A Damsel for the Daring Duke_A Historical Regency Romance

by Bridget Barton

  “You cannot know he is smitten, as you call it. And even if he is not, I shall survive the experience.”

  “Ah, now there is my daughter. The sharp little lady I recognize.” He laughed again.

  “Oh dear, am I really so sharp?” Charlotte sat down on the couch, and her father took the armchair opposite.

  “Only regarding your wit, child. I did not mean to suggest you had any sharp ways to your nature. You are perfectly adorable. In my opinion, of course.” He was still teasing her, although she knew he spoke the truth. “And you might profess to such self-sufficiency, but remember that you are my daughter, and I can see a little further into your heart than you might think.”

  “Well, I daresay I am a little nervous. Perhaps because it has been some weeks since I last saw him,” Charlotte finally admitted.

  “Charlotte, am I right in remembering that you told me Lord Harrington is to come to Thurlow Manor today for afternoon tea?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “I am almost afraid to point out to you that it is but eleven o’clock, Charlotte, and you have at least two hours before any sort of vigil needs to be set up at any of the windows of this house.” He laughed gently. “Why not seek out Ruth and chatter to her for a while. Take some early tea of your own in the morning room; anything to take your mind off your nerves.”

  “Goodness, is it only eleven o’clock?” Charlotte winced.

  “Yes, my little dove.”

  “Then I think I should seek Ruth out for a while.”

  “Jolly good. Then perhaps I might be permitted to continue with my accounts without the tip-tap of your feet in the corridor outside?” He raised his eyebrows. “Otherwise, I might only have a few minutes to spend entertaining this young man of yours.”

  “Of course, Papa.” Charlotte laughed, knowing that her father, with or without the household accounts being complete, would find some other little detail of huge importance that would take him away from the afternoon tea less than twenty minutes into it.

  “Then I shall leave you for now.” He rose to his feet and left her with a warm, fatherly smile.

  By the time James Harrington finally arrived, his excitement at seeing Charlotte again was so intense it surprised him.

  She looked as beautiful as ever in a simple ivory gown that complemented her creamy complexion and chestnut hair and made him stare at her just a little too long for a polite afternoon tea with her father.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Harrington,” the Baron said, already on his feet and smiling as he strode across the drawing room to greet him.

  Whilst the two men bowed at one another respectfully, James let his eyes stray to Charlotte once again. How he had missed her these last weeks, and how he silently cursed his father for keeping the two of them apart.

  “Lord Cunningham, how very nice it is to be here at Thurlow Manor again,” James began brightly. “And Miss Cunningham, I trust you are well?” He fixed her blue eyes with his own, fully expecting to see some annoyance or consternation for his lengthy absence.

  “I am well; I thank you.” She narrowed her gaze, and he realized she was amused.

  No doubt she had easily read his concern and knew he was troubled by the idea of a less than welcoming reception from her. How clever she was. How much she observed and perceived.

  The three of them settled down nicely, and their tea tray was delivered in very good time. The conversation was light and comfortable, and James found himself pleased once again by the Baron’s company.

  As always, the Baron showed an interest in James as a man, not James as a title or a stepping stone to an elevated status of some kind.

  “Have you been with Hector and Lawrence again, Lord Harrington?” Lord Cunningham asked conversationally.

  “Yes, Sir,” James said respectfully and was gratified to see Charlotte’s pleasure in his mode of address to her father. “I am pleased to be seeing more of my old friend. We spent so much of our youth and educational years together, but the years in between have seen the little distance between our houses seem to grow. I am keen to shorten that distance, for Hector has always been the finest company.”

  “Yes, he is a fine young man,” Lucas Cunningham agreed. “Silly as the day is long, of course, but perhaps that is part of what makes him the fine young man he is.” He laughed. “Of course, Lawrence was always a little irreverent himself in his youth. Always had me laughing at some jape or other.”

  “Yes, I have always suspected Hector to be a chip off the old block, as it were.” He smiled and became aware that Charlotte was studying him as he spoke.

  For a moment, James hoped his appearance was not found wanting. He knew he could be a little vain, but he liked to look smart and knew himself to be a far cry from his father, who was sloppy in his own habits.

  He knew he was as well dressed as ever in a dark blue tailcoat and waistcoat with pristine ivory breeches. Jones, his valet, had polished his black knee boots to perfection, and his hair, as always, was perfectly trimmed.

  With his confidence restored, James knew himself to possess a certain clean-cut handsomeness which he hoped Charlotte liked. But he wanted her to be attracted to more than that. He wanted her to find the inside as attractive as the outside and wished they could have a little time alone. He was always better able to show her who he really was in those tiny slices of private time they occasionally found themselves enjoying.

  He determined that, should they enjoy such time today, he would make it count.

  “I think we have an engagement in common in a fortnight, Lord Cunningham,” James said and turned to look at Charlotte, pleased that she looked a little startled to have her secret study of him observed.

  So, she had been looking at him.

  “Have we indeed?” the Baron said, and James could see Charlotte stifling a laugh.

  The Baron was rather a wonderful old buffer, and it was clear to James that he could not bring to mind any engagement at all.

  “Yes, it is the summer ball to be hosted by the Earl of Morley. Hector tells me you are acquainted, Sir, and that you will have undoubtedly received an invitation,” James went on and could see the amusement in Charlotte’s eyes.

  “Oh yes, indeed,” Lord Cunningham said vaguely, his eyes narrowing as he stared off into the middle distance, clearly wondering if he had remembered to respond to the invitation at all. “Now then, if you will both excuse me for a few moments?” he said and hardly looked at the two of them as he rose to his feet and wandered towards the door. “I shall be back with you shortly,” he called over his shoulder before departing altogether.

  “I am bound to say that it is unlikely my father will return,” Charlotte said, and he saw her broadening smile of amusement. “For he will now, as we speak, be turning his desk upside-down to discover the whereabouts of this invitation. You must forgive him; he is a little careless with such things.”

  “But he is careful enough that he raised such a fine and beautiful daughter, and so I think he must be forgiven everything else.” James looked at her intently, his sudden desire for her becoming something he could not ignore. “And I am quietly grateful for a little time alone with you.”

  “Are you indeed?” Charlotte said in her teasing tone. “Perhaps I should call for Ruth to chaperone me for a while, especially since we are unlikely to be interrupted by my father for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “Ruth?” he said and raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, my dear Ruth. She will guard me closely; I can tell you.” She smiled, and he remembered Ruth was very likely the fair-haired young woman who acted as Charlotte’s maid.

  “You must tease me, must you not?” James laughed. “And no, please do not call for your maid; I have been suffering all manner of torments not seeing you these last weeks.”

  “And now you are playing with me, Lord Harrington, for I shall not believe for a moment that you have suffered torments of any kind.” Her blue eyes were cool and amused.

  “Then you cl
early do not know how well I regard you. Not to mention how much of my time is spent in pleasing thoughts of you.” He spoke seriously, and he could see that Charlotte was taken aback by his sudden intensity.

  She looked so barely flustered that anybody else might not have noticed it. But James had made a study of Charlotte Cunningham and could see she was struggling to keep her composure.

  He knew he should rein it in a little, but he wanted her to know his feelings; he wanted to make their moments alone count. Instead of backing away, he stared at her fervently, not releasing her from his gaze for a second.

  “You are staring at me again, Sir, just as you did that first day at Hanover Hall,” she said in a voice that was quieter than normal.

  “Can you blame me? I stare at you now for the same reason I stared at you then. Only now the compulsion to do so has become so strong that it is truly something I cannot fight.” He was still staring and smiled when she finally blushed.

  “Lord Harrington,” she said in a low and breathless voice.

  “Can you not call me James, instead? Are we not drawing ever closer, Charlotte?” He knew he was pushing her too far, too fast, but he had missed her terribly and was more affected by her presence than he could put into words.

  Before she could answer, the door to the drawing room opened again, and her father bustled in holding the previously discussed invitation aloft rather triumphantly.

  “There, you see,” he said as if he had fully expected them to have discussed his forgetfulness whilst he was gone. “I have not only found the thing, but I see from a little annotation I have made here in the corner,” he enthusiastically pointed to said annotation, “that I have responded in the affirmative.”

  “Oh, I am pleased. Papa,” Charlotte said and sounded much more relieved than the situation warranted.

  James realized that her father’s sudden reappearance had been welcome to Charlotte. He knew he had, perhaps, gone a little too far, been a little too intense, but he was not sure he regretted it.

  After all, Charlotte simply looked a little out of her depth, not dismayed or repulsed. Her father’s presence would no doubt give that proud young woman the opportunity to gather herself again, to hide her little vulnerability from James. But he had seen it, and it pleased him a little; she was affected by him.

  “Then I shall see you both at the ball?” James returned to his bright and friendly manner with no hint of the seriousness of just moments before.

  “Indeed, you shall, Lord Harrington.” Lord Cunningham settled back down into his seat, and James realized, with an inward sigh, that it likely heralded the end of their few moments alone.

  Still, he had the ball to look forward to, and he was sure he would manage the next two weeks they were to be apart again. Just.

  Chapter 10

  In the end, the next fortnight dragged along interminably slowly for James. He had almost written to Charlotte in between visits to feel he had some other contact with her but judged he had been a little too forward at their last meeting and should give her time to adjust.

  James was sure he had made his growing feelings for her clear, but he also knew that such things could not be rushed, at least not with an intelligent, confident young woman like Charlotte Cunningham.

  If he went in at full speed, she would no doubt suspect him of some game or other and back away. They had both wondered at the other’s intentions before now, and he knew it was because of their frank teasing and lively conversations.

  But James could not regret those conversations for a moment, for it was their very banter which had drawn them together and made each of them interesting to the other.

  The competition had made Charlotte cautious, though, and James knew he would have to show her more of himself in the future, the man beneath the charm and amusement.

  “Good morning, My Lord.” Charles Holt, his father’s attorney, seemed to appear from nowhere.

  James had been making his way from the drawing room to the entrance hall, intent upon taking out his finest horse for a morning ride. He had not seen where Holt had come from and had the same creeping sensation of mistrust he always had in the dreadful man’s company.

  “Good Morning, Holt,

  ” James said crisply and thought that he had not seen the attorney since he had been forced to look over the list of eligible young ladies in his father’s study.

  James eyed him curiously for a moment and wondered if Holt was back at Sandford in connection with that same quest today. And if Charles Holt had been a better man, one he could trust, James would have asked the question outright.

  But the attorney was not a man James had ever trusted. He always gave James the impression of a man who both hated and admired his employer at the same time, something he instantly equated with envy.

  Of all the people who worked in and around the great hall, Charles Holt was the one James liked the least. He had never had any sort of sympathy with the man and had never fallen into comfortable conversation as he generally did with the household staff.

  There was something in the man’s eyes which always seemed dead, like a landed fish. James could describe it in no better way. And he thought that a man with no light in his eyes whatsoever was a man who could never be relied upon. Holt had always struck James as a man who would switch allegiances at the drop of a hat if it suited him.

  Perhaps he had an innate ruthlessness that the Duke recognized. The man and his fish-eyed stare had worked at Sandford since before James was born, and a darker nature would certainly explain why James’ father had retained the man for so many years.

  James did not linger as he would have done with just about anybody else. He would always stop for long enough to enquire after a maid or footman’s well-being or at least comment upon the weather. Anything to let them know that he did notice them, that he paid them a consideration that their master, the Duke, never did.

  But he could not stand and pass time with Charles Holt. He just had nothing to say to the man, and so he walked on, striding out through the main entrance and away into the pleasantly warm morning.

  Charles Holt stood in the Duke of Sandford’s study with his hands clasped lightly behind his back as was his custom.

  Charles had always thought it a particularly good stance, showing neither nerves nor over-confidence, setting just the right tone for any and all meetings with the man who provided the larger part of his very healthy income.

  He had been the attorney to the Duchy of Sandford for most of his career, and Charles was entirely loyal to the Duke. His loyalty was, however, the sycophantic kind which was, by its very nature, tinged with envy and hatred.

  The truth of the matter was that Charles Holt’s loyalty was largely towards himself and his aspirations to be the wealthiest attorney in the whole county. His status was already somewhat elevated given his most prestigious client, but Charles wanted more; Charles always wanted more.

  “And so, you see, Holt, I have an ever-growing suspicion with regard to my son’s activities,” the Duke continued to talk.

  He had made himself entirely comfortable in his broad chair, leaning forward over his growing belly to lean his elbows on the mahogany desk. He peered at his attorney through keen blue eyes, searching for any sign of a wandering attention.

  “I see, Your Grace,” Charles said with a voice dripping reverence, all the while his annoyance at standing whilst his master sat growing.

  Charles was a complicated man, torn between duty and self-enhancement, and he often surveyed the master he would do anything to please with a silent, secret loathing.

  The Duke was growing fatter by the day, and his hair, that dreadful thinning pale straw, was over-long, making him look more like a beggar than a Duke at times.

  “He thinks he can divert my attention with his attempts at amiability, but I am nobody’s fool, Holt,” the Duke rumbled on.

  “Quite so, Your Grace.”

  “He pretends to study our list, Holt. He makes pleasing
little noises about this lady or that lady. But I know him to be playing me false. He is prevaricating, and he thinks himself very clever with it. I think it is time I showed the milk-sop a lesson.”

  Charles Holt never ceased to be amazed by the animosity which always rose when the Duke talked of his only son. It was true to say, of course, that the Duke was a man who was always angry about something or other.

  So much so that his rough and blotchy skin, the complexion of a man who ate and drank too much for his own health’s sake, was often so deep red with fury it was almost purple.

  Charles wondered that the man had not keeled over with a seizure or something worse before now and knew it was something which could not be ruled out in the future.