Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  *******

  Lord Thomas Radcliffe slammed the door knocker, hit with the flat of his hand then pounded hard with his fist. Finally, Terence came to the door, candelabra in hand. Lord Thomas heard the locks being undone, and then he was in the foyer of the huge Regent Street townhouse.

  “Is the Duke here, Terence.”

  “He is My Lord. If you’ll pardon my audacity, I’d say he could use a friend right now. He’s been drinking brandy. All evening, My Lord.”

  Thomas patted the butler on the back. “You’re a good man, Terence. Where is he, in his sitting room?”

  “No, My Lord. He’s in the library.”

  “The library. Right. I can find it. You forget I nearly grew up in this house. Go to bed, Terence. I’ll see to His Grace.”

  “Oh no My Lord. I couldn’t do that. His Grace might need something from the kitchen.”

  “Or the cellars? No. If you want to do something, make some coffee and bring it up to the Library.”

  “As you wish, My Lord.”

  “Thank you, Terence.” Lord Thomas headed to the library. He pushed the already ajar door open and stepped through. Atwater reclined, his boots dangerously close to smearing mud or worse on the soft leather of the sofa. His forearm was thrown over his eyes, shielding them from the firelight, and he appeared asleep.

  “Is that you, Terence?”

  “It is not.”

  Atwater opened his eyes. “Tom. What are you doing here?”

  “I noticed you left the ball early. I knew you needed to be alone, but you also need someone to talk to. So I waited, and here I am.”

  Atwater sat up. “Thank you, Tom. I appreciate it most heartily, but I’m afraid I’m not very good company at the moment.”

  “You’ve been through much in the last months.”

  “The ton is not happy with my recent promotion.”

  “They need something to occupy their vapid minds,” Tom replied.

  “I know that. That’s what makes it worse than it is. They don’t care who is hurt by their vicious words and their hypocrisy. They’re so desperate to be in the know; they’ll believe something completely illogical. They’ll believe anything or say something untoward about anyone, as long as it encourages their own popularity. And for what? There’s no sense to be made of it.” Atwater slammed his fist on the table.

  “And there’s nothing to do about it either, Your Grace. It is the entitled world in which we live.”

  “Tom, it’s me. Robert. Please don’t be formal with me. There’s no one else here.”

  “I’m sorry, Robert. Old habit, I guess. Your brother would be beside himself if I referred to him as anything other than Marquess Hempstead.”

  “Hmm. You need not concern yourself with that any longer.”

  “I’m sorry, Robert. You’re still in shock.”

  “The funeral is Friday. I only want for it to be over. So I can get on with ... with my new life.”

  “You realize you must marry. You’ll need an heir. The sooner, the better.”

  “My brother was thirty, and he never thought of marriage. Not until my alleged transgression took place, that is. Then he wanted to marry Judith ... to save her, I suppose, from my evildoing. To lift the shame off of this house.”

  “My apologies, Robert. It’s not my place to inform you of what you ought to do or not do.”

  “I know you’re looking after my best interests, but I will not marry Lady Judith to make good on a promise that was never made. I say now, I’m glad she refused me before she went travelling. I had no idea she has this other side to her. I wonder that I was ever in love with her.”

  “She does make the most sense, as far as a good match, though. It’s always been something of a given that you two would marry. And, while I know the Duke, Judith’s father, sold the estate in the country ... you’d acquire the house on St James. Mere doors away from Brooks’s. Think of the possibilities ... I’d be willing to look into buying it.”

  Atwater laughed. “Oh, I see ... the ton would like to see a happy ending to the love story? Or you do, so you can buy a townhouse practically next door to the club?”

  “Actually, as much as the gossips relish dishonour and disgrace, they do appreciate some sweet romance now and then. As to your second question, I think only of Your Grace.” He bowed his head, grinning.

  “Thanks, Tom.” Atwater still chuckled.

  “Seriously though, Robert, I do have you best interests in mind.”

  “I thank you, but forgive me, Tom. You are out of your head.”

  “How can you say such a thing? You know that by marrying Lady Judith you could solve many problems.”

  “And whose problems are you referring to?”

  “Yours. If you were to marry Lady Judith now, you’d be seen as a hero. No one remembers the old gossip when a better story comes along. You can rescue Judith from the near destitution she now finds herself in. Without your brother or you, she doesn’t make a good match for, well, anything more than a second son. You can rescue her from that. And it never hurts to be seen as a hero, my dear fellow.” Tom winked at his friend.

  “No. I cannot. I will not. Judith has lied to everyone. Even worse, she’s lied to me. I don’t trust her, I don’t know what happened to her while she was away travelling, but she’s changed. Have you not noticed it?”

  Tom sat with his eyes closed deep in thought. He was quiet for so long that Robert thought he might’ve fallen asleep.

  “Tom?”

  Tom jerked his head up and looked at his friend. “Robert, do you suppose …” his voice trailed off.

  “Do I suppose? Atwater waited for his friend to complete the thought he’d begun to share.

  Tom poured himself a brandy and finished it in two swallows.

  “Is this a game, Tom?”

  “Uh, no.” Tom shook his head and smiled. “It’s late. I’ve had some brandy. It’s time for me to be getting to my bed.” He stood, as did Lord Robert.

  “Thank you, Tom.” Lord Robert extended his hand to his friend.

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I’m sincerely sorry for the loss of your father and brother.”

  Lord Robert smiled, “I know you are, Tom. Remember we’re having luncheon here after the funeral on Friday.”

  “I will see you before then. Good night, Your Grace.” He was gone in a blink. Lord Robert found himself alone again. He slid back down to the sofa and fell into troubled sleep.

  Chapter 3

  “Good morning, My Lady.” Mary flitted around the room, opening the curtains to allow the sun in, putting out some frocks for Lady Phoebe to choose from and heating the curl iron near the embers in the fireplace.

  “Ah, here we are. Here’s your breakfast. Put the tray on the bed, Susan. Very good. Now, back to the kitchen. Mind you curtsy to Lady Phoebe first.”

  The shy girl bobbed in and out of a curtsy and disappeared from the room.

  Lady Phoebe smiled, “Very nice, Mary. The new girl is coming along fine.”

  “Yes, my lady, she’s very quick and willing to learn. We’re lucky to have her. She brought this back with her after she went to the market this morning. She said another maid, like herself, handed her the card and said to deliver it to you.”

  “To me? Who could it be? I saw everyone just a few hours ago it seems.” She broke the wax seal and opened the card. Her forehead puckered slightly as she read. Then she let the card slip from her fingers. “It’s from Lady Judith. She’s enquiring if she can call this afternoon.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it, My Lady.”

  “I’m not, Mary. I’m confused. Maybe I ought not to get involved. You know ... the Atwater scandal? I don’t want to take sides. Lord Thomas is displeased with me. He doesn’t believe Lady Judith. Mary, he,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “thinks she’s lying.”

  “No, My Lady!”

  “Yes. He told me not to make him take sides. He said I’d be disappointed with his choice.”


  “Oh dear.”

  “So, I don’t want to further a friendship with Lady Judith because I don’t want to take sides.”

  “You can be a friend and not declare a side to be on, My Lady.”

  “You’re right, Mary. As usual. Lady Judith may call. I will answer her. Let’s have her at four o’clock.” Phoebe sat at her writing table and wrote a short response and sealed it. “There, have Susan go to Lady Judith’s to deliver this. And tell her to come right back, please. Then hurry back up, Mary ... the curl iron must be ready by now!”

  *******

  “What a lovely home you have Lady Phoebe.” Lady Judith sat with her hostess in the private sitting room off Phoebe’s bedchamber.

  Lady Phoebe stopped her teacup midway between the saucer and her lips, and then placed it back on the saucer. “Why, Lady Judith, it’s been many years, but you’ve been here. It was Christmas, 1805, I think. We were young children. My parents had a big party because that Christmas was the tenth anniversary of their marriage. You’ve seen so much since then, though. Your mind must be crowded to overflowing with memories.”

  “La! You don’t know the half of it, Lady Phoebe. I suppose what I meant to say is your home is lovelier than I remember.” She smiled and ate a little cake from a plate on the table.

  “The cakes are delicious, are they not? I have the recipe from that, what do they call it? Rest-a-raunt? Yes, the cakes from the restaurant we met at. In Paris. What was the name of it?”

  “Paris?” Lady Judith’s smile was fixed.

  “I’m sorry, here you are in mourning, and I’m relating obscure events. Please forgive me.”

  “You are quite forgiven, Lady Phoebe.” Lady Judith exhaled.

  “I must admit, though, I was somewhat surprised to hear from you today. What with the funeral tomorrow.”

  Lady Judith dropped her chin. “That’s just it, Phoebe. I can’t be alone in the house for another minute. The Marquess was going to marry me. I suppose I have bad luck.” Judith sighed. “Now, please, don’t worry. I’ll be fine, but I feel so alone.” She broke into a torrent of sobs.

  Phoebe was distressed. What must she do? It was as if every fibre of her being told her not to get involved. But, she couldn’t stand it when others were upset.

  Without warning, Phoebe was pulled into the maelstrom. “You poor dear. Lady Judith, you may stay here with me tonight. Would you like that? I’ll ask Mary to make up my mother’s former bedchamber for you. How callous of me not to have thought of this sooner.” Phoebe embraced the crying woman.

  “You are not callous. It’s Atwater who’s callous.” Judith lifted her head to kiss Phoebe’s cheek. The two women spied Mary hovering outside the door for a moment; Phoebe smiled in a beckoning manner. Judith glared petulantly, and Mary continued down the hall.

  After the disagreement she’d had with Lord Thomas, Phoebe hadn’t wanted to get involved with the scandal any more than she was. But she couldn’t let a friend down in a time of need.

  Lady Judith continued her laments until it was time to go to the dining room for dinner.

  *******

  After spending the night on Wimpole Street, Lady Judith was transported by hansom back to St James Square to dress for the funeral. She knew there would be a scene if she went to the luncheon on Regent Street. But that could work in her favour. If she couldn’t get Atwater to come back to her of his own accord, she would need help. And tears had never failed her.

  With the help of the maid, she pulled on her black bombazine mourning frock and donned her flat black straw bonnet. The maid had sewn some jet beads onto the brim of the hat and added a curling black plume and black silk ribbons. Lady Judith smiled and made a mental note to thank the girl personally. She decided that when she was Duchess she would keep the girl for her personal lady’s maid. The lady’s maid who’d travelled with Lady Judith throughout Europe was gone. Gone forever.

  *******

  Lady Phoebe didn’t want to go to the funeral for the 1st Duke of Atwater and the Marquess of Hempstead. It was all so very sad. And she had no desire to see the new Duke. Since Judith had befriended her, Phoebe always felt odd whenever Atwater was in the vicinity.

  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt drawn to him in an inexorable way. However, she’d heard nothing good about him. It had seemed lately that the only story on the lips of the ton was of Atwater’s alleged abandonment of Lady Judith. There seemed to be no option for an alternate point of view.

  And each time Phoebe had seen him socially, he’d been curt to the point of rudeness. She wondered why she felt so cut by his attitude.

  Then there was Lord Thomas. He didn’t join in any of the storytelling, nor did he defend his friend directly. Phoebe had noticed, though, that when the topic of Atwater came up in social situations, and come up it did, again and again, Lord Thomas would attempt to point out what the facts, and only the facts of the situation were.

  The attempt would fall on deaf ears, and Lord Thomas would end up exiting the conversation. It seemed the ton derived great joy from vilifying one of their own. Thomas appeared disgusted by the attitude.

  The whole mess discouraged and disappointed Phoebe. But there was no way to avoid the funeral. Illness would be the only acceptable excuse, which was why Lady Phoebe would be unaccompanied to the church and the cemetery. Her father, Duke Carlisle, was feeling poorly.

  “Mary, I’ll be wearing the black bombazine just as every other woman. Will you get it from the clothes press? I know we’re supposed to be sad, and I am, but this flat black is so dingy and unappealing. Silk would look so much better. Losing loved ones and friends is horrible enough without having to look hideous.” Phoebe pinched her cheeks and smoothed her chignon.

  Mary smiled slightly and handed Phoebe her bonnet. “You could never look ugly, My Lady. Now, will you see His Grace before you leave? He was sleeping like a baby when I checked on him not ten minutes ago.”

  “No. Let him rest, Mary. My father and the old Duke Atwater were close. I daresay this has taken the wind out of His Grace’s sails.” Phoebe looked around to be sure she had everything she needed. “There is luncheon at the house on Regent Street after the cemetery. I imagine the whole of it will be over by two o’clock. I’ll see my father when the doctor comes later this afternoon. Thank you, Mary.”

  Mary finished buttoning up the back of Lady Phoebe’s dress and placed a light shawl over her shoulders. “There you are, My Lady. The cabriolet is ready and waiting. Will … will Lord Thomas be escorting you?”

  “Lord Thomas? Yes, but then he’ll desert me to stand with the new Duke Atwater. You recall Lord Thomas and I had a disagreement last night about His Grace.”

  “Yes, My Lady. But I find it noble that Lord Thomas would stand by his friend.” Mary clasped her hands together with a faraway smile. Since she had entrusted Lady Phoebe with the contents of her heart, where Lord Thomas was concerned, Mary had become quite open in her expressions about the gentleman.

  Phoebe smiled to see her maid so enchanted, but a cold feeling played around her own heart at the thought of Lord Thomas and Mary. Mary was of another class altogether.

  Tom was a second son with no prospects other than his law practice. The practice was successful, but still his place within the peerage was shaky at best. If a marriage were ever to take place, Mary would be raised up. But Tom would lose most of his already slim social rank.