Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Hamilton, Hanna

  Clementine wanted so much at the same time that she was so overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her that she nearly fainted in his arms. “Stirling, I never thought,” she wheezed into his mouth.

  “I know – me neither, but we are together again.”

  “What happened? Where have you been?”

  “I have been wanting to tell you ever since I walked in here.” He pleated his brow. “I am so sorry for what I have put you through.”

  “No, no, it is not your fault – just tell me – please.”

  Stirling took a step back and cleared his throat. “I just got back yesterday, my love.”

  “So, I am the first person you came to see?”

  Stirling nodded his head. “Yes darling, I couldn’t wait a day longer and thanks to your fame you were very easy to find.”

  Clementine smiled. “Come, we must tell Florence the good news.”

  “Just a moment…” He chuckled. “I thought you wanted to know where I have been.”

  “Oh, yes. I almost forgot – this is all too much. Where have you been?”

  “Too much of a good thing, I hope.”

  “Stirling, of course. You here – I never dreamed it possible.”

  He nodded. “I know. The ship taking me home floundered in a storm of the likes I have never seen. It was horrible. Walls of water were all around us – everyone perished.”

  Clementine reached out and stroked his cheek. “That was what they told me. How did you survive that ordeal?”

  “I don’t know. One moment I was suffused in water, then blackness and then I found myself on a beach, washed ashore.”

  Clementine waited for him to resume his talking. It was not the time to ask any more questions. She could see him struggling with the memory.

  “I was so thirsty. Wreckage was everywhere – sails, ropes, bits of wood from the ship. There was not a soul in sight. I was alone. Finally, a man appeared. A Berber who took me in.”

  “What happened?” Clementine was intrigued. It was already a miracle that he had survived the storm but to have the added good fortune of being discovered by someone friendly on a sparsely populated coastline over a thousand miles long was astounding.

  “Before I knew it, I was travelling with him towards the mountains and into the desert beyond. I still remember riding a camel and looking back to the snow-capped Atlas Mountains that stood behind us like a row of jagged teeth. I was taken so far away from civilization until we reached his home. I can’t remember all that much about the voyage because I was too far out of it. All I do recollect is that there was no way out. The Sahara Desert was an impenetrable natural barrier all around me.”

  “Oh my God, that sounds frightening.”

  “It was nothing compared to the storm that sunk the ship.” He sighed.

  “How did you survive? What was it like?” So many questions filled her head.

  “Ahmed and his family were very kind to me. For many months I lived amongst them, tending to livestock, anything really to do my bit. In time, I learned snippets of their language and I managed to explain to Ahmed that I had a fiancé.” Stirling chuckled.

  “Why do you laugh?”

  “Well, he had no idea of the concept so I had to promote you to wife – so that he understood.”

  She giggled. “I like the sound of that,” she said, stroking his hand.

  “So, when he could leave his family and his tribe, Ahmed escorted me back to Algiers where I found a berth on board a ship bound for Toulouse. I had very little money – everything my friend Ahmed could spare. So, it was only by working that I managed to get a letter out to an old acquaintance of my father’s. Bless the man – he arranged for me to see him at his château near Paris.”

  “Why didn’t you write, Stirling? Some word would have sufficed.”

  “I am sorry. I was just in such haste to get back to England. My father’s friend must have thought me so rude.”

  Clementine giggled. “Only you could worry about such a thing.”

  “Well, I did leave the very next day I arrived at his home with a purse full of his money. I left on the first ship bound for England.”

  “And here you are.”

  “Yes, and here I am.”

  Moments later they were in the garden with Florence. It did not take long for Florence to warm to Stirling, whom she found a most interesting and exceptional man. They spoke a while about their times during the war and how it impacted England.

  As it turned out, Lord Cardigan was still in charge of the 11th Hussars, which he continued to lead with his customary braggadocio and arrogance. Neither he nor Lord Lucan were ever charged for their alleged incompetence, but Cardigan had fared better than his former commanding officer.

  Against the government’s suggestion for him to be inaugurated into the Order of the Garter, due to the exploits in his private life, Queen Victoria recommended he instead be invested as knight in the Order of the Bath. And today, Cardigan was more obnoxious than ever.

  They also spoke of Elizabeth and Royce. Clementine assured Stirling that Royce was well and they made plans to go and see them very soon. Her friend from the nursing corps, Sally, was married to a cavalry officer.

  Florence invited Stirling to stay for a few days. To Clementine’s chagrin, he declined. He had one more important thing to take care of before he could see his friend and marry the woman he loved.

  Before Stirling left, Nightingale said, “I do hope, young man, that you don’t succumb to the ague that befalls most Victorian husbands, and deny your lovely betrothed her right to be an independent woman.”

  Stirling frowned.

  “Take away woman’s pride and devotion in her life, and she dies like a flower without water. Promise me this, Stirling, let Clementine do what inspires her, and I assure you that she will be the most wonderful and dutiful wife to you,” said Nightingale shaking Stirling’s hand.

  “I will, Florence,” said Stirling meaning it.

  He then turned to Clementine and kissed her. He whispered in her ear that he loved her, and promised that when he had completed his business, he would return to her.

  Chapter 33

  Two days later, Stirling marched into the Duke of Kenbridge’s study. His father sat behind a large mahogany desk in his London residence. Behind him and in front of a wall lined with shelves filled with leather-bound books stood Cavendish, his gentleman’s gentleman. Slightly to the side of the desk stood Stirling’s two older brothers who looked as arrogant as Stirling remembered them to be.

  “Good day to you Father,” said Stirling.

  He then looked at Cavendish who had an amused glint in his eyes. “Cavendish.” Smiling, the other man just nodded. Turning, Stirling then greeted his brothers curtly.

  “This will not take long. I am here to return these,” said Stirling tossing a small package onto his father’s desk.

  The Duke of Kenbridge signalled to Cavendish with a curt nod of his massive head that was like that of a bull elephant. Promptly, his valet picked up the package and opened it.

  “It appears that they are feathers, Your Grace,” said Cavendish casually.

  “Feathers, what would I want with feathers,” said Stirling’s father.

  “I’m returning them to you and my brothers,” said Stirling with authority.

  “Well I won’t take them,” shouted his father, inducing Stirling’s brothers to grin evilly.

  “I am afraid honour dictates that you do, Your Grace,” said Cavendish coming to Stirling’s aid.

  “Honour, etiquette! Our family did not become the foremost in the realm through honour and etiquette,” shouted the duke with a growl.

  “Father, you will take them. I have a letter from my commanding officer, Lord Cardigan, that explains everything,” said Stirling, chucking the thick paper onto his father’s desk.

  This time Stirling’s father took his son’s offering personally and with a letter knife he opened it and started to read.

 
Looking up again, he said, “It appears you have distinguished yourself, Stirling.”

  Stirling nodded. Cavendish beamed happily as if Stirling was his son. His father’s valet respected the youngest son the most because he was the most human of the brood. The other two being insipid toadies that always did their father’s bidding.

  “I will take them back,” said Stirling’s father suddenly.

  “I will not,” said one of Stirling’s brothers inviting an angry glare from Stirling that made him flinch meekly.

  “By god boy, you will do as I say!” shouted Stirling’s father hammering his fist onto his desk.

  His son recoiled in fear of his father’s wrath. The duke turned to Stirling, his face softening. “Son, the affair is now almost concluded. You have done our family great honour. You will dine with me tonight, of course.”

  “No Father, I must go to Kent to see my betrothed’s mother and father,” said Stirling.

  “Yes, I heard as much through the grapevine. We must speak of her.”

  “Another time perhaps.”

  “Then you must tell me…” The duke waved the letter in front of his person. “You have been recommended for a Victoria Cross and you are currently a newly minted colonel. You have brought great honour to this family, son.”

  He slapped his hand on his desk, startling Stirling’s brothers. “By God, son, you are among the first to ever receive this honour for valour displayed in the heat of battle - a Victoria Cross, boy. They barely conceived the idea for such a commendation and a Whitt Whittaker will be the first man to get one. Well done, Stirling.”

  “Thank you, father. All I ever wanted was to bring honour to our family. I am best pleased not to have let you down.”

  The Duke of Kenbridge snorted his approval. He then turned to his eldest son. “Do the honours, William.” He held out the box with the feathers.”

  William hesitated, scuffing his boots on the parquetry flooring.

  “By God, boy, stop dithering and get over here.”

  In a flurry of quick steps, he approached his father.

  “Take these and deposit them in the fire. All memory of them will be wiped from our ancestral history. We will never speak of it again in this family. Is that abundantly clear?”

  Stirling watched William as he handed one of the feathers to his brother, Edward. As if they approached a towering inferno, they slowly approached the fireplace. After a few moments of hesitation, the two men tossed their white feathers into the flames. With fascination, Stirling watched them curl and blacken when the heat caressed them until they finally disappeared in a puff of smoke.

  The duke was the last to reach the large hearth bearing the family’s coat of arms on the heavy stone mantle above it. He leaned forward and placed his hand on it. He too disposed of the symbol of cowardice and like the others it vanished.

  “Thank you, Father, William and Edward – The slate is wiped clean.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left his father’s study. He could hear his father shouting after him to come back. Stirling smiled – maybe there was some way of reconciliation.

  Finally, he had made his father proud, and he was sure that when he’d meet Clementine that he’d be prouder still. But Stirling would let him stew it out for a few weeks before giving him that pleasure. Mustn’t be too lenient on the man, thought Stirling. But that was not for now; first and foremost, Stirling was in love with Clementine.

  Chapter 34

  The birds tooted, peeped and carolled in the trees and beyond. Breathy tweets belonging to the black-headed Brambling competed with “chichichichit” of the Greenfinch crossing the sky. The latter flew about above the chapel on the grounds belonging to Kenbridge Manor, sometimes circling, and occasionally diving in little pirouettes.

  A pinkish-brown blur descended from the heavens, landing on a branch belonging to one of the large oaks lining the grounds. The Jay started warbling from its perch in squeaky clunking notes. The Winchat joined in, fusing, creating a song, that combined with the other species, sounded like the rush of water over a cliff.

  It was a fine late summer’s morning. The sun hung languidly in a clear blue sky. Occasional, small clouds floated lazily, not moving much, somehow deciding which way the near-non-existent wind would take them. The temperature was agreeable; the fresh scent of flowers in the air was too.

  Clementine had woken that morning at around eight, realizing that it would be the last day in her life that she would have a bed to herself. She could not have been happier about the prospect. Things had happened so quickly after that.

  Her mother had urged her on with her customary enthusiasm when it came to weddings. Clementine had wondered what her purpose would be in life, now that both of her daughters were in wedlock. She had even asked her mother when she could think of nothing. Her answer had made her gulp – her mother would focus all of her attention on their offspring when they arrived.

  Somehow the prospect of having babies still frightened her. Clementine, however, had had no time to reflect on the matter any longer. Before she knew it, she had been rushed through breakfast to begin the process of preparing her until she was staring at her reflection in the mirror. What she had seen was nothing short of a miraculous transformation.

  Clementine had scrutinized every little detail of her person disbelievingly. It had been the only rare moment that morning when her mother and sister had given her a few moments to reflect. While she did this, they had fussed over her dress and the other elements of her attire.

  On her head, she wore a simple wreath of rose blossoms intertwined with myrtle. Clementine had thought she looked young and pale, hovering between anxious and dreamy. It was the nerves that had come back to haunt her.

  She had stood still as she was carefully buttoned into her white satin dress, with a flounce of lace and a four-metre long train edged with more rose blossoms. Her hands had shaken slightly as her mother’s lady’s maid had pinned Indian diamonds to her ears. A necklace with the same gemstones looped around her neck by her sister.

  The pièce de résistance had been the sapphire brooch from Stirling on her breast. It was a family heirloom given to him by his now repentant father. She had held her foot out as the maid tied the ribbons of her delicate white satin slippers around her ankles. Her dress sat low on her shoulders, displaying her smooth ivory chest, and her blonde hair, parted severely in the middle, was looped into low buns on either side of her head.

  Her clothes had been carefully chosen to display her patriotism. It was all the rage at the moment because it was what the queen had done when she married Albert.

  The fabric of Clementine’s dress was from the Spitalfields, the historic centre of the silk industry in London. Forty lace-makers from Devon, in the country's southwest, had laboured on the wedding dress for months. Her gloves were stitched in London and made of English kid leather.

  Everything had gone to plan. She was on her way to the man she loved. Her father sat next to her in the carriage and her mother and sister opposite.

  “We are here,” said the Earl of Leighton. He smiled at his daughter encouragingly. They stepped out of the vehicle and approached the chapel with the flat-topped steeple.

  “Here we go, Clementine. Your man awaits.” She and her father waited outside while her mother and sister went inside to find their seats with the other attendants.

  “Are you ready, darling?”

  She nodded. “There is only one way to find out, Pater.”

  Her father chuckled. “You always did know how to say exactly the right thing, Clem. We better not keep the poor man waiting. He’s bound to be as nervous as you are.”

  “I am not nervous.”

  “Of course you are. I can see it in the way you twitch your nose every so often. It is all right to feel a tad apprehensive on your wedding day.” He smiled at her. “One, two, three…and off we go.”

  Clementine gulped when they walked past the heavy wooden door, entering the struc
ture. The choir area at the front was beautifully lit by huge windows and contained some of the oldest misericords in England. These delightful wood-carved seats featured such scenes as a fox preaching to a flock of geese.

  The choir was separated from the nave by a finely carved 14th-century screen, depicting the family tree of Jesus surmounted by an Epiphany scene. A perpendicular chancel surrounded the altar.

  The stair turret featured graceful arcading on the ground floor, colonettes on the second, a trellis pattern on the third floor, and more blind arcading at the top. The Kenbridge chapel had three Saxon crypts underneath.