The Duke's Secret Heir

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Or you could come with me.’ Silence. He continued, ‘I have no doubt the announcement that I have a wife and son has given rise to a great deal of gossip at Rossenhall. For us to arrive en famille would do much to allay the speculation.’

  ‘Th—thank you. You are very kind.’

  Kind! Was that it? No, he wanted her beside him, but he could hardly admit it, even to himself, so he said gruffly, ‘I am repaying your kindness to me. When Fred died.’

  * * *

  Ellen fussed over Jamie, wiping the crumbs from his mouth, cleaning his hands, resigning herself to the fact that Max was paying what he saw as a debt, and doubtless thinking of how it would look to his household. It was not for her benefit at all. He was just being sensible and it was very silly of her to feel like crying.

  Chapter Eight

  Ellen hugged Jamie closer as the curricle slowed and turned on to the winding drive that led to Rossenhall, the Duke’s principal seat. As a young girl she had been told many times that with her looks and her fortune she could marry into the peerage. Indeed, her admirers had included a marquess and more than one earl, but such a marriage had never interested her, even though the education she had received at Mrs Ackroyd’s Academy had made her eminently qualified for such an exalted position. Ellen had decided at a very early age that she would only marry for love and she had found that love with Max. It had not mattered a jot to her whether he was a poor soldier or a prince. Now, she felt a certain irony that after years spent avoiding society, she was returning to it as a duchess.

  When the house finally came into view she began to wish she had chosen to travel in the elegant travelling barouche rather than arriving in an open carriage, with her face glowing from the fresh air and her hair windblown. It would have been a more fitting entrance for a duchess, but it was too late for regrets, so she turned her attention to her new home. The house stood proudly before them: a creamy grey Palladian mansion with two wings spreading out like open arms on either side of a central block, where two flights of curving stone steps ascended to the main entrance set beneath a pediment supported by four immense stone columns.

  ‘It has been altered significantly over the years,’ Max told her, as they approached. ‘The old house was rebuilt in the last century and the east and west wings added to make it more a more suitable residence for a duke.’

  Even as he spoke the servants began to file out on to one set of steps to greet them.

  ‘I am glad the sun is shining,’ remarked Max as he brought the curricle to a halt before the entrance. ‘You are seeing the house at its best.’

  There was no time for her to reply. Stevens had run to the horses’ heads and Max was already walking around to help her alight.

  ‘Give me the boy first.’ Jamie went to him willingly and once Max had settled him comfortably on one arm he reached out his hand to Ellen. ‘Welcome to your new home.’

  Ellen accompanied the Duke up the curling steps, past the waiting servants who bowed or curtsied as they went by. With their son in his arms, Max was making it plain to everyone that this was his family and she was grateful. At the top of the steps stood a plump, rosy-cheeked woman in a spotless white cap and apron, whom he introduced as Mrs Greenwood, the housekeeper.

  ‘She will make you acquainted with the rest of the staff at some stage, I am sure.’ He turned to the black-coated figure standing beside the housekeeper. ‘And this is Perkins.’

  The butler bowed low to Ellen.

  ‘Welcome to your new home, Your Grace.’ He straightened and addressed the Duke. ‘The Dowager Duchess is awaiting you in the drawing room. She asked that I show you in directly you arrived.’

  ‘Thank you, Perkins, but that will not be possible. First I must take my son to the nursery.’ He threw a glance at Ellen, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘You see, I have learned something of a parent’s duties already. Come along.’

  * * *

  Some half an hour later Ellen and Jamie accompanied Max to the drawing room, where the Dowager Duchess was waiting for them. She looked to be only a few years older than Ellen and her thin frame was clad in black, unrelieved by any touch of colour. Her fair hair was simply dressed about her head and covered with a black cap, adding to the severity of her demeanour. Her haughty expression did not soften as Max made the introductions.

  Since the Duke was holding Jamie’s hand, Ellen went forward and kissed the Dowager’s cheek, saying in her friendly way, ‘Please, call me Ellen, and I hope you will allow me to call you Dorcas.’

  The Dowager stiffened at Ellen’s embrace and quickly drew away, turning to address Max.

  ‘And that is your son.’ Her pale blue eyes rested upon Jamie. ‘Your heir.’

  ‘Yes,’ Max smiled. ‘Let me present to you James, the Marquess of Dern.’

  Dorcas sat down and held out her hands. ‘Well, James, have you a kiss for your aunt?’

  Max chuckled as Jamie shrank against his leg. ‘Go along, young sir, she won’t bite you.’

  Looking at Dorcas’s cold eyes and thin smile, Ellen was not so sure. She picked up her son and sat down with him on her knee.

  ‘I am afraid he is a little shy of strangers,’ she said, holding him close.

  The Dowager ignored her.

  ‘When do you go to town, Maximilian? It is usual for a new duchess to be presented within days of her marriage. I know your case is a little exceptional, but you would not wish to be backward in your attentions.’

  ‘The Court has waited four years to see my Duchess,’ he replied, ‘another few months will not matter. We shall go to town in the spring.’

  ‘Really?’ Dorcas raised her fine brows. ‘And what does my new sister-in-law say to that? Ah, but I am forgetting,’ she continued swiftly, as Ellen opened her mouth to speak. ‘No doubt you welcome the delay, since you preferred to hide away, rather than take your place here as Maximilian’s wife.’

  Ellen did not flinch from her cold stare. She knew Dorcas was trying to discompose her, but she would not allow that.

  ‘I am here now,’ she said quietly. ‘And I mean to stay.’

  ‘I dare say everything here will seem very strange to you,’ remarked the Dowager with a condescending smile. ‘Harrogate is so very far north and I understand you have been living in a very small way.’

  ‘Yes, my whole house in Paradise Row would fit into this chamber,’ said Ellen cheerfully. ‘I do hope I shall not be expected to clean it all myself.’

  Max stifled a laugh at the Dowager’s shocked expression.

  ‘My wife is teasing you, Dorcas,’ he said, sending a frowning look at Ellen. ‘She is no stranger to large residences. I have seen her family home and it is a very substantial property, I assure you.’

  ‘But it is not a duke’s seat,’ Dorcas pointed out, clearly not amused.

  The entry of Perkins caused a welcome distraction.

  ‘I took the liberty of ordering tea to be served,’ said Dorcas as the butler was followed by footmen carrying the elegant silver spirit kettle and trays full of porcelain. She added with a graciousness as false as her smile, ‘I hope you will forgive me, I realise that this should be your task now, Your Grace.’

  ‘Pray, call me Ellen. And there is nothing to forgive. There will be time enough for me to take up the reins.’ Ellen glanced at Max and a sudden memory surfaced. ‘However, I think His Grace might prefer coffee,’ she murmured. ‘Or, perhaps a tankard of ale after the journey?’

  She saw his look of surprise.

  ‘Yes, I would. Ale for me.’

  Ellen nodded at the butler, who bowed low.

  ‘It shall be done immediately, Your Grace, and if I may suggest, a cup of milk for the Marquess? It’s as fresh as can be, Cook having sent for it as soon as she set eyes on the young master.’

  Jamie had been lean
ing against her, but now he sat up.

  ‘Milk? I would like that very much, if you please.’

  He clasped his hands together and looked up so hopefully that the old retainer’s stately manner deserted him and he gave Jamie a fatherly smile.

  ‘Then you shall have one, my lord. His Grace was always partial to a cup of milk when he was a little boy.’

  ‘That will be all, Perkins!’ The Dowager Duchess’s shrill tones cut across the room. The butler’s countenance became an impassive mask once more and he withdrew silently. Dorcas shifted around to address Ellen. ‘If I may give you a word of advice, dear sister, the boy needs to learn what is due to his station. Servants will take advantage if he shows them too much deference.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Max. ‘The boy’s manners are very good.’ He glanced at Ellen, a reluctant grin tugging at his mouth. ‘He will have them all eating out of his hand before the week is out.’

  Ellen smiled, but said nothing. She could only hope that she would have a fraction of Jamie’s success.

  While she engaged in the ritual of tea drinking with her sister-in-law, Ellen considered her situation. It was clear that Dorcas resented her presence, but the fact that Max had defended Jamie against the Dowager Duchess’s strictures was heartening. She did not feel quite so alone.

  * * *

  By the time they had finished their refreshments, the rest of their retinue had arrived and Ellen took Jamie back to the nursery, glad of the excuse to leave the stilted atmosphere of the drawing room. The milk had refreshed the little boy and Ellen left him telling Matlock about his journey in the curricle.

  ‘...and the Duke even let me hold the reins, Matty!’

  Ellen smiled as she closed the door upon them, knowing he at least was happy in his new home. As she moved away from the door she saw the housekeeper waiting for her at the top of the stairs.

  ‘I’ve come to escort you over the house, Your Grace,’ she announced, sinking into a curtsy. She saw Ellen’s look of surprise and added, ‘The Dowager Duchess sent me.’

  Ellen smiled. ‘Mrs Greenwood, is it not? I wonder, would you be very put out if we were to leave that until tomorrow? We have been travelling for days and I am sorely in need of a rest. The only room I really want to see now is my bedchamber.’

  ‘Bless you, Your Grace, of course you do.’ The older woman softened quickly in response to Ellen’s friendly tone. ‘I will take you there immediately, Your Grace. It was Her Grace who said it must be today.’

  Ellen stopped and put her hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Mrs Greenwood, I fear it is going to be very confusing if you call both myself and the Dowager Duchess “Your Grace”. I would very much prefer it if you called me ma’am.’

  ‘But I couldn’t do that, Your Grace,’ declared the housekeeper, scandalised. ‘That is not how we address a duchess.’

  ‘It is how you will address this Duchess,’ said Ellen firmly.

  ‘But the Dowager Duchess—’

  ‘You may continue to call the Dowager Duchess whatever she wishes.’ Ellen saw that the woman was looking perturbed and she squeezed her arm, saying gently, ‘I am mistress here now, Mrs Greenwood, and that is my wish.’

  ‘Very well your—ma’am,’ the housekeeper sank into another curtsy. ‘But what His Grace will say about it I don’t know.’

  Ellen did not know, either, but she was determined to make her mark.

  ‘That,’ she said quietly, ‘is my concern. Now, shall we continue?’

  * * *

  ‘Well, Maximilian, are you going to tell me the truth now?’

  Max was looking at the door which had just closed behind Ellen and Jamie, but his sister-in-law’s words brought his attention back into the drawing room. Looking at Dorcas, he could not help comparing her chilly manner with Ellen’s natural grace. Perhaps it was this house. Rossenhall was such a stark, cold place, he hoped it would not rob his new Duchess of her warm friendliness.

  ‘The truth?’ He raised his brows at her. ‘You had my letter, Dorcas. I met and married Ellen in Egypt and since then she has been living incognito with my son.’

  ‘A very peculiar arrangement.’

  ‘Not really. I was out of the country and Ellen did not want to come to Rossenhall alone.’

  ‘And you have both kept the secret for four years? Who will believe such a tale?’

  ‘Everyone, unless you give them cause to doubt it.’ He fixed his eyes on his sister-in-law and said with deadly deliberation, ‘I know how you like to gossip in your letters, Dorcas, but in this case you will say nothing about my marriage, other than what I have told you. Ellen is my wife and James my lawful heir. Any speculation on your part would reflect badly on the family.’

  ‘But Ellen Tatham is a nobody.’

  ‘A very rich nobody,’ murmured Max.

  Dorcas’s lip curled. ‘She is not your equal, Maximilian. Really, what will our friends say when they learn you have married a tradesman’s daughter?’

  ‘A wealthy East Indiaman’s daughter, Dorcas,’ he corrected her. He smiled grimly. ‘They will say I did very well to capture such a prize. And from what Tony has reported to me in his letters, we need it.’ He rose. ‘Remember what I said, Dorcas. Whatever your private thoughts, you will show the world you are content with my marriage. Do you understand?’

  Having received a very grudging assent Max left the room. Dorcas did not approve of his marriage and she could make trouble, with her poison pen and host of friends in high places. The gossip would not hurt him that much, but it could affect Ellen’s comfort. Very few in his world would cut the acquaintance of the new Duchess, but there would be barbed comments and cruel jibes.

  ‘It is no more than she deserves,’ he muttered as he made his way downstairs to the steward’s office. ‘If she had remained in Portsmouth as I asked, none of this would have occurred. She brought it on herself.’

  Somehow the words rang hollow. She had tried to find him, he had to concede that much, but as he reached the steward’s door he stopped, the pain of her betrayal roaring through him.

  ‘Not enough,’ he muttered. ‘She did not try hard enough.’

  Shaking his head to clear the angry thoughts he opened the door, forcing a cheerful greeting for the man sitting at the desk.

  ‘Well, Tony, how goes it?’

  Anthony Grisham had been steward at Rossenhall for only six months. He had been in the Peninsula with Max, an excellent quartermaster until a cannonball had taken off his left arm and he had been sent home. When Atherwell, the old steward, had died, Max had offered Tony the position. Tony had demurred at first, because of his disability. Max had told him, ‘You are the same age as me, Tony. With thirty years in your dish you are too young to let that brain of yours go to waste and it is your brain and administrative skills that I need to help me.’

  So he had persuaded Tony to move to Rossenhall, where he had spent his time making himself familiar with Max’s estates and his tenants and putting in order an office that had seen little change for forty years. Now Tony jumped to his feet and greeted Max with obvious delight.

  ‘Welcome home, Your Grace. I did not think to see you today.’

  ‘I had some time to spare.’ He waved Tony back into his seat. ‘Have I missed a letter from you while I was travelling, have you sold the carriage horses yet?’

  ‘No, Your Grace.’

  ‘Did you discuss with the Dowager which ones she wanted to keep for her barouche?’

  ‘I mentioned it to her, yes.’

  ‘Well?’

  Tony looked a little sheepish. ‘She burst into tears.’

  ‘Ah.’ Max pulled a chair towards the desk and sat down. ‘I see how that might have spiked your guns.’

  ‘It did, Your Grace. I...er...did not think I could proceed until I had discussed th
e matter with you.’

  Max shrugged. ‘A few more weeks won’t break us. I am more concerned about what you have found now you have had a chance to look more thoroughly into the accounts. You mentioned before I went away that you thought all might not be well with the Rossenhall finances.’

  Tony pushed his hand through his thick brown hair and threw another glance at his employer.

  ‘Are you sure you would not rather leave it until tomorrow?’

  ‘No I would not,’ said Max. ‘Tell me now.’

  * * *

  It was more than an hour later that Max emerged from the office, a frown darkening his brow. When he met Perkins in the hall he said curtly, ‘Is the Dowager Duchess still in the drawing room?’

  ‘No, Your Grace, she has gone to her room to change for dinner.’ The old man gave a gentle cough, clearly wishing to say something else, and Max gave him an enquiring look.

  The butler stared straight ahead of him and said woodenly, ‘The new Duchess has given instructions we are to address her as “ma’am”, or “the mistress”.’

  ‘Has she, by Gad?’

  Perkins nodded. ‘Your Grace has no objection?’

  ‘I? Why should I object?’ Max’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Dowager Duchess does not approve?’

  ‘When she heard of it, Her Grace said we must refer the matter to you. It is highly irregular,’ the butler conceded, ‘but not, if you will allow me to say so, disrespectful.’

  ‘If it is what my wife wishes, then so be it.’ Max laughed. ‘It will make life a little less confusing for the rest of us.’

  ‘That is precisely what the mistress said to Mrs Greenwood, Your Grace.’

  Max was about to move on, but there was no one else in the hall and he paused. Perkins had been butler here since his father’s time and Max knew no servant could be more loyal, so now he took the opportunity to ask, casually, ‘And what does the housekeeper think of the new mistress?’ He added, when the butler hesitated, ‘Come along, out with it, man.’

  ‘Well, it’s early days yet, of course, but Mrs Greenwood thinks she will do very well. Very well indeed.’