Diaries of a Heartbroken Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Hamilton, Hanna

  Diana smiled, but did not respond for a moment, but then asked, “And where might you go for your next adventure, Robert?”

  “I am somewhat attracted by the lure of India. But I do not much care to go as some government functionary as part of the Raj.”

  “Then just be a traveler. Certainly, a gentleman of your status must have many contacts who could introduce you to numerous fascinating adventures.”

  “But I am also considering Africa where my parents explored, or Burma, Japan, or even Indonesia.”

  “How exciting. It sounds as though any of those places would provide you with ample places to explore,” Diana said, as she began cooking her chopped vegetables in a pot. Then she sighed. “Traveling through those countries would be so much more interesting than the quiet life I lead here in this little cottage.”

  “Then you have a sincere interest in travel?” Robert asked.

  Diana turned to look at him. “Oh, yes. Most assuredly.”

  “Then perhaps you shall someday.”

  Chapter 14

  “Is that mildew, Stanson?” Robert asked, pointing to a white substance on the root system of a large cymbidium orchid sitting at the back of the bench.

  “It is a fungus, Milord, and must be eliminated. Very perceptive of you to find that. My eyes are not what they were and I missed it entirely. So sorry.”

  “And it can be treated successfully?”

  “Yes. I shall take the plant out, treat it, and replace it in a clean pot. It should be fine.”

  Robert walked along the orchid bench and pointed to another quite beautiful dendrobium. “That is quite lovely. I should like to propagate that one.”

  “Very well, I shall put it aside. Do you see any others you like?”

  Robert continued to study the orchids.

  “Robert,” his sister’s voice rang out from across the conservatory. “Are you out here?”

  “Over here,” Robert called back.

  Amelia came toward him, fanning herself with her hand.

  “How can you stand to be out here? It is so hot and humid. I should faint quite away within five minutes,” she complained.

  “Then do not stay.”

  “But there are some gentlemen to see you.”

  Robert looked up. “Gentlemen? What kind of gentlemen?” he asked suspiciously.

  “They say they are a delegation come to see you about some civic matter.”

  Robert was instantly suspicious of Amelia’s vague answer.

  “And would the Viscount of Berwick be a part of the delegation, by any chance?”

  Amelia appeared to be completely innocent as she said, “Why no, not at all.”

  Robert did not want to leave his orchids. And he was dressed in work clothes not suitable for meeting a delegation, but he said, “Very well, tell them I shall meet with them shortly. I must change out of these clothes first.”

  Amelia smiled her phony sweet smile that Robert recognized all too well.

  “Thank you, my dear. I shall inform them and offer refreshments in the tapestry room in the meantime.”

  Robert followed Amelia out of the conservatory but went to his rooms to change. He was not pleased with this unexpected and unplanned visit, but he had duties to the community that meant he must listen to what they had to say.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Robert greeted as he entered the sitting-room and saw a cluster of seven men—one of which, he could tell by the clothing, was an Anglican bishop.

  The men turned toward him and one man stepped forward.

  “Good morning, My Lord. I am Ernest Cluett, Mayor of Cambridge, and this is my colleague, His Honor, Sherborne Banfield, the Mayor of Peterborough.

  Then the bishop stepped forward. “The Right Reverend Erasmus Honeyfield,” he said, bowing slightly.

  The rest of the gentlemen then introduced themselves as various business men of the county.

  Robert wanted to be polite, but asked curtly, “And what might I do for you gentlemen this morning?”

  The two mayors appeared to be the spokesmen for the group and Mayor Cluett said, “We have come to discuss a matter of great importance to our county and for which we need your help.”

  Robert became agitated and asked, “Does this have anything to do with that confounded project of the Viscount of Berwick?”

  “If you mean the canal, then yes it does,” added the Mayor of Peterborough.

  “I feared as much.” Robert scowled at the men. “Then I am sorry you have wasted your morning by coming here. I have clearly stated to the Viscount that I have no interest, whatsoever, in dividing my property in half to accommodate a canal—however beneficial to the county.”

  “But My Lord, do you have any idea of the scope of the benefits we would all enjoy from access countywide to the North Sea shipping potential?” one of the business men asked.

  “Yes, the Viscount has conveyed all of that information to me already—many times. I have heard every conceivable argument for this blasted canal, but I am sorry, you must find some other route for your canal.”

  “But there is no other possible route, My Lord,” the Cambridge Mayor insisted.

  “That seems hard to believe,” Robert responded.

  One of the businessmen unrolled a map and set it open on a table.

  “Please, take a look at this map.” Robert went over to the table. “As you can see, there are ranges of hills on either side of this valley which connects this river to the Ouse. This is our only possible way to reach the North Sea. The hills are configured such that we cannot connect the two rivers except across your lands—there is no other way.”

  “Please, My Lord, you must allow us to transverse your property,” another businessman spoke up.

  Robert was riled. “Oh, I must, must I? Remember to whom you are speaking. I must honor my Queen. I must honor my God, but I will be damned if I must honor your insulting request.”

  The men stepped back in shock.

  The bishop stepped forward and said softly, “My Lord, if I might make a suggestion.”

  “What?”

  “If your concern is the bisection of your property, I feel certain we could build a bridge across the canal that would accommodate your need to connect your lands.”

  “Oh yes, most certainly. Or several bridges if need be,” several of the businessmen spoke up.

  Robert turned away from the men and paced the room as he contemplated their suggestion. Then he turned back to them.

  “Gentlemen, I am sorry if I lost my temper with you just now, but I am absolutely resolute in my opposition to this plan. I shall never consent for this canal to be built across my lands.”

  “But please, think of the welfare of the county. It would bring so much prosperity to all of our residents, both rich and poor. Every single citizen would benefit,” one of the businessmen pleaded.

  The bishop came over to Robert and entreated, “We can pay very handsomely for the land. To what use are you putting that land at the present time?”

  “It is used for grazing and planting,” Robert answered.

  The bishop turned to the delegation. “Perhaps we might work out some kind of royalty arrangement to compensate you further. It is my understanding that the canal is to charge a toll and I feel certain the Viscount would be open to assigning you a reasonable portion of that toll for your use.”

  The others thought that a splendid idea and offered up a, “Hear, hear!”

  Robert stood resolutely and answered, “Gentlemen, this meeting has ended.” And he strode out of the room.

  As he charged through the statue gallery he was greeted by Amelia who had obviously been waiting for him. She held up her hand to signal him to stop.

  “How did the meeting go?” she asked.

  “You know about the content of the meeting?” he asked.

  “I suspected,” she evaded.

  “You suspected or you helped the Viscount to arrange this meeting?” he demanded.

 
“I might have had an inkling.”

  “You can tell your Viscount that my decision has remained unchanged. There will be no canal across my property.”

  Robert stepped around her and left her fuming.

  * * *

  “Luddy, I am so sorry, I did everything I could. I was ever so sweet to him and I stayed out of the way and gave no indication that I knew the delegation’s purpose in meeting with him. I truly thought he might respond to your delegation.

  Ludlow stood at his bay window studying a flock of swallows swooping in the sky.

  “Then I shall need to up the ante, I see,” he said with his back to her.

  “Oh, Luddy… I am not sure…”

  “When is his book being published?”

  Amelia was stricken. “How do you know about the book?”

  He turned to her. “You told me.”

  “I could not have. I was sworn to secrecy. No one is to know he is the author.”

  Ludlow laughed. “My darling, Amelia. You have no secrets from me. I know everything about you.”

  Now Amelia was frightened for Robert. “What are you planning to do?”

  Ludlow tapped his lip as he contemplated. “You do not think I am going to tell you, do you? You would run off and tattle to your dear brother and then I should have no leverage.”

  “Then I shall tell him you are planning something and to be on the lookout.”

  Ludlow laughed. “Truly? And jeopardize your seven and a half percent? I think not.”

  * * *

  Diana had been correct. Robert was stymied in his writing by not being able to base his next book on a new adventure. But he was not able to travel just yet. His book would be launching in the autumn and he wanted to be present when it came out. Did this mean, then, that he was going to be a one book author? He certainly hoped not.

  He went to his globe and spun it around as his father had done and used his finger to stop it—landing in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Not a very promising destination. He spun it again and found himself in the wastelands of greater Russia. Also, not very appealing. It was clearly not the time to travel.

  Frustrated and restless, he turned from the globe. Perhaps his orchids might calm him, but he was too agitated to concentrate on the simplicity of his plants. He needed something more vigorous. A ride to inspect his borders, perhaps? No. The agitation was in his mind not his body. He realized physical exercise would be insufficient to calm his present restlessness.

  Maybe he could calm himself at his little house on the river. Its simple confines might help contain his restlessness. But without a stimulating subject to write about, he would still be in this frustrating situation.

  Then he thought about Diana’s books. He had promised to read them and that might be just what he needed to distract himself from his own confusion. He went to his desk and picked up her first book, The Flowers of Farthingale.

  He slipped the book into his coat pocket. He opened the doors from the library and headed down the path that led along the side of the lake. A fish jumped from a portion of the lake covered with lily pads where new lilies were just starting to bloom. He walked until he came to the Roman temple at the far end.

  A gentle and warm early May breeze wafted through the pillars and Robert pulled up a comfortable chair, stretched out his legs, opened the book, and began to read.

  It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon by the time he checked his pocket watch. How was that possible? He was nearly three-quarters through the book and had become so entranced, he read through lunch and it was now tea time.

  He realized he was hungry and thirsty and headed back toward the house. But his mind was buzzing with the pleasant sensations he had experienced while reading.

  Diana’s book was not a tale of adventure—but a tale of the heart. But it was far from boring as he thought it might be. It thrilled him. Rarely had he experienced such deep emotion, as he recognized Diana in the character of the heroine. It gave him even deeper insight into this marvelous woman whom he so admired and respected. He was proud that she was to be the face of his book.

  But it set him to thinking about her book as opposed to his book. Would her readers accept his masculine adventure from the author of such a gentle and touching story as Flowers was? That gave him pause and he thought he ought to meet with her and discuss the disparity in their content and styles.

  But first, he wanted to finish her book. He sat in his favorite chair in the library, as Sithens served him tea and scones, and lost himself once again in the rest of Diana’s book.

  By the time he finished his tea he had also finished the book. He put it down on his lap and folded his hands resting them on the book.

  Splendid. Simply splendid. His first thought was to dash over to Cambridge and corral Diana and pump her for information about her writing. But it was already late afternoon, and it would soon be suppertime at the Browning household. No. It would need to be another time.

  But the reading had accomplished what he had hoped it would. He felt calmer and more at ease. His anxiety over his writing frustrations had lessened and he knew that he could be patient until he was ready to write again—even if it meant he would need to wait until he was able to travel.

  Chapter 15

  Finally, Diana had a clear morning of writing in front of her. No Adam. No Goodwin sisters. No Mother. No Father. All seemed to be occupied with their own tasks.

  Diana reread what she had written on her Christmas story and picked up where she left off.

  Mother came home from the mill exhausted as she usually was. On her way home, she had spent a few pennies on some cabbage, carrots and a few parsnips to make a soup for their supper. As usual, there would be no meat. However, a neighbor had given her several beef bones she could cook up into a broth as a base for the soup.

  Tommy ran into the room with the happy news of his new job at the butcher’s and the promise of tripe for Christmas dinner.

  “What a fine boy you are, Tommy,” Mother said as she patted his head. “It will be a very fine Christmas, indeed.”

  Tommy threw himself on the bed beside his sister. He put his hand on her head.

  “Are you sad?” he asked, whispering in her ear so mother would not hear.

  Doris turned her head toward her brother and whispered back, “There was not a single tree to be had for the little I had saved.”

  “You saved money?” Tommy asked in wonderment, not knowing about her selling flowers to fine ladies on the street until she told him what she had been doing.

  “Maybe you could sell a few more before Christmas. Ladies love flowers at Christmas time,” he encouraged.

  “I will try.”

  Tommy was afraid he would not wake up in time to be at the butcher’s on time, so he ran a thread out the window by the bed and tied the far end to a pipe across the alley where Mrs. Cartwright always passed by in the morning on her way to work at the bakery. He knew she went to work at four o’clock. He tied the other end to his finger and hoped that when she passed down the alley she would break the thread, which would pull on his finger and wake him up.

  He was sound asleep when his hand was violently yanked and he awoke. He heard the church bells ringing three and heard Mr. Cartwright returning home drunk and banging into the trash bins. Tommy had forgotten about Mrs. Cartwright’s drunk husband and now he dare not fall asleep again in case he not wake up in time to go to his new job.

  There was an unexpected knocking at the front door and Diana was jerked out of her writing reverie.

  “Oh bother,” she said, as she put down her pen and headed downstairs to see who was calling.

  She threw open the door a little too forcefully and it knocked against the wall.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, as she was surprised to see Robert standing before her. “Did we have an appointment?”

  “We did not,” he said beaming. “But I read your first novel and I wanted to come and say how much I enjoyed it.

 
; “You did?” she asked with some surprise.

  “It is such a lovely May morning. Come, let us take a walk in your meadow. I should like to talk to you about it.”

  “Well…” she hesitated.

  “Oh, I have interrupted your writing, have I not? I am so sorry.”