Regency Romance: A Duchess in Disguise (Historical 19th Century Victorian Romance) (Duke Fantasy Billionaire Romance)

by Sarah Thorn

  ''Jem, that's awful. What did you do?'' Anna asked.

  ''I screamed so loudly, hotel security arrived. I think she was fired. I packed, took a taxi to the airport and flew back to Allerton Castle.''

  ''And now you're single again. Men are such pigs aren't they? What makes them do it? Look at you, you're beautiful. You would have made a great wife. It's his loss, not yours.'' Anna took a gulp of her red wine and put the glass back on the dining table. ''You know I never liked him. I'm pleased you didn't get married. I would have hated seeing you marry such a deceitful man.''

  Funny, Jemima thought. It was funny how many people were now telling her what a rotten man Rupert was. Before the incident, they'd all sung his praises, telling her how lucky she was.

  Jemima had invited Anna, her best friend, over to dinner at Allerton Castle, Jemima's home. Jemima was the Duke of Allerton's daughter, a woman of impeccable breeding, born into one of the richest families in Britain. Her father knew the Queen and regularly met other members of the Royal Family.

  Jemima's life had fallen apart a few weeks earlier on a skiing trip in Switzerland. Her fiancee Rupert, a rich stockbroker, had told her he was going back to the hotel because he wasn't feeling too well. Jemima had stayed on the piste for a few more hours before heading back. When she'd opened the door to their hotel room, she'd heard grunts and high pitched squeals. She'd found them on the bed. The maid, in her uniform, in front of him with her knickers around her ankles, as he tended to her from behind.

  ''I suppose I shouldn't be too upset,'' Jemima concluded. ''I'm only twenty-one. Perhaps being married so young would have hindered me. Now I'm free to travel the world.''

  ''But you're a home bird. You like nothing more than walking around this huge place. I can't see you taking off on a world trip. You like it here too much.''

  Jemima tossed her blonde hair back and looked at her friend. They'd been to school together. Anna's official title was Lady Anna Ponsonby of Coltsfoot. Her father was the Earl of Coltsfoot. They lived on a huge estate five miles away from Allerton Castle. ''You're right I love it here. I love learning about the history of the place. We are privileged, and I believe it's the least we can do to learn our history and preserve these magnificent houses for future generations.''

  ''You sound exactly like my father,'' Anna said taking another gulp of wine. ''It doesn't interest me at all. History.''

  ''How can you say that? Can't you feel it? Just imagine how many people have dined here in this very room. Hundreds of years of people eating here. All the discussions, arguments, tears, and moments of joy that must have taken place here. It's unimaginable.''

  ''I'm more interested in the future. Who I'm going to marry, for example. How many children I will have. That sort of thing. I don't like to dwell on the past.''

  ''But Anna, history is the future. How many times does history repeat itself? If mankind took more notice of history we could prevent so many bad things from happening again.''

  ''How much can you learn from Jane Austen? That's all you seem to read. You're bedroom's stuffed full of Jane Austen memorabilia,'' Anna observed.

  It was true. Ever since she'd read Pride and Prejudice at school, Jemima had been hooked on Jane's books. Not only her books but finding out what life was like at the time Jane wrote her books. ''I was born in the wrong time,'' Jemima admitted. ''You're right my room's crammed with that kind of stuff. I love it.''

  ''Then why are you studying law and not history?'' Anna asked.

  ''Because father wants me to and I was too weak to say no. He's like you. He sees no merit in history whatsoever. If it weren't for my dear mother nothing of any historical value would be left in this house.''

  Jemima was at university. She was a highly intelligent woman who had walked into Oxford without doing a days serious study in her life. She just seemed to mop up information as she went along. None of her teachers could understand it. They'd told her parents that Jemima was the laziest girl they'd ever seen, yet she'd confounded them all when she'd received an offer from Oxford. She was pleased it was Oxford, the proximity to Allerton Castle allowed her to stay at home. Student life wasn't for Jemima. She hated parties, especially the kind of drug laden parties which were so prevalent at Oxford. The only party she'd ever been to was the one where she'd met Rupert. Tall and handsome, she'd been powerless to resist him after she'd drunk whatever someone had put in her drink. The result had been a volatile relationship where they'd often fought like cat and dog but also loved each other with an intensity neither of them had had any control over.

  ''Is there any coffee?'' Anna asked, realizing she was getting quite drunk.

  ''I'll call Blake, He'll bring us some.'' Jemima pulled a brass knob on the wall next to the fireplace and waited until a young man with fiery red hair arrived. ''Some coffee please Blake.'' The young man dipped his head and left the room as quickly as he had appeared.

  ''He's weird, isn't he?'' Anna whispered.

  ''No, he's a nice man. He's training to be a butler, at butler school.''

  ''What? You're kidding. Whoever heard of a butler school?''

  ''Believe it or not, there is one. Up in Yorkshire. Someone's keeping history alive.''

  ''But servants are a thing of the past.''

  ''See, that's where you're wrong. We may no longer have many servants, but there is a different class of person coming along who do want servants.''

  ''You mean new money. But that's got nothing to do with class,'' Anna complained.

  *****

  It was late June, and Jemima had thrown her study books into the corner of her bedroom where she intended to leave them until the first day of October when college began again. The whole summer break was in front of her. She loved the thought that she was free for weeks on end. Free to roam the corridors of her ancestral home Allerton Castle. Now she was no longer seeing Rupert she was especially free. She'd already decided how she would fill her time. She wasn't going to go to any of the society parties she'd been invited to; she'd only lumber herself with another unsuitable boyfriend. No, she was going to learn about Allerton Castle and its history. She already knew quite a lot, but it was too general for her liking. She wanted to get into the detail. Into the lives of the people who'd' lived and died there. Who were they? What had they done with their lives? Those were questions she intended to answer before the beginning of October.

  Her little dinner party with Anna had lasted until the early hours. They'd drunk far too much wine, and Jemima had a headache. She'd have a word with Blake and ask him to tell them next time how much they were drinking. The problem was unending supply. Unlike normal people, who went to the supermarket and bought a couple of bottles, there was an unending supply at Allerton. The wine cellar was huge and stacked full of bottles dating back to the eighteen hundreds. Not that they'd drunk wine that old. Jemima's father restocked on a regular basis.

  Jemima decided some fresh air might clear her head. In her green wellingtons and green Barbour, Jemima looked the part. She looked like a country lady. The two black Labradors that accompanied her added to the look. She left the Castle by the front door and walked onto the lawn. The garden was huge; the lawn took five minutes to cross. At the end of the lawn, there was a metal fence with a stile which led to a meadow full of grazing sheep and lambs. Jemima turned around and looked at the castle. It wasn't like any other large house in the country. She knew it had been built in seventeen ten, by her ancestor the first Duke of Allerton. He'd made a fortune by killing and robbing merchants in Persia. It was strange hundreds of years later to look at the place and remember it was financed from the proceeds of crime.

  The Castle was huge. It had a tower to the left which dwarfed the rest of the house. There was a large central window behind which there was a banqueting hall. The window made the castle look like a cathedral. The front door, by contrast, was relatively small and tucked away in the bottom right corner of the facade. Over the years, the castle had become blackened by traffic fumes. It m
ade it look quite forbidding. She'd speak to her father and see if they could have the sandstone blasted back to its original color. It would brighten the place up no end.

  After her walk, Jemima went to her bedroom. It was on the first floor, one of ten on that floor. She lay on the bed and surveyed the field of devastation around her. Jemima was beautiful and always immaculately dressed, but somehow she never seemed able to tidy her room. On the opposite wall was a shelf unit laden with Jane Austen books. Jane only wrote thirteen books, including the unfinished ones, but Jemima's shelves were crammed with various editions of the books she actually wrote, plus many she didn't. There were Jane Austen biographies, Jane Austen etiquette books, Jane Austen Regency clothes books, Jane Austen coloring books, even a Jane Austen cookbook. Why on earth someone had written such a book she had no idea, but she'd found it interesting at the time. To the left of the bookshelves was her desk, a beautiful antique mahogany writing desk. It too was a mess, full of papers and study books. To the right, an armchair full of discarded clothes, including some of the most expensive lingerie money could buy.

  Jemima fell into a deep sleep and when she woke it was one thirty pm. Full of energy again she decided the time had come. She would begin her great adventure, to find out more about the house and the treasures in it. The best thing was, she already knew where she was going to start. There was one painting hanging in the grand hallway that had always captured her imagination.

  She was just the same; Jemima thought as she stood in front of the portrait. The woman looking back at her had many of Jemima's features. The same blonde hair and the same dark blue eyes. Her lips were full and her face round, just like Jemima's. And if Jemima wasn't mistaken, the woman in the portrait was tall, like Jemima. She took out her cellphone, stood back and took a photo.

  *****

  It was only a short drive to Oxford and Professor Jackson had agreed to see Jemima at such short notice she'd stopped to buy him a box of chocolates.

  ''These are for you,'' she said handing him the blue box. ''It's so kind of you to see me so quickly.''

  Professor Jackson took a huge interest in Allerton Castle, but he'd suffered years of frustration at the Duke's lack of enthusiasm for the castle's history. When Jemima had called that morning, he'd been ecstatic, rubbing his hands together, doing a little jig and telling himself that he would soon have access to the castle.

  ''Not at all, My Lady. It's my pleasure.''

  Nobody ever called her, 'My Lady,' even though that was the correct way to address her. ''I've decided to do some research into the history of the castle. There are so many things I don't know about.''

  ''Fantastic,'' he said clasping his hands together. ''There is so much history in that house. Have you thought where you would like to start?'' The professor was a good looking man who regularly flouted teacher-student etiquette. He'd bedded tens of dozens of female students over the years, but the prize he'd always lusted after was a member of the aristocracy. Perhaps he could persuade Jemima.

  ''Yes. I would like to start with this portrait.'' She showed him the picture she'd taken.

  ''An excellent choice,'' he said staring at Jemima's cleavage. Jemima was often careless about how many buttons she left open on her blouse, and it certainly hadn't gone unnoticed.

  ''Do you know who she is?'' Jemima asked.

  ''Yes. She's your aunt.''

  ''Really?''

  ''Well, your aunt with a few greats in front. Five greats in fact.''

  ''What was her name?''

  ''Lucy. Her full title was Lucy, Duchess of Allerton. She was around your age when this was painted. She is very beautiful isn't she?''

  ''Yes. I've always like looking at her. She seems so magical. There is something about the way she looks. She looks so happy.''

  ''Actually, she's a very tragic figure.''

  Jemima was instantly disappointed. The woman she'd looked at since she was a child and the woman she'd dreamed of was a tragic figure. Not at all how Jemima had imagined her. ''Why do you call her tragic?''

  ''She fell in love with a man her father disapproved of. Her forbade her to marry him. After that, she never married. She led a long lonely existence until her death at the age of ninety-two. Very old indeed for the time.” He paused. “The man she fell in love with was an artist. The same man who painted this portrait.''

  ''That's awful. It's completely changed my perception of her. Poor woman. Here was I believing, all these years, that she married happily, probably had some children and died a happy woman.''

  Jemima said no to the Professors offer of dinner and drove back to Allerton Castle. She went inside and stood, once again, in front of the portrait.

  ''You poor woman,'' she said. She looked at the portrait more carefully than she'd ever done. Lucy was wearing a beautiful red dress which unusually for the time was off the shoulder. She had fine bones and a well-developed bust. She was wearing jewelry, a necklace, and a matching bracelet. Jemima though they were diamonds and wondered what had happened to them. In most families of her class, jewelry was handed down from generation to generation, but she'd never seen what Lucy was wearing. ''We are practically identical,'' she whispered. ''Quite uncanny.''

  Jemima decided she was going to take a photograph. She had a special idea for a photo that she could amaze her friends with. She went to her room and opened the wardrobe. It was relatively tidy, and she found what she was looking for easily. She took off her blouse and skirt and began to squeeze herself into the dress. A Regency dress that she'd found somewhere in the attic and played in as a little girl. She looked in the mirror once she had the dress on. It fitted her perfectly now. As a little girl she'd had to carry the bottom half around with her, but now it looked perfect. She grabbed a hand mirror from the dressing table and went downstairs to Lucy's portrait. She held the mirror in such a way that it captured her image and Lucy's at the same time.

  ''Lucy, what on earth are you doing? Put that mirror down and come and help me.'' A man had opened the front door.

  But it wasn't a man wearing a modern suit.

  It was a man wearing a half coat, breeches and a triangular hat with a plume sticking out of it. ''Come on, what are you waiting for?'' he said.

  Who was it? Jemima was familiar with Lucy's father, John the third Duke of Allerton, and her brother, James, but she'd never seen a portrait of this man.

  “I'm coming father,'' she said.

  ''What's wrong with your eyesight?'' he asked. ''I know it's dark in the house, but I'm your Uncle Frederick.''

  ''Oh yes. Sorry, I couldn't see against the light of the door.'' Who was he? She'd never heard of him. She went through the front door and looked around. She jumped when she saw the castle walls. They were clean, yellow sandstone. In front of her, there was a small carriage with a single pony in front of it. The carriage was full of dead pheasant. Jemima had never liked hunting and shooting, and the thought of having to unload all these dead birds made her feel ill.

  ''Come on, Lucy, you're not usually so squeamish,'' Frederick said.

  Lucy?

  My God. I'm back in Lucy's time, Jemima thought. What the hell happened? And how do I get back? She broke into a cold sweat and felt the blood drain from her face. Was she trapped? Surely not.

  ''I have taken a sudden dislike to handling dead things, perhaps you can get one of the servants to help,'' she said unable to assist.

  ''But you love shooting. What happened to you?''

  ''Nothing, sorry.''

  Jemima went back inside and looked around. The portraits she'd known in the modern day house were gone. Of course, they hadn't been painted yet.

  ''Ah, Lucy there you are. Uncle Frederick says you don't want to help him.'' It was a tall woman dressed in a fetching muslin day dress of pastel green. ''I don't know what it was, but I felt suddenly quite faint.'' The woman touched Jemima's forehead.

  ''Yes, you're quite warm. Go up to bed. I'll ask Rose to bring you some tea with lemon.''

  '
'Yes, mother,'' Jemima said. The woman didn't say anything. So that's Lucy's mother, she thought. What an elegant lady. She was well into her forties and still beautiful. She looked like a Duchess, her hair pinned up showing her long, elegant neck.

  Jemima went upstairs. It was the same staircase; nothing had changed except the carpet was green instead of red. Which room was hers? Would she have to open every door in a process of elimination? She decided to try her room first, the room that Jemima slept in.

  She pushed the door open and peered inside. ''Oh my God,'' she mumbled to herself. ''Lucy slept in my room. That must be the connection I feel to her. We slept in the same room.'' The room was much tidier than she was used to, and she was amazed to see the writing desk was the same, only newer. When Jemima looked in the mirror, she almost fainted. She was Lucy. Exactly the same. She was terrified but strangely calmed by the fact that she was at home albeit two hundred years back in time.

  ''Come on now, Miss. Get into bed. You're mother told me you have a chill. Let's get you out of that dress and into your nightgown.''

  ''You must be Rose,'' Jemima said.

  Rose looked at her questioningly. She must be worse than her mother thought, Rose told herself. Perhaps she had a fever and was hallucinating. ''Of course, I'm Rose, Miss. You know me. I'm your lady's maid. Now come on let's get these buttons undone.''

  Jemima stood still as Rose proceeded to undress her. It was a most strange feeling having another woman take her clothes off. When she was naked, she put her arm over her breasts and her hand over her pubic hair to preserve her modesty, but Rose wasn't paying attention. She took the nightgown and threaded Jemima's head through it. ''Now, Miss Lucy, hop into bed. I'll pour the tea. Then you should sleep.''

  Jemima didn't sleep. She lay in bed wondering what had happened. What should she do? She made a decision. If she'd somehow been transported back in time, she could also go forward in time, back to where she'd come from. She would stick around and find out as much as she could about the time she'd landed in, and then go back once her curiosity was satisfied.