The Duke's Challenge (2 page)

‘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 village, 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?’

Annie sniffed
loudly.
‘An absentee landlord, miss, or an uncaring one.
There’s some who squeeze their poor tenants dry and never put naught back.’

Beth sank
back against the squabs. ‘Did you see how those men scowled at us? And they
were so thin and raggedy looking.’

‘Things are
harder in the countryside when the landlord does not look after his own. The
price of corn is so high and there is little outside work to be had in areas
such as these.’

Beth looked
puzzled. ‘But I thought you told me, Lottie, that villagers could produce cloth
and yarn in their houses to bring in extra income?’

‘I’m afraid
those times have passed. With the advent of…’ her words were lost in a scream
as a stone, hurled by an unseen assailant, struck her on the temple. She
slipped unconscious, blood pouring from her forehead, to the floor.

Ned whipped
up his horse. ‘Hold on ladies, we’re not far from Thurston Hall, you will be
safe there.’

Chapter Two

Lord
Thurston, The Duke of Lenster, stormed into the house, his face a mask of fury.
‘Meltham - get in here - damn you!’

A
black-garbed man of indeterminate years scampered across the grimy marble floor
and knocked on the drawing-room door.

‘You wish to
speak to me, your grace?’

Jack’s jaw
clenched but for once, he refrained from swearing. ‘Yes. I expect a parcel of
ladies to arrive later today. Do not let them over the threshold; is that quite
clear?’

The butler
shook his head.
‘Ladies, your grace?’

‘God dammit,
man, yes; ladies and children! Whatever they say, you will not let them in.
Your position here depends on it.’

Meltham
blanched. He knew more than likely it was his life depended on it.
‘Of course, your grace.
I fully understand.’

Jack watched
him shuffle backwards reminding him of a black crab and a flicker of amusement
crossed his face. He strode down the worn carpet to the walnut sideboard upon
which his decanter of brandy was waiting. He poured himself a liberal glass and
finished it in one swallow. He waited for the fiery liquid to hit his gut -
start its healing work.

Slowly his pulse steadied and he regained his composure. My God -what a
lucky escape! If he had not been returning from that overnight cockfight he
would never have seen the girl and her entourage emerge from the inn. Nor have
heard her instruct the driver to take her to Thurston Hall. If he hadn’t been
able to arrive before them he would have returned to find them ensconced,
waiting to speak to him. He would have been obliged to see a pair of sparkling
green eyes round with horror, see that lovely girl turn away in disgust. He
snatched at the decanter and refilled his glass and for the second time it
disappeared in a single
gulp
.

He knew he
was drinking too much, had become careless of his appearance, took no interest
in his estate, but he could not help himself. The day the Frenchie’s sabre
slashed through his face, his life had changed irrevocably. He had lost the
sight in his right eye and his cheek and corner of his mouth were twisted. He
was a monster, not fit for female company.

Even
discovering on his arrival in England that he had inherited Thurston Hall from
a distant uncle, that he was no longer plain Major Jack Griffin but the Duke of
Lenster, Lord Thurston of Thurston Hall, a local magistrate, owner of three
villages, eight farms and several thousand acres of land, had not made up for
his disfigurement. But at least it gave him somewhere to hole up, out of sight,
so he didn’t have to endure the stares of revulsion from strangers and the
looks of pity from his friends.

His fists
clenched and the glass shattered in his hand. He threw the broken crystal shards
into the fire ignoring the blood that dribbled from his palm. Damn it! He
needed another drink to ease the pain - to erase the image of Miss Sophia
Owens’s gasp of shock when she saw her betrothed for the first time. She had
turned her back, holding up a hand as if to ward away a leper. Her words had
cut him to the quick. ‘‘You are hideous, Jack. I cannot marry a man so
disfigured. I beg you to release me from our arrangement.’’

He reached
over with his good hand and pulled the bell strap. Meltham appeared
immediately. There were no parlour maids to answer his summons. He kept no
female staff at Thurston Hall.

‘Bring me
another glass. This one is broken.’

He heard the
startled gasp from behind him. Then his hand was lifted and a clean white
napkin bound around it. He kept his face averted, touched by the small act of
kindness.

‘Your grace,
you will require sutures in that cut. If you permit, I shall send for the
physician, he lives in nearby Upton Magna.’

Jack
shrugged, indifferent. Bleeding to death was as good a way as any to go and
pain free. The butler took his gesture as agreement and hurried off to find a
groom to take the message.

*

The gig
thundered through the wrought iron gates and on to the long drive, Charlotte
was still comatose but now her head was cradled in Annie’s ample lap. Two
strips of torn white petticoat held a makeshift pad across her wound, partially
stemming the copious flow of blood.

Beth was
gripping the sides of the violently rocking carriage with one hand and holding
on to Harry with the other. ‘Betty,’ she whispered, ‘why does God keep hurting
the people I love? How can he be a loving Father if he does that?’

‘Hush, Miss
Beth, you must not talk like that. We are in His hands and must endure whatever
He puts in our way. Say a prayer, miss, it will help you and your sister.’

The drive ran
through overhanging trees, the grass verges un-scythed, more like a meadow than
the entrance to a grand estate. But no one in the swaying carriage noticed
this, nor did they see the weeds growing through the gravel or observe the
dilapidation of the massive house. All the occupants cared was that they had
arrived and help was at hand.

To vehicle
was scarcely stationary before Ned threw down the reins and raced for the front
door. He hammered on it. ‘Open up! We have an injured lady - she needs
assistance. Open up in there.’

*

The door
swung open a fraction and Meltham peered out. ‘I am sorry, but I have
instructions not to let you in. Lord Thurston does not receive visitors. You
will have to go away.’

‘We shall do
no such thing,’ someone shouted as a woman barrelled her way up to the massive
access. Without waiting for a second refusal she put her shoulder to the crack
and pushed. The butler had no option, he yielded, the matter had been taken
from his hands
..

The drawing
room door opened and Jack emerged, his voice dripping ice. ‘How dare you
intrude in my house? Remove yourself, madam, this instant.’ He was so enraged
he didn’t notice the servant woman appeared unmoved by his disfigurement.

‘My lord, my
mistress, Miss Carstairs, is grievously injured. An unseen assailant threw a
stone as we passed through the last village and it struck her on the forehead.
She is still unconscious.’

Jack for the
first time since his return from Waterloo took charge of events. ‘Meltham, have
a chamber prepared. I shall bring the lady inside.’ He covered the distance
from the door to the turning circle in three bounds. He bent down and his heart
faltered. Was it too late?

‘Here, let me
take her.’ Without waiting for an answer he scooped the girl up and holding her
carefully, the injured temple away from his shoulder, strode back inside,
leaving the others to follow. ‘Meltham, where shall I take her?’ His deep voice
ricocheted around the empty hallway.

The butler
appeared on the gallery. ‘Here, my lord. The green rooms are in reasonable
repair. I have two footmen making up the bed and hot water is being fetched
from the scullery.’

Jack didn’t
like the way the girl’s head lolled on his shoulder, or the darkening red stain
on the bandage that covered her wound. Head wounds were the very devil. He had
lost good men from apparently trivial injuries to the skull. Carefully, he
adjusted his burden and climbed the carved oak stairs, his booted feet loud on
the boards. He could hear the maid puffing along behind him and was glad of it.

The butler
led him to the rear of the house. He had never bothered to visit this part of
the rambling building. The room chosen was large and light, with windows
overlooking the unkempt park. The four-poster bed, its hangings dusty and torn,
stood isolated in the centre of the room.

‘God damn it,
man, is there nothing better than this? There’s no furniture and the chamber
smells musty and damp.’

‘It is the
best there is, your grace. The late duke sadly neglected this part of the hall.
He resided, as you do, downstairs and never came up here after Miss Emily
left.’

Jack scowled.
‘If there is nothing else, then this will have to do.’ He placed the girl
gently on the bed then, pushing away the blood-soaked hair from her face, he
gazed down at her. She was so beautiful - even ashen faced and covered in gore.
He studied the perfect oval of her countenance, her finally arched brows, her
short nose with its delicate nostrils and her eminently kissable mouth. He felt
a hardening in his groin and half smiled - this was certainly a day for firsts.

‘Step aside,
if you please, sir; I must attend to Miss Carstairs,’ the servant said firmly.
‘She needs to see a doctor urgently.’

He moved
back. ‘Fortuitously, a physician has already been sent for as I need sutures in
my hand.’

The woman
glanced at the red stained cloth around his hand. ‘That’s good news, sir. I
shall require our trunks and bags be brought up when they arrive and hot water
and clean cloths.’

‘My man will see
to all that.’ He
straightened,
the habitual sneer back
in his voice. ‘You are intending to make a long stay then, madam?’

She
snorted. ‘This is to be our home now. I have no inkling
who
you might be, sir, but Lord Thurston, Miss Carstairs’ grandfather, is to be
informed at once of our arrival.’

‘Christ in
his heaven! What next? The old man has been dead these past two years. I am
Lord Thurston.
 
And I can assure you,
madam, that
as soon as Miss Carstairs is well enough she,
and the brats, will be leaving here.’

He glared at
her, daring her to contradict.

‘If you are
the Duke of Lenster then you will be Miss Carstairs, Miss Elizabeth and Master
Harry’s legal guardian. You cannot evict them for they are your
responsibility.’

The sound of
running footsteps in the passageway outside alerted Jack to the arrival of the
hated children. These were worse than adults for pointing and staring and
asking in loud piercing voices why the gentleman was so hideous.

‘I have no
intention of discussing the matter with a servant. Get on with your duties.’ He
spun and left the room his head down, his right-hand obscuring his injury,
ignoring the arrival of the nursemaid and her charges.

He headed to
his own domain. The drawing room, study and morning room - now serving as his bed
chamber - was the only place he felt safe. He needed a drink - badly. What he
didn’t need was a parcel of brats and their sister foisted on him. They could
stay for the moment, a week or so, until the girl was well enough to travel,
then he would send them packing.

*

Charlotte
opened her eyes, unsure where she was or why her head hurt so abominably. She
was in a strange dark room; this was not the room at the inn for that that had contained
more furniture. She tried to raise herself and instantly regretted it. A wave
of nausea flooded over her and she sank back on the pillows.

‘Oh miss, you’re awake, I’m so glad. You’ve given us quite a turn these
past few days.’ Annie dipped a cloth into a chipped china bowl and carefully
wiped Charlotte’s face. ‘There, is that better?’

‘A little,’
her voice was scarcely audible. ‘Where am I? Why am I hurt?’

‘You’re at
Thurston Hall, miss – you were struck by a stone. The doctor has visited every
day, and very nice soft spoken man he is too, and he insists you remain in your
bed for a day or two longer, at least.’ Annie fussed with the bed covers. ‘You
have a concussion and a nasty cut, but it has been stitched up a treat.’

‘Good. And
the children— how are they?’

‘They love it
here. Betty is taking care of them so you mustn’t worry. Just rest and recover
yourself, miss.’

Charlotte
closed her eyes; even with shutters the sun filtered through and aggravated her
headache. Why had Annie not pulled the bed hangings? Feeling too ill to ask,
she allowed the welcome blackness to sweep her away once more.

Early the
next morning she was woken by a shuffling and rustling, and muted whispers. Her
lips curved in welcome. ‘Beth, Harry come over and
speak
to me. Don’t hide in the shadows like burglars.’

‘Lottie,
you’re well again. We have been so worried but neither Annie nor Betty would
let us in,’ Beth said as she hurried to the bedside.

‘And we were
ever so quiet - did you really think we were robbers?’ Harry asked.

Charlotte
opened her eyes. The room, this time, remained still. She risked turning her
head a few inches - no searing pain. ‘Help me to sit up both of you. I want to
know what Thurston Hall is like and what you have both been doing these past
few days to occupy yourself. And more importantly, how did grandfather take to
our arrival?’

Beth managed
to pull her forward whilst Harry pushed a pile of wilted pillows behind her.
‘There, Lottie, you can lean back, you’ll be comfortable now.’

‘Thank you,
Harry, that’s splendid. And thank you, Beth darling. Now, can you and Harry
open the shutters? I would really like to see exactly how unsatisfactory my
chamber is.’

The children
ran across and with much banging and muttering finally achieved their
objective. Sunlight flooded the room and Charlotte glanced round in horror.
‘Good heavens! There is no carpet, no
chaise-longue
,
or indeed furniture of any sort in here. It is far worse than I thought.’

Harry
scrambled up beside her on the bed. ‘The whole house is like this, Lottie,’ he
told her gleefully. ‘I can run about where I like and not break anything and
the mud from my boots doesn’t notice on the floors.’

‘Oh dear!
Beth? Is it as bad as Harry suggests?’

‘It is. Annie
and Betty have scrubbed and cleaned the rooms we’re using but the rest of the
Hall is in a dreadful state. Do you know we have even seen rats running along
the nursery floors?’