A Solitary Duke Read online

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  Edwin was satisfied he could leave the builders unsupervised for a few weeks whilst he was away in London. His mother was beside herself with excitement at the thought that he would be attending most of the Season.

  During the winter months, long, grey and lonely that they were, he’d agreed that she should move back into the family home whilst the builders worked on modernising the Dower House. Whilst the weather was inclement, they could get on with indoor work.

  ‘Your grace, when are you going to make a decision about these invitations?’

  ‘Hand them to me if you must, ma’am, and I’ll look through them. The house in Grosvenor Square is now ready for occupation so I suggest that you go up and inspect the premises for me. There will be members of the ton that you know already there despite the fact that it’s only the end of March.’

  ‘I am fearful that if you do not accompany me when I go you might renege on your promise.’

  ‘I would rather have my teeth pulled than spend time crushed together with people I’ve no wish to be acquainted with in overheated ballrooms. Rarely is the company any better than the refreshments provided.’

  ‘That is as may be, your grace, but I am certain that those gentlemen you do enjoy spending time with will be pleased to see you at your club.’

  ‘True. I’m taking both my horses so will ride; you may take the carriage. Do you depart immediately?’

  She recognised that this was more an order than a suggestion and nodded. ‘I shall have my trunks packed this afternoon and be ready to leave after breakfast.’

  He strolled off taking the unread pile of invitations with him. They were addressed to him and she’d not been stupid enough to open them herself. She knew better than that.

  Once safely behind the closed doors of his study he dropped into a comfortable armchair and stretched his booted legs out towards the roaring fire.

  He opened them one by one and tossed most into the flames. He was left with no more than half a dozen that appealed to him. Although he avoided mingling with the ton, he was sufficiently up to snuff to recognise the invitations that came from hopeful mamas. It was those he discarded immediately.

  He was left with a rout, a musical evening, a soirée and four balls. It would be polite to reply to those few where he intended to put in a brief appearance, but had not the inclination to do so. Far better to just turn up, than to raise the hopes of the hostess and then fail her by not attending.

  It was madness to accept even so few invitations as the notion that he would be obliged to dance with simpering girls, make small talk with their families, filled him with dismay. It had been six months since he’d seen the girl he was still hopelessly in love with.

  Stanfield, so he discovered, had many commercial interests and was often in London during the Season. The only reason he was going to be there himself was to seek the man out and ask his permission to pay court to Lucy. If his beloved had revealed what had actually transpired then he was more likely to have his cork drawn than receive a favourable reception. Unfortunately, his lordship didn’t own a town house but rented when necessary.

  There hadn’t been a day go past when he didn’t think about her with regret. He was determined to try one last time to secure her hand. If this came to nought then he would accept her refusal and make a serious attempt to live his life without her.

  He smiled slightly. The new house was being built with Lucy in mind, the Dower House being refurbished for the same reason. If he failed in his mission he would go overseas, try and forget her by immersing himself in different cultures, and not live in England until he was recovered from his melancholy.

  He was familiar with most of Europe having done the grand tour in his youth, but had never travelled further afield and he thought he might visit India first, spend a year or two there, and then travel to the colonies.

  When Gilbert and his family had visited last September he had enjoyed their company and was confident that, in the event of his premature death, his cousin would now agree to step in. Having seen for himself that this dukedom was run for the benefit of its dependents, and not the holder of the title had impressed Gilbert.

  Knowing this gave him the freedom to travel without guilt. He decided that if Lucy wouldn’t have him then he would never marry – he hadn’t found himself a willing mistress – the thought of sharing his body with anyone but the woman he loved was abhorrent to him.

  The weather was decent for the end of March and he set out two days after his parent astride Othello, his valet was riding Hamlet – their luggage had travelled ahead of them. The sun was out, the sky a clear bright blue and for the first time in months he was more optimistic about the future.

  They arrived before it began to get dark, he’d taken it steady, and neither he nor his mount was hot or tired. His house was one of the few detached buildings in the square and he had his own stable block and coach house in the usual place directly behind the kitchens and other outbuildings.

  There was more than an acre of gardens which, if he remembered rightly, were rather attractive in the spring. It was so long since he’d spent any length of time here that he’d almost forgotten how ostentatious the house was.

  It had been built by his great-grandfather; no doubt it had been deliberately constructed to outshine those around it. There were no other dukes in the square, after all. The rooms were well proportioned, the ceilings high and the kitchens were directly under the dining room so food arrived hot – not something he’d been enjoying these past few months.

  The windows were ablaze with candlelight – another conspicuous expenditure on his mother’s part to demonstrate to the others in the square that, not only were they better bred than the others, they were also fabulously rich.

  He came to a decision and not one that his parent would approve of. He would complete the legal matters that were pressing, visit his clubs and catch up with his acquaintances, and then resume his life in Rochester if he couldn’t locate Stanfield and speak to him.

  He handed the reins to a waiting groom and headed for the house. The door was opened as he arrived, he was bowed inside, and he sincerely wished he’d not sold The Rookery. Living simply as he had done there had suited him better than all this grandeur.

  The one benefit of being a duke was that he could do as he damn well pleased and no one could object. Apart from royalty, the small band of those who held this title were the most sought-after and prestigious aristocrats in the country.

  He was halfway up the grand staircase when he recalled the promise he’d made to his mother. Even if he failed in his objective to speak to Lucy’s father and get his permission to court her, he could not in all conscience abandon London. Tomorrow he would discover if Lord Stanfield was in Town.

  After completing his ablutions he changed into something more apt for visiting White’s. The walk through the crisp, evening air would be exactly what he wanted to clear his head. He would, naturally, have two footmen accompany him as walking about at night was perilous even for someone so high in the instep as himself.

  He decided not to bother to announce his arrival at Grosvenor Square to the duchess and set out eagerly. There was a faint chance that Stanfield would be at White’s – but even if he wasn’t present himself then there might be someone who could give him the information he wanted about his quarry’s whereabouts.

  Chapter Eleven

  Despite the lateness of the hour, the coldness of the air, the pavements were busy when Edwin set out. The emporiums remained open as long as there were customers willing to come in and spend their money. He strolled into White’s in St James’s Street. Although an infrequent visitor he was immediately recognised. His own men were there to take his outer garments, hat, stick and gloves. He signed the book with a flourish. After glancing quickly down the list of those present, he recognised the name of his closest friend.

  ‘Lord Ambrose, where is he?’

  ‘I shall take you to him, your grace, he is
playing cards.’

  ‘Then don’t disturb him. Tell him that I’m here and invite him to dine with me when he’s done. I’ll have coffee whilst I wait. Bring it to me in this side room.’ He settled himself comfortably in front of the fire, nodded at the two other occupants, he recognised neither of them, and buried his nose in a newspaper not wishing to be engaged in any tedious conversations.

  Ambrose arrived just after the coffee. ‘Rochester, I didn’t expect to see you in Town but I’m glad that you’re here. Is there enough in that pot for me?’

  ‘Ample. How is your wife?’

  His friend beamed. ‘Finally, after so many years, we’re expecting a happy event in the autumn. I care not if we have a boy or a girl as long as both Sophia and the baby are delivered safely.’

  ‘Congratulations, my friend, I’m happy for you but obviously understand your anxiety. I must tell you my news.’ When he’d finished Ambrose was laughing.

  ‘Miss Armitage is the perfect match for you. I cannot imagine that with your charm, handsome face and fine physique – not to mention your dukedom and your wealth – that eventually you won’t persuade her to forgive you. In fact, Rochester, I shouldn’t be surprised if she’s not pining away for you in the same way that you are for her. Have you actually been to see her since last summer?’

  ‘How could I after what I said? You’ve given me hope, my friend, that my quest will not end in failure. However, I’d be even more delighted if you actually knew the name of Stanfield’s lawyers.’

  ‘How the devil do you expect me to have information of that sort? I’m sharp-set. Shall we continue this in the dining room?’

  With his footmen lighting the way, Edwin walked home having imbibed more than was good for him. The only sour note in an otherwise enjoyable evening was the fact that no one could give him the information he wanted.

  He’d invited Ambrose and his lady to dine with him the following evening so he must remember to inform his parent so she could arrange matters.

  Hopefully, Hampton and Baggott, his lawyers, would be able to help him. He was tempted to continue the warm glow that the bottle of claret had given him by adding brandy, but refrained. Rogers was waiting to help him disrobe.

  ‘Are you riding tomorrow, your grace?’

  ‘No, the horses need a day’s rest. I’ll be visiting my lawyers after I’ve broken my fast.’

  Baggott attended to him and promised to make enquiries as to the whereabouts of Lord Stanfield’s legal firm. Satisfied there was nothing else he could do he signed the papers waiting for his attention and then ducked into White’s after being pursued along Regent Street by a determined matron and her hapless daughters who had recognised him.

  After spending a few hours playing Whist, the stakes per point were not enormous, he still ended up twenty guineas richer when he left. He was looking forward to entertaining his friends for dinner and his mother had been overjoyed that she might have the opportunity to dress once more.

  The evening was as enjoyable as he’d hoped and he and his parent were invited to attend the Theatre Royal in the Haymarket with them where there was some nonsense being put on. Afterwards they would take supper together at Ambrose’s house in Berkeley Square. This would mean taking the carriage as no lady would be seen in these streets at night – Haymarket ware was the term applied to the numerous prostitutes who lurked in the darkness there.

  The following morning he arose at first light and made his way through the house, stepping around the maids with sacks tied around their waists on their hands and knees scrubbing the floors. The sconces were lit, it might be light outside but it was still gloomy indoors.

  Today he would ride Othello and the stallion was tacked up and waiting for him. Grosvenor Square was situated a short distance from Hyde Park. He just had to ride down Grosvenor Street, across Park Lane and he was there. This park led into Green Park and from there into St James’s Park so there were acres available to ride in.

  The rides would be full of carriages, pedestrians and riders parading their best bonnets – if they were female – and their finest horses if they were male. He had no interest in such things so if his horses were to get sufficient exercise whilst in London he must take them out when no one else was around.

  He clattered down the cobbled street towards the park and was unsurprised that he was alone. Even the servants were not about so early on errands for their masters and mistresses. There would, naturally, be other riders in the park but there would be no necessity to speak to them.

  *

  Lucy arrived at the stables to be greeted by the worst possible news. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but your mare has cast a shoe. You can’t ride her this morning.’

  ‘Then I’ll take Bruno. I’ve ridden him so often he’ll not object to a side-saddle.’

  The groom looked dubious but could hardly argue if he wished to keep his employment. The young woman who had been appointed to be her companion wouldn’t be taking up her position until the following week so Lucy was making the most of being able to ride at this ungodly hour. One thing she was very certain of, was that Miss Trevelyan wouldn’t wish to be out so early.

  The massive stallion stood patiently whilst this unfamiliar saddle was placed on his back. When she was tossed onto his back he merely looked round and nudged her boot as if telling her it made no difference to him how she rode him.

  It was a somewhat circuitous route to reach the park. She’d been assured by the groom who’d accompanied her that travelling along Orchard Street, and then turning left at the junction with Oxford Street, would be the quickest and safest route to take. Sydney loped along beside them for once ignoring the interesting rubbish in the gutters and the occasional cat.

  So early in the day there were few pedestrians, no carriages and only a sprinkling of gentlemen on horseback. As soon as Bruno was guided from the cobbled street and felt the grass beneath his hooves his ears pricked forward and his muscles bunched beneath her.

  She called out to the groom. ‘I’m going to let him have his head for a mile or two, then he’ll settle better. You won’t be able to keep up, but keep me in sight.’

  ‘Yes, miss, I hope you can stop. If he takes hold of the bit, you’re not strong enough to dislodge it.’

  She laughed at the man’s gloomy prediction, slackened the reins slightly, and settled firmly into the saddle. Riding a stallion in a side-saddle might be considered foolish but she was confident she’d not come to grief.

  She clicked her tongue, touched Bruno gently with her heel and he needed no further encouragement. He surged from a trot to a gallop in three strides. Her carefully pinned hat was torn from her head and the pins holding her hair in place followed suit.

  Crouching low in the saddle, loving every minute of her wild ride, knowing she was still in control even though it might seem to an onlooker that she wasn’t, she let the stallion have his head. They overtook several riders and then apparently had the park to themselves.

  After a mile or so her mount was happy to slow his pace to a collected canter. ‘Good boy, I think we shall walk until you’re cool. I’m hoping my groom will find my hat and bring it to me. It’s new, you know, in the military style, and made specially to match my new habit.’

  Talking to a horse was ridiculous but the animal responded with slight whicker. She twisted in the saddle to check that her dog and the groom were catching up. They were still some distance behind but as they were arriving at a more sensible speed that was only to be expected.

  She clicked her tongue and the stallion moved off into a smooth, easy walk. They were coming up to a small wood, where the undergrowth on each side was particularly dense. Despite the fact that the branches of the trees were bare it was impossible to see within it. The track went through the middle and for some reason her heart thumped. Uneasy, she reined in and decided to wait for both the dog and the groom to catch up before continuing.

  What was that? Was it someone groaning somewhere amongst the trees? She li
stened. Yes – definitely a man.

  Without hesitation she kicked her foot from the stirrup iron, unhooked her knee from around the pommel and dropped to the dirt. After pulling the stallion’s reins over his head she let them go knowing he would remain where he was when these were on the ground in front of him.

  ‘Is anybody there? Are you hurt? Call out so I can find you.’

  Nothing. Then again what sounded like a faint moan or was it possibly a snore? She looked round and her dog wasn’t far away. He would follow her into the undergrowth and protect her if this was some sort of ploy to rob her. She was about to push her way through the branches but then thought better of it.

  Whoever was in there would hardly suffer unduly if obliged to wait a further few minutes before rescue arrived. Sydney was at her side but instead of stopping to greet her he bounded straight into the woods. She was about to follow him but hesitated and was relieved that she had done so as a few moments later a disgruntled voice was heard.

  ‘Get off me, blasted animal, let a soldier sleep without being jumped on by a bleeding great dog.’

  ‘Sydney, come here. You’re not wanted.’

  Her groom arrived and dismounted. With a grin he handed her the missing hat and then pushed his way into the undergrowth to investigate the racket. Whilst he did so she rescued the remaining pins from her hair, hastily plaited it and then, as she’d done once before, pushed the braid down the back of her collar. The hat was pinned in place just as the grumbling veteran emerged from the bushes with the help of her groom.

  ‘Good morning, miss, I beg your pardon for my language.’ The speaker saluted smartly. ‘Sergeant Jed Smith, at your service.’

  The speaker was a man in his thirties perhaps, wearing a faded and torn redcoat, unshaven and unkempt but relatively clean.

  ‘I am Miss Armitage. Might I enquire why you were attempting to sleep in the bushes rather than a bed?’