A Gift of a Duke Read online

  A Gift of a Duke

  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

  A Gift of a Duke © Copyright Fenella J. Miller, 2020

  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.

  COVER DESIGN BY JANE DIXON-SMITH

  Chapter One

  November, 1810, Ireland.

  Rordan viewed his ruined castle, his ruined life, and was tempted to throw himself from the battlements and join his departed brother and his family in Paradise.

  Deaclan, his childhood friend, grabbed his arm before he could take that fatal step. 'No, that's not the answer. The fire was a tragedy, but it was an accident and you throwing yourself to your death would be suicide and there's no excuse for that.'

  Rordan's cheeks were wet. What point was there in going on when just a sennight ago he'd been a contented man? His older brother held the title, had a son to be the next Duke of Clonmel, and now he was alone and had inherited the title himself.

  'You can let go. The moment's passed. I need to speak to the lawyers and begin to rebuild, to discover what my duties will be in future.'

  Half the castle had been destroyed by the fire that had taken the lives of his family. What remained was the original structure – stone didn't burn as well as wood.

  He was about to leave when he finally understood the significance of what he'd been viewing. 'What do you see out there, Deaclan? Do you see a prosperous landscape, well-tended woods and farmland?'

  'God's teeth! I see nothing of the kind. Everywhere there's neglect and poverty. Your brother was an excellent landlord and I can think of only one explanation.'

  'The coffers are empty. God knows how that can be as, when our father died, we were a wealthy family.'

  'Then we'd better speak to the lawyers at once and see just how bad things are.'

  Several of the castle staff had also perished and those that had survived were now gone – presumably to join relatives in the area.

  What about the horses? Last time he visited there'd been a dozen excellent animals as well as the usual hacks and those that pulled the carriages. The stables were empty and on examination it was obvious they had been for some time.

  How in God's name had he not known of the financial disaster that had struck this place? His brother had been ten years his senior and although they got on well enough, they had never been close.

  In fact, they were half-brothers. The old duke's first wife had died from a fever and he had married again. Rordan's mother had died in childbirth when he was still in leading strings and he could barely recall her.

  On arriving at the lawyers' office, he was dismayed by the news.

  'Your grace, I would have informed you earlier that your inheritance went the same way as the rest of the money. However, I was unable to contact you.' The lawyer shook his head. 'The previous duke, your brother, had a gambling habit and over the years everything was frittered away. There's nothing left. The sale of the land, farms and other properties will barely cover the debts.'

  Rordan could scarcely take this in. 'I'm destitute? I'm the Duke of Clonmel with not a penny to my name or an acre of land to call my own?'

  'I'm very sorry to tell you that is exactly how matters stand, your grace.'

  He left the offices in a daze. If only he'd returned from his travels a year or so ago maybe he could have saved something. Too late to repine. Then his stomach clenched and he was forced to brace himself against the wall in order to remain upright.

  'What's wrong? Here, let me take your arm until you're steady again.' Deaclan, as always, was beside him.

  'I'm recovered now. It just struck me that possibly the fire was deliberate – that my brother could see no other way out.'

  'Good God! That doesn't bear thinking about. One can't undo the past, my friend, one must move on.'

  'That's all very well. I've a few guineas in my pocket, a trunk full of clothes, and my horse. What do you suggest that I do to support myself?'

  'Come, let's go into this hostelry and I'll tell you what I think we must do.'

  The interior of the ancient building was dark and smoky from the peat fire. They were ushered ceremoniously to an empty settle close to the fire. Two pots of ale were brought and then they were left to themselves.

  'You've always been an impecunious Irish aristocrat, Deaclan, the title of Lord Blaine had nothing to go with it. My inheritance has supported you since we reached our majority so now we're both in the same position.'

  'That's true. This isn't a new idea, it's something I've considered more than once. There are dozens of families as rich as Croesus because of their investments in manufactories and so on who are desperate to marry their daughters to an aristocrat. We'll both be six and twenty this summer. I suggest that we sell ourselves to the highest bidder.'

  He stared at his friend unable to comprehend what he'd just been told. 'Sell ourselves? Are you suggesting we go to England and put an advertisement in The Times?'

  'I haven't worked out the details. It's November now – I believe the London Season starts in April. That will give us ample opportunity to get to know the lay of the land and inveigle invitations to all the best houses. I can't believe that there're many young, handsome single gentlemen with our credentials available on the marriage mart.'

  'We've scarcely enough blunt between us to get us to England let alone rent decent lodgings, hire servants, and purchase all the other accoutrements one needs to set a dash in Society.'

  'You've been offered two hundred guineas more than once for your stallion, I was offered almost as much for mine. We must sell them and with the profits go in search of a rich, no, very rich, young heiress to marry.'

  Rordan shuddered. 'Let me get this straight. You're suggesting we each marry the daughter of a cit? My line goes back centuries and never has the Duke of Clonmel taken a wife from beneath him.'

  'Rich men can be fussy – an impecunious duke cannot. Even less can an equally impoverished lord.'

  'I can see a serious flaw in your argument. What might hold good for an English aristocrat would not be the same for an Irish one. I'm certain that no man of sense would tie his daughter to either of us.'

  'Then we must choose carefully and make the girl fall in love with us – a devoted papa would not deny his daughter the man of her dreams.'

  This suggestion did not sit well with him. 'I like this idea less and less. A straightforward bargain I can stomach but not enticing a vulnerable young lady into loving me in order to restore my fortunes.'

  'But you agree it's the only way forward? I'll do it my way and you can take the more honourable route – but we'll both achieve the same result.'

  'Dammit to hell! I think I prefer to become a tutor. No – I'll use my money to buy myself colours and fight on the peninsular for King and Country.'

  'The Irish are not popular in the military, my friend. I can't see you becoming an ensign and that's all that would be open to you – perhaps if you're lucky you might become a junior lieutenant – but you're a bit long in the tooth to become a soldier. You'd have to take orders from men five years your junior and I can't see you enjoying that.'

  'You know me too well. I've no option but to agree to your suggestion. Shall we go in search of a gentleman who wishes to pay us a ridiculously large sum
to own our horses?'

  *

  Romford, England.

  'Miss Mirabelle Thompson, madam, to see you. Shall I send her away?'

  The headmistress of McAllister's Ladies Academy, Miss Portman, put down her pen with a sigh. 'No, kindly show her in.'

  Mirabelle overheard this exchange and was somewhat encouraged that her employer was prepared to speak to her this time. She stood up, smoothed out her plain grey gown, checked her hair was pulled back neatly in a bun at the back of her head, and went in. She curtsied.

  'Good morning, Miss Portman, thank you so much for agreeing to see me. I've just received a letter from a firm of lawyers in London. I would like your permission to visit them as soon as possible.'

  'Show me.'

  She handed it over and watched as it was scrutinised. 'Well, Miss Thompson, I can hardly refuse as I can see at once that this letter is genuine. Since your last misdemeanour you have been an exemplary teacher and I can allow you to leave this afternoon but you must be back by tomorrow to resume your duties.'

  Mirabelle curtsied. 'Thank you. I have my overnight bag packed and there's a coach leaving the village in half an hour.'

  She was out of the room and racing to her tiny bedchamber in the attics before the headmistress could change her mind. She'd been sent to this miserable place as a child when her parents had drowned when returning from a business trip abroad somewhere. Of course, initially she'd been a pupil but had then graduated to being a teacher herself.

  When she had reached the age of twenty years last May she had prayed that when she reached her majority that she would have the courage to strike out on her own. She'd always hoped that somehow there had been an oversight and she shouldn't have been placed here at all. Or maybe a distant relative would leave her some money which would mean she could leave and set herself up as a milliner in a shop in a small country town where her talents would be appreciated.

  This unexpected missive from a legal firm she'd never heard of gave her hope that maybe her miserable existence was about to take a turn for the better. Even a few pounds would be welcome as it would get her nearer to her goal.

  Making bonnets for the older girls and some of the other schoolmistresses supplemented her meagre income and had honed her skills so she knew that given the opportunity she would be able to make a living doing this.

  She dashed into the inn yard just as the coach pulled in. She had an inside seat and scrambled in as soon as the doors opened. The coach only paused to collect passengers and mail. The only available space was between a large bucolic gentleman reading a book of psalms and a young woman who looked like a governess.

  'I beg your pardon, pray excuse me, I am so sorry if I trod on your toes,' Mirabelle said as she squeezed into the small space.

  It was no more than twelve miles from Romford to the city and despite several more halts along the way they rolled into The Saracens after an hour and half. She was eager to alight and go in search of these lawyers who had their offices in Angel Court not far from here.

  When she alighted the first thing that she saw was a girl in shabby clothes, clutching a brown paper parcel, looking about her as if lost.

  After spending several years looking after girls this age, she recognised there was something amiss.

  'Can I be of assistance? I am Miss Thompson, a schoolmistress, and I doubt there's anything you can tell me that I haven't heard before.'

  The girl turned up a tear-streaked face. 'Thank you, Miss Thompson. My name's Emma Atkin. I walked from Cheapside to find employment but I'm not sure how to go about finding it. My pa died two years since and my ma has just taken up with a man I cannot like. I hated to leave my little brothers and sister but had no choice or I'd be in the family way myself very soon.'

  'That's quite shocking. How old are you, if you'll forgive me for asking something so personal?'

  'I'm older than I look, Miss Thompson. I turned seventeen years of age last month.'

  'Can you read and write?'

  'I can, and figure too. My ma saved her pennies to send me to the dame school.'

  'Then stay with me and I can take you back when I go and guarantee that you will find a position as a junior schoolmistress at the place that I work. It's not ideal employment – but you'll be safe, fed and warm in the winter and it will give you time to consider your options for next year.'

  'Then I'd be pleased to come with you. Your kindness is much appreciated and not something I expected to encounter today.'

  'Wait, there's a stall over there selling clothing. Shall we see if we can find you a warm cloak? I'll brook no argument on that score.'

  They also discovered a smart chip straw bonnet to go with the new cloak and once Emma put these on, she looked like her maid. This was added protection for both of them.

  Emma insisted on carrying the bags and said it was the least she could do in the circumstances. No doubt everyone thought the girl in her employ and this would do no harm as it gave them a certain status and protection from unwanted advances.

  When they arrived at the imposing building that housed the offices she sought, Mirabelle had expected to be left standing in a draughty passageway for hours until someone unimportant came to speak to her. Instead she was greeted by the clerk and ushered immediately into a spacious and smart office.

  'My dear Miss Thompson, I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you are able to come so speedily. If you would care to take a seat by the fire, your maid can wait in the corner.' He bowed, which astonished her. 'I am Mr Humphrey, senior partner here.'

  Whilst she removed her cloak and gloves and handed them to Emma, Mr Humphrey sent for refreshments. A lady didn't take off her bonnet in public so that remained firmly in place.

  'Now, Miss Thompson, I expect you're wondering why I sent for you. Indeed, it had been my intention to come to see you but thought you might prefer the opportunity to come to London.'

  'Mr Humphrey, my time is limited so would you kindly tell me why you summoned me here?'

  'When your parents died you had no other living relatives and it was left to me to find you a suitable home until you reached your majority. My own daughters attended the very place that I put you so I knew it to be a respectable and well-run school.'

  He was interrupted by the arrival of a spotty youth with a tray almost as big as himself. He placed it on the sideboard and then carefully poured coffee into delicate porcelain cups, placed almond biscuits and slices of plum cake on matching plates and then served first her and then Mr Humphrey.

  She turned and beckoned Emma. 'Emma, if you go with this young man he will take you where you can also have a hot drink and something to eat whilst you wait.' She winked at the girl and this gesture was reciprocated with a deep curtsy.

  'Mr Humphrey, I am still waiting to know exactly what inheritance I'm to receive.'

  'Indeed, indeed. My dear wife and I have thought for some time that perhaps we would have been better taking you in ourselves. Prepared you for what will happen next May when you reach your majority.'

  Mirabelle was tempted to kick the wretched man in order to make him spit out what she'd come expressly to hear.

  'In May you will have access to the accrued interest from 100,000 pounds. The principal remains unavailable until such time as you reach five and twenty. However, if you were to marry before then your husband would then have control of both the interest and the principal.'

  Mirabelle was not often rendered speechless but on hearing that all the years she'd been miserable and ignored at the seminary there had been a massive fortune waiting for her. How different her life would have been if she'd known about it.

  'Mr Humphrey, let me get this quite clear. You put me in that miserable place when in fact I could have had my own establishment and been living a life of luxury and ease these past few years?'

  The lawyer refused to look at her and fiddled with his collar.

  'I am waiting for an answer, sir.'

  He cleared his throat. 'I
realise now that possibly I made an error of judgement.'

  She jumped to her feet quite forgetting she had a plate of dainties on her lap. This smashed on the boards. She ignored it.

  'You will have the documents and other necessary papers handed to me this instant. I can assure you that I shall take this matter further. If I, or anyone I employ to do so, discover that you have been dipping into my inheritance then you will be incarcerated.'

  The wretched man scrambled up quite deflated by her justifiable anger. 'I am an honest man, Miss Thompson, and have not touched a penny apart from paying for your education until you were able to work as a teacher and pay your own way.'

  'Did it not occur to you that if I was considered old enough to work then I was more than old enough to know about my inheritance and have access to it?'

  'In order to do so you would have had to have a guardian and there was no one I knew of that could take the position. I thought it better to leave it until you were able to deal with your own affairs. It was possible you would have been exploited by an unscrupulous gentleman only volunteering to take you on in order to line his own pockets.'

  She subsided onto the chair. 'I see. But as I'm not officially of age until next year why have you decided to reveal this to me now? I apologise if my outburst has upset you but my life could have been so different if you'd handled things more efficiently. I'm certain my parents would be turning in their graves to know their only child has been mouldering away in an indifferent seminary these past eight years.'

  'If you would excuse me for a few minutes, I shall fetch the papers at once. As it is only six months until your name day, I am prepared to release the interest that has accrued to date. I can assure you there is more than enough for you to set up your own establishment, purchase a new wardrobe and enter the fringes of Society.'

  He rushed off as if his coat-tails were on fire. Emma at that moment returned and was astonished to hear the reason for their visit.

  'I would like you to be my companion…'