Finding the Duke's Heir: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 7)

by Arietta Richmond

  His Majesty’s Hounds – Book 7

  Sweet and Clean Regency Romance

  Arietta Richmond

  Dreamstone Publishing © 2017

  www.dreamstonepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2017 Dreamstone Publishing and Arietta Richmond

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925499-70-4

  This story is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Some actual historical events of the period may be referenced in passing.

  Books by Arietta Richmond

  His Majesty’s Hounds

  Claiming the Heart of a Duke

  Intriguing the Viscount

  Giving a Heart of Lace

  (a prequel to Winning the Merchant Earl)

  Being Lady Harriet’s Hero

  Enchanting the Duke

  Redeeming the Marquess

  Finding the Duke’s Heir

  Winning the Merchant Earl (coming soon)

  Healing Lord Barton (coming soon)

  Loving the Bitter Baron (coming soon)

  Rescuing the Countess (coming soon)

  Attracting the Spymaster (coming soon)

  Restoring the Earl’s Honour (coming soon)

  The Derbyshire Set

  A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)

  A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)

  The Earl’s Unexpected Bride

  The Captain’s Compromised Heiress

  The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 1

  (contains the first three books in a single volume.)

  The Count’s Impetuous Seduction

  The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption

  The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 2

  (contains the second three books in a single volume.)

  A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)

  The Marchioness’ Second Chance (coming soon)

  A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)

  Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

  The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)

  Other Books

  The Scottish Governess (coming soon)

  The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)

  The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series,

  (coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)

  For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book, and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence, who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.

  For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about these books, and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening, I promise to write more about your favourite characters.

  For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers – it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best presentation possible!

  And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Here is your preview of Winning the Merchant Earl

  Chapter One

  Books in the ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ Series

  Books in ‘The Derbyshire Set’

  Regency Collections with Other Authors

  Other Books from Dreamstone Publishing

  Julian Stafford, Duke of Windemere, signed the document with a flourish. Hopefully, that was the last. His wife, Antonia, had been dead for over a year now, yet here he was still paying the debts that she had incurred. He pitied the modistes, shopkeepers and jewellers she had patronised. When she had been still living, he’d had no idea that they were not being paid. And, it seemed, they had been so afraid of asking for their due, that it had taken some of them a year to come forward.

  When the ink had dried on the page, Julian handed the document to his man of business, who had stood patiently waiting whilst he dealt with it.

  “I hope that is the last, Burrowes. But, if more of them come forward, bring their claims to me, as always. For now, see these paid. Why it has taken them so long to come forward escapes me. Surely I am not so terrifying a figure that they would expect to have their due claims denied?”

  Burrowes shook his head sadly.

  “Your Grace, I believe that your late wife was rather harsh in her dealings with those of the merchant classes. It seems reasonable that they should judge you by what they saw of her, if unfair. After all, they have never met you.”

  “True, Burrowes, although a distressing thought. I hate to think of the hardship that some of these people undoubtedly suffered, simply because my wife could not bestir herself to arrange payment of her bills. Please, ensure that any tradesmen and shopkeepers that my estates deal with are always paid promptly in future. I do not wish to emulate so many of the ton, and spend without the ability, or intention, to pay.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.”

  Burrowes bowed, and took his leave, stack of papers in hand. Julian sat back in his chair, staring, unseeing, as the early afternoon sun cast beams of light past the curtains and onto the magnificent woven silk rug upon his study floor.

  A few motes of dust sparkled like gold dust in the sunbeams, but Julian didn’t see them – his thoughts were elsewhere, in his mind he saw, yet again, the day when Martin was brought home on a hurdle, the life already fled from his body, blood everywhere. His son and heir, his only child, gone, and in a way that need never have happened.

  How different might his own life have been now, if Antonia had been able to see past her prejudice and disdain for the lower classes, and accept Martin’s choice.

  If she had accepted Marion, then others might never have disparaged her to Martin’s face, the duel might never have happened, and Martin might still be here with him.

  Julian shook himself out of his thoughts. Foolish maundering - such thinking would only leave him blue-devilled for no useful reason. He could not change the past. Still, he did wonder what had happened to Marion. For he had neither seen, nor heard anything of, either her, or her family, since the day of Martin’s death. It disturbed him. He wished that he might have helped her, to honour Martin’s choice, no matter how much that would have offended Antonia, but one cannot help a woman one cannot find.

  ~~~~~

  At the same moment that Julian stared unseeing at sunbeams, not so far away, in her private parlour in Pendholm House, Lady Sylvia Edgeworth, Dowager Viscountess Pendholm, also sat staring at sunbeams. Lady Sylvia, however, was very aware of the sun. She was grateful for the late spring sunshine, with the promise of actual warmth this summer, unlike the previo
us year. She did wonder, however, what she would be doing this summer. She had chosen to stay in London, when her son, Lord Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm, and his wife, Lady Odette, had retired to their country estate, Pendholm Hall, for the summer. It was time she gave Charlton and Odette the space to be themselves, without her presence intruding. Pendholm House felt so empty now, with Charlton and Odette gone, and Harriet, now married to Lord Geoffrey Clarence, also gone.

  Lady Sylvia was overjoyed that her children had both found such happiness, but now felt herself rather lost.

  She could visit Mary and the other girls, and their delightful children, regularly, but they also needed time to themselves. With most of the ton leaving town as summer approached, there were less and less social events, less and less people to call upon and, therefore, less and less things with which to fill her days.

  If she was honest, Lady Sylvia did not care at all about the lack of society events. They had become rather boring. The more time she spent with Mary, Sally, Poppy and Rose, seeing the vast transformation in their lives which had been wrought by something so simple as having given them a decent home to live in, enough food to eat, and a small number of staff to help them care for their children, the more she wished to bring that kind of transformation to others. The suffering of the lower classes, especially those girls who had been abused by their employers, then cast out, had become more real to her, as she came to understand what those lives were really like. No woman should suffer such treatment.

  And, certainly, no child should be raised in the sort of appalling conditions that Mary and Rose had been living in, when Lady Sylvia had found them. Especially no grandchild of hers, regardless of which side of the blanket they were born on! With bitter sadness, she yet again acknowledged that she was, truly, glad that her eldest son was dead. The only positive things he had left in her life were the children, and an adequate supply of money to assist them. Deciding to help other girls like Mary was one thing. Knowing where to start, to do so, was another entirely. But… she most definitely needed something to do with her time, and far better something useful, than a genteel and useless occupation.

  Never prone to being still for long, Lady Sylvia rose, and went to her escritoire. Swiftly, she penned a note to Lady Anna Trubridge, Viscountess Farnsworth, Odette’s aunt, and, of late, Lady Sylvia’s closest friend.

  ~~~~~

  Two hours later Lady Sylvia was comfortably ensconced in Lady Farnsworth’s parlour, with a cup of excellent tea, and some delightful small cakes. Just being in Anna’s cheerful company made Lady Sylvia feel far better. Anna had an acerbic wit, and a clear, if somewhat unforgiving, view of the world around her. She was not afraid to express her opinions, and her astute observations not only entertained, but frequently informed in a way that Lady Sylvia found invaluable.

  “So, my dear, what can I do for you today? Whilst your company is delightful at any time, I sense that something is troubling you. Do tell – for today has been rather boring so far.”

  “Dear Anna, I have an idea. And I want your opinion.” Lady Farnsworth looked enquiringly at Lady Sylvia, waiting for her to continue. “I have been thinking a lot of late. Frankly, I need something to do. Now that both Charlton and Harriet are happily leading their own lives, they don’t really need me.”

  “I can see how that would leave your days rather empty, for indeed, my days have become the same. Now that Odette is happily married to Charlton, and learning to run her own establishment as a Viscountess should, I am alone for the first time in many years. It is a strange feeling, is it not?”

  “Yes. Most definitely. I do not want to become one of those horrible society widows, whose life descends into a dull round of soirees where nothing is spoken but gossip and petty recrimination.” Lady Sylvia shuddered at the thought, her green brown eyes sparkling with the intensity of her emotion.

  “I cannot ever imagine you being like that, even if you tried to be! You are far too kind a soul. You lack the sharpness of tongue required to play such a part, dear Sylvia.”

  “I am glad that you think so! The challenge I have faced, dear Anna, is one of finding something to do – anything to do – which might be regarded as a suitable activity for a Lady of my position, and which is not unmitigatedly dull and boring. I have, finally, had an idea. I want to help more girls like Mary, Rose, Sally and Poppy. You have seen how much better their lives are, for what we have given them – which seems so little to us. Surely there are many other girls in situations like theirs, who need help? I think that I will spend the rest of my life wanting to help those abused by their noble employers – it might, in some small part, make up for the terrible things that my son did, whilst he lived. The problem is, I don’t know how to start.”

  “That is a very good idea! Perhaps Mary and the girls can advise us on how we might find others who need help?”

  “Of course! Shall we visit them now?”

  The ale was cool, and the food was good. Charles Barrington, Viscount Wareham, had stayed in the Marston Arms Inn many times over the past few years, and the innkeeper made sure that he was well served. Charles was happy. Soon, he could return to Meltonbrook Chase, and be close to Lady Maria again. His business on Hunter’s Springmarsh estate was concluded for this visit, with everything in order, and excellent potential for a good harvest this year – a pleasant change from the previous year.

  Only one thing marred his satisfaction with the world. It was nigh on four years now, and he still had not fulfilled his promise to Scartwick. A promise made as the man lay dying, after a senseless duel. That duel was one of the things that had convinced Charles that the London life was not for him. He cared more for his brother’s estates than for drinking and gambling. But Scartwick had charged him with protecting Marion – and he had failed – not only had he not protected her, he hadn’t even found her… yet.

  He would not give up. He still, every day, brought out the folded paper that Scartwick had thrust into his hand as he died. The paper that proved, unarguably, that Marion was Scartwick’s wife. He looked at it again then, frustrated, put it away. As he did, a snippet of overheard conversation came back to him, from earlier that day.

  He had been finishing up his meeting with the farm manager at Hunter’s Springmarsh estate, when three of the farm labourers had returned from the fields. Their talk was of the sad death of an old woman who had lived in a nearby village. She had, apparently, been Nanny to two or three generations of the local aristocracy, and been well liked by everyone. The last part of their conversation, however, was what struck him most. One of them had said ‘What d’ye think’ll happen to the daughter and granddaughter now, with the old woman gone? I never understood why that granddaughter hasn’t got herself a husband to look after them. She’s three and twenty years old, and good to look at, but she’s by herself, with a three year old child that is, apparently, hers. Well, that’s what happens to people in London – better she’d never lived there, if you ask me.’

  The words stuck in his mind. It seemed a very long stretch of possibility. Yet… Marion would be three and twenty by now. And with a child… if he let himself believe the outlandish possibility that it could be Marion they spoke of, then a child of three would be the right age – the right age to be Scartwick’s child… Could that be why he’d found no trace of Marion in nigh on four years – because he was looking for a woman alone, not a woman with a small child, living with her mother?

  The idea gnawed at him. He had to know for sure.

  Another day here would not change anything at home. But… if it was Marion, it could change his life, and hers. He could fulfil his promise to Scartwick, and be free of it.

  The Innkeeper was glad of the money that providing another night’s lodging brought him, and the following morning Charles hurried back to Springmarsh, and enquired after the labourers. The farm manager apologised, explaining that the men were not there – he had sent them with the farm cart to the next town, to deliver promised supplies
to a merchant.

  Inwardly cursing, Charles thanked the man, and set off, towards Meltonbrook Chase after all – he could not, reasonably, stay another two or three days to await their return. But he would be back. Any possibility of finding Marion, however slim, he would follow to its end.

  ~~~~~

  Jane Canfield had never felt older. Grief and exhaustion had left her feeling empty, almost hopeless. The only thing that motivated her to continue was her daughter, and her grandson. The grandson who, oblivious to everything else, played happily with a pile of wooden blocks, which he had scattered across the worn rug at her feet.

  It didn’t matter that she did not know who the boy’s father was, that Marion still refused to tell her, had always answered ‘It doesn’t matter now’, when she had asked. She loved the child anyway, as she loved her daughter - the daughter who had arrived on her doorstep, expecting and alone, nearly four years ago.

  Continuing to watch Daniel, Jane spoke softly.

  “How will we go on now, Marion? Now that your grandmother is gone. I know that she is better off with God, for this last year has been hard, where she didn’t even remember us, really, and kept calling Daniel by the name of the boy she cared for when I was a child.” Jane sighed, still watching the child, before she continued. “The only reason we have survived the last two years is the charity that the Countess was kind enough to send my mother, as thanks for all of her years of service to the family. And mother’s cottage is theirs – now she’s gone, it will be given to some other dependent of the Earl of Morcross. All we have is this little cottage of our own, a few things that my mother owned, and us. I don’t know, now, how we’ll feed ourselves, let alone a growing boy.”

  Marion turned and hugged her mother to her, the glitter of unshed tears in her eyes.

  “We’ll find a way, Mother, somehow, we will.”