The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hanna Hamilton

  “Nope. I just want to eat and drink wine.” Jonathan attacked his plate with a vengeance. “By tomorrow, we will be rid of them, and we can go home for Christmas,” he said with his mouth half full.

  “Them?” asked Jake.

  “Yeah, them. I don’t think Anna will leave her mistress alone…do you? Anyway, what does it matter? I will arrange for them to be accommodated in Richmond while we await news of the ransom.”

  “It matters to me. I love Anna,” said Jake who had stopped eating. He stared at his friend and superior with a hostile glare.

  Jonathan took a large swig of wine, promptly refilling his glass. “Come on, Jake. You hardly know the girl.”

  “You can be a heartless bastard sometimes, Jonathan.” Jake pushed his chair back. He gave the table a remorseful look. “Ah, the hell with it.” He carved some more meat and helped himself to some vegetables, grabbed one carafe of wine and his glass and left the cabin.

  Jonathan was surprised. In all of the years he had known Jake, he had never done anything like that before. He leaned back in his chair in thought. Maybe, he does love Anna, he supposed, immediately knowing what he had to do. Jake was his only family. He had sacrificed so much for him, so it was about time he returned the favor no matter how unpleasant the prospect.

  Chapter 9

  A New World

  From the Chesapeake Bay to Virginia, United States of America, December 1813

  “I thought we would be rid of him after that debacle the other night,” said Amelia to Anna.

  Anna shrugged and pulled on the thick woolen shawl around her person. It was freezing outside. She had never expected an American winter to be quite as harsh. “I am happy about it. It means that I get to spend more time with Jake.” She smiled. “I think that he is going to ask me to marry him.”

  Amelia moved closer to her lady’s maid who had now officially become her friend. Anna still continued to do her duties, albeit in a more familiar fashion. “I am so happy for you, Anna. ‘Tis wonderful news.” She sighed.

  “Don’t you worry. That stubborn yank is bound to come ‘round. And when he does, he will make a fine husband for ye. You’ll see. What I dreamt back in England is becoming a reality.”

  The expression on Anna’s face was so certain and unwavering that it made Amelia shiver. “Me marry that man? Never! It’s bad enough that we have to spend Christmas on his estate. We should be in Canada by now,” she hissed. Vapor accompanied her words as the heat of her breath came into contact with the icy cold air.

  “And what do you have there. A sister who will act as your jailor and a betrothed you despise. Trust me, Amelia, you are far better off down here.”

  Amelia didn’t want to hear any more on the topic. When the Triton had landed at Baltimore, she had hoped to be set free. However, Captain Mitchell had insisted that both of them spend Christmas with him and Jake. He had said that once the weather improved, he would arrange passage to Canada for them. She did not trust him in the least. In her view, Mitchell was nothing more than a pirate who sought the greatest gain for himself.

  The clomping of the horses’ hooves against the hard-frozen ground filled the airwaves. The carriage taking them to Mitchell’s Virginia estate pulled them forward at great speed. Amelia was grateful for the fact that Mitchell had decided on riding himself so that she did not have to constantly be near him.

  She looked out of the window. Her view opened upon a long vista of forest, through which was seen the rich coloring of the approaching evening, melting by imperceptible gradations into the solemn grey of the upper air. Dark hills, whose outline appeared distinct upon the vivid glow of the horizon, closed the perspective perfectly.

  The surrounding snow-covered countryside was breathtaking. It seemed to nod at every murmur of the cold wind. The tops of the trees swayed rhythmically to its gentle caress, dancing in a way that only trees can.

  It was sweetly romantic that seductive vegetation shrouded in a hoary mantle of crisp lightness. The endless row of luxuriant woods seemed to sequester this spot from the rest of the world. Frequently, a natural vista would yield a view of the country, terminated by hills, which retiring in the distance, faded into the blue and gradually darkening horizon.

  Sometimes, a stream, various and musical in its course, would add a watery element to the magic taking place before her; there it silently glided beneath the shades, feeding the icicles that throve on its banks, and diffusing dewy freshness around; there it spread in broad expanse, reflecting the sylvan scene, and the wild deer that attempted to find a hole in the ice to taste its idle waves.

  Amelia observed everywhere a profusion of game; the pheasants scarcely flew from the carriage’s approach, and the deer gazed mildly at her as she passed. They seemed like strangers to man!

  It was romantic, she decided, so very much so. Amelia looked at Anna who was lost in thought. The expression on her face was a happy one. How wonderful this voyage must be for her. And yet…to me…it is a jail sentence, thought Amelia. If I were in Canada, I would be at the mercy of Lord Templeton French and here…

  Then, there he was, blocking her view of the pristineness that nature presented to her: Jonathan Mitchell, astride of his horse, looking resplendent in his civilian clothing. Amelia had to stifle a gulp. He was a handsome man, strong, proud and the owner of his surroundings. He looked in her direction as if he felt her gawking at him. He raised his hand to the beak of his hat in salute and galloped on ahead and out of view.

  After spending the night in Washington DC, that young city that had only recently been founded in 1790 but only completed in 1800, they had moved on for the final stretch of their journey.

  Amelia had been impressed by the new capital city that had taken over from Philadelphia a little over ten years ago. It surprised her that a Frenchman turned American, Pierre Charles L’Enfant, was responsible for its layout and planning. Judging by the impressiveness of the Capitol and the ‘Grand Avenue’ connecting it to ‘President’s House,’ she was certain that the town would transform into a remarkable city in the not too distant future.

  There was a blue sky up above them. Off and on, a cloud or two would add specks of whiteness to the blue canvass. And like the previous day, the countryside was breathtaking. It never seemed to end no matter in which direction Amelia looked.

  “Look, Amelia, I think we have arrived,” said Anna, sticking her head out of the window despite the biting cold.

  Amelia followed suit. She looked ahead. “This can’t be it.” But then she thought of all of the booty Mitchell claimed when he was the captain of his ship.

  “Yes, it is. It is magnificent. I have never seen anything so superb,” chirruped Anna above the cacophony of the advancing horses.

  “Yes,” muttered Amelia more for her own benefit.

  The house or mansion fast approaching in the distance was designed in a loose Palladian style. Row upon row of oaks led up to the large structure. Whoever designed the grounds and the home surely had taste. This was the first thing that came to Amelia’s mind the closer the carriage took her between the elegant embrace of the trees lining the lane.

  The house’s principal block was a two-storied ‘corps de logis,’ the main part of the building when referring to classical houses, mansions or palaces. Two single-story secondary wings, which had obviously been added later, flanked it.

  The main building and the wings had hipped roofs with dormers. On the top of the structure, rested a short spire topped by a gilded statue of something that resembled a man.

  Amelia made a mental note to ask Mitchell what the statue of the figure on the roof embodied. Before the thought could fester, she reminded herself that she was not going to speak to him ever again.

  Despite herself, she had often caught herself looking at him. This ogling happened at the most inopportune moments. One time, Jonathan had aided the coachmen with a wheel with shattered spokes. His strength and ability had involuntarily taken her breath away. Jonathan had smiled at h
er when he saw her studying his impressive physique.

  Amelia had wandered off after that, seeking misplaced solace in her confused mind. Before she knew it, the voyage continued with Jonathan passing on most of the praise to his black servant. He is quite the gentleman when he wants to be…and a man without his sex’s habitual addiction to praise, she had thought on her way back to the fixed vehicle.

  Another time, he had quoted something quite beautiful during dinner. Who was it from? – oh, yes. Such a lovely poem by Lord Byron. A small smile appeared on her face, conquering her lips and coaxing her mouth into a clandestine smile. Amelia silently spoke the words.

  “She walks in beauty, like the night

  Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

  And all that’s best of dark and bright

  Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

  Thus mellowed to that tender light

  Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

  One shade the more, one ray the less,

  Had half impaired the nameless grace

  Which waves in every raven tress,

  Or softly lightens o’er her face;

  Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

  How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

  And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

  So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

  The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

  But tell of days in goodness spent,

  A mind at peace with all below,

  A heart whose love is innocent!”

  She remembered that Jonathan had looked at her the entire time while he recited the words. His voice had carried the verses with such eloquence; it had taken her breath away. Of course, the moment had been ruined when he had added his customary patriotic zeal. Jonathan and Jake had found Byron’s newest poem on board a British ship sailing for Jamaica. Amelia had not wanted to be reminded of that.

  “We have arrived. Welcome to ‘Fair Weather Heaths’, My family’s ancestral home. It was built in 1765 by my grandfather who sadly died before it was completed. My father finished his legacy, and here we are. Come! Alfred will show you to your quarters,” announced Jonathan, walking up to them and opening the carriage door.

  Amelia and Anna stepped out of the transport. Standing nearby was a black man attired in the guise of a butler. “Good afternoon, ladies. My name’s Alfred, and I have the pleasure of escorting you to your rooms.”

  Amelia looked all around her as she followed the tall man into the house. Inside, it was the same. All of the maids and footmen were dark skinned. “He has slaves here,” she hissed into Anna’s ear.

  “Aren’t there slaves in Jamaica?” Anna asked, rolling her eyes at yet another attempt on Amelia’s behalf to find something wrong with Mitchell’s home and his person.

  “That’s not the point. We don’t have any in England. This is barbaric.”

  “But it is beautiful.” Anna swept her hand over the insides of the mansion.

  The interior design followed the classical concept of the exterior. “This house has always been a work in progress if you understand what I mean. So, owing to its piecemeal evolution, the internal architectural features, for example, the door cases, moldings and plasterwork – are not consistently faithful to one specific period of the 18th-century revival of classic architecture.”

  Amelia arched her eyebrows. Mitchell was a different man. He even smiled. Gone was the aggression she had become so accustomed to. Maybe he feels better when he is at home? Without thinking, she followed him around the homestead. She was captivated by his passion that so mirrored her own when it came to lovely interiors.

  Like the first time she heard him after the attack on the ship, his voice held her in a vice. When back then it had only uttered a few brief sentences, he now spoke bounds. Completely out of character, she thought, studying his broad shoulders and tapering flanks as he walked.

  “This varying of the classical style is best exemplified in the door cases...see?” Jonathan pointed.

  “It’s magnificent,” said Amelia, meaning it.

  “Thank you. I think so myself.” She continued to follow him. Now-and-again, he would greet his slaves cordially when one of them came into view.

  This behavior made Amelia pleat her brow. Mitchell was not the typical slave owner she imagined. He was kind and considerate to the people on his land. He would break off in midsentence to ask after his people’s family or whether they felt good.

  “Many of the rooms are lined with painted paneling and have ceilings ornamented by plasterwork in a Neoclassical style; much of it can be attributed to the English craftsman and émigré, John Rawlins, who arrived from London in 1771, bringing with him the interior design motifs then fashionable in the British capital.”

  “Yes, very, Jonathan. You have a beautiful home,” said Amelia. She promptly scolded herself for addressing him by his first name.

  Her remark made him smile. “Look, Amelia. I have been meaning to tell you…I wish to apologize for the final night on board the Triton. I behaved badly. No woman should have to put up with a man discussing such things.”

  “So, you think women are not capable of such conversations?”

  Oh, hell, here she goes again. Can’t I do anything right? “I didn’t mean it like that. As you proved, you are more than able to hold your own against a man in such a discourse. What I meant to say was that I would have much rather spoken to you about more pleasant things than the war.”

  Amelia’s mien softened even more. “Then maybe you might get that chance this evening during dinner, Mr. Mitchell.”

  “Oh, please call me Jonathan – you did so earlier. It would be an honor.”

  “Then Jonathan it is…what time is dinner served?”

  “At seven…but don’t you need somebody to show you to your room, Amelia?” he asked when he saw her turning away.

  “Alfred (who had just appeared) here will do so quite nicely I am sure. Thank you, Mr. Mitch…oh, sorry, Jonathan. I will see you at dinner.”

  And with those words, she was gone. Did she just blush? Jonathan punched the flat of his palm with his fist. We’re getting somewhere. Now all I gotta do is not make a mess of dinner.

  “Don’t mention the war; don’t mention the war,” he kept repeating all the way to his study.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Jonathan. What is the statue on the roof?” asked Amelia.

  Jonathan took a sip of his wine, failing to notice the excited glances that Jake and Anna were exchanging across the long dining table that had place for twenty. “It’s an effigy of Triton.”

  Amelia frowned.

  “He is a mythological Greek god – the messenger of the sea. He is the son of Poseidon and Amphitrite and often shown as a merman. He too carries a trident in imitation of his father.”

  “I see. So that is where you got the name for your ship?” Amelia was impressed. First, Jonathan showed remarkable knowledge in all things to do with interior design and architecture and now he displayed his interest in ancient Greek mythology.

  “Exactly. Jake and I thought it was a good name – right, my friend?”

  The two men lifted their glasses in salute. The group of four continued to eat in silence. Amelia occasionally snuck furtive glances in Jonathan’s direction. He had a strong jaw, she decided as she watched him chew his food. She was never able to look at him for long because he too cast looks at her. More than once, they caught each other looking at the other.

  When four footmen, dressed in the finest livery, cleared the plates, Amelia couldn’t help the question that had formed on her tongue. “Why do you have slaves, Jonathan?”

  He sipped his wine in thought. Jake and Anna exchanged nervous glances. “Well, it’s the most efficient and profitable way to run a plantation of this size.”

  “And what about their human rights. I mean, are they allowed to leave this place if they wish to go somewhere else?” Amelia already knew the answer to her question, but she wanted t
o hear him say it.

  “No, they cannot.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they are my property,” said Jonathan seriously. It was obvious that he did not appreciate the way in which the conversation was unfolding.

  “Don’t you find that antiquated and cruel?” asked Amelia.

  “Maybe, but there is nothing I can do about it.”