along the side of her meticulously coiffed head.

  “What I wanted to say earlier was that I always have such a lovely time with you, Stirling. You understand me; tis something I never thought possible.”

  She blushed as the words passed her quivering lips.

  Stirling shifted his weight in the leather-upholstered seat. Seeing this biggest display of femininity on her part, took his breath away. Clementine was such a multi-facetted woman. He knew then and there that there would never be a dull day with her at his side.

  “I can only say the same, darling Clementine. You are so full of life; I can only imagine how magical a life spent with you would be. I, I…”

  Before he could finish, she pressed her lips against his. For a brief moment, their tongues touched and their hands wandered shyly over the outlines of the other’s frame. Not wanting to, they instinctively let years of upper-class breeding reclaim its consistent and iron grip.

  Breathing heavily, they pulled away. Their gazes continued the kiss as if their lips were still as one. Their hands had glided down the sides of their arms until they came to a rest in the others.

  “Can’t you wait until you are asked?”

  Clementine tittered. “You know me, so very impatient. And besides you had me when you said ‘Clementine darling’. I could hear that every day for the rest of my life.” She looked down as if she was afraid that he might think her too forward.

  Stirling felt his chest constrict. “And I will say it to you for as long as I live.” He moved closer to kiss her again.

  “Governor, we’re here,” announced the cabbie from the front.

  Stirling pulled back as the hansom slowed down gradually. “Now, would you mind telling me what on earth we are doing on Fleet Street?”

  Clementine let off one of her titillating giggles. “Solving your little problem with that ogre, Cardigan. By the time we are finished, he won’t know what’s hit him.”

  Chapter 17

  The rough sound of an iron poker moving the coals around in the small grated hearth was the only thing that could be heard in the office belonging to General FitzRoy James Henry Somerset, 1st baron Raglan. He was a tall man with a slim physique. He had soft features and a narrow jaw without the fashionable whiskers that usually graced a Victorian gentleman’s face. He wore a navy-blue double-breasted coat and he sported a cravat of the same colour around his neck.

  The general had pursued a distinguished military career, taking him to his current position of being placed in command of the British expeditionary force being sent to the Crimea. Before that, he had served in the Peninsular War and the Hundred Days, latterly as military secretary to the Duke of Wellington.

  During the Battle of Waterloo, he had lost his right arm. He was famous for having asked the surgeon to retrieve it after the amputation, so that he could have the ring his wife had given him returned.

  Lord Raglan sat behind his large mahogany desk in the far reaches of his study. Behind him was a ceiling-high rack of shelves full of books. To his right was a large sash window looking out onto a square close to Saint James’s Park.

  He was reading the morning newspaper with a frown of concern etched onto his features. Every so often, he would shake his head and mutter a few inaudible oaths. He sometimes shook the ink-ridden paper as if he could change the news written therein.

  The man who had been stoking the fire, turned away from the hearth to take his seat in a padded leather armchair facing the general. He sat down with a grunt and picked up his newspaper and continued reading the most recent article in The Times that had taken London by storm. Like his superior, he shook his head every so often as his eyes darted over the words on the page.

  “Have you seen The Times this morning, Raglan?” asked General Richard Airey, 1st Baron Airey with a frown of concern on his face.

  “I have seen The Times, Airey.” Lord Raglan sighed as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  “Black bottle and the threat of arrest of a major in the 11th Hussars because of un-gentlemanly conduct in the officers’ mess.” General Airey exhaled a gush of breath.

  “I am very worried about the British army when it gets into the newspapers.”

  Airey got to his feet and walked up to his superior’s desk at a leisurely pace. “What ever Lord Cardigan does becomes public news within an hour,” he said, folding the paper so that the article concerning the black bottle affair was visible to his commander. He handed it to Raglan.

  “It is unfitting,” responded Raglan, taking the paper with his remaining left hand.

  “Black bottle.” Airey walked behind the desk to a table with a tray containing all of the accoutrements necessary for the serving of tea.

  “What?”

  “It is what he shouted at him when he left the mess hall. It does make the army look ridiculous you know,” said Airey, pouring some of the hot beverage, adding lemon and a teaspoon of sugar.

  “Vulgar things - they shouldn’t say these vulgar things about Lord Cardigan, Airey. But what do we do?”

  Lord Raglan accepted the cup and saucer from Baron Airey. He shifted his weight in his seat, turning his head, while he placed the cup and saucer on his blotter. His gaze came to a rest on a large statue of the Duke of Wellington astride of his horse, Copenhagen, on the square outside.

  “Where are they going to put it, Airey? They can’t leave it here to be enjoyed by me alone.”

  “They’re not going to leave it there. They just have no clue where to put it.”

  General Airey stroked his beard in thought.

  “We have won so many victories in the past century, and there are so many heroes of the wars in which we have fought, I am afraid that the city of London is becoming flooded with memorial pieces celebrating the exploits of famous fellow Britons.”

  Lord Raglan pleated his brow, while he still stud
ied the imposing likeness of the renowned Duke and victor of the Battle of Waterloo outside of his office.

  “It is very much in my light for paper work. I do wish they’d remove it.”

  “You and I both, My Lord. It does make you think though, how the great Duke would have acted and decided when faced with similar circumstances?”

  “Similar circumstances?”

  “The press, Raglan. What would the Duke have done were he in charge of a man such as Cardigan?”

  Airey shrugged.

  “What would he have done about such articles as the one in the papers today – the black bottle affair, and the unlawful and unnecessary arresting of officers in her majesties armed forces?”