A Damsel for the Daring Duke_A Historical Regency Romance

by Bridget Barton

  Still, Charles Holt could only hope it was the very distant future. He did not rate his chances of retaining his position within the Duchy very highly if and when James Harrington took his father’s place.

  If there was someone on God’s earth he despised more than the Duke, it was his son. Just the thought of the young man brought a light sneer to the attorney’s face. The Duke approved, of course. He liked people to agree with him, if only regarding their physical countenance.

  “How so, Your Grace? Is there something I can help you with?” Charles’ practiced tones were as second nature to him.

  If he could do anything at all to upend James Harrington, he would do it with gusto. He had always despised the young Duke-in-waiting, even when he had been nothing but a boy.

  Charles had seen how the child followed in his mother’s footsteps instead of his father’s, as ought to have been natural. He was a learned child who had carried the practice on into adulthood, but it was the sort of learning that thought itself reasonable and clever, always glib and flippant when he should have been serious.

  But Charles thought that it was often the case that young men who were intended for greatness by dint of their birth rarely took their responsibilities seriously. Charles, on the other hand, would have made a much better Duke. If he had been born higher up in the world, he would have made the very most of it.

  “I am convinced that my son has some romantic intrigue or other over in the east of the county. That is why he continually visits that pointless young man, Hector Hanover.”

  “Yes, Your Grace; I am familiar with the Hanover family,” Charles said dismissively, letting his master know that he thought as little of them as he did.

  Charles would, of course, have thought highly of the Hanovers if that was the Duke’s leaning. He would bend in whichever direction his master did as if he had no will of his own.

  “I can find no other explanation for it all. For one thing, as I have already mentioned, he is travelling east with increasing regularity of late. For another, his little games here at Sandford have excited my suspicions greatly.” The Duke looked bilious, and it was clear his mood was deteriorating.

  Father and son could not have been more different, and Charles knew that it was that more than anything else which lay at the root of the Duke’s determination to rein James in.

  James Harrington was clever, or at least he thought he was, in just the way his mother had been. The Duchess had been a constant source of irritation to Charles, largely because she was one of the few people who saw right through him to the very heart of what he truly was; a self-serving little sycophant.

  James Harrington could see it too, and Charles had always recognized that same look in the eyes of the Duke’s son. Likely that was why he despised him so much, however many other slants and angles he might come at the whole question from.

  “Games, Your Grace?” Charles was starting to feel a little bilious himself; a mental image of the shrewd green eyes of James Harrington always had a detrimental effect on his humour.

  “Yes, Holt, games.” The Duke looked pleased to be drawn out a little on the subject, for he was a man who was extraordinarily fond of airing his views and theories on any subject at all. “For instance, take Lady Penelope Colchester,” the Duke went on.

  “Yes, the daughter of the Earl of Paynton,” Charles supplied pointlessly.

  “Yes. Well, my son gave me to understand that he had something of an interest in her. He went to some lengths to have me slowly put off old Whittingham and his daughter, Lady Felicia, in favour of Lady Penelope.” He shook his head in annoyance. “Said he thought he might prefer her to Lady Felica, and so I arranged a string of events with Lord Paynton and his daughter.”

  “It did not go well, Your Grace?”

  “It did not go well at all,” the Duke said, and Charles could not help thinking that the Duke was every bit the fool he had claimed not to be only minutes before.

  In the same circumstances, Charles knew that he himself would have seen right through the little charade. He would have suspected James Harrington before the dreadful young man had opened his mouth. That his own father had not seen to the truth of the matter sooner was just grist to the mill of Charles Holt’s bitterness and envy; why had he not been born to be Duke? He would have done a much better job. He was so much more intelligent.

  “The young lady is precisely what the Duchy needs too.” The Duke seemed a little more subdued now that he was musing. “Really. Pretty face, quiet, agreeable. Perfect qualities in a wife.” He was almost mumbling to himself, and Charles wondered if the old Duke was wishing he had chosen so well, given that the late Duchess had been far too clever for her own good, even if she had been a beauty.

  “And her father is one of the wealthiest men in the county. Not to mention the fact that he is of the sort who will pay a King’s ransom to have his own status elevated by his daughter’s marriage. Nothing could be better.” The Duke coughed loudly without covering his mouth. Charles winced at the idea of breathing in the foul breath from deep within his master’s lungs. “And Whittingham is the same! Felicia is a little annoying with her priggish manor, but that could easily be crushed when the match is made.”

  Charles had heard all of this before; the virtues and fortunes of the young ladies in question. He had helped the Duke to compile the list of young ladies suitable to marry his son, after all, and had seen to it himself that the two aforementioned women were at the top of that list.

  Of course, Charles had put them there for financial reasons only. He could not have cared less what sort of wife James Harrington found himself tied to in the end. In fact, the more disagreeable, the better. It would serve the smart-talking young man right, after all.

  “But with Lady Penelope, it was obvious. He has no interest in the woman at all, and I could see it on the first of the engagements I had arranged. There was no regard there. In fact, I think he quietly mocked her although the lady herself likely did not notice. She is not terribly sharp at such things, which I think is yet further evidence of her eminent suitability as future Duchess.” He coughed again, and Charles held his own breath for some moments until he thought the danger of breathing in the murk had passed.

  “No, he is playing with me now, dragging the thing out and placating me as best he can. I should have realized immediately that he spoke so falsely. James never agrees with me if he can help it, and even when he does, he is always careful to be flippant and sarcastic.”

  “I see, Your Grace,” Charles said with restraint when he had wanted to agree wholeheartedly.

  Still, he was just the attorney and, despite the Duke’s own grievances towards his son, Charles would never get away with open agreement. It was not his place to comment upon his betters.

  His betters! In talking of James Harrington, Charles almost ground his teeth at the notion of that young man being his better in any respect.

  “So, we shall play him at his own little game, Holt.” The Duke brightened considerably now that they were getting to the planning stage of the conversation.

  “Your Grace?” Charles’ legs were beginning to ache from standing so rigidly for so long, and he wished his master would simply get on with it.

  “Yes, I want you to follow him to Hanover Hall this time. He is to return before he has even been back here a fortnight. This time he claims to be committed to some ball or other. Lord Morley is said to be putting it on.”

  “I see, Your Grace.”

  “I want you to take up a post somewhere close by. Be sure you are not seen, but do what you can to follow James whenever he leaves the hall.” The Duke’s tone had lowered in volume and become something far more conspiratorial. “Find out where he spends his time and with whom. If there is a lady at the centre of this, you must root her out, Holt.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Charles had to stop himself smiling.

  He rather liked the sound of the task the Duke had handed to him, and he knew he would relish the
opportunity to be instrumental in upending James Harrington. After all, he knew the man would never keep him on when it came his turn to be the Duke of Sandford so, as far as Charles was concerned, he had nothing to lose.

  He truly hoped that Lord Harrington had a woman he loved over in the east and, what was more, he hoped he could be the one to wield the shovel and dig a hole under the self-satisfied man.

  It would do Charles no end of good to succeed in this. It would make his master all the more generous, and it would give Charles the personal satisfaction of ruining things for James.

  “And if you do find a young lady, you must not come back here until you have made enough enquiries to identify her. That is all I shall need from you for now. I daresay I might care to employ your services further in this business, but at present, just a few facts will do.” The Duke looked almost as if he had the news he was looking for already.

  He was clearly convinced that his suspicions surrounding his son’s behaviour were right. “I need to know if there is a woman and, if so, who she is. Once I have that vital information, I shall decide upon my next objective.”

  “Very well, Your Grace.” Charles gave a light tip of his head.

  “Be very careful not to be seen, Holt. Not only by my son, but by that valet of his, Samuel Jones. He is irritatingly loyal to my son, and he would, of course, easily recognize you. You must have a care and employ only the most trustworthy driver to take you to the east. It must not be anybody connected with this household.”

  “Quite so, Your Grace.” Charles could easily see the sense in his master’s words.

  The household staff at Sandford, given the opportunity, would turn their coats inside-out and forsake their master in favour of his son.

  They were all weak-willed in Charles’ opinion, choosing to throw their admiration upon a younger man who would be unlikely to work them as tirelessly as their current master did.

  No, Charles did not trust any of them. In fact, Charles did not trust anybody. But money always did the trick, as far as he was concerned, and so he would hire his driver well.

  “So, my son is due to return to the east by the end of the week for this ball. Does that give you time enough to make all the necessary arrangements?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I shall start preparing today.”

  “Good,” the Duke said firmly. “Then I shall see you again when you have made some progress.” He looked away from Charles, dismissing him in the bluff and arrogant manner he always chose to dismiss his staff with.

  But Charles was not staff. Charles was a clever, resourceful, loyal attorney, and the Duke would soon know exactly how valuable a man Charles Holt really was.

  Chapter 11

  James, unable to wait until the evening of the ball to set eyes on Charlotte again, called upon her and her father at Thurlow Manor in the afternoon. She was surprised to see him, and he knew he could not take up too much of her time.

  As beautiful as she was quite naturally, she would very likely have plans to spend some time that day on preparations for the evening ahead.

  But he wanted to see her; he wanted to deepen that closeness between them whilst he still had his father held at bay and believing his feigned interest in Lady Penelope Colchester.

  He needed time for Charlotte to get to know him, for he knew he could secure no understanding from her without it.

  He had hoped to do just that on his meeting with her that day, but her father had kept to their company this time, albeit he was extremely pleasant and unintentionally amusing until he had suggested that the two of them have a little walk around the Manor.

  James had initially been thrilled by the prospect until Ruth Clarkin had appeared, cloak and bonnet at the ready, to come with them.

  It was such a proper thing for Charlotte’s father to have done that it ought not to have come as a surprise to James. After all, the Baron was a cultured man, and he was well respected in society, not a savage who was bringing his daughter up to be the same. And yet it seemed a little contrary to the man’s way. Thurlow Manor was small, and the couple could easily be seen from any number of windows in the Manor house as they walked.

  All in all, it would have struck James as more in keeping with the character of the man that he not even think of such trifles and simply leave them to it, as he had done so many times before.

  Why would a man who had left them alone behind closed doors send them out with a chaperone into the open-air where they might be seen by anybody anyway?

  But Lord Cunningham was a little eccentric, it was true, and James was certain that there was no more to it than that. Cunningham was not an artful man, and it seemed unlikely that there was any particular intention at all in his actions. In fact, it had rather occurred to James that the whole thing was more an act of kindness to the maid, a bid to get her a little fresh air and company.

  Now that, as far as peculiar behaviour went, was far more in keeping with the man. To rescue his daughter’s maid from being a little left out seemed to James to be something that would appeal to Lucas Cunningham’s slightly off-kilter character.

  Ruth Clarkin had kept a little distance, it was true to say, but it seemed that Charlotte could not bear to have the young woman trailing behind. She continually called her to them and included her in conversation. And Ruth Clarkin, for her part, made for rather a strange sort of servant.

  It was clear to James that she was a well-educated woman, conversing easily with her mistress. It was also clear to him that the two of them were on rather friendly terms, although given his own closeness to Samuel Jones, his valet, he could well understand it.

  And yet, there were fewer boundaries between the women, he was sure. There was something about Ruth Clarkin that made him think of the phrase, she was neither fish nor fowl.

  It was as if she was not quite the servant, but not quite a gentle-woman either. She was somewhere in between, almost in the style of most governesses. Someone of better breeding who had fallen on hard times. And yet he did not think that was particularly the case for Ruth Clarkin.

  Anyway, as pleasant as she was, at least the young woman was not to be at the summer ball. He knew that opportunities to talk alone with Charlotte might not present themselves, but he would look forward to it as if they would. He would remain positive.

  The visit to Thurlow Manor had still been very enjoyable, and James had felt relaxed and excited all at once in Charlotte’s company. But he left her after only an hour, knowing she would want the time to get herself ready.

  And so, James made his way back to Hanover Hall to retire to his chamber for the rest of the afternoon. He would see Charlotte again that evening at Lord Morley’s summer ball, and an hour’s sleep would do him the world of good.

  Not only that, but James intended to pay firm attention to his appearance for the evening. He knew he was, perhaps, being just a little vain, but Charlotte seemed to enjoy his smart, even immaculate, appearance, and he found himself in a position of only wanting to please her and nobody else.

  As he lay on the bed and stared up at the ceiling of the chamber at Hanover Hall, James still wished he could have had just a few minutes alone with her that afternoon.

  Ordinarily, they managed several minutes, one time even an hour, whilst her father disappeared on some sudden little errand that was almost always of no consequence whatsoever.

  Still, he liked Lord Cunningham, and he liked his eccentric ways even more. It was those eccentric ways, after all, which had afforded him so much more time alone with Charlotte than he would have enjoyed under any other man’s roof and with any other man’s daughter.

  Not that he had taken advantage of it, not in any sinister way at least, but he did like to talk to her without the constraints of other company. It seemed to change things every time they had such time alone; they always came out of it knowing each other a little better than they did before. Ten minutes in private company was worth ten days in a crowd as far as James was concerned.

&nb
sp; But he knew it was not time and progress enough yet that he could ask her to marry him.

  Some weeks, possibly even months would have to pass before he could do such a thing and be assured of an affirmative answer from her. Charlotte Cunningham was certainly not the sort of young lady who would agree to a proposal made so hastily, not even from the son of the Duke. Perhaps especially from the son of the Duke.

  Then there was his father to consider. The old Duke was being particularly agreeable of late, and James was not entirely sure he trusted it. James had done his utmost to engage with his father and his weasel-faced attorney on the matter of the list.

  He had studied it with them, made appreciative noises in all the right places, and given the vague impression that he might see Lady Penelope Colchester as something of a frontrunner in it all.

  His father had immediately set up engagement after engagement with just that young lady in mind, seeming to think nothing of the feelings and sensibilities of Lady Felicia Trent, and her father, the Earl of Whittingham.