A Damsel for the Mysterious Duke

by Bridget Barton

  Georgina Jeffries was the sort of woman who did not need anything extra to recommend her; no feathers, no floral combs, no heavy silver pendants. Her gowns were simply cut, never too revealing, and never too concealing. Whilst they did not particularly hide her curves, her gowns did not draw attention to them either.

  Smiling to himself, Emerson raised a hand to his own unruly hair. His father had provided him with his own valet from the moment he had first arrived at Calder Hall. He had been attended by three different valets over the last decade, and none of them could tame his hair entirely, even when a barber had done much to thin it out.

  Still, his hair notwithstanding, Emerson knew that he had come a very long way from being Samuel White. He had come to appreciate the finer things in life; smart and well-made clothing, good horses, plentiful food. And yet he had never forgotten that he had once lived a life that was never meant to end in such things.

  He had been a servant, a houseboy. He had been motherless, occasionally unkempt, and entirely illiterate. And now he was the Duke of Calder.

  He had taken to his studies as a duck takes to water when Garrett Winstanley had first begun to tutor him. Of course, by the time he left Ashdown Manor, he had not been entirely illiterate, perhaps just semi-illiterate. After all, Georgina had done her best to help him learn, despite the fact that she had done so in secrecy. She had tried hard to be patient as he had stumbled over his letters, the two of them sitting on a fallen tree trunk in the woodland on the edge of her father’s estate.

  The whole business of Georgina trying to teach him to read had been so steeped in secrecy and had been so by necessity, that it had made it very difficult to be consistent. But that had not deterred Georgina in the slightest, and she was always determined and enthusiastic in her tutoring of him, even when it seemed likely that there would always be several weeks between lessons.

  Emerson smiled when he remembered how impressed Garrett Winstanley had been to realize that the scruffy little servant boy he had taken into his home already knew his alphabet, even if he was not entirely sure what to do with it.

  “What a clever boy you are, Emerson,” Garrett had said when the young boy, so unsure of his surroundings and uncertain of the new people in his world that he was desperately keen to please, had written out the alphabet from A to Z. “So much of the work has already been done for me. Tell me, who taught you to write the alphabet, Emerson?”

  “Georgie did,” he had replied and was surprised that Mr Winstanley did not seem to know who he was talking about. “Georgie who lives at the Manor with Lord and Lady Jeffries.”

  “Oh, I see. Their daughter, I presume?”

  “Yes, and my friend,” young Samuel White had said vehemently.

  “You understand that you are to have no contact with your friend?” Mr Winstanley went on cautiously.

  “But why?” Despite his fear and uncertainty, he could not simply accept the loss of Georgie without a word.

  “Because she is part of your old life, Emerson. She is from a time when you were Samuel, a very different boy. And there is no going back to that time, for you are destined for much greater things. You may not believe me now, young man, but you will one day be the head of a very great estate, and that estate would fit Ashdown Manor inside its boundary walls many, many times over. You are beyond that life now; better than that life.”

  “But how can I be the head of a great estate?”

  “That is all to come, Emerson. Goodness me, but you are inquisitive.” Mr Winstanley had reached out and ruffled his thick hair. “In the meantime, you must simply accept things as they are. It is for the best, that much I can promise you.”

  “Yes, Mr Winstanley,” he had said, keen to appease Mr Winstanley without giving up on Georgie.

  However, he really had no idea how to maintain his friendship with Georgie. For one thing, he was not entirely sure exactly where he was or even how far away it was from Ashdown Manor. And whilst he knew his alphabet, he was certainly not yet in a position to be able to write a letter to his dear friend and tell her what had happened.

  Perhaps Mr Winstanley would get his wish by default; the bright young boy quickly realized that he had no means at his disposal to contact Georgina Jeffries at all.

  “When you grow into your new life, you will quickly forget the old one. Perhaps you should start now, forget your little friend, forget the people you once worked with. The art of forgetting will serve you very well in your new life, young man.”

  “Yes, Mr Winstanley,” he said, silently swearing in his heart that he would never forget Georgie for as long as he lived.

  And he never had forgotten her. However life had moved on, however many of the lies that seemed to form the basis of his existence had permeated the walls of his mind and almost made themselves the truth, Georgie was the one thing to remain constant.

  It was true that he had not thought of her every day, for every moment of his life after leaving Ashdown Manor seemed to have been so fully crammed with incident and activity, but he had never entirely dismissed her from his thoughts.

  He had often wondered if she was still in Hertfordshire and what she had thought when he had so suddenly disappeared. But they had been childish thoughts and imaginings, even when he had become a fully-grown man, because all he had to refer to were the images of them as children, with children’s faces and children’s feelings and actions.

  But they were not children anymore, and the image of Georgie in his mind had been firmly supplanted by the beautiful woman she had become. And he had begun to think of her almost constantly; her hair, her eyes, her smile. How clever she still was, how ready she still was to help him.

  Although his feelings were still a little confused, he knew that he felt more for Georgina Jeffries than the simple relief of an old friendship regained. When he had touched her hand in the tea room, he had felt something stir within him. The feel of her soft skin and the way she had not retracted her hand at all had excited him a little, given him hope.

  But hope of what? Was it not simply the case that he was grateful to her? The only woman in the world who knew who he used to be, the only one who still remembered.

  “I thought that was you,” said a bright and breathless Georgina. “Although you are a little distance from the pavilion, are you not?” she said and laughed.

  “Forgive me, I was a little early and decided to walk for a while until you arrived. But I had fully intended to be back at the pavilion before eleven o’clock.” He gave her an apologetic wince.

  “You need not look like that, Sammy. It is not yet eleven; in fact, it is only ten minutes to the hour. I was also early.”

  Emerson liked the idea that Georgina was early. He secretly hoped that it was because she was as keen to see him as he had been to see her. But, of course, he knew that she might merely be keen to hear all that he had discovered about Cornwall. After all, the mystery of his life and origins was nothing if not engaging.

  “Ah, so you are keen to hear all that my attorney has discovered from his Cornish inquiries?” Emerson said in an amusingly tantalizing fashion.

  “I most certainly am,” she said brightly, and he felt his small fears confirmed.

  It really was nothing more than curiosity on her part, albeit a kind and helpful sort of curiosity.

  “Well, shall we walk as we talk?” he said and held out his arm for her to take.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Her hand on the inside of his upper arm felt wonderful to him. As they set off, Georgina turned to smile at him, and he found himself more mesmerized by her beauty than ever.

  Georgina was wearing a dark blue gown that suited her pale colouring very well. Her thick tresses had been turned into a bun on the back of her head, with great long wavy strands framing her face and dancing across her collarbone.

  “Well, my new attorney would seem to be a very efficient man,” he began, trying to dismiss the feelings before they could entirely interfere with his train of thought.
“And has already made a great many inquiries regarding the current Earl of Wighton and his family.”

  “I daresay the Earl of Wighton, Beatrice’s husband, is long gone. After all, her early letters to my grandmother suggested a twenty-year difference in their ages.”

  “Quite so, and he has been gone for some time, I believe.” Emerson gave a fleeting smile. “And without an heir of his own, the estate passed to his nephew.”

  “So, Beatrice and Lord Wighton never had children?” Georgina said, speaking almost to herself.

  “Not so, I believe there was a daughter, although my attorney has yet to discover her whereabouts. Still, given time, I think he could likely discover just about anything; he is awfully good.”

  “I wonder if it helps us at all though, Sammy,” Georgina said, turning bright blue eyes up to his own.

  The bright sunshine seemed to dance in those eyes just as it did in the reflection of the still, blue sea.

  “I think it does help us.”

  “Yes, I suppose that the current Earl of Wighton could tell us something. Of course, it would be a little difficult to come up with a reason for asking in the first place.” She chewed thoughtfully at her bottom lip. “But I am sure we will think of something. Perhaps I could find some way to get there and simply tell him that my late grandmother and his late aunt were once such great friends. Perhaps that would do it.”

  “His late aunt?” Emerson said and narrowed his gaze.

  “Yes, his late aunt.” She laughed and shook her head as if he was being silly. “Beatrice Montgomery, remember?”

  “Yes, yes I remember,” he said and laughed when he realized that she had made an assumption. “But she is not his late aunt, Georgie. Beatrice Ellington, or Montgomery, or the Dowager Countess of Wighton, is still very much alive.”

  “Goodness me,” Georgina said so loudly that a young woman who was clearly a governess with two small children turned her head sharply to look in her direction. “Goodness me,” she said again, only this time in a whisper.

  “Forgive me, I ought to have mentioned that from the very first.” Emerson laughed and idly watched as the governess continued away from them along the promenade, her two charges walking smartly by her sides.

  “Presumably she still lives on her husband’s estate? Her nephew’s estate, I should say. Probably in the dower house if her nephew is married.”

  “All that my attorney has discovered thus far is that Beatrice is still alive and living on the Wighton estate. Beyond that we have nothing. I do not know what sort of condition she is in, or what sort of man her nephew is. I daresay any move we make now is fully reliant upon the good nature or otherwise of the current Earl of Wighton.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” Georgina said, and he could not help smiling when he saw the look of interest and excitement on her face.

  “I think there is a little more digging to be done before we make a firm plan, Georgie, but I thought you would like to know just what had been discovered so far.”

  “Oh yes, it is all most encouraging,” she said, and she squeezed his arm a little. “It is another line of inquiry that might well lead us to your origins, Sammy.”

  “For good or for ill,” he said solemnly, and when it looked as if Georgina was about to object, he went on in a much brighter tone, “oh yes, and I should like to invite you to my early summer ball. Mrs Thistlethwaite is arranging the whole thing, of course, and you will doubtless receive a proper invitation in time. But I had decided I would like to invite you for myself.”

  “I should very much like to attend, Sammy.” She smiled at him warmly, her generous rosy lips drawing his eye and quickening his heartbeat. “How quickly time is flying, I can hardly believe that it is almost summer already.”

  And in a few short words, Emerson was reminded that Georgina’s stay at Winton House was a temporary one which would undoubtedly soon come to an end.

  Chapter 18

  “I must say, I am looking forward to the Duke’s ball,” Fleur said and seemed strangely flustered.

  “Are you quite sure? You seem a little upset,” Georgina said with quiet concern.

  “I am not upset, my dear, just a little unsure. I think I have chosen the wrong gown altogether, and I am suddenly not at all happy with the colour of this one.” Fleur smiled self-deprecatingly.

  “It suits you very well, but if you are not happy with it, you must change,” Georgina said and took her by the hand to lead her back towards her chamber. “Otherwise, you will be thinking about it all evening, and you will not know a moment’s comfort. Come, I will help you.”

  Fleur really did look very pretty in the pale pink gown with lace overlay, but Georgina looked through the rail of her other gowns regardless.

  “How kind of you Georgina. And I must say that I have worn this pink gown before and been perfectly happy with it so I cannot explain my aversion to it now.” Fleur laughed.

  “You need not explain it at all for I know exactly what you mean. Sometimes you just cannot get comfortable in something, even something that you ordinarily like. But there is no sense in going on with it only to make yourself miserable for the rest of the evening. Now then, what about this one? Perhaps you would be happy with a richer colour like this?” Georgina smiled as she lifted down a deep plum coloured gown.

  “Yes, I think I would be much happier in this one. Would you mind helping me?” No sooner had Fleur spoken than Georgina began to help her with the fastenings of the pale pink gown. “Oh, thank you. I would not want to call the maid back again for I think she is truly exasperated with me and with good cause.”

  “Fear not, you will be ready in no time. I must just be careful not to disarrange your hair, for surely you must be happy with that, it looks adorable.”

  “Yes, you will be pleased to know that I am extraordinarily happy with my hair,” Fleur said, and both women began to laugh. “And I must say that you look very well indeed, cousin. The Duke will not be able to resist you in so bright a blue; it matches your eyes so nicely.”

  “He does not need to resist me or otherwise, Fleur,” Georgina said with comical dismissiveness. “You know very well that his interest in me extends only to our old friendship and my current assistance and nothing more.”

  “I know nothing of the sort,” Fleur said as she stepped into the gown that Georgina was holding out for her. “And anyway, what is your interest in him?”

  “I have no interest in the Duke,” Georgina said and felt her cheeks rapidly warm.

  “What, none at all?” Fleur was in a mischievous mood.

  “Well, of course, I have an interest in him. Sammy is my friend, after all, and I am very keen to know where he truly hailed from. There, is that interest enough for you?”

  “No, quite frankly.” Fleur laughed. “And I am sure you must have more than such a simple interest. After all, there is hardly a man in all of Devonshire as handsome as the Duke of Calder. His hair is wonderful, is it not?”

  “Yes, it is a very fine colour, and there seems to be an awful lot of it.”

  “And what of his handsome face, Georgina?”

  “Yes, I daresay he is a very handsome young man.”

  “And you are a very beautiful young woman.”

  “Fleur, my dear cousin, I think you are seeing romance where there is none.”

  “And I think you are determined not to see romance for some reason. I am still getting to know you, so I daresay I shall one day work out why that is. But do you not think it would simply be quicker and quieter if you just told me instead of waiting for me to work it out for myself?”

  “Are you going to be impossible all evening?” Georgina said and smiled before gently turning Fleur around so that she could secure the fastenings of the new gown. “I ask merely out of practical interest.”

  “Yes, I think I am going to be impossible all evening.” Fleur laughed again, and it was clear she really was in an excellent mood. “Even before all this business of Samuel White and the
old Duke was known, I was very sure that Emerson Lockhart had an interest in you.”

  “He did, but that was because he recognized me. Well, he recognized my name at any rate.”

  “No, I think it is more than that. After all, you are not children anymore. I really do think he likes you, my dear. Is it not at least worth thinking about?”

  “But what is there to think about? It is true that we have become instantly close, but I think that is just because of our old friendship. Perhaps he would only ever see me as the friend of his early years.”

  “And is that how you see him?”

  “A little, I suppose.”

  “Forgive me, please do not be cross, but I do not believe that for a minute,” Fleur said a little more seriously. “I think you have come to like him in his own right now, for the man he is.”