Charity Falls for the Rejected Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  His brother. His kin.

  He had always longed to have a brother — elder or younger, it had not mattered to him. He had only wanted a companion, one with whom he could share one of the deepest of all bonds that existed for mankind.

  He had had a brother. He had not even known.

  He rose to his feet and began to pace distractedly up and down the hall. He wished that there was someone — anyone — to whom he might be able to unburden his heart, to ease his agitated state of mind.

  Of course, the someone that he truly wanted was Miss Miller. He felt confident that one look from her dark eyes, one kind word from her lips, would alleviate a good portion of his pain.

  But he knew that he had no right to make that demand of her, not until he had redeemed himself and proven worthy.

  Chapter 24

  True to his word, Mr. Edwards did return. The very next day, in fact, just as Charity was about to set out on a walk with Esther.

  Charity was very grateful for Esther’s presence. Although she knew her father had considered her to be a chaperone, she was a great deal more than that. She filled every awkward silence with a lively, well-considered question, and was happy to speak at length at the moments where Charity felt as though she had nothing to say.

  She alleviated one such interlude with a question that seemed to warm Mr. Edward’s heart, asking him, “And why did you choose a more rural parish, Mr. Edwards? Are there not more souls to be tended to in London, for example?”

  “And more money to be made,” Mr. Edwards agreed with a laugh. “You are quite right, Miss Campbell. In many ways, a London parish is a more obvious aspiration for a young man like me. But, I must admit that the idea never seized me. I feel much more drawn to the life of a country parson, with its pleasant rhythms and warm community.”

  “And, of course,” he added, “the Duke of Mornington is known across the clergy as a kind and loyal patron, so a living in his estate would always be a desirable one.”

  Seeing the look on Charity’s face, Esther immediately steered the conversation onto more congenial matters.

  “And do you feel settled here, now that you are come?”

  “To some degree,” Mr. Edwards replied. “Though I believe that there are offices that I must undertake before I consider myself to be truly rooted in this community.”

  Charity felt reasonably confident that she knew what he was referring to, but nonetheless, she was glad that it was Esther who took up the line of inquiry.

  “What sort of offices?” Esther asked. “Do you look to marrying and settling in these parts? I fancy that some people will never believe that a clergyman is truly settled unless he is married.”

  “I do think of marriage,” Mr. Edwards said frankly. “I have the pleasure of joining a great many hands in my work as a clergyman, and I must say that when I utter the words ‘an honorable estate’ I think how much I myself would like to participate in such an honor.”

  “But do you not think, Mr. Edwards,” Esther replied, “that one ought not to entertain the idea of entering into marriage for its own sake before one has found a worthy partner? I fear that in venerating the institution of marriage without reference to how one might go about selecting a mate, we run the risk of encouraging people into imprudent matches.”

  “I could not agree with you more, Miss Campbell,” Mr. Edwards said warmly. He smiled at both Esther and Charity in turn. “Although I regret that I come here as a bachelor, for I feel that it befits a clergyman to be married.”

  “Why should you regret being a bachelor?” Charity asked. “All that indicates is that you have not yet met a woman who you have liked enough to make her your wife, and there is no shame in holding people to high standards, after all.”

  At these words, Charity was abruptly reminded of Mr. Harding and how she had feelings for him such as she could not easily imagine holding for anyone else. How she might have found the person who was best suited for her and duly lost him again.

  At the thought of Mr. Harding, Charity’s eyes filled with tears. She bent down, as if to retie the lace on her boot, but not before Esther could catch a glimpse of her suffering.

  “Would you have the goodness to keep walking?” Charity said, not taking her eyes from the ground so that Mr. Edwards would not be able to see her distress. “I have no wish for your walk to be interrupted on my account.”

  Perhaps it was a thin excuse, but both Esther and Mr. Edwards were tactful enough to discern that she was indisposed, and walked a little way off to admire a pretty view of the hillside. Charity took the few precious moments to compose herself.

  She despised the sort of young ladies that wept and worried over men, and now she found that she had become one of them. It was not easy to gather her faculties back together or allow her cheeks to cool where the hot tears had warmed them, but she was determined not to show her distress. Not in front of Esther, and certainly not in front of Mr. Edwards, a man whom she did not know in any meaningful way.

  Once she had regained control and taken several steadying breaths, she forced her features into an expression of cheer and went to join Esther and Mr. Edwards where they stood, looking at the view.

  All at once, a life seemed to open up before her. A life of being married to Mr. Edwards, or at least, to someone like Mr. Edwards. A life of being the wife of the parson, a respectable and entirely dull figure. A mamma to half a dozen children, driven to distraction by the weight of so much duty. A life of polite nods and friendly smiles from a husband with whom she could never find fault, but never truly love.

  The life that her father wanted for her. The life that, for a few precious days of thinking of Mr. Harding, had faded into impossibility. A life that she now understood she would likely have to embrace, or else find herself a tired, poor spinster.

  She longed to simply walk away, to remove herself from the situation, to return to the vicarage and take to her bed and refuse to move. To allow herself to bathe in all the misery that she felt, to feel everything that her heart demanded that she feel.

  But she could not do that to Esther. She could not embarrass — or worse, alarm — her friend by leaving her in the company of a stranger, although he was clearly a well-mannered and honorable young man.

  It was much easier to pull herself together for Esther than for her own sake, so she managed to compose herself enough to join them.

  * * *

  “A charming day,” Mr. Edwards said, as he bade goodbye to the two ladies at the gate of the vicarage. “A charming day and charming company.”

  Charity managed to summon up a smile. She could see her father watching from the window of his study.

  “It was a great pleasure to meet you, Mr. Edwards,” Esther said.

  “And you, Miss Campbell,” the young man replied. “I enjoyed our lively conversation immensely.

  “And to you, Miss Miller,” he continued, taking his hat off and looking to Charity with eyes of clear, light amber. “I sincerely hope that you enjoyed our little walk.”

  “I did,” she had no wish to be unkind, “very much.”

  “Then I hope that we may repeat it again soon,” he said. “Good day to you both, ladies.”

  He went away with those words, and the two young ladies stood, watching him as he disappeared up the road.

  I believe that that young man may become a part of the story of my life, Charity thought to herself, with a sort of tired resignation. But I fear that it is not the story that I want.

  As it so often did, the image of Mr. Harding drifted into her mind’s eye. She allowed herself to treasure the thought of his noble brow, his straight nose, his eyes like warm coals, his bright and ready smile.

  She knew that she could not be associated with the sort of man that her father had told her Mr. Harding was. Nonetheless, the contrast was stark to her. When she looked at Mr. Edwards, she felt nothing more than a vague sensation of warm friendliness, an appreciation of the upstanding young man that he clearly was.
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  When she thought of Mr. Harding, however…

  Well, that was the thing. She did not so much think about Mr. Harding as feel, and those feelings were so overwhelming that they triumphed over every other argument, every scrap of abstract reasoning. There was nothing reasonable about the love that she felt, and yes, it was love, she knew that now — love for Mr. Harding. And that lack of reason did not prevent her from loving him, not at all.

  Chapter 25

  The walk to the churchyard took Adam past the vicarage.

  He did his best not to think of Miss Miller, though his eyes did not obey the same scruples, and automatically darted to the window in the hope of finding her silhouette there. But there was nothing — only the bent head of the Reverend Miller, no doubt poring over the draft of his next sermon.

  He thought of her, as he walked past. He thought of her and prayed most earnestly that she was happy, though he could not be by her side. Not yet.

  It did not take him long to find the grave that he was looking for. There were not so many people in the parish that the new graves could not be spotted easily, and the people he was coming to pay his respects to had been sleeping in their final resting place for only one year.

  He knelt before the small gravestone that simply bore the words, Frederick Warwick, and the dates - a date of birth and death date, a mere five years later.

  It was not unusual for children to die, of course. Tragic though it undoubtedly was, Adam heard of children dying all the time. Indeed, his own mother had died bringing a child into the world, and the infant had followed its mother only hours after.

  Yet, Adam had never known the particular pain of being close to the death of a child, particularly one that had survived its infancy, that should, by all rights, have grown into a man.

  But what a life that would have been.

  He reminded me so much of the way that you were when you were his age - so lively, so inquisitive. How can I look you in the eye, knowing that you were responsible for snuffing out that precious light?

  He understood now why his father had rejected him so completely. Had he been in his father’s position, Adam believed that he would not have reacted any differently.

  He felt a terrible pain for his brother, the one he had never known and never would know. By law, of course, the child was not his brother at all, merely the incidental result of an unfortunate encounter between a wealthy man and a poor and disgraced woman. By law, the child was no relation to Adam at all.

  Had Freddie lived, he would have gone his entire life under the shadow of illegitimacy. He would have been despised and ignored, never permitted the freedom nor the acceptance that Adam had taken for granted until it was taken away.

  In short, he would have lived as a social pariah, the way that Adam was living now.

  And yet — and yet — it was still such a terrible pity that he had never had the chance to live at all. Never to know the happiness of becoming a man, of falling in love, of growing old. Little Freddie had been denied a chance for a meaningful life as is the birthright of every child, and Adam found himself filled with an emotion that he had not previously expected.

  He was seized, with the burning desire to obtain justice for Freddie. He needed to know why his brother had died and to bring the person who had caused his death to justice, whatever that justice might be.

  He arose and reached forward to touch the little headstone. It was made of Italian marble, and he realized abruptly that his father must have paid for it.

  The headstone of Mary Warwick stood alongside her baby. Her headstone also bore her name, the date of her birth, and the date of her death.

  But there was another inscription, too. A few lines of rhyming verse, which made Adam’s breath catch in his throat as he read them.

  There is a lady sweet and kind

  Was never face so pleased my mind

  I did but see her passing by

  And yet I love her till I die.

  There was nothing to say, nothing to even think in response. There was only the thought of Mary Warwick’s sweet face and the sound of her voice ringing out like a bell when she sat at the piano.

  Adam left the graveyard.

  Chapter 26

  For the first time in a very long time, Charity went to call on Esther.

  She did not know what particular impulse seized her that day. She knew only that she wished to see her friend, and that she did not want to be in her father’s space while she did so. It was as easy for her to walk to the Campbell’s house as it was for Esther to walk to the vicarage, yet somehow Charity had fallen out of the habit of walking there.

  She felt a bit guilty at the fact she had always relied on her friend to come to her and regretted that she had not been more reciprocating.

  The Campbells were the sort of family that fitted in well in the village, which was a village of people who were not high in society, but many wished to think themselves so, and stayed in the village because they fancied that everyone else was lower than them in status.

  They lived in that middle space between genteel poverty and comfortable affluence, just as Charity’s family might have done if it had not been for the comfortable provision of her father’s living.

  The Campbells were undoubtedly gentlefolk, and yet Esther’s mother always kept cautious hands on the purse strings, as she remembered well the feeling of having very little with which to feed or clothe her family.

  Mr. Campbell had done well, however, by securing a position as the Duke of Mornington’s steward. This position had given him a good enough living to call himself genteel, if not precisely a gentleman. The status of his family depended primarily on whether Esther married up or down.

  If she married a gentleman, as well she might, then their position was assured. However, if she married down to a farmer, perhaps, or any other such man who worked with his hands, then all the aspirations of the family, their hopes of belonging to a better class of people, would all be for nothing.

  Charity knew well that Esther felt the pressure keenly, and this pressure was partly why she always exercised such caution over matters concerning her own heart. Unlike Charity, perhaps Esther had a great fear of letting her family down.

  When Charity entered the house, she was greeted by the sound of Esther singing, a pleasant country air that was elevated into something much more wonderful by Esther’s sweet voice.

  Esther had never learned the pianoforte, as her father had never had the disposable resources to employ a teacher, and yet it scarcely seemed to matter. Esther sang like a lark and did not appear to need any further instruction in order to make full use of her gift.

  When the maid announced Charity’s presence, however, the singing stopped abruptly, and Esther rose from the stool where she had been sitting and looking out of the window.

  “I wish that you would not stop,” Charity said. “To hear you singing brings me such a rare and simple pleasure.”

  “Perhaps that is why I must stop, then,” Esther replied, smiling, “to remind us both that life is rarely simple.”

  “That is true indeed,” Charity replied, with a great sigh. “In you, dear friend, I have always treasured your ability to make the world appear simpler, to help me understand my place in it.”

  “Is that why you have called upon me unexpectedly?” Esther asked. “Can I be of help to you in some way?”

  “Perhaps,” Charity said, glad that her friend had supplied her with a means of beginning the conversation. “It is about Mr. Edwards.”

  “What about him?”

  “I like him,” Charity said.

  “And so do I,” Esther replied. “So would any young woman who met him. But, pray tell, dear Charity, what is it that you truly wish to say when you tell me that you like him?”

  “I mean that I am utterly perplexed!” Charity burst out. “I mean that I have every reason to scorn him, to wish that he would go away and leave me to mourn the loss of the man whom I truly cared for. Yet, I d
o not want that. I cannot say that I am curious to know him better, yet I would not object to knowing him at all.”

  Esther smiled. It was an ironical smile, such as her friend had rarely seen on her face before.

  “What can you mean?” Esther asked rhetorically. “Surely you cannot intend to say that you would suffer to make the acquaintance of a kind, pleasant, good young man, who wishes to know you better. I will assume that you misspoke, or that I have misunderstood in some way, because you are my friend, Charity, and I know that my friend is not capable of such unkindness.”

  Not for the first time, Charity was struck by the steel that lay beneath her friend’s sweet exterior.