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

by Arietta Richmond

  He might yet sell this house to Lady Pendholm, for he did approve of her project, but he would search every inch of it first.

  If the slightest trace remained to tell him where Marion had gone, if the slightest thing remained which might prove that Martin had actually married her, if the slightest thing of Martin’s remained, that might help him better understand what had really led to Martin’s death – he would find it.

  If Martin had hidden something as momentous as a wife and a house from him – what other secrets might he have concealed?

  It had taken two days, in which Julian had barely been at home, but he had searched every part of the Ebury Street house that Martin had bought for Marion. At times, he felt as if he could feel them near him, as if he would turn a corner, or enter a room, and find them there. It left him feeling even more hollow, when he went home to an empty house.

  There was little in the way of their personal things to be found. A few dresses and other items of feminine clothing, neatly hung in the dressing room, a few small trinkets on shelves and tables, but nothing significant of either Martin or Marion. Nothing in the way of papers or other information had come to light. Julian was left with just Perryman and Abby’s word for it, that Martin and Marion had been married.

  Nor was there any hint as to where Marion had gone. The servants did know, however, that Marion’s father had died, very shortly before she had left. They wondered if perhaps her mother lived, but, if she did, they did not know where.

  Julian was forced to admit defeat. He would not, now, give up completely – he was too late by far in taking up this challenge – but he had, perforce, to acknowledge that this house did not hold the clues he had so hoped it might. The house, however, had grown on him, as he had searched it. Just its existence was a view into a part of Martin’s life that he had not shared. He found that he did not, after all, wish to sell it.

  But that decision disturbed him in another way. For he did wish to support Lady Pendholm’s project. His mind kept coming back to her, to the moment when she had so passionately declared her love for her illegitimate grandchildren, to the fire in her eyes when she had asked if she had shocked him. He had promised to call upon her, with a decision – and, he admitted, he wanted to see her again, to speak to her again. But he did not wish to disappoint her.

  Perhaps a compromise was in order. What if he did not sell the house to her, but simply allowed her to use it for her project, became, in a sense, a partner in her charity work?

  The idea appealed to him, more so, the more he considered it. For, now that the influx of his late wife’s bills had slowed to a trickle, he was left with little to fill his days but Parliament when it was in session, and the management of his estates. A distraction, in the form of a project that he wholeheartedly approved of, would be just the thing.

  ~~~~~

  The day was bright and warm, with the scent of spring flowers in the air, even in London. Julian stepped down from his coach, oddly nervous for the first time in years.

  Pendholm House was, perhaps, not so large as Windemere Court, but a very respectable house, at a very respectable address. Julian rapped the knocker on the door and waited. With commendable speed, the door opened, and a butler, immaculately presented, asked his business.

  “If Lady Pendholm is at home, I would like to see her, if I may.” He proffered his calling card and the butler, after taking a few seconds to read it, ushered him in.

  “Welcome, Your Grace. If you will take a seat in the parlour here, I will inform Lady Pendholm of your arrival. She had told us to expect you, although not the exact time of your planned arrival.”

  “Thank you.” The butler looked momentarily startled at being thanked for his service, then bowed and departed the room. His surprise pleased Julian. He had learned, long ago, that sowing the seed of courtesy meant that one harvested loyalty. Staff who were thanked and appreciated tended to be more loyal, and Julian went out of his way to ensure loyalty. His staff had stayed with him, through all the years of his marriage to Antonia, because he appreciated them, even if she had not.

  He settled onto a comfortable chaise, and took in the room. It was elegant, a little understated, decorated mainly in shades of blue, highlighted with a soft pale gold in places. It was a warm and pleasant room, unlike the parlours of so many of the ton. This was not a room designed expressly to impress, although it still did. This was a room designed to be welcoming. A large ginger cat curled comfortably in the windowseat, basking in the rays of the sun. The cat opened one eye, apparently judged him no threat, and went back to sleep. A sense of peace settled over Julian.

  Peace which was disturbed, in a most pleasant way, by the arrival of Lady Pendholm. She swept into the room, the very epitome of an elegant society woman, yet something more. The warmth in her green-brown eyes was genuine, as was the smile that lit her face. Julian stood, and went forward to greet her.

  Their eyes met, and time slowed. Julian barely noticed the little maid who followed Lady Sylvia into the room, as she went past him, and placed a tray with tea and cakes onto a side table, before curtseying and leaving. To his shock, he found himself nervous, breathing fast, and feeling, for the first time in many years, a strong attraction to a woman.

  He was no young buck, he had thought himself settled into aging quietly – he could not bear the thought of taking a young wife or mistress, just to allow himself to pretend that the years had not passed, unlike so many of his contemporaries of the ton. Not even to beget an heir. But this woman was different. She took his breath away – age had done nothing to diminish her.

  Finally, the crawl of time sped up to normal again, and he managed to step forward, and bow over her hand, resisting the sudden urge to place a kiss upon it.

  ~~~~~

  “Your Grace, I am delighted to see you!”

  Lady Sylvia had wondered if she would ever manage to get the words out. From the moment that his eyes had met hers, she had felt the world slow around her, had ceased to see anything but the man before her.

  Her body filled with a strange warmth, and her thoughts became scattered, her skin flushed as she took in the appreciative look in his eyes. They stayed frozen, caught in each other’s gaze, until Polly had left the room – whatever must the girl think! Then, finally, he stepped forward, and she managed to force the words from her mouth.

  “As am I to see you, Lady Pendholm.”

  “Please, Your Grace, be seated, and take some tea with me.”

  Lady Sylvia waved him to one of the chairs which sat to either side of the low table, as she seated herself on the other, and proceeded to pour the tea. She was pleased when her hand did not shake, as she passed the cup to the Duke. The man was so utterly disconcerting! She discovered that, even though she was adept at dealing with almost any social situation – had learnt to be, of necessity, after the scandal that her eldest son’s death had caused – in this situation she felt like a green girl, unsure of how to go on.

  Well then. There was nothing for it but to be completely socially inelegant, and get right to the heart of matters. If she was going to feel all flustered, that seemed the simplest approach. If her statement of her opinions had not shocked him at their previous meeting, perhaps he would cope with bluntness now.

  “I hope, Your Grace, if I may be so presumptuous as to ask, that you have come here today with some good news for me?”

  “My Lady, I have, indeed, come to tell you of my decision, with regards to the house on Ebury Street, as I promised I would. Whether you will regard what I have to say as good news, or not, I am uncertain.”

  Lady Sylvia waited, a hint of concern trickling through her – whatever could he mean? He looked, unaccountably, nervous – how odd, for a Duke who was known to be a calm and measured man. After a moment, he continued.

  “I have considered, very carefully, my options with respect to that house. I have decided that I do not wish to sell it. It was, you see, owned by my son - who is four years in the grave now. I
only just discovered that he had owned it, and I find myself with a sentimental desire to keep it.”

  Try as she might, she could not prevent her distress at his words from showing on her face – how did this man undo her so?

  “Do not despair dear Lady – this is not an outright dismissal of your plans. For I have made a further decision. I have an offer to make you – a business proposal, if you wish. Whilst I do not wish to sell the house, I am willing to give it over to your use, for your charitable cause. I would like, in some small measure, to become a partner in your endeavour, if you can see your way clear to accepting help in that way. I have always tried to respect those who work for us, and I find myself disgusted with the treatment that many receive at the hands of the ton.”

  Lady Sylvia was shocked, utterly disconcerted. This was certainly not a response she would have expected. Men of the ton tended, on the whole, to have little care for the plight of the lower classes, and especially little care for the young women that so many of them used and cast aside! For him to make such an offer was astounding. For, if word of his partnership in her charity project reached the gossips, he would, undoubtedly, face criticism from the gentlemen of his acquaintance.

  Even more astounding was the fact that he seemed to actually care about those she wanted to help. She had never met a gentleman of her generation who cared for his servants in the least. Most simply ignored all commoners as beneath them.

  The younger generation were, sometimes, different – like her son, Charlton, who had come home from war not hardened, but, instead, treasuring all life. A pity that there were not more older men with that view. This man before her seemed more and more remarkable, the more she knew of him.

  “A partner, Your Grace? To what extent do you wish to be involved? Simply the provision of the house? Or something more?” Lady Sylvia was pleased to find that her voice was steady, which could not be said for her heart, which was beating wildly in her chest, with an odd kind of excitement.

  “To begin with, the provision of the house, and the two staff who are attached to it. But, beyond that… yes… but I am, as yet, uncertain of what form my further assistance may take, of what might assist you best. For I recognise that, as a man of the ton, it is to be expected that the girls you seek to help will most likely be afraid of my involvement. I am ashamed of my fellow gentlemen, when it comes to such matters.”

  “Your awareness of such things, and your care, does you great honour, Your Grace. I believe that I, and Lady Farnsworth, will be most glad to welcome you as a partner in this endeavour, on those terms. The house is most urgently needed, as, already, word is passing amongst the servants of the noble houses, and girls are starting to come forward, to approach Mary, Rose, Poppy and Sally.”

  He nodded, smiling sadly at her words. He found himself, against his will, watching her lips as she spoke again, a small curl of desire rising within him.

  “The girls are very afraid, but they are desperate. I have bought a few houses already, but some need much repair before they can be used.”

  “Then let us begin with that. I will have Burrowes call upon your Mr Swithin tomorrow, and draw up an official, indefinite free lease on the property for you. If you think it suitable, I would meet with you, and Lady Farnsworth, on a regular basis, as it suits you, to understand your progress, and see in what other ways I can help.”

  “That would suit most admirably, Your Grace. Your involvement in this project is something I would not have asked of you – yet I am deeply grateful for it.”

  “Anything for you, my dear Lady Pendholm, anything.”

  Lady Sylvia watched as he said the words, and wondered if he truly meant them. ‘Anything’ was a rather big set of possibilities. Hearing such words from this man seemed, somehow, to carry a deeper meaning than the obvious. They finished their tea and cakes, conversing quietly.

  It was as if they were both reluctant for the moment to end. Still, Lady Sylvia found herself restless – now that she had his agreement, she wished to be about taking action. Part of her wanted to jump up and run from the room, to set everything in motion for the first of the desperate girls to be housed. Another part of her wanted to stay, to simply sit with this man who made her heart race, as no other man ever had, and to drink in his appearance, his mannerisms, and everything about him.

  She was not at all sorry that she would now be seeing him regularly, to keep her project moving.

  Finally, with the last of the tea, her excuses to continue were exhausted, and she politely bid him farewell for the day.

  ~~~~~

  Once the Duke had walked out of the parlour, the world seemed to come back into normal focus for Lady Sylvia. It was as if she had been existing in a completely different space for the duration of his visit. He really did have the most peculiar effect on her! She pushed those thoughts aside, and almost rushed to her private parlour, to settle at her escritoire and begin to write.

  She sent messages to Lady Farnsworth, to Mr Swithin, to Mary and Rose, to Perryman and Abby at the Duke’s Ebury Street house, and to a number of tradesmen and merchants, engaging them to finalise the work on a number of the other houses. Once the missives were despatched with various footmen, she settled to rest, more satisfied with her day than she had been for many years.

  Having purpose, she concluded, was essential to feeling good about oneself, and the world around one. Perhaps that was true for the Duke as well – was it possible that her project was giving him a sense of purpose, which had previously been lacking?

  ~~~~~

  Julian looked out of the window, as his coach carried him away from Lady Pendholm’s residence. He barely noticed the passing streets, seeing her again in his mind’s eye. She drew him, in a way that, if he were honest, no other woman had, at any point in his life. He had no idea where his promises to her today would lead him, yet he found himself unconcerned. He wanted to make her happy – oh, certainly, her cause was good, and he approved of her project in all ways, but, at the heart of it, he simply wanted to see her smile, to see her eyes sparkle with that almost mischievous passion that he had seen when she first declared her opinions, in the small parlour of the house in Ebury Street.

  The thought came to him that he had not cared about anyone’s happiness, including his own, since the day that Martin died. He felt, at that moment, more alive than he had since that horrible day. Even with his consuming guilt about not having even searched for Marion, the world seemed brighter, the possibility that tomorrow might be better now existed.

  There was a pounding on the door of the small cottage. Jane was a little concerned – for who would feel the need to pound upon her door like that? She left Marion, who was supplementing their funds by sewing some aprons for Mrs Toms, the baker’s wife, while she watched Daniel in the small parlour, and went to the door.

  The man on the doorstep was large, and of rather threatening demeanour, although he spoke quite politely.

  “Mrs Jane Canfield?”

  “Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you, sir?”

  “Mrs Canfield, I have been searching for you this past four years. My client is not a man for letting go of what’s his. It’s a relief to finally find you, although I doubt you’ll be happy that I have.”

  “And why would I be displeased?” Jane was puzzled – why would anyone have been looking for her all that long?

  “Because I’m a bailiff. I’ve come to collect on a debt. Your late husband owed my client a substantial sum, and, as his wife, the debt falls to you. I’ve come to collect.”

  The man thrust a sheet of paper into her hands. It was an order to pay – for an amount that she could not, in any imaginable world, afford to pay. An amount almost as much as the cottage itself was worth. She staggered, grabbing the doorframe for support. The man looked at her, not without sympathy.

  “I’m sorry Mrs Canfield. This is the part of my job I like least – when a debt falls to some poor unsuspecting woman to pay. But the law is the law. You have to
pay. I can give you two weeks, but no more. I’ll be at the Tower Arms Inn in two weeks from now. I hope you’ll have the money. Good day to you.”

  He bowed, a courtesy that seemed almost mocking to Jane, and turned and left. She stood, still gripping the door frame, staring at the awful numbers on the paper, for a long time.

  ~~~~~

  A week had passed, during which Jane had barely slept for worry. She had broken the terrible news to Marion, and, after they had both broken down and cried, they had set about considering all possibilities by which they might pay the debt. Jane had known that Peter had been gambling, at the end, after the British American war had ruined his trade, but she’d no idea that things had gone so far. By the time of his death, Marion had already moved from his house, and with no-one to send it, no news of any of it had reached Jane.

  When he’d died, whilst she was here with her mother, she’d simply had all of their London possessions sold up, with what was left of the business, and debts settled. As far as she’d known, that was all of the debts. It hadn’t left her much, but it had been enough to buy the cottage, and, with the charity from the Countess, to keep her alive, and Marion, when she came. But there was nothing like the amount of this debt left.

  Daniel was asleep, and they sat in the parlour, their frugal dinner done. It was time to face the terrible truth of it.

  “Marion, I am so sorry. I had no idea that your father had got to such a state. I was so caught up with my mother’s illness that I’d just trusted that both of you would be well. I was so wrong – about both of you. And now, when we are barely surviving as it is, this happens. I have thought and thought, but, in the end, I can see no other way. We will have to sell the cottage. There will be enough money left from that, after we pay the debt, to keep us for a little while, even in rented rooms, if we are very frugal. We will find a way to earn more, somehow.”