by Kira Stewart
Her Secret Duke
A Clean Regency Romance
Tales of Bath
Kira Stewart
Copyright ©2018 by Kira Stewart. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Table of Contents
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Better than a Duke Preview
1.
It was a somber day at Heathfield Hall, despite the weather. The sun shone brightly down upon the weathered balustrades and pillars that flanked the great stone steps leading up to the large oak entrance door. A group of black clothed mourners gathered like a conspiracy of ravens, ready to walk the short distance to the small family chapel that stood on the grounds of the estate.
Only the grotesque, moss-stained gargoyles watched the proceedings, silently, from their vantage point. They had blindly observed the comings and goings of the occupants of Heathfield Hall across its two-hundred-year history, and knew all of its secrets.
Charles Brancepth, now the late Duke of Northumberland, lay in his coffin in the funeral carriage, ready to take his place in the family mausoleum, a great Grecian-style monument built by his great-great-grandfather to house the familial bones.
Elizabeth Brancepth, the Duchess of Northumberland, dabbed at her damp eyes, as her six daughters gathered around her, the elder two taking hold of her arms for support.
The death of the Duke had been an utter shock, and the family had yet to reconcile themselves with the news that their beloved husband and father had been taken from them.
The eldest daughter, Lady Rebecca Brancepth, looked beautiful in her black mourning dress and velvet pelisse. Her good looks came from her mother, and her heart-shaped, pale face looked ethereal and almost childlike, as she peered out from within her silk black bonnet.
The Rev. Canon Joseph White, chaplain to the Duke, took out his pocket watch and peered at it closely, before walking over to Rebecca and whispering into her ear. Lady Brancepth was far too upset to be bothered by mere details, yet it was already past the half hour, and the service for the late Duke was to start upon the stroke of eleven.
Before Rebecca had time to answer the reverend, the sound of carriage wheels could already be heard approaching along the gravel drive. The small group looked up expectantly.
The new Duke of Northumberland, Sir Percy D’Arcy, was the first to step down from the carriage. D’Arcy was a thin and rather sallow faced widower in his mid-fifties. His son and daughter, Edward and Theresa, followed close behind. The son was taller than his father, and would have been considered almost handsome, if it were not for a deep scowl permanently etched upon his face. The daughter was much younger and looked so delicate that the merest breeze might blow her away. Her small alabaster face peered out from within her hood, almost hidden behind the black silk and ostrich feathers.
“Ahem, welcome, your grace. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I hope that your journey was a pleasant one, despite the unhappy circumstances.”
The Rev. White felt awkward, not knowing whether to place his loyalties with the old or new family. Half bowing, he stumbled forward, not quite sure how to address the new arrival, especially with the old Duke not yet buried. It seemed almost callous to greet the new incumbent to the Dukedom, with the late Duke’s widow and daughters grieving by his side.
“The journey was tolerable.”
Half waving the reverend aside, Percy D’Arcy strode over to where Lady Brancepth was standing, and gave a small bow. His voice was cold and without feeling.
“Madam, my condolences on this sad occasion. This is my son and daughter, Edward and Theresa.”
The two siblings stepped forward. The young man gave a solemn bow and the young girl curtsied, both their faces void of expression.
It was a difficult circumstance under which to meet. Even without the death of the late Duke, it would have been uncomfortable.
Neither family had met. It was true that the relationship between them was extremely distant, but that was not the factor that had kept the two families apart. A feud between two brothers had split the family—the two great-grandfathers of the old and new Dukes—and their families had never spoken since. The current generation knew little of the original quarrel, but the flames of hatred had been fueled down through the years, so the current feelings where just as strong between the two families as they had always been.
The Brancepth girls were introduced, one by one, to the D’Arcys.
Rebecca felt her cheeks flushing as she was introduced to Edward. Despite the heaviness of the day, her heart betrayed her grief. For a brief moment, her heart beat wildly in her chest like a caged bird. Rebecca did not like the feeling; it unsettled her. She had been determined not to like the family on sight, out of loyalty to her father, and yet, there was something about the young man’s deep stare that unsettled her. How dare he look at her in such a way? Acknowledging his bow, she quickly turned away, annoyed that she had let her feelings show.
“Ahem. Perhaps we should be making our way to the chapel?”
The reverend peered at his silver pocket watch, as the distant church bells began to chime a quarter to the hour.
Quickly taking charge of the situation, Percy D’Arcy signaled to the coachman to make a start. The mourners gathered behind the funeral carriage, with Percy D’Arcy leading at the front with Lady Brancepth, although he did not take her arm.
Edward stepped forward to stand with Rebecca, as the elder of the children, but the girl wasn’t having any of it. Taking the arms of her sisters, Lucy and Grace, she ignored the young man and stepped in line behind her mother, leaving the rest to follow suit.
Hannah, Juliet and Olivia quickly linked arms and followed their sisters, leaving the remaining D’Arcy siblings to walk on their own.
The horses pulling the carriage looked magnificent saddled in black velvet and gold cloth—the black feathers plumes on their heads nodding in the breeze, as they slowly walked the quarter of a mile to the pretty chapel.
The estate workers lined the roadside, their heads bowed in respect for their employer, as the funeral procession passed by. Charles Brancepth had been a fair man. He had been admired and respected by his staff, and he would be greatly missed.
Rebecca’s heart was heavy, as she watched her mother struggle along in her grief. Always a fragile woman, she had not been well since the news of her husband’s death. The girl already loathed Percy D’Arcy for not taking her mother’s arm. He looked aloof as he walked behind the carriage, looking down his long nose at the workers lining the road. He could never take her father’s place.
2.
Th
e bell tolled solemnly in the steeple of the little chapel as they approached, ringing out the sad news across the land. The carriage stopped, and the pall bearers lifted the coffin from the coach and marched slowly into the building, as the small procession followed suit.
The other mourners—friends and family—had already gathered and were packed in the wooden pews. Walking down the aisle, Lady Brancepth nodded to them in acknowledgement as she passed, before taking her place in the front family stall. It felt funny not to have her beloved Charles sat beside her, a stranger now at her side literally taking his place.
Rebecca glanced around the small chapel, looking for a particular face. Her beloved Thomas was sat with his mother and father, Sir Arthur and Irene Buckingham, across the aisle. She had become close with the young man over the last year and they had made a promise to each other. It was only her father’s untimely death that had stopped them from making a formal announcement.
If etiquette would have allowed, she would have rushed over to him. Thomas would make everything seem well again, but her duty was with her mother and sisters. The young man smiled as their eyes met, but he dropped his gaze again quickly, as his mother whispered something close in his ear. It did not matter; there would be time enough after the service to speak with him.
The Brancepth girls followed their mother into the family pew, filling the stall, so Edward and Theresa had to sit behind them.
Once the families were settled, the service began. The Rev. White, once again feeling in charge of the situation, stood high in his pulpit, beside a blank-eyed bronzed eagle, overlooking the polished walnut coffin, covered with a fine silk black cloth.
Below the sing-song voice of the reverend, Rebecca could hear the gentle weeping of her mother, and it took all of her strength, not to weep herself. She had to be strong for all of them.
None of them could believe that their father was dead. At only forty-eight, he had been far too young—too full of life. Rebecca closed her eyes, remembering the last time she had seen him. It had been just over two weeks ago.
He had been getting ready to travel to London on business. He had kissed her goodbye on the forehead and told her to look after the family until he returned. He always joked that she was in charge whilst he was away, as she was the most sensible of them all. Rebecca had been his favorite and they had been very close.
Charles Brancepth had been in high spirits that morning as he set off in the carriage, waving goodbye to her, as she stood in the doorway watching him depart. The physician had said it was heart failure. No one could have foreseen his death, although looking back now, she wondered if her father had known that he was ill. There had been something in his eyes as he looked at her from the carriage, almost a wistful look from a man destined never to return. Now she would never see him again. Blinking back the tears, she squeezed her mother’s kid gloved hand within her own. Life would never be the same again.
“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.”
Rebecca tried to concentrate on the reverend’s words, but her mind wandered. It was true—her father’s house did have many rooms, though that was not what the reverend meant. Heathfield Hall would now belong to Percy D’Arcy and his family. It was the family seat of the Duke of Northumberland, and it would automatically pass to them. Their childhood home was no longer theirs and now belonged elsewhere, to mere strangers.
The organ burst into life as they all stood to sing. The words of Psalm: 39 rose into the timber rafters.
“Lord number out my life and days,
Which yet I have not past;
So that I may be certified
How long my life shall last.”
The song over, the pall bearers once again lifted the coffin to take the late Duke to his final resting place in the family mausoleum set opposite the chapel.
As the organ music played, the family followed the coffin outside.
Rebecca could feel Edward D’Arcy’s eyes upon her, but she would not give him the pleasure of acknowledging him back. She wanted as little to do with that family as was possible.
There was a chill in the air as they walked back outside, and Rebecca shivered. A few clouds hid the late morning sun; the gloom now matching the occasion.
The sisters gathered together and held hands, circling their mother, as if to protect her from the outsiders. Nearly all had been crying and were glad to leave the confines of the church.
Percy D’Arcy and his children stood at a polite distance away. They would leave the family to their own reflections at the mausoleum. It was a private time, and besides, they had not known the late Duke. There were no feelings of sadness or obligation on their part. Only a respect for tradition, and to be seen doing the right thing, had brought them here. After all, it was now their rightful home.
The Buckingham’s were already heading back to their carriage.
“Thomas!”
Slipping from her mother’s side, Rebecca ran quickly over to join them.
“I will see you up at the Hall, Thomas?”
Sir Arthur glanced quickly at his wife, whilst Lady Irene gave a small cough.
“We would hate to intrude, Rebecca, on such an occasion. It is for close friends and family only, and we would not want to trouble your dear mother on such an occasion.”
The girl looked puzzled at her young man.
“But it will be no trouble. Mama is expecting you. Thomas, surely you will come along? It will be a great comfort to me, as well as my mother. You know how fond of you she is.”
The young man blushed, but it was his mother who spoke for him.
“Thomas is deeply upset by your father’s death, as we all are, Rebecca. But it would not be fair on your poor mother. She must surely have enough to think about with the new Duke and his family arriving this morning.”
“But ...”
“Now, my dear, you must get back to your mother. She needs your support.”
There was no point in arguing.
“I will see you soon, I hope, Thomas?”
The young man nodded, but he did not look her in the eye.
“Come along, Thomas. We must leave Rebecca and her family to their mourning.”
Her heart was heavy enough, yet a cold shiver passed through her. Whatever was the matter with poor Thomas? The last time he had seen her, he had been telling her that she was the most wonderful girl in the world. Now, he could hardly even talk to her. Perhaps he was overcome by grief? It wasn’t only the family who had been affected. Thomas and her father had got along famously, and her father had thought highly of the young man. Yes, it must be grief. People often felt awkward at times like these. She would send him a note later that day.
•••
The doors of the mausoleum had been opened. None of the family had seen the inside before, and they were reluctant to step into the cold interior. Taking her mother’s hand, Rebecca led her into the cold chamber as they followed the coffin inside; the rest of the girls followed close behind.
It was much colder inside the mausoleum than out. The weak candlelight reflected off the white stark walls, doing nothing to penetrate the eternal chill. The thick stone walls and the marble tiled floor added to the coolness. A stone plinth stood in the middle of the room and the coffin was carried in and laid upon it. The golden handles caught the candlelight and shone through the thin silk veil.
“Oh Charles!”
Rebecca could feel her mother sinking to her knees, as the effort and emotion of the day clearly took its toll. It was time to leave their beloved father and husband in peace.
Supporting her weeping mother, Rebecca led the unhappy group back outside. The clouds had dispersed and the sun shone brightly once agai
n. Rebecca turned her face toward the warmth. Another chapter in their lives was just about to start.
3.
Elizabeth Brancepth was not up to receiving her guests and the other mourners invited back up to the Hall for tea. The day had already taken its toll on her fragile health.
Making her mother comfortable in her bed, Rebecca would have to take charge, just as her father had asked her to.
“Oh, my dear, I am so very sorry. I am sure that I will feel a little better soon. Whatever will Percy D’Arcy and the others think of me?”
Sitting on the bed, Rebecca patted her mother’s hand.
“You must rest, mother. No one will think the worst for it. Father has just been laid to rest, and it is most understandable. You must not become ill, too. We must look after each other, now that father is gone. I will ask Mary to bring you up some tea and some of her rich beef broth. It will do you the world of good. Now, I will attend to our guests, whilst you get some sleep.”
Kissing her mother on the forehead, Rebecca made her way toward the door.
“Your father would have been proud of you, my dear. You were always his favorite, you know.”
As Rebecca closed the door, the tears she had been holding back for so long, suddenly flowed down her cheeks. She, too, could have gladly gone into her room and slipped between the sheets of her bed, hiding away from everything and everybody. But that would not do. She had her father’s honor to uphold, and they were waiting for her downstairs.
Taking a deep breath, Rebecca hurried down the stairs, and after a second’s hesitation, stepped into the drawing room.
A great fire blazed away in the sandstone fireplace, but it had not taken away the chill. The room was silent, and all eyes turned on the girl as she entered—an expectancy that she would take away the awkwardness in the room. Percy D’Arcy stood territorially by the fireplace, already looking at home with a large glass of brandy in his hand.
