The parlour of the house on Ebury Street was full of laughter, as three small children, between the ages of three and five, tumbled about their feet, playing energetically with an odd assortment of toys.
“Girls, we have come to seek your advice.”
The assembled young women looked at Lady Pendholm and Lady Farnsworth with astonishment.
“But my Lady, what could we possibly advise you about?” Mary’s voice was hesitant, her expression puzzled.
“Let me explain. When I found you, Mary and Rose, you were in desperate straits. Little Sylvie might have died, had we not found you soon enough.”
Mary nodded, and Sylvie paused at the sound of her name, dropping the toy she was holding and turning to see if she was being offered attention. Lady Sylvia held out her arms, and the little girl came and crawled into her lap.
Lady Sylvia continued, hugging the child to her.
“I have watched all of you, this last year, and you are so changed – so much healthier, happier, and more able to do useful things with your lives. Now that my own children are wed and happy, I need something to focus my energies on. I want to do something worthwhile. Many Ladies donate to foundling homes or similar, but what they do is small – they do not really engage with what happens to the children. I want to do something more. And so does Lady Farnsworth.”
“Indeed, I do. But neither of us quite know where to start - which is why we need your advice.”
Mary waited for more information, her eyes bright.
“You see, we have decided that we would like to help more girls in situations like yours – girls who have been taken advantage of by their employers, then turned off or forced to leave, with no way to survive. But… we don’t know how we might best find them, or exactly what we might best do to help, beyond providing them a home of some kind.”
Rose spoke up, her expression thoughtful.
“A home is important, but, to truly help, it needs to be more. They would need an opportunity to learn – to learn things that would let them seek new employment, where they would not be abused. And they would need help with their children, so that they could go and work, knowing that their child was safe and cared for. That is why we are all so much better than we were. No matter who goes to work, or to do something away from here, there is someone to mind the children. We know that they are safe.”
Mary, suddenly excited, added her thoughts.
“Lady Sylvia, would it be possible to purchase the other houses on this street, or some of them? Would that cost so much that it would be impossible? For if it was possible, we could help them adjust, we could teach them, and find others who could teach them. We could have, on this street, our own little village of sorts.”
“Yes, and once that happened, if we each spoke to other girls we know, who work in big houses, or in shops that serve the nobility, the word would get around. The girls in need would come to us. They might be afraid to come to you, but they would be brave enough to come to us.” Poppy was obviously excited too, and Lady Sylvia smiled brilliantly, buoyed up by the girls’ enthusiastic response to their idea.
“That sounds like a capital idea! I’m sure that, between us, we can raise the funds to buy, if the owners will sell, at least some of the other houses here.” Lady Farnsworth smiled at all of them, and turned to Lady Sylvia. “My dear, I think that we now have a place to start, shall we summon that man of business of yours?”
“I believe that Mr Swithin will be more than happy to assist us with this – If you will call upon me tomorrow, I will send him a message, asking that he attend us at eleven of the morning.”
A decision made, the two Ladies left the girls to happy speculation, and went upon their way.
~~~~~
“I own another house? Where? Why have I never heard of this place before?”
“It was owned by your son, Your Grace and, like all else of his, passed to you on his death.”
The Duke had barely looked at the small list of assets that had become his on his son’s death, had not yet really cleared out his rooms, although it had been four years since his passing. It was all too painful. So he was rather startled at Burrowes’ words.
“And you have only now mentioned this place to me today, and not for the last four years?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Until now, there was no need to bother you. I have simply ensured that it was maintained, should you wish to use it in any way. But today I received a request from a Mr Swithin, on behalf of his employers - a request that you consider selling the house to them.”
“And should I sell it?”
“That is entirely your decision Your Grace, I would not presume to suggest.”
“I am not sure that is at all helpful, Burrowes. Perhaps I should see this house, before I make a decision. Where is it?”
“In Ebury Street, Your Grace. Not the best street, but certainly not the worst. An unexceptionable address.”
“I cannot, for the life of me, imagine why Martin would have owned a house in such a place. I will, I assume, get some insight into that when I see it.”
“Yes, Your Grace, I believe that the footman and the maid that maintain the place have been there since your son first bought it. Perhaps they can provide some insight.”
“Indeed. Please arrange to show me this unexpected residence tomorrow.”
~~~~~
The midday sun was warm, the day still and beautiful, as Lady Pendholm and Lady Farnsworth, accompanied by Mary, walked along Ebury Street, attended by Mr Swithin and Mr Godwin, the secretary Mr Swithin had supplied, to assist the Ladies with their charity project. They studied each house they passed, considering its usefulness, its condition, and the likelihood of the owners being convinced to sell.
Some owners had already indicated an interest in selling, in response to Mr Swithin’s initial enquiries, others had not responded at all. The days ahead were filled with planned meetings, house inspections, and negotiations. Lady Sylvia was delighted, and found herself feeling more alive than she had for the month or more since Harriet’s wedding.
Four houses up from the house that Mary and the other girls lived in, they had paused to consider the poor condition of one establishment. Mr Swithin was of the opinion that they should offer a very low price, for the place was in appalling condition, with much repair needed, unlike the adjoining residence, which was immaculately maintained.
As they considered the two very different houses, a carriage drew up before the better maintained house.
The carriage was elegant, without being ostentatious. Its sleek sides were adorned with a crest picked out in gold. Lady Sylvia vaguely recognised it, but could not, on the instant, remember to whom it belonged.
A man descended, obviously of the nobility, followed by what was likely his man of business. They went quickly up the stairs to the immaculately maintained house and their knock upon the door was soon answered by a footman. Lady Sylvia, seeing an unexpected opportunity, sped along the path, the other trailing her, and up the steps to the door, just before it closed.
“Excuse me.”
The footman arrested the movement of the door, mere inches before it closed and, pulling it open again, looked at them enquiringly.
“I am sorry to intrude without a formal invitation.”
Lady Sylvia proffered her calling card, and the footman accepted it, scanning it quickly before addressing her.
“Lady Pendholm. How may I assist you?”
“Am I correct in believing that the gentleman who has just entered this house is the owner? If so, I would seek the opportunity to meet him. I am, you see, interested in purchasing this house.”
The footman looked slightly startled, but bowed.
“One moment, my Lady.”
He turned away, leaving them standing upon the doorstep.
They heard the murmur of quiet voices, then he returned, and ushered them into a parlour, which showed every indication of having only just had dust sheets removed from the furni
ture.
“His Grace will be with you shortly.”
Lady Sylvia stood in the centre of the elegant rug, rotating slowly, as she carefully inspected the room. Her mind was racing. A Duke! Which Duke, though? And why did a Duke own a house in such an unfashionable neighbourhood as Ebury Street?
Eventually, she settled to simply sitting on a chaise and awaiting the Duke’s return – although outwardly calm, from long practice, she was still internally agitated. The others settled around her. A few minutes later, the footman opened the door again, and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Windemere.”
The man who stepped into the room was tall, attired in elegant simplicity of the highest quality, and strikingly handsome. Unlike many older gentlemen of the ton, who had allowed their wealth to lead them to a life of indulgence and excess in all ways, the Duke was lean and healthy in appearance, with warm hazel eyes in a chiselled face. His dark hair was streaked with grey in a way that leant him an aspect of power and authority.
Lady Sylvia was instantly taken with the man. He appealed to her in a way that men had not, since before her marriage, long ago. Her husband, now 5 years dead, had been more than 20 years her senior and, whilst she had cared for him, he had never made her heart beat faster. This man did.
It was a startling sensation.
As soon as she saw him, she remembered meeting him once, some years before. He had been with his wife, who, if she remembered aright, had died around a year ago. Lady Antonia, Duchess of Windemere, had been, in Lady Sylvia’s opinion, a very unpleasant woman. If she were to allow herself to be uncharitable, she would describe the late Duchess of Windemere as a supercilious gossip of the worst order. Or perhaps as something even worse.
In the process of avoiding the Duchess, she had, consequently, avoided being in the presence of the Duke - a fact that she now, a little scandalously, found herself regretting.
He came forward, bowing politely, and Lady Sylvia proceeded to introduce the others present. The Duke had been followed into the room by the other gentleman from the coach, who he introduced as Mr Burrowes, his man of business. Mr Burrowes and Mr Swithin nodded, acknowledging each other, having previously met.
“Pray be seated, Ladies. How may I help you?”
“Your Grace, I am, as you have no doubt been advised, interested in purchasing this property from you. I am certain that you will be wondering why I would do so, when you are, almost certainly, aware of the extent of my family’s holdings. If I may, I will explain my reasoning.”
“Of course, Lady Pendholm, do continue.” The Duke was studying her face intently, obviously giving genuine and unfeigned attention to her words. Such courtesy was an attractive feature in a man, when speaking with a woman.
“Your Grace, I have, for the last year, been providing support for Miss Mary Thompson,” Lady Sylvia indicated Mary, who curtseyed again, “and her daughter, as well as Mary’s sister Rose, and two other girls who were once maids in my household, and their children. I have done this, because, as shameful as it is to have to say this, they were, whilst in my household, abused by my now deceased son, the previous Viscount Pendholm. For a girl to be taken advantage of by her employer is the worst sort of abuse, although it is sadly common. I chose to do what I could to compensate them for their situation. And, I freely admit that, illegitimate or not, their children are my grandchildren, and I have come to care for them. Have I shocked you, Your Grace?”
The Duke looked somewhat startled, and Lady Sylvia suspected that he was quite thoroughly shocked, but he was too much the gentleman to admit it.
‘Surprised is perhaps a better word, Lady Pendholm. I must admit that I admire your attitude.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. Through my experience in seeing how much difference some genuine care has made to these girls lives, I have decided that I wish to undertake a charitable project. I wish to house, provide for, and educate other girls who have found themselves in such a situation at the hands of their noble employers. I already own two houses on this street, where Mary and the girls live now. I wish to purchase the other houses along this side of the street, for my project. For it is not the fault of these girls that they end in such a situation, and most certainly not the fault of the babes they bear. This house would be a most suitable property for my purposes.”
The Duke stood silent a moment, obviously thinking. Lady Farnsworth, uncharacteristically silent, simply watched. Mary fidgeted slightly. Lady Sylvia studied his handsome face, and wondered what he was thinking. After some time, the Duke spoke again.
“I believe that your project is a wonderful idea, Lady Sylvia. I can only agree with your belief that the girls are almost always blameless in their situation.” He nodded in Mary’s direction, acknowledging that she was to be included in that assessment, “I am not yet certain if I wish to sell this house – but I will, most certainly, consider your request, and inform you of my decision within days. I shall, if it meets your approval, call upon you at Pendholm House when I have reached my decision.”
“My thanks, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing you when you call.”
The formalities of leave-taking were dealt with, and Lady Sylvia and her party departed to walk the few doors back to Mary’s house. Lady Farnsworth summed up their thoughts neatly.
“A remarkably reasonable man, for a man of his rank. Why he ever married that terrible woman in the first place, I don’t know, but he is far better for being rid of her. He’ll come around. After all – he just took you seriously, and didn’t faint, or lecture you, when you said that you accepted and cared for your illegitimate grandchildren.”
~~~~~
Julian watched as the Ladies departed, his mind in some turmoil. Lady Sylvia was rather magnificent.
He had never met a woman of the ton who was so ready to openly flout convention for her beliefs. She was attractive, vibrant, and obviously the girl, Mary, was devoted to her. Her chosen charity project was substantially beyond the sort of thing that Ladies of the ton normally took on and, with its focus on helping girls who had been disgraced through the actions of gentlemen of the ton, was verging on scandalous.
He found himself intrigued, rather than scandalised. After all, if Antonia had not been so utterly disdainful of the lower classes, her treatment of Marion would have been different, and Martin might still be alive. He could only wish that Antonia had been more like Lady Sylvia. A quiet little voice in his mind suggested, at that point, that Lady Sylvia appealed to him, in all ways, more than Antonia ever had. It was many years since he had looked at a woman with any interest. His last interest in Antonia had died with Martin, when grief filled his heart to overflowing, and he had never considered a mistress – the drama, and the shallow, greedy display that were characteristic of most mistresses did not appeal at all.
Yet today, he had walked into a room, and been captivated by a woman with silvered blonde hair, bright green brown eyes, and a depth of care, and reckless courage, that took his breath away. He shook himself from his thoughts, and turned back to the house. He needed to understand why Martin had owned the place. For the first time since his death, Julian felt some hope – hope that here, he might find clues to what had really happened, and to what fate had befallen Marion.
Perryman, the footman, waited patiently with Mr Burrowes, until the Duke had finished thinking.
“Well, Perryman, tell me about this house, which I have only just discovered that I own.”
“Your Grace, your son, the Earl of Scartwick as he was, purchased this house for his wife, and employed us, a few months before his sad death.”
Julian froze on the spot as Perryman’s words penetrated.
“For his… wife?” His voice shook, his vision narrowed and his breath came short.
“Yes, Your Grace. For Lady Marion. And she was the nicest Lady to work for, if it’s not out of place for me to say. I wish she had stayed.”
“No, no, it’s quite alright, I am glad you found her so. But… His wife? I… did no
t know. Why… why did he set up a house for her here? Why not bring her home to Windemere Court?”
“Your Grace, it’s really not my place to say this, if you will forgive me, but I feel that you want the truth. He said he would not take her near his mother, for Lady Marion should not have to suffer the way that the Duchess would treat her. He wanted her to have a household of her own, to be well loved and cared for. I have not ever seen a man of the nobility care so much for his wife as the Earl did for Lady Marion.”
Julian stood, simply staring. This man had no reason to lie. He spoke in a way that was full of sincerity and respect. Yet… how could it be true? And, if it was? Where was Marion? How could he have let four years pass without finding her. If she was truly his daughter in law, it was his responsibility to care for her.
“Show me the house. Every part of it. I need to see this part of my son’s life, to understand why he kept this from me. I need to understand what happened. Where is Lady Marion now? Do you know? Why did she leave, when she had a decent house, and good staff to care for her? And what things of hers remain here?”
They began to walk down the hall, Perryman leading the way as he answered the Duke’s questions.
“I am most sad to say that I do not know Lady Marion’s current whereabouts. As to why she left, well… There were some young men, I can’t call them gentlemen. Men I had seen the Earl with, a time or two, mostly before he met Lady Marion. They were… of a character that did not do honour to their families. Once the Earl was dead and buried, they came here. They did not believe her his wife. They thought her a fancy piece they could have, by force if they wished it. She was never that, would never have been. She was his wife. But they would not listen. She was afraid. So she packed the least of her belongings, and simply left. When Abby went to wake her one morning, she was already gone. She left a note on her pillow for us – it said ‘I am sorry, I cannot face them again.’ That was all. I have not seen, or heard from her again.”
Julian’s heart broke at the words. He had thought himself past the worst of grief, but he had been wrong. Here was a whole new depth to his anguish, hidden, waiting here for him, in an ordinary house. His guilt ate at him. He had not even really searched for her – he was a fool, of the worst kind.
Finding the Duke's Heir: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 7) Page 2
