The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Hanna Hamilton
Edited by
Maggie Berry
Contents
A Thank You Gift
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Legend of the Betrayed Duchess
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Also by Hanna Hamilton
About the Author
A Thank You Gift
Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called A True Lady. It’s only available to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link here.
Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.
Hanna Hamilton
About the Book
Being auctioned to the highest bidder by her greedy father who is desperately trying to elevate his social standing, Amelia’s fate seems tragically predetermined: trapped in a horrible marriage of convenience with a man she despises.
But, while on her way to Canada boarding a Royal Navy’s frigate, Amelia & her maid get captured by a Yankee pirate ship, in charge of the ferocious but dashing Captain Jonathan Mitchell.
The Captain is not only a man of nobility and an honored patriot for the Service of his country but also a man with deep darkness hovering over his heart; one that only true love can forever amend.
Helpless from her heart’s desires, Lady Amelia will soon find out that there is no going back. You can always dance around destiny for so long until fate pulls you in…
Chapter 1
A Prince’s Delight
London, England, June 1813
“Good morning, Your Royal Highness. It is past ten and ‘tis a fine day,” said the Groom of the Chamber, The Honorable Percival Waverly.
Unlike the regular servants, he, as one of the personal head retainers to the Prince Regent, was permitted to wear his own clothing. Above him in position was the Gentleman of the Chamber who was generally derived from peers of a higher station, like earls or dukes. He was not present this day.
Sir Percival was perfectly attired in a navy-blue tailcoat with a white silk waistcoat that covered the top of the trouser. Underneath, he sported a crisp white linen shirt with a featured starched chin-high neck collar to accommodate his light blue neckcloth. Black shoes with silver buckles adorned his feet.
“Go away, Waverly. I need to sleep…oh, God, the pain,” croaked the Regent.
“As I said, Your Royal Highness, it is a fine morning. And the beginning of a splendiferous day for the knighthoods taking place later today.”
“Knighthoods?”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” insisted Sir Percival.
“Argh…the light! ‘Tis blinding me,” complained the Regent, shifting his prodigious bulk to one side in an attempt to escape from the stabs of sunlight coming through the sash window.
“Dawson, how many times did I tell you on the way over here that you are to wait for my order before opening the curtains. His Royal Highness is allergic to the light this early in the morning.” Waverly shook his head and looked down his long aquiline nose, “Tut tut, Dawson, really.”
“Sorry, Sir Percival. It won’t happen again.”
The young man dressed in the livery of a household servant hastily started to draw the heavy satin curtains shut. His attire was impeccably tailored and came at a great personal expense to the Regent.
His uniform consisted of a fancy red coat, knee breeches, silk calf-hugging stockings, and powdered hair. As this particular gentleman, like his fellows, was often in the presence of the Regent, special care was taken that he looked perfect. He had even been required to provide his height when advertising for the position, because it was considered absurd to have a pair of personal servants that didn’t match in tallness.
“Dawson, what are you doing now?”
“I am pulling the curtains shut, Sir Percival,” said the young man with the auburn hair and the freckles on his already reddening cheeks.
“Yes, that is what I thought you were doing. Dawson, please don’t bother. Come here. We are to dress His Royal Highness, the Prince.” Sir Percival waved his hand frantically. “Well, come on, boy.”
“Yes, Sir Percival.” He rushed over to where the other man stood.
“There’s no need to run. Don’t they teach you anything these days?”
“Sorry, Sir Percival.”
“Stop apologizing, man. It’s most unbecoming,” huffed Sir Percival. He resembled a pelican standing on one leg. His back was straight to a breaking point and his small head like the bird’s perched on his neck as if lingering for its mother bird to feed it.
“Thanks to your bickering, I am awake now,” rasped the Prince Regent, peering from under the quilted blankets on his bed with two beady eyes.
“My intention exactly, Your Royal Highness. Now, come along, you have a big day ahead of you.” Sir Percival clapped his hands theatrically.
“I still don’t see why bother. Knighting some plebs…for what…I say?”
“Because they have done their duty to their King, their Regent and the Empire, Your Royal Highness.” Sir Percival swiveled his attention to the other chamber servant, standing by the door. “Well, come on, Wallis, the Prince Regent isn’t going to dress himself.”
Chastened, the other man, robed identically to Dawson, dashed across the vast bedchamber toward the bed.
“It’s like teaching monkeys to juggle. No running in the Prince’s chambers,” said Sir Percival, rolling his eyes.
“Sorry, Sir,” said both young men simultaneously.
“I now have three of you looking at me. This is most disconcerting. Where’s Gussy? He’s much nicer to me in the mornings,” said the Regent still peering from under the coverlets. He referred to his Gentleman of the Chamber.
He’s not here because the Duke of Uxbridge gets as drunk as you do, Your Royal… Pffft…Highness. I cannot discern which one of you two gentlemen is more debauched? The fat Prince Toad or the fat Duke of Toad. Sir Percival bowed laconically. “Your Royal Highness, I only do what’s best for you.” He paused. “Do you wish to use the privy before you get dressed?”
The Regent arched one eyebrow. “Yes, Waverly, I think I shall.”
“Very good, Your Royal Highness.” Sir Percival whispered to Wallis, “You are in charge of privy duty this morning.” He had to hide his amusement because of the horrified expression on the man’s face.
“But of course, Your Royal Highness. Dawson, Wallis, chop chop,” said Sir Percival. The three men promptly advanced toward the bed. “One, two, three…heave.”
The Prince Regent stood swaying before them in his linen nightshirt with his initials emblazoned in red silk on the right-hand side of the garment. His face was red flushed from the exertion of lifting his corpulent frame off the bed, or was it because he and the Duke of Uxbridge had indulged in too much food and drink the previous evening? Most probably both.
The preceding evening’s dinner that was more of a banquet of lucullan proportion had consisted of two double portions of partridge, trout, and four beefsteaks (one of the regent’s favorite foods), each in their own savory sauces. Phenomenal amounts of vegetables accompanied this bacchanalian feast. The two men had shared copious amounts of champagne, wine, and brandy throughout the evening.
“Your banyan, Your Royal Highness,” said Sir Percival, bowing, and proffering a burgundy red silk garment for the prince to slide over his bulk. The regent smiled, clearly satisfied with the garment that was the epitome of elegant morning dress in Regency England. It was a taste the English had picked up on in the Orient.
“What would I do without Jonathan Meyer? He does make the finest clothing, you know.” The Prince pirouetted on the spot in imitation of a spinning top. “Mm, we might have to call upon him again. This is rather snug around the midriff – I think he made a mistake with my measurements.” His face lit up. “I shall summon Beau Brummell; he will know what to do. It was he who recommended the man as a tailor in the first place, you know.”
With those words, the prince marched off in the direction of the privy like a charging bull. Following close on his heels went Wallis. The two other men quickly busied themselves with the preparations for when the prince returned. Sir Percival had trouble getting over the prince’s hubris – it was evident to him that the regent had grown in size since he last wore the vestment.
“No, no, no, I shall first have breakfast, Waverly,” commanded the prince on his way back from his visit to the loo. He flapped his hand frantically at the clothing held in his direction as if a nest of hornets had just inhabited them.
“But of course, Your Royal Highness…will it be the usual?” asked Sir Percival, dreading the prospect.
“Yes, yes, I think it shall. Arrange for it to be brought to me in my dining room,” said the prince almost salivating onto the carpet and rubbing his hands with glee.
The prince’s route took him along the entire length of the lower ground floor at Carlton House that was composed of a suite of low ceilinged rooms, which included a gothic dining room, a library, a Chinese drawing room, and an astonishing gothic conservatory constructed of cast iron and stained glass.
This suite of rooms was equipped with folding doors that provided impressive enfilade when opened. Like most mornings, the doors were closed. However, when open, the entire length could be used for one enormous banqueting table. All of the ground floor rooms faced the elaborate garden fronting the Mall.
By the time Sir Percival arrived, the Prince Regent was already attacking an assortment of foods as if it would be his last meal. His breakfast consisted of two pigeons and three beefsteaks, three parts of a bottle of mozelle, a glass of dry champagne, two glasses of port and a glass of brandy.
Sir Percival watched on in consternated horror throughout and shuddered at the denouement of the meal. He had never been to Africa, but he could imagine that a pride of lions feasting on a carcass had nothing on the prince regent. The two footmen standing in the chamber stared straight ahead, knowing of the prince’s wrath should they be caught ogling.
“Ah, that’s better,” said the prince, emitting a contented burp, flowering his words. “Waverly, I shall be having my medicine now.” He gnawed on a bone in an attempt to find another tasty morsel – to his great chagrin he was unsuccessful.
Sir Percival nodded to one of the footmen who promptly jutted into action. Within moments, he returned with a small vial neatly presented on a silver salver.
As well as alcohol, George, the regent, was also addicted to laudanum, a liquid form of opium. He’d take 100 drops in preparation for a public appearance, enough to knock most people senseless. There was no limit to his desires, nor any restraint to his profusion.
The regent lifted his bulk from the seat. The action looked like a volcano prior to eruption. “Waverly, I shall get dressed now.”
Sir Percival bowed as the prince promenaded past him, back in the direction of his private suite. He already dreaded the next hours. It was his least favorite part of the day.
Chapter 2
Carlton House – The Adoubement
Amelia Carlyle stepped out of the carriage in front of Carlton House. She was with her father, Mr. Thomas Carlyle Esquire and her mother, Felicity. She had never been to visit the prince regent before. Her gaze shifted upward in an attempt to take in the vast structure before her.
The building faced the south side of Pall Mall, and its gardens abutted St. James’s Park in the St. James district of London. John Nash, who was busy altering the layout of London on the Prince Regent’s request, included the location of Carlton House in his plans. The soon to be ceremonial route from St. James’ Park to Regent’s Park, via the newly established Regent Street still under heavy construction to Portland Place and Park Square were based on the position of the front entrance to Carlton House.
It was as the regent wished since taking on the formal task of representing the monarchy after his father, who had been declared unfit for the role due to the illness that some called madness. George the Third was known as the man who had lost the American colonies. However, he was much loved by the populace nonetheless.
Behind Amelia, there were more transports waiting to discharge their eager passengers. All around her, the coachmen yelled, “Ya, ya…” and clicked their tongues as they coaxed their horses forward with the lash. The procession was endless. Everybody of note had been bidden to the Regent’s home to witness the knighting of the men who had done their bit for king and country.
Amelia’s father was one of those men. It had always been his lifelong ambition to come so far. Thanks to his ownership of a shipping company and his adept handling of that asset, he had attracted the attention of Prime Minister Robert Banks Jenkinson, 2nd Earl of Liverpool, who had suggested to the Prince Regent that he receive an accolade to reward him for his efforts.
Amelia did feel proud and to a certain extent happy for her father. A large proportion of her father’s ships supported the war effort against Napoleon by supplying the troops on the Iberian Peninsula with much-needed food, medicine, and other victuals. Of course, Amelia knew that he made a hefty profit on the side–what astute businessman wouldn’t. Yet, that was not what worried her.
Their relationship was a contentious one at best. His continuous efforts to marry her off above her station were a cause of great concern to her. So far, she had been fortunate that no prospective suitor had yet been found. But what would happen after he had made that first step up the ladder of advancement?
Amelia could not help but feel that fate was rounding on her like a pack of wolves ready for the kill. Oddly enough, despite her twenty summers, she had not yet been launched into society. She assumed that her father had a reason for that. He always was good at chess. This knighthood was all he needed to strategically plan his next steps of advancement. Now, he could flaunt his wealth to any impoverished lord, viscount, earl or duke and sell off his most prized asset to the highest bidder – namely me, she thought.
“Well, come on, daughter. It won’t do to dawdle. The Prince Regent will not wait for us,” said Amelia’s father happily.
“Yes, Father. I was just looking at the building. ‘Tis rather impressive.”
Her father arched
his eyebrows. The gesture made him look slightly comical on his chubby face. He stood tall and was as bulky as a tree trunk. Every time he spoke, his jowls would wobble with his every utterance. In a way, his stout physique was a perfect reflection of his vast fortune – his key to unlock the greed among the nobles.
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