The Duke's Challenge Read online

  THE DUKE’S CHALLENGE

  By

  Fenella J Miller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of The Author - Fenella J. Miller

  The Duke’s Challenge Copyright Fenella J. Miller, 2012

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations within are from the author’ s imagination and are not a resemblance to actual living or dead persons, businesses, or events. Any similarity is coincidental.

  (Originally published as Lord Thurston’s Challenge)

  This book is for

  Jackie Ladbury

  Good friend and great writer.

  Cover design by Jane Dixon-Smith©

  Chapter One

  England 1816

  ‘Promise me, Charlotte, you must promise me, that when I am gone you will go to your grandfather, take Beth and Harry with you.’

  Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Please don’t talk about dying, Mama, you have had worse bouts of fever and recovered. I’m sure it will be no different this time.’

  Mama closed her eyes. ‘I have very little time; we both know that, my darling. You must give me your word that whatever your feelings on the matter, you will take your brother and sister to Thurston Hall and persuade my father to take you in.’

  Charlotte had no choice. Her beloved mother was fading, how could she deny her last wish? Her eyes brimmed as she bent down to kiss her mother’s pallid cheek. ‘I promise. I shall do as you wish. I’m going to call in Beth and Harry to say goodnight.’ They both knew she meant goodbye.

  She rose gracefully and hurried across the sparsely furnished bedchamber to the door. She opened it softly. ‘Beth, Harry, you must come in now.’

  Beth, at eleven, was almost her replica, with russet hair, and a perfect oval face. Her white pinafore was crumpled from her long wait outside the chamber and her faded, blue cambric dress, tight around her chest. The girl scrambled to her feet, green eyes huge in her pale face. ‘Is it time? How can I bear it, Lottie?’

  ‘You have to be brave, my love, for Harry’s sake.’ She knelt down and shook her little brother gently. ‘Wake up, Harry. Mama wishes to speak to you.’

  The boy yawned sleepily and rubbed his eyes, smiling up at her. Then he remembered and his face crumpled and he buried his face in her skirts. ‘Hush now, darling. We must not upset Mama. She will be going to join Papa in heaven very soon, we don’t want her last moments here on earth to be sad, do we?’

  Charlotte led the reluctant children back into the room, the three candles scarcely enough to illuminate it. ‘Mama, we are here, we love you and you mustn’t worry. I shall take care of all of us. You can go to join Papa, he is waiting for you in Paradise.’

  Mama opened her eyes and a faint smile flickered across her wasted features, then with a barely audible hiss, she breathed her last. For a moment Charlotte didn’t understand what had happened.

  Beth whispered to her. ‘Lottie – Mama’s not breathing anymore.’ Then the girl snatched her hand free and ran, sobbing from the room. Before Charlotte would react Harry vanished also, leaving her alone in the semi- darkness with the body of her mother.

  Overwhelmed with grief, forgetting for a moment her promise to be strong, she collapsed across the bed, bathing her mother’s rapidly cooling features with her tears. She heard footsteps behind her.

  ‘Oh, miss, you must come away. Let me take care of her ladyship now.’ She felt the strong arms of her mother’s maid lift her, and she made no protest.

  ‘Thank you, Annie. I have to find the children, offer them what comfort I can.’ She hesitated, for once at a loss.

  ‘Go along, Miss Carstairs, Betty and I will take care of everything here. I sent young Bill to fetch the undertaker. Your mother didn’t wish you to be involved with the laying out.’

  Charlotte left; there was nothing there to keep her. She paused in the draughty passageway, scrubbing her cheeks dry with her fists. She must push her own grief aside; she was the only mother Beth and Harry had now.

  If only there was more time, but the funds they had relied on for the past two years would cease on her mother’s death. They had barely managed these past few months; the medical bills had bitten deeply into their limited resources.

  The small house was rented, and was theirs for a few weeks longer, but then they would have to seek alternative accommodation, and it would have to be with Lord Thurston, the Duke of Lenster. She shivered at the thought of approaching the man who had cast off her mother when she had refused to marry the suitor he had selected for her and chosen instead to marry her childhood sweetheart, the dashing army captain, who had become her father, Major Charles Carstairs.

  Charlotte recalled the terrible time two years ago when Papa had returned from the Battle of Waterloo grievously wounded. He had lingered on, in agony, before finally succumbing to his injuries a year ago. She had had only Annie and Betty to turn to for advice. It would be unfitting to discuss such matters with the staff so she had made the decision to write to her grandfather herself. The letter had been returned opened but with no reply. From that moment she had formed an implacable hatred for her the man who had rejected his only child for the second time. Now she had promised to take the children to live with him.

  This would not do. She had responsibilities. Whatever her own feelings, when matters were concluded here, she had to travel to Thurston Hall. She had given her word.

  However, she would not stay there; she was determined to find a position as a housekeeper, or maybe a companion. As soon as the children were comfortable she would depart, knowing she had fulfilled her mother’s deathbed request. At nineteen she was quite old enough to fend for herself. She was an accomplished seamstress, indeed, made all the family’s clothes and she could cook, clean, and manage a household. The fact that the duke would now be her legal guardian couldn’t be helped.

  She would be considered too young for employment as a governess but prayed she might find a more menial position somewhere in the ranks of the wealthy trades people. Maybe one of them might be glad to employ a gentlewoman such as herself.

  Upstairs she discovered her siblings. Beth was cradling her brother, rocking back and forth, as they both cried. ‘Come along, Beth, that will do,’ Charlotte admonished her gently. ‘You’re not helping. We must be strong. Harry is too small to understand.’

  The small boy raised his tear-streaked face. ‘I’m not small, I’m a big boy, I’m four years old!’

  ‘You are, my love. And big boys don’t cry, they are brave and strong.’ She bent down pulling the children to their feet. ‘We must look to the future, Mama is happy now with Papa in heaven.’ She removed a linen handkerchief from the pocket in her skirt and dried her brother’s eyes. ‘There now, Harry, no more tears, we promised Mama we would be happy for her, not sad.’ It took all her self-control to keep her voice from wobbling.

  Beth slipped a small hand into hers and she was grateful for the contact. ‘It’s a fine day and I propose we go out for a walk. There are brambles ready to be picked in the lane.’ Their two faces turned up trustingly to her. ‘Shall we take baskets and pick some? Then we can ask Betty to make us a delicious bramble and apple tart for supper tonight.’

  Harry beamed. ‘That’s my very best thing. Will Betty give me a basket if I run to the kitchen?’

  Charlotte’s smile slipped at the reminder of what duties the cook was at that very moment performing. ‘No darling, we shall put on boots, then find your jacket and our cloaks, and coll
ect the baskets on our way out.’

  Three weeks later, at seven o’clock, Charlotte closed the door on the house in which she had spent the last five years and led her small party down the steps to the waiting diligence.

  ‘Mornin’, Miss Carstairs. A lovely day for a journey,’ Mr Turner, the carter, called as he waited reins in hand, to depart. ‘Your trunks are all safely stowed.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Turner; I am sorry we have kept you waiting.’ Charlotte lifted Harry into the vehicle and offered her hand to Beth, who ignored it and scrambled up unaided. ‘Annie, can you and Betty manage the bags or do you need Mr Turner’s assistance?’

  ‘Bless you, we can manage fine, thank you, miss. You get yourselves settled; Betty and I can take care of these.’

  Glad both Annie and Betty had decided to take their chances with them at Thurston Hall, Charlotte climbed into the cart. Harry and Beth shifted up the hard wooden seat to make room for her. Once Annie and Betty were safely aboard, seated next to Mr Turner, he slapped the reins and the large brown horse ambled forward.

  ‘Is it far to the White Hart, Lottie?’ Harry asked between bounces.

  She righted her bonnet before answering. ‘A mile, no more. I have allowed ample time to reach our destination. The mail coach does not depart until twelve minutes past nine.’

  Beth chimed in. ‘Is Thurston Hall a long way from Ipswich, Lottie? Will grandfather send a carriage for us, do you think?’

  Charlotte hated to lie to them but she had no choice. ‘Thurston Hall is less than five miles from Ipswich, where we alight from the mail coach tomorrow, and I am sure grandfather will have made some arrangement to transport all of us to our new home.’

  She couldn’t tell any of them that Lord Thurston was not even aware of their imminent arrival. She had decided it would be better to give him no opportunity to refuse to take them in.

  It would be much harder to send them packing if they were already on his doorstep.

  By the time they arrived in Ipswich and descended, for the last time, from the mail coach, the children were fractious and she was exhausted. Charlotte checked the time on the large clock in the vestibule of the inn. ‘It’s too late to travel to Thurston today. We shall overnight here and set out, refreshed and tidy, tomorrow morning.’

  Luckily there was a commodious front room available which housed two tester beds and still had room left over for a table and chairs in the bay window. Trays were sent up, stacked high with cold meats, pickles and pastries, also several slices of a rich plum cake.

  ‘This looks appetising, children, doesn’t it? We shall eat and then you must both go to bed.’ She pointed to the largest four poster. ‘See, we shall all sleep together.’ Charlotte yawned widely. ‘And I believe the rest of us will not be long behind you’

  Annie nodded. ‘We’re all that tired, Miss Beth; we’ve been jolted around in a mail coach for the best part of two days and it’s an exhausting business, especially for someone of my age.’

  Charlotte attempted to shake out the creases in her travelling dress. ‘Annie, if you and Betty will see to the children, I have business to attend to downstairs.’

  ‘Yes, miss. Shall I wash them this evening?’

  ‘No, Annie, leave it until the morning. After all, it’s not us who will be obliged to wash the bed linen.’ She turned to Beth, barely awake. ‘I’ll not be long, my love; be a good girl and go straight to bed. You must be fresh to meet grandfather tomorrow, mustn’t you?’ The child nodded, too tired to argue. Harry was already asleep.

  Downstairs the vestibule was empty, no one behind the desk. Charlotte rang the bell vigorously. The passengers from the mail coach, who were continuing their journey to Norwich, had long since departed. The landlady bustled through from a back room, wiping her work roughened hands on her apron.

  ‘Miss Carstairs, I hopes as nothing’s wrong?’

  ‘No, Mrs Brady, the room is perfect and the food was excellent. It is another matter entirely that I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Carstairs, I’ll do what I can to help.’

  ‘I shall require transport of some sort tomorrow morning to convey us to our final destination. Can you arrange that for me?’

  Mrs Brady nodded her many chins wobbling. ‘Indeed I can. We have a suitable conveyance here. My son, Jack, can drive you anywhere you wish to go. What time will you be wishing to leave?’

  Charlotte thought for a moment. It would not do to arrive too early, Lord Thurston was an elderly gentleman and he might not rise before noon. She had checked and knew the village of Thurston to be a journey of less than five miles; not much more than an hour or so even on narrow rutted lanes. ‘I don’t wish to leave until eleven o’clock. It’s my intention to look around the town before we leave.’

  ‘Very well, miss. What time shall I have your trays sent up tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Could you send up several jugs of hot water at eight o’clock? Then we shall break our fast at nine.’

  The landlady nodded and bobbed a curtsy ‘If you require anything else, just ring the bell in your chamber, Miss Carstairs.’

  ‘Goodnight, Mrs Brady, thank you for your help.’

  At eleven o’clock sharp Charlotte escorted her brother and sister downstairs. They were all dressed in their best. Harry, in smart royal-blue nankeen britches and jacket, his shirt white and his stockings, pulled up for once, pristine in his black shiny boots. Beth had her hair in one thick braid, green ribbons threaded through it, her dress was moss green cotton and her spencer in a darker shade of that same colour. This had been embroidered by her sister, with a riot of flowers and birds.

  ‘You look very smart, Harry. Please try not to get any grime on your shirt or stockings on the journey,’ Charlotte told her little brother.

  ‘Promise, Lottie,’ he grinned as he spoke; the excitement of the journey had already overtaken the grief for his mother.

  Beth reached out and ran her fingers down her sister’s skirt of fine French cambric, in a becoming shade of palest gold. ‘This gown is so beautiful, Lottie. I wish Mama could see you now.’

  Charlotte’s eyes filled but she pinned a smile on her face. ‘Thank you, darling. I’m glad you approve. I’m particularly fond of the darker gold material from which I made the spencer, and of my chip-straw bonnet. It took me hours to pleat the matching material that lines it.’ She glanced down, confident they all looked well turned out. Her brown half boots and York tan gloves set off her ensemble perfectly.

  ‘Look, Annie and Betty are waiting by that smart gig. I do believe we are to travel in style today.’ She glanced round but could see no sign of the trunks and bags anywhere. ‘Annie, where are our things? I do hope they are not to be left behind.’

  Annie pointed to a smaller cart. ‘They’re in that, miss, it’s to follow us. Do you wish us to travel with the baggage, or in here with you?’

  Beth spoke first. ‘In here, Annie. You and Betty are far too finely dressed to travel anywhere else.’

  The maid’s creased face split into a happy smile. ‘Why bless you, Miss Beth. Don’t we all look fine as paint this morning?’

  Charlotte, meanwhile, had become uncomfortably aware that a huge gentleman, in a many caped riding coat, his face obscured by his turned up collar, was staring at her most rudely. Perhaps her dress was a trifle low-cut for a country town and exposed more of her creamy bosom than she was accustomed to. She wished she had buttoned up her spencer, but far too late to repine. Feeling flustered by the unwanted attention, she bundled her charges up the steps of the carriage and jumped in behind them. She tapped loudly with her parasol to indicate that they were ready to depart. When the carriage failed to move she drew breath to protest, but the driver, young Jack Brady, grinned over his shoulder.

  ‘Where to, Miss Carstairs? You never told me ma last night, where you want to go this morning.’

  Blushing furiously at her stupidity she spoke rather more loudly than she had intended. ‘To Thurston Hall, Thurston vil
lage, if you please, Ned.’ The carriage bowled out of the yard, closely followed by the pony cart containing their two trunks and four carpetbags.

  The tall man, in the drab coat, on overhearing her remark, swore loudly, deeply shocking two elderly matrons on their way to book seats for the following day’s mail coach to Norwich. He vaulted on to his grey stallion and galloped out of the yard moments after Charlotte’s party had left.

  The gig travelled past pretty villages, the whitewashed cottages well-kept, and their thatched roofs immaculate. Smiling well fed children came out to wave as they passed, much to Henry’s delight.

  ‘Are we going to live in a cottage like that one, Lottie?’ He asked as they left the village behind.

  ‘No, darling, we shall be living in big house. The house mama lived in as a young girl.’

  Beth frowned. ‘Why did she never tell us about grandfather and where she used to live? Was she unhappy there?’

  Charlotte knew this was not the time for honesty. ‘Mama told me she had a wonderful childhood; she was devoted to our grandmother.’

  ‘Shall we meet grandmother today, Lottie?’

  ‘No, Harry. Sadly she died many years ago, when mama was still a young girl.’

  The occupants of the gig lapsed into silence at the reminder of their own recent loss. ‘Why aren’t we wearing black, again, Lottie?’ Beth asked, studying her green dress with interest.

  ‘Mama said we had been in black for far too long already. She made me promise we wouldn’t go into mourning for her, but continue as normal.’ She felt as if a stone had lodged in her throat and for a moment was unable to speak.

  Harry, unaware of her distress, piped up. ‘Look, Lottie, those cottages have holes in the roof. They are not at all clean and white like the others.’

  Charlotte pushed her misery aside to follow his pointing finger. Automatically she corrected his behaviour. ‘You must not point, Harry, you know it’s impolite.’ His hand dropped instantly to his lap. ‘You are quite correct, my dear. These dwellings do not appear well maintained. Do you see, there are no hens or hog houses either?’