Miss Honeyfield and the Dark Duke: A Regency Romance Novel

by Audrey Ashwood

  Minerva felt her desperation growing. She was entangled in a web of lies, which she had created herself. At this point, she could no longer bring herself to confide in her aunt. However, she did need to meet the duke, if she wanted to prevent a scandal. Now, the question was, how would she be able to do that? For most of the evening and, unfortunately, also most of the night, she evaluated possible scenarios. In the end, she could think of nothing other than sending Sally to the duke to deliver a message. Minerva was angry that she had spent so much time with her fruitless pondering – it kept her from exposing Marianne de Lacey to new adventures, as well stopping Minerva from adapting her villain more to a likeness of the Duke of Scuffold. This man had stolen those precious hours from her – the time when she was allowed to write – and now he even prevented her from getting a good night’s rest. All of this was so annoying! Even the message, which would inform him that she could not come, demanded all her attention. It was important not to anger him, at least not too much, as she did not want him to expose her to the Buckleys. On the other hand, she wanted him to feel a slight sting when he read her short letter.

  After many fruitless attempts at writing that wasted precious paper, Minerva had to admit that she was unable to combine the desired esprit and rebellion against his behaviour in just a single letter. So, today, it turned out to be just a short message, in which she asked him to postpone her visit for a couple of days, since her family was adamant about her meeting his business partner, Mr Nicholls.

  Dissatisfied with herself, she sealed the letter and instructed Sally to hand it to no one other than his lordship, himself. “Do not let them push you around – this is important,” she reminded the young woman.

  “Don’t ya worry, Miss,” the maid said and grinned mischievously. “I can do that – I made the acquaintance of one of ‘is closest servants whilst working in the Dog & Bones, and I shall ask for John, immediately. He still owes me something, if you know what I mean.”

  Minerva did not fully understand, but she had a suspicion that Sally shouldn’t disclose any more information regarding her encounter with the servant. The young woman hid the letter inside her bodice and patted it as if to show just how important the mission was to her. Yes, it almost seemed as if Sally’s regard for Minerva had risen, and she was visibly pleased to know the name of Minerva’s supposed secret lover.

  For the first time, Minerva felt that she could actually trust Sally. It seemed to her as if she now understood the responsibilities of a maid – but, in addition, Sally’s knowledge of what she thought was the truth, had turned her into a more serious and trustworthy person; it was such a far cry from the former barmaid, that Minerva almost did not recognise her anymore.

  “Run,” she said and decided, there and then, to increase her efforts to keep Sally in her employ, or to gift her one of her dresses. No. No more either/or – she would do both. She imagined Sally’s face, when she gave her the green muslin dress and noticed her very own content smile as she passed her dressing table. It felt good to think of doing something for someone else and to do it gladly.

  The positive feeling did not last long. It disappeared the moment Anna came to inform her that her aunt wanted to see her downstairs. Sally had not yet returned and that was more unnerving for Minerva than any harsh words from the duke.

  The palms of her hands were sweaty, and it cost her all of her self-control not to wipe them on the fabric of her dress. When she walked past her uncle’s study, she could hear some murmuring voices. It sounded as if two gentlemen were engaged in a conversation. Attracted by the one warm voice, which seemed strangely familiar to her, she stepped closer to the door.

  Just in that moment, they all fell silent.

  The door opened.

  Her uncle looked at her, wonderingly, with raised eyebrows, while she could not do anything other than stare at the broad-shouldered person, for whom her uncle held the door open.

  The Duke of Scuffold. What on earth was he doing in the Buckleys’ house? Her heart beat all the way up to her throat, and Minerva wished that the earth would just open up this minute and swallow her whole. It dawned on her, only slowly, that her uncle was saying something. “May I introduce my niece, Miss Minerva Honeyfield, Your Grace? She is staying with us for a short time.”

  Minerva felt hot, and she silently implored him not to give away their secret. In that very moment she would have done anything to escape the wrath of her relatives.

  “It is very pleasant to make your acquaintance, Miss Honeyfield.”

  He did not show any attempts to lean over her hand, but instead he sketched a short and brisk bow. She released her breath, which she had been unaware that she had been holding.

  “Are you not feeling well, Miss Honeyfield?” He asked sanctimoniously while his eyes sparkled at her. Without the enhancing light of the outdoor sun, they had an entirely different colour. Now they seemed much less golden and hazelnut-coloured, and were darker.

  And more threatening, as she noticed.

  With every minute that she remained silent, the secret between them grew and with that his power over her. She swallowed twice to clear her tight throat. This rather narrow hallway was much too small for even three people. The duke was much closer to her than would have been considered decent. There was no way she could ignore his presence or act as if it was perfectly normal that the Buckleys had received a duke in their house.

  “T-Thank you, my Lord,” she replied. She could almost not bear her uncle’s expectant silence – he expected more than just this meagre response. He saved her from her embarrassing situation by waving towards the salon. “I am sure my wife is already expecting us,” he said with rather forced courtesy. “His lordship honours us tremendously by taking tea with us.” That sounded much more sincere.

  The duke entered the salon first, followed by Uncle James, who was leaving a respectful distance between them. Minerva, who would have very much preferred to run up to her room, did not see her aunt’s reaction, and she was grateful that it was hidden behind her uncle’s round figure and the larger than life back of the Duke of Scuffold. She really did not want to see her aunt’s face right now, as she was obliged to receive the much-hated Duke of Scuffold, instead of the eagerly-awaited Mr Nicholls. Minerva was afraid that her own tension might have surfaced in an uncontrollable laugh or some other inappropriate reaction. However, hiding behind the two gentlemen, she gained valuable moments that enabled her to deal with her composure, before she sat down beside her aunt, with an expressionless face. Only after she had sat down on the sofa, did she notice that this position had significant disadvantages – she and the duke sat exactly across from each other. His eagle-eyes favoured Minerva with a passing glance. Was she the only one who saw the mocking sparkle in them, or could her relatives see it too?

  It took everything in her to not slide restlessly back and forth in her seat, and instead to just sit there, daintily sipping at her tea. At least the duke had the decency to pretend to try one of the delicacies the cook had prepared, originally for Mr Nicholls’ arrival.

  Aunt Catherine did not say anything, but she sat on the soft sofa with a painfully straight back. Minerva’s uncle was the only one trying to make conversation; however, at some point, even valiant Uncle James fell silent.

  The duke cleared his throat. Minerva raised her gaze, since she had respectfully (and not in an embarrassed manner, she hoped) been looking at the ground up until now. At first she felt hot, then cold under his seemingly relentless observation. She breathed in as deeply as her tightly tied corset would allow and prepared herself for what he would say next.

  At this very moment, any ensuing storm of outrage from her aunt and uncle seemed to be a much easier fate to suffer than his steely piercing gaze continuing to bore into her, straight to the depths of her soul.

  “Mr Buckley,” the duke said. Despite him addressing her uncle directly, his words were aimed at Minerva. She knew it, she felt it.

  “I will need Miss Hon
eyfield at Beaufort Castle.”

  Chapter 9

  She would never give in and yield to his ironclad demands.

  Only moments after the duke had left, aunt Catherine cried and raged, one emotion following the other. Uncle James tried to calm her, but after three failed attempts to do so, he fled to his study. Minerva wanted to do the same and disappear into her own room upstairs – however, her empathy for her aunt got the better of her. “Will you not tell me what upsets you?” She took one of the older woman’s hands and winced, as her aunt ripped her fingers away from her.

  “How could you?!” Never before had Minerva seen her aunt this angry. “What on earth were you thinking? You have been flirting with this man, behind my back, and after I particularly warned you about him!”

  “It is not how it appears, Aunt Catherine,” she objected, but her aunt shook her head vehemently.

  “Are you honestly going to tell me that you didn’t know anything about his intentions?”

  “This is as much of a surprise to me, as it is for you,” Minerva answered quietly. “You have to believe me. I did not know that he would…”

  How could she put it, when she did not even know what was behind his mysterious invitation?

  Her aunt moaned quietly. “So, you got involved with him, even though you had to assume that he was not interested in taking you as his wife?”

  “No, that is not what I meant!” Minerva protested strongly. What a poor author she was, if she was not even able to have a clear conversation without being misunderstood. “I met him accidentally, that was all. Two times only! Please, Aunt Catherine, you have to believe me. I did not get involved with him, as you put it.” Both her bad conscience and her patience began to vanish. Why did nobody believe her?

  “And I am supposed to believe that?” Bitterness spoke in Aunt Catherine’s voice, as she echoed Minerva’s own thoughts back to her. “You have abused my trust, and with that you have manoeuvred your uncle and me into an impossible position. How am I supposed to explain to your parents that I was unable to protect you from your own stupidity, which will ultimately ruin you – if not cost you your very life?”

  “I… I…” Minerva stuttered. She couldn’t come up with a single answer to her aunt’s statement.

  Aunt Catherine snorted. “As you already know, the Duke of Scuffold is suspected of killing his first wife. What do you think will he do to you, once he has had enough and grows tired of your attention? At best, he’s fond of you now, but do not fool yourself into believing, not for even one second, that his feelings are strong enough to last a whole lifetime.”

  There was no point in talking to her aunt right now. All of Minerva’s attempts to right the wrong fell on deaf ears, as her aunt dismissed them one by one. The shock was obviously too great to overcome in just one afternoon. Only the fact that Aunt Catherine was genuinely worried about her, prevented Minerva from replying with a sharp answer. The worst of it all was that she really had not known anything about the duke’s intentions, and now she was unable to form even one clear thought in her mind.

  “Please, calm down,” she said in a soothing voice, which only had the opposite effect on her aunt. “The duke has never mentioned anything to me about his feelings, nor shown that he has some unhealthy interest in me. It is more than possible that he actually spoke the truth and that he requires my presence at his residence solely for the purpose of visiting with the duke’s oldest daughter and the Duchess of Evesham.”

  Aunt Catherine shook her head vigorously. “I do not trust that man. I do not know what to think of you either, Minerva. I am so very disappointed in you and your waywardness, which has led me to have to accompany you to the place of profligacy itself… Beaufort Castle!”

  The way she emphasised the name of the duke’s residence left Minerva in no doubt about Aunt Catherine’s repugnance. “I shall write to your father immediately and not leave him in doubt as to what role you played in this disgraceful arrangement.”

  Minerva swallowed down her own rebellion, got up, curtsied, and left the room. She was relieved that she was going to be able to be alone with her thoughts.

  However, her aunt was not finished with her yet. “I do hope that you understand that the duke is also responsible for Mr Nicholls’ interest in you coming to an abrupt end. Mr Nicholls has asked to be excused and has explained to your uncle that the duke has made it clear to him, in strong words, that it would be better if he did not hope for your hand in marriage.” Her lips were pressed into a thin line; however, Minerva was too excited to pay any more attention to her aunt’s obvious displeasure.

  Her heart was racing as if she had run up a steep hill. What were the duke’s true intentions?

  * * *

  After she had closed the door to her room behind her, Minerva saw that Sally was waiting. The young woman had busied herself sorting Minerva’s wardrobe, which she did with more enthusiasm than knowledge. Sally was brushing Minerva’s second-best blue silk dress with a brush that Mary, back home, regularly used for shoes.

  Minerva sat down on the edge of her bed. “Please put the things away for a moment,” she instructed Sally. “Tell me if you have received a reply from Beaufort Castle for me.” For some odd reason she was unable to say the duke’s name. To say out loud that she was expecting a letter from the Duke of Scuffold would have given the entire situation (and the duke particularly), much more weight than she deemed appropriate. The only thing she truly expected from any lines he might have written, was an explanation for his irrational behaviour and for his strange request.

  Sally shook her head until her red hair came loose. “No, Miss. ‘e ‘asn’t given me a response for ya.” She was biting her lower lip and seemed to hesitate for a moment. “If ya wish, I could go back there again,” she offered, but Minerva just shook her head.

  “No, that will not be necessary,” she said gracefully.

  The duke had not mentioned where they had made their acquaintance, but nevertheless, he had put her in tremendous trouble. Her aunt already assumed her to be a woman of compromised morals, and it was highly likely that her uncle thought the same. How skilfully the duke had suited the actions to his plan! One could almost suspect that he was a true master in manipulating people. It had been unmistakable, at least to Minerva, that he found great pleasure in doing so. He was a man who loved challenges.

  But not with her! Whatever was behind the invitation, she would stand up to him, in her own way. For now, there were two things – no, there were three things she had to find out about his lordship. Minerva took out her notebook and opened the last page. To avoid any confusion in her work on Marianne de Lacey’s adventures, she had decided to write notes about the duke and his strangely captivating personality on the last pages, near the end of the notebook.

  She asked Sally to go and get her tea from the kitchen, before she dipped her quill into the ink and started to think. The order of the key events was not of importance at the moment. First, she needed to try and order her own thoughts. Didn’t her father always talk about doing things strategically, like a soldier, as he planned a painful counter strike against one of his business competitors?

  If the Duke of Scuffold believed that he could just use her, as he had with all the others, and whenever he saw fit, then he was in for a big surprise. She would comply with his request, which was nothing other than a thinly disguised order. The biggest mystery was the question of whether he had actually killed his wife or not. That was the first item she wrote in her notes, along with a reminder to ask Sally about it. As she wrote the word “killed”, her hand trembled so badly so that the individual letters of the word were barely distinguishable.

  The next question was: what were the Duke of Scuffold’s intentions in inviting her to Beaufort Castle? When he had asked her uncle – or rather, when he had informed her uncle – that he was expecting the Duke of Evesham and his oldest daughter, his voice had sounded honest. She chided herself – of course it was the truth. Even a man such
as him, who called an immense fortune his own, and who possessed a pronounced self-confidence, would not dare to invent something like that. Minerva felt dizzy at the thought of the Duke of Scuffold engaging an entire ensemble of actors just to get his hands on her. No, this was merely a product of her overheated imagination. With energetic strokes of her quill she crossed out her corresponding notes, rendering them unreadable.

  She had written down two points on her list when she had a thought. What if it turned out that it was not she who was the object of his attention, but the daughter of the Duke of Evesham? He had said that he needed her to keep Lady Annabell Carlisle company, as her mother was unfortunately indisposed.

  Apparently, Lady Annabell was somewhat clumsy – or as he had put it, the young woman seemed a little slow – and he hoped that Miss Honeyfield’s presence during Lady Annabell’s visit would have a refreshing influence on the young lady.

  She realised that she was chewing on the end of the quill and laid it aside, unnerved. Tired, Minerva rubbed her eyes and only then noticed that her fingertips were covered in ink. Tomorrow is another day, she thought wearily, as she heard Sally’s footsteps approaching her room.

  For tonight, she would let the duke and everything concerning him, rest.

  Chapter 10

  And yet, there was something about the duke that drew her attention to him.

  The next few days passed rather quickly. After the duke’s fateful visit, time had seemed, at first, to be ticking by torturously slowly, but soon it had turned into a storm of hectic activities. First, a letter from her father had arrived. Aunt Catherine’s stiff facial expression had straight away told her that Chester Honeyfield had given his permission for Minerva to stay at Beaufort Castle. Once more, Minerva felt pity for her aunt, when she saw that every one of her objections disappeared unheeded. She assumed that her Uncle James had also sent a letter to her father, telling him about his point of view. Aunt Catherine had not held back about her displeasure regarding Minerva’s upcoming stay at Beaufort Castle, and Minerva believed that her aunt had not restrained herself from telling her father about her opinion of the duke. She felt nauseous – her aunt had most likely also informed her father about the rumours that were circulating behind his lordship’s back.