The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Hamilton, Hanna

  “Oh?” the man answered stumbling forward into the room. “Who?”

  “I do not know. They did not give a name, and I did not inquire,” his wife answered.

  The man stumbled into the room and squinted at them. Taking a good long look at each of the Dukes, the man snorted indignantly. “Aren’t ye supposed to be dead?”

  Arthur and Duncan shared a look. Just as Arthur was about to stand and greet the man, Mr. Pritchard passed out falling to the floor at Arthur’s feet. “Please forgive my husband. He has been feeling poorly. Perhaps I can be of service?” The wife ran forward to ensure her husband had not hurt himself in the fall.

  “That is most kind of you, Mrs. Pritchard. I am sorry your husband is ill.” Arthur felt sorry for the poor wife having to live with a drunken spouse. “May we help you to make your husband more comfortable?”

  “That would be lovely,” the woman answered, her exhausted features relaxing into a welcoming smile of gratitude.

  Duncan and Arthur arose from their seats. “You should not be lifting anything yet,” Duncan murmured under his breath so that the woman might not hear him. “You do not want to risk your recovering health over the comfort of a drunkard.”

  Arthur stood and thought for a moment. “The guards you brought along with us waiting outside could carry him without any trouble.”

  Duncan nodded and went to the front door of the croft. “Men,” he summoned. “Please assist Mr. Pritchard to his bed. He seems to have fallen ill.”

  “Shall I fetch a physician?” one of the guards asked.

  “No, I do not believe that will be necessary,” Duncan answered motioning for the men to follow him into the house.

  The guards lifted the man from the floor and carried him into the bedchamber. The overpowering smell of alcohol and vomit wafted through the air as he passed. “Do you think…?” Duncan inquired.

  “It is possible. We will not know for sure until we speak with him,” Arthur answered. “I am not sure that speaking with the wife about such a matter is proper, but we may have little recourse. I do not believe for one moment that he is capable of the marksmanship we witnessed at Durton Manor or that he possesses the wealth to hire an assassin, but he obviously knows something.”

  “I agree,” Duncan responded as both men returned to their seats in the parlor. “How does one even begin to broach such a topic with his wife?”

  “I do not know. I would rather not feed gossip to the village if I can keep from it,” Arthur admitted.

  “Surely she would not wish to disgrace her own family by sharing the details of her husband’s sordid past in public,” Duncan pointed out.

  “One would hope,” Arthur agreed. “I fear we must take the risk.”

  When the wife returned from settling her husband into bed, she rejoined them in the parlor, sitting down on a chair directly across from them. The situation reminded Arthur too much of their interrogation of the intruder at Durton Manor for comfort. He fought the urge to remove the woman from sitting in front of the windows. The image of a bullet entering her chest flashed through his mind, and he shuddered.

  “Are you well?” Duncan murmured from beside him.

  “Yes, a memory,” Arthur answered.

  Realization dawned across Duncan’s face, and he studied the woman before them with concern. “Madam, perhaps you would be more comfortable here upon the settee,” he offered, standing up once more and gesturing for her to take his seat.

  “That is most kind of you, sir, but I am quite comfortable as I am,” the woman rejected his offer.

  “As you wish,” Duncan nodded and sat back down shrugging at Arthur’s raised brow.

  “We have come on a matter of grave importance, but it requires delicacy and the keeping of other’s secrets. Are you capable of such a feat?” Arthur asked.

  “Yes.” The woman nodded her face a mask of confusion and wariness.

  “I find I must place my trust in you, Mrs. Pritchard. Please do not give me cause to regret it.” The woman nodded her head again, so Arthur continued. “I am Arthur Huntley, the Duke of Rosenhill. This is Duncan Colborne, the Duke of Durton.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open in a moment of shock before she was able to gather herself and close it. “Your Grace, Your Grace,” she arose and curtsied, then remained standing until she was bid to sit once more as decorum dictated.

  “Please, Mrs. Pritchard. This is your home, and we are but humble guests.” Arthur motioned for her to take her seat once more.

  “My father, Hugh Huntley, the late Duke of Rosenhill, was not a kind man. He did a great many things to the people of the county, and beyond that, I am not proud of. I have been attempting to make amends for his sins since his passing. I believe you and your husband have suffered greatly at the hands of my father’s schemes, and I wish to make it right.” Arthur informed her watching her facial expressions for any sign of recognition or malice.

  “I have heard of your father, of course, just as I have heard of Your Grace, but I never met him. If he has harmed us in some way, I am unaware of it.” The woman appeared to be telling the truth. Her eyes did not waver or flicker in any way that would arouse suspicion. “Has your husband always been so…ill?” Arthur chose his words carefully.

  “No, he was once a good man,” Mrs. Pritchard answered sorrowfully. “He has never shared with me the cause of his change.”

  Arthur and Duncan exchanged a look. “Was your husband ever at any time employed by my father or the Marquess of Denlington perhaps?”

  “No. He has been hard pressed to be employed at all over the last year,” she admitted.

  “Is that when his illness began? What did he do before that?” Arthur questioned.

  “Yes, it began around that time. Before that, he had worked as a constable of sorts aiding the magistrate with bringing perpetrators to justice. He had even applied to the Bow Street Runners of London, but was refused,” Mrs. Pritchard informed them.

  Arthur and Duncan looked at the woman in surprise. “He was an enforcer of the law?” Arthur asked incredulously.

  “Oh, yes. A fine one at that,” his wife glowed with pride before melting back into weary sorrow.

  “And you are certain you have no notion of what brought about such a drastic change?” Arthur prodded.

  “If only I knew. I wait every day for the man I loved to return.”

  Arthur’s heart went out to the woman. “You have our greatest sympathy, madam.”

  “I thank you, Your Grace. What has brought you to the belief that your father mistreated us?” she asked.

  “Your husband’s name was written down in a ledger of my father’s along with the names of others he had ill-used; however, there was not a specific money amount listed beside his name as there had been with others,” Arthur informed her. He greatly disliked burdening the woman, but he needed answers. “Would you have any idea as to why his name might be listed there?”

  “No, Your Grace. I would not.”

  Arthur sat and studied the woman for a moment, then made a decision. “We will leave you now, but I wish to be notified the moment your husband awakens and recovers enough to speak with us.”

  “I will send my husband to you with our eldest son, Mark, to ensure that he makes it to Durton,” Mrs. Pritchard promised.

  Both dukes stood, bowed slightly in courtesy, then departed the croft. “That was interesting to be sure,” Duncan noted.

  “Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “I believe we may have stumbled upon something of great note, but we will not know for sure until he awakens.”

  “That may not be until the morn,” Duncan warned.

  “Yes. That is most likely,” Arthur acknowledged. “It will give us some time to think the matter over more fully. I believe Eliza will find this particular man to be of interest.”

  “Yes, Mr. Pritchard and her father’s connection to the Bow Street Runners is certainly of interest,” Duncan noted.

  “As is their connection to my father as
both of their names appear within the pages of his ledgers,” Arthur agreed.

  “Eliza does not know about that,” Duncan reminded him.

  “Nor should she know just yet. I feel an ever increasing need to be sure as to our suspicions before we burden her with such information,” Arthur remarked, shaking his head at the shame of his father’s actions. “Today only served to increase that feeling.”

  “I hope you are right, old friend.” Duncan and Arthur entered the carriage and drove away.

  * * *

  “So, this man may have known my father,” Eliza voiced her thoughts aloud. Arthur and Duncan had just informed her of their visit to the Pritchards’ croft.

  “I do not know, but I would be interested to learn the reason Mr. Pritchard’s application was refused,” Arthur stated. The three of them were sitting in the library. By the time Arthur and Duncan had returned, the children had already gone to bed. Eliza had been relieved to see them pull up to the house unscathed. She had been nervous the entire time they were gone.

  “I am of a mind to send an inquiry on the matter to London,” Arthur admitted. “I think I will send a missive on the morrow.”

  “I have been curious to learn more of my father’s time among them as well. Would you be open to the missive including an inquiry into my father as well?” Eliza asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” Arthur agreed. “I would be all too happy to do so.”

  “Thank you,” Eliza smiled at him. Their eyes met and held for a brief moment before Duncan cleared his throat and broke the moment.

  “He should arrive tomorrow to give us an account,” Duncan stated. “It will take some time before you will receive a response from London.”

  “This is true, but it will not hurt to learn as much as we can about him,” Arthur replied.

  “I agree,” Eliza affirmed. “It is obvious that the man has secrets. Even if he is not guilty of harming anyone but his family and himself with his drunkenness, perhaps we could find a way to help him.”

  Arthur smiled, “You have a kind heart.”

  “I am in good company,” she smiled back.

  “Shall we construct the letter now?” he asked her.

  “Oh, yes, please.” Eliza arose from her seat and followed Arthur to Duncan’s desk.

  They worked together to craft the note, then Duncan instructed one of his men to deliver it to the postmaster in the village first thing in the morning. A post-boy would take it from there to London, and they would hopefully receive a reply within the next few days. When Eliza retired for the night, she did so with hope in her heart that the difficulties of the past few weeks were close to an end.

  Chapter 21

  When morning dawned, Arthur arose and readied to meet with Matthew Pritchard. He hoped that the man would be able to fill in the missing pieces of information that he sought. Duncan’s guards had been instructed to allow Mr. Pritchard entry to the estate and escort him to the manor house.

  When Pritchard arrived with his eldest son Mark, Mr. White escorted them into the library where Arthur and Duncan awaited them. “Mr. Pritchard, thank you for coming.” Arthur rose from his seat and greeted their guests. “I am Arthur Huntley, the Duke of Rosenhill, and this is Duncan Colborne, the Duke of Durton on whose estate we now stand.”

  “Your Grace, Your Grace,” both Pritchard men nodded their heads in deference.

  “Mr. Pritchard, I am going to get straight to the point. How did you know my father?” Arthur thought it best not to waste any more time.

  The man sat and stared at Arthur for a moment as if he were deciding whether to answer the question or not. He sat there so long Arthur began to lose his patience. “Mr. Pritchard?” Duncan moved out from behind his desk and came around to sit with Arthur on the settee across from the two other men.

  “Father?” his son Mark urged nudging him with his elbow.

  “It was a mistake to come here,” Mr. Pritchard announced standing up to leave.

  “But Mr. Pritchard, lives hang in the balance. I need to know if you were one of my father’s victims and if you are the one making attempts on my life,” Arthur urged him to sit back down, but he ignored his pleas.

  “Come, Mark, we are leaving,” he commanded and began to walk away.

  “Mr. Pritchard!” Duncan roared standing up and blocking the man’s path. “Sit down.”

  “You cannot keep me here. I am within my rights to leave.” Mr. Pritchard stood his ground glaring up into Duncan’s face.

  “Not if I call the magistrate and have you charged with the attempted murder of the Duke of Rosenhill,” Duncan threatened.

  “You have no proof,” the man spat out.

  “How did you know that my friend was supposed to be dead when we came to your house yesterday?” Duncan asked, not moving from his path.

  “Everyone knows,” Pritchard answered with a tone that stated he found the question to be naught but nonsensical gibberish.

  “How?” Arthur asked coming up beside the man.

  “If you wished to keep quiet about your goings on, then you should not have servants at your every beck and call. Servants talk. Servants in taverns are a never-ending fount of information,” the man instructed as if to a child.

  “We are aware,” Duncan answered dryly.

  “Did you have any part in the attacks on my life?” Arthur asked.

  “If I had, you would be dead,” the man growled.

  “I find it hard to believe that a man in your state could hit a fence post, let alone a moving man through a window while hanging from a tree,” Duncan sneered his disapproval of the man’s habits. “Perhaps that is why we still live.”

  The man said nothing, but stood and glowered at Duncan. His son fiddled restlessly beside him clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. The man pushed past Duncan with his son in tow. “Why did we come, Father, if you were not going to speak to them?” The boy asked confused.

  The man stopped and looked at his son for a moment, then turned to leave once more. To everyone’s surprise, his flight was brought up short by the sight of Eliza standing in the doorway. “Are you Daniel and Sarah Bolton’s daughter?” he asked.

  “I am,” Eliza answered. “Do I know you? You look somewhat familiar to me?”

  “I knew your parents a long time ago,” he admitted. “You look just like your mother. The same hair and eyes. The same skin.” He reached out as if to touch her face, but halted when Arthur and Duncan both moved threateningly forward. “You have your father’s demeanor and presence.”

  Arthur could not believe the change in the man upon seeing Eliza. He had gone from a stony silent drunk to an eloquent family friend in the blink of an eye. “Did you work with Miss Bolton’s father?” Arthur inquired.

  “Yes, I did, for a time,” the man absently admitted still looking at Eliza. “Seeing you is as if someone turned back the clock erasing the years. Your father was a good man.”

  “Yes, he was,” Eliza agreed, moving from the door into the library.

  “Where are the children?” Arthur asked. He had not thought to see Eliza this morning, given their guests. He had assumed she would be keeping the children hidden away safe from harm.

  “They are playing in the nursery with Mr. Haversham,” Eliza answered giving him a look that said she had every right to be present for the interrogation. He would have smiled at her fiery spirit were he not so concerned with the guilt or innocence of the man before them. He was not at all comfortable with the way Pritchard addressed Eliza as if he knew her.

  “I had heard you were taken in by the carpenter John Cole, and his wife,” Mr. Pritchard ignored Arthur and continued speaking with Eliza. “Have you had a good life? Did they treat you well?”

  “Yes, I have had a wonderful life filled with love and protection,” Eliza smiled at the man. Arthur became more annoyed with every second that passed. “I miss my parents, but I cherish the memories I have of them, some lovely, some haunting.”

&nbs
p; “You were there were you not when it happened?” he inquired.

  “Yes, I was. It haunts my dreams even now,” she admitted.

  Arthur could not believe how open Eliza was being with a total stranger. He had a strong urge to step between them and beat some answers out of the man. If Duncan’s clenched fists were any indication, he felt the same.

  “I understand such a plight all too well myself,” Mr. Pritchard confided. “I am ashamed to admit I did not deal with them as I should have.”

  “Does the drinking help?” Eliza asked her tone filled with compassion. The familiarity with which she spoke to him was beyond anything Arthur could have expected. He and Duncan exchanged looks of confusion.