A Duke for Christmas (Hearts and Ever Afters)

by Joyce Alec

  Charles was acquainted with them all, although not particularly well, but he considered that he had a very fine party present with him. The ladies were all of independent means, having been widowed only a few years into their marriages to very wealthy men. The gentlemen were all unattached, but, from what Charles knew, none of them wished to be. Propriety could be dispensed with for the next two weeks, and Charles was determined to enjoy himself.

  “Port?” one of the gentlemen called as the final course was cleared away. “And shall the ladies excuse themselves to the drawing room?”

  The ladies rose as one and excused themselves, making Charles chuckle. He was sure that by the end of the week, the gentlemen would not be as keen to have their port alone without the pleasure of the ladies’ company. Lady Marchfield pressed her fingers lightly on his shoulder as she passed, the tips of her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck.

  “I do hope you will not all be too long,” she murmured softly, making Charles’ skin prickle with anticipation. “For we cannot dance without gentlemen.”

  Charles could not help but turn and watch the lady leave, thinking that Lady Marchfield was a lovely creature, despite the thinly veiled arrogance that she carried with her. It came with being a very rich, independent lady who could do what she liked, whenever she liked, without question. Shrugging inwardly, Charles thought that he could easily put that foible aside for the fortnight he was to spend in her company.

  The port had only just been served when the butler appeared by his side, looking apologetic.

  “What is it, Mr. Stubbs?” Charles sighed, a little frustrated at having been interrupted already when he had only just opened his port. “And can it not wait?”

  “I have tried to get her from the house, but she is very insistent,” Mr. Stubbs replied, sounding agitated. “I must beg your pardon, my lord, for such an interruption, but she threatened to find you herself if I did not allow her an audience with you.”

  Thoroughly confused as to who this particular lady might be, Charles sat up a little straighter in his chair and lifted one eyebrow as he regarded his butler. “Of whom are you talking, Mr. Stubbs?” he asked, growing more and more exasperated. “What lady?” For a moment, he wondered with horror as to whether or not this could be his mother demanding an audience, having chased him from London.

  “She would not give me her name,” the butler said, quietly, shaking his head. “She insisted that you are old friends and that you would receive her once you saw her.”

  Charles frowned, glancing at the covered drapes. “How did she arrive?” The weather had been somewhat wild that evening, and the darkness would have been thick around the roads.

  The butler shook his head. “I do not know. The lady is quite sodden and is dripping all over the floor in the hall. I would not have let her in, of course, but as soon as I opened the door, she stepped inside without a moment’s hesitation.” Wringing his hands, Mr. Stubbs dropped his gaze to the ground. “I am sorry to have failed you, my lord, when I know you are busy.”

  Realizing that he was not about to escape from this situation, Charles sighed heavily and pushed his chair away from the table. “The front hall, you say?” he asked, and, seeing the butler nod, dismissed him at once.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, drawing the attention of his friends. “I must beg you to excuse me for a time. Please, go to the drawing room whenever you wish, and I shall join you there. I do not expect to be long.” He bowed, ignoring the chuckles from the gentlemen, and made his way to the door, hiding his frustration long enough to reach the quiet corridor.

  His steps were smart and quick, the sound of his footsteps echoing around the hallway as he made his way down the staircase and towards the front door. A frown crossed his face as he made his way towards the figure standing at his door, seeing the small rivers coming from her. Her dress was wet through, her hair hanging around her face. All in all, she made a bedraggled figure.

  “Charles!”

  The lady practically threw herself at him as he drew nearer, her arms around his neck as she clung to him, sobs shaking her small frame. Her wet clothing began to seep moisture into his own shirt and breeches, and, still having no earthly idea who the lady was, Charles was forced to lift her arms from his neck and step away.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, brusquely. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

  The relief on the lady’s face died away at once, replaced with a look of hurt and pain. “Do you not remember me, Charles?”

  “No,” he said, firmly. “I do not. Pray, who are you?”

  She reached out and touched his arm, her eyes filling with tears and her body racked with a sudden shudder from the cold. “I am Isabella,” she said quietly, her teeth beginning to chatter. “Isabella Docherty. My mother was once your governess.”

  Chapter Three

  Isabella Docherty had been living, contentedly, in a small cottage by the sea. Her mother had passed away some years ago, which had been an exceedingly difficult time for Isabella, for she had no other family to speak of. Knowing that she had not come about through an act of love, Isabella had no reason to reach out to her father—not that her father would even want to see her.

  Her mother had shuddered on occasion when the subject had been raised and had told Isabella that she should never try to find the man responsible. For a long time, she never knew the identity of her father. Although, she did eventually learn his name from a family friend.

  Isabella had come to understand that her mother had been forced into relations with the man with whom she worked for, and being suitably horrified at the thought, had never brought the subject to light again. She could not imagine what kind of man would do that to a lady, filled with disgust that she had been the product of such a disgraceful act.

  Her mother, on seeing this, had assured her time and time again that she was very much wanted, very much loved, and was the only good thing that had come from a despicable act. That had reassured Isabella in her youth, and in her growing years, she and her mother had spent many happy times together.

  That had now all come to an end.

  One day, on returning from her daily walk to the forest to collect herbs and fruits to add to her dinner table, she had found a lady at her door. It had been an older lady, one she did not recognize.

  Isabella had tried to be gracious and kind, welcoming the stranger as she would anyone who came to her door, wondering whether or not the lady was in need of help.

  As it turned out, she did not.

  The lady had a servant with her, a man who was at least a head taller than Isabella, and much stronger. The man had held Isabella fast whilst the lady had gone into Isabella’s home and had destroyed almost everything within. Isabella had cried and screamed, begging to know why the lady was doing such a thing, but had received no answer.

  Her heart had torn as each item broke, even the curtains she had sewed with her mother being ripped apart. The lady had marched from the house with a satisfied smile on her face and had proceeded to pick up a large stick and beat Isabella with it until she was too dazed to stand. Then, and only then, had the man released her, and she had fallen to the grassy earth. The man had then set her home alight, leaving the lady to crow over Isabella as though she had won some great victory.

  “Your mother should never have been allowed such a blessing,” the lady had sneered in her ear. “I would have had her stand here to see this, were she alive, but it has taken me years to discover your whereabouts.” She had then grabbed Isabella’s hair and wrenched her head backward so that Isabella was forced to look into her face. “You are a bastard and do not deserve to live,” she had whispered, her fingers twisting Isabella’s hair cruelly. “You are a stain.”

  Then, she had spat in Isabella’s face, turned on her heel, and left. The servant had not even glanced at Isabella, apparently at ease with what he had helped the lady to achieve.

  Isabella had been left destitute. Yes, she h
ad a small allowance, but even that had to be used carefully, and she only had a few coins in her pocket at the present time and no easy way to fetch more. It was twice yearly that she made her way to town to receive more of her funds, and what she had at that time was certainly not enough to allow her to rebuild her home. The cottage was decimated, with only the stone walls remaining. Nothing was left.

  Weak and in pain, Isabella had dragged herself to the nearest town, where the townsfolk had been shocked to see her in such a state. Since Isabella and her mother had lived in the same place for a number of years, the townsfolk had become her friends and acquaintances and were only too willing to help her.

  One of her dear friends, the old lady Withers, had taken Isabella into her home and tended to her wounds, feeding her broth and bread, even though Isabella knew she did not have much food of her own. After a sennight, Isabella had felt well enough to travel and, even though the townsfolk had begged her to stay, she had no other option but to go to town to beg for some of next year’s funds. Whether she would receive them, she could not say, feeling quite disillusioned.

  It turned out just as she had thought. The solicitor had refused to give her an advance and certainly had not believed a word of what she had told him about her home. The way he had sniffed at her and looked away told her that he thought very little of her, perhaps believing that she spent her money on things such as liquor or expensive dresses. Lost and entirely without hope, she had only one idea left.

  She had to turn to the man who had been so kind to give her mother a home and an allowance in the first place, the Duke of Harve. The solicitor had not been keen to disclose his whereabouts to her, for she was not sure whether he was in his country seat or in London itself. When it became clear to the solicitor she was not going to leave the premises without the duke’s current address, he eventually told her where she might find him.

  Unfortunately, that too had turned out to be something of a failure. The duke had not been home, and the lady of the house was out at a soiree and would not return until the early hours of the morning. In fact, she had learned that the duke had gone to Scotland to survey an estate there, and was not expected to return before Christmas Eve. She had practically collapsed on the doorstep then, the weakness in her limbs and in her heart too much to bear.

  The butler, on seeing this, had not been able to simply leave her on the doorstep, not when it was growing cold and dark. He had ushered her around to the servants’ entrance and, taking her into the kitchens, had left her in the care of the cook.

  She was grateful for their kindness, not recognizing a single one of the staff. That was not surprising, given how long it had been since she had left the household. In addition, the family was wealthy, and she had no idea just how many houses and how many servants they actually had.

  Upon discovering the connection to the family, the cook had advised her to go in search of the young master, murmuring that the lady of the house was not likely to see her any time soon. Isabella had gathered from this that the duchess attended a great many societal events, which did not leave much time for other things. It was the way of the ton, to go from one party to the next with only a few hours of sleep in between. In addition to this, the thought of Charles had brought a warmth to her heart, and she had agreed to go in search of him.

  The staff had been most helpful in finding her the address, having told her that the marquess had his own estate in the country and, even though it was some distance away, Isabella had been resolved to reach him. The last of her funds had been spent on traveling to the nearest inn, with only one overnight stop, but when she reached her destination, she realized that she was going to have to walk the last ten miles on her own.

  She had no funds left with which to reach his estate either by hackney or on horseback, and so had been forced to trudge her way along many miles of track towards his home. The path had been littered with stones and pebbles, and her feet soon became painful. Halfway there, the heavens had opened and, even with her shawl and cloak around her, she had become soaked to the skin. Her fingers froze, her nose grew red, and every breath was painful.

  It had been a huge relief to come in sight of his home and, instead of making her way to the servants’ entrance, she had pounded on the front door until it had opened, and then, with the last bit of strength she had, pushed her way past the startled butler to stand inside.

  Now she was hanging onto Charles for dear life, having recognized him almost as soon as he descended the stairs. He had not changed too much since she had last seen him, although he was taller and broader than she had imagined. His sandy hair was much the same shade, and she could not forget the warmth in his hazel eyes, although, from the looks of it, he did not recognize her.

  She did not blame him, given that she looked as though she had just crawled out of a river, but in her utter relief, she had been unable to stop herself from throwing her arms around him and sobbing into his neck. He had untangled her from him after a minute or so, looking at her with confusion.

  It was only when she had stated her name that his confusion slowly began to die away. She could see it in his face, see how he was staring at her as though she was a ghost of some kind, a memory of his past that had come to haunt his future. It was not the welcome she had expected, and the hurt she felt within was surely to be evident on her features, but yet, she could not help it. She was freezing, utterly exhausted, and standing before the man she had once called her closest friend in all the world, only for him to be staring at her without even a hint of welcome in his face. It made her heart tear.

  “What are you doing here, Isabella?” he asked, slowly, his eyebrows furrowing.

  “I need your help,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears at his brusque tone.

  “Help?” he repeated, his eyes now darkening. “From what I understood, your mother was left with a home and an allowance that would see you both until the end of your days.” He tilted his head a little, regarding her carefully. “Is that not enough for you?”

  A streak of anger rushed through her body. “I can assure you, Charles, that we have lived very well for some years.”

  “You will refer to me as ‘my lord’.”

  Isabella felt sick. This was not the Charles she knew. No affection filled his eyes, and he offered no delight upon seeing her again. It was as if she was an inconvenience, a burden that he did not particularly want to shoulder. By giving her such a command, he was reminding her of the vast chasm between their stations in society, and it was as though he had sliced her heart with a sharp blade; such was the pain coursing through her.

  “Well, my lord,” she replied softly, unable to keep the sarcasm from her tone. “I shall not detain you from whatever it is I am interrupting. I shall make my way to the kitchens and see if they will let me stand by their fire for a few minutes until I am dried out in the hope that I can be given a small morsel of bread for I have not eaten for some time. I shall be on my way come the morning. I am sorry to have bothered you at what is, apparently, such an inconvenient time.”

  Tears blurred her vision, but she would not let them fall. Walking past him, although she did not know where she was going, she made her way along the corridor towards the back of the house, chancing upon a surprised maid who showed her the way to the servants’ stairs. She did not care what kind of impression she had made upon Charles, nor that she had been particularly rude to him. The only thing she could think about was the disdain in his face and the coldness in his eyes. They tore her very soul apart.

  Chapter Four

  Charles stared after the lady, suddenly unable to either move or speak. He had evidently upset her, but surely, she could not expect him to simply welcome her with open arms when he had not laid eyes on her in ten years.

  Could she not have written to him, to ask for his assistance in whatever matter it was? Surely, she did not have to simply turn up on his doorstep, looking like some sort of bedraggled cat who had been outside for too long? Huffing
to himself, he folded his arms and frowned, frustrated that his plans for a rousing fortnight were already going awry. He did not want to have any kind of issue that would take his attention away from his guests. This was meant to be a time away from responsibilities.

  That being said, Charles could not help but feel a slight twinge of guilt over how he had treated her. She had been his dear friend as a child, but that had been a long time ago, and he had not once thought of seeking her out. He supposed that the very least he could do would be to allow her to stay, if only for a couple of nights.

  The cook could take care of her in terms of food and clothing, and he was sure there would be a bed for her somewhere. He could spare her some time in a day or two when the festivities required him to rest for an hour or so. In the meantime, he was sure that Isabella could help the cook and the housekeeper in their daily tasks, for he certainly did not want her amongst his guests. They were above her station and, whilst Charles wanted to ensure that she was treated with respect, he certainly did not want to encourage the friendship they had once shared. That was a part of his past, and he did not want to bring that particular relationship back to life.

  “What am I do to with her, my lord?” the butler asked, anxiously rubbing his hands together. “I am truly sorry for allowing her entry, but as you have seen, she is tenacious.”

  Charles nodded gravely. “Yes, she is. However, I would not turn her out. Tell her she can remain here until I have the time to see her. Give her a bed, food, and whatever clothes you can spare, for it does not appear as though she has arrived with anything.” Shaking his head, he stopped himself from rolling his eyes, thinking that the girl was quite foolish to not have even prepared for her journey. “Tell her to assist the housekeeper where she can, for it may be a few days until I have the time to spare.”