The Duke's Daughter
Read The Duke's Daughter Online
Authors: Sasha Cottman
By every measure of her own behaviour, Lady Lucy Radley knew this was the worst.
‘You reckless fool,’ she muttered under her breath as she headed back inside and into the grand ballroom.
The room was a crush of London’s social elite. Every few steps she had to stop and make small talk with friends or acquaintances. A comment here and there about someone’s gown or promising a social call made for slow going.
Finally she spied her cousin, Eve. She fixed a smile to her face as Eve approached.
‘Where have you been, Lucy? I’ve been searching everywhere for you.’
‘I was just outside admiring the flowers on the terrace.’
Eve frowned, but the lie held.
Another night, another ball in one of London’s high-society homes. In one respect Lucy would be happy when the London social season ended in a few weeks; then she would be free to travel to her family home in Scotland and go tramping across the valleys and mountain paths, the chill wind ruffling her hair.
She puffed out her cheeks. With the impending close of the season came an overwhelming sense of failure. Her two older brothers, David and Alex, had taken wives. Perfect, love-filled unions with delightful girls, each of whom Lucy was happy to now call sister.
Her newest sister-in-law, Earl Langham’s daughter Clarice, was already in a delicate condition, and Lucy suspected it was only a matter of time before her brother Alex and his wife Millie shared some good news.
For herself, this season had been an unmitigated disaster on the husband-hunting front. The pickings were slim at best. Having refused both an earl and a viscount the previous season, she suspected other suitable gentlemen now viewed her as too fussy. No gentleman worth his boots wanted a difficult wife. Only the usual group of fortune-hunters, intent on getting their hands on her substantial dowry, were lining up at this stage of the season to ask her to dance. Maintaining her pride as the daughter of a duke, she refused them all.
Somewhere in the collective gentry of England there must be a man worthy of her love. She just had to find him.
What a mess.
‘You are keeping something from me,’ Eve said, poking a finger gently into Lucy’s arm.
Lucy shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. I suspect I am suffering from a touch of ennui. These balls all begin to look the same after a while. All the same people, sharing the same gossip.’
‘Oh dear, and I thought I was having a bad day,’ Eve replied.
‘Sorry, I was being selfish. You are the one who needs a friend to cheer her up,’ Lucy replied. She kissed her cousin gently on the cheek.
Eve’s brother William had left London earlier that day to return to his home in Paris, and she knew her cousin was taking his departure hard.
‘Yes, well, I knew I could sit at home and cry, or I could put on a happy face and try to find something to smile about,’ Eve replied.
Eve’s father had tried without success to convince his son to return permanently to England. With the war now over and Napoleon toppled from power, everyone expected William Saunders to come home immediately, but it had taken two years for him to make the journey back to London.
‘Perhaps once he gets back to France and starts to miss us all again, he shall have a change of heart,’ Lucy said.
‘One can only hope. Now, let’s go and find a nice quiet spot and you can tell me what you were really doing out in the garden. Charles Ashton came in the door not a minute before you, and he had a face like thunder. As I happened to see the two of you head out into the garden at the same time a little while ago, I doubt Charles’ foul temper was because he found the flowers not to his liking,’ Eve replied.
It was late when Lucy and her parents finally returned home to Strathmore House. The Duke and Duchess of Strathmore’s family home was one of the largest houses in the elegant West End of London. It was close to the peaceful greenery of Hyde Park, and Lucy couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
As they came through the grand entrance to Strathmore House she was greeted by the sight of her eldest brother David seated on a low couch outside their father’s study. He was clad in a heavy black greatcoat and his hat was in his hand.
‘Hello, David; bit late for a visit this evening. I hope nothing is wrong,’ said Lord Strathmore.
‘Clarice?’ asked Lady Caroline.
‘She’s fine, sleeping soundly at home,’ he replied.
Lucy sensed the pride and love for his wife in her brother’s voice. He had found his true soulmate in Lord Langham’s daughter.
David stood and came over. When he reached them, he greeted his mother and sister with a kiss. His dark hair was a stark contrast to both Lady Caroline’s and Lucy’s fair complexions.
He turned to his father. ‘Lord Langham’s missing heir has been found, and the news is grave. My father-in-law asked that I come and inform you before it becomes public knowledge. A rather horrid business, by all accounts.’
‘I see. Ladies, would you please excuse us? This demands my immediate attention,’ Lord Strathmore said.
As Lucy and Lady Caroline headed up the grand staircase, he and David retired to his study. As soon as the door was closed behind them, David shared the news.
‘The remains of Thaxter Fox were retrieved from the River Fleet a few hours ago. His brother Avery, whom you met at my wedding ball a few weeks ago, has formally identified the body. Lord Langham is currently making funeral arrangements,’ David said.
His father shook his head. It was not an unexpected outcome of the search for the missing Thaxter Fox.
He wandered over to a small table and poured two glasses of whisky. He handed one to David.
‘Well, that makes for a new and interesting development. I don’t expect Avery Fox had ever entertained the notion before today that he would one day be Earl Langham,’ Lord Strathmore replied, before downing his drink.
‘Perhaps, but he had to know the likelihood of finding his brother in one piece was slim at best. From our enquiries, it was obvious Thaxter had a great many enemies,’ David replied.
‘Including you,’ said the duke.
David looked down at his gold wedding ring. It still bore the newlywed gleam, which made him smile.
‘He and I had come to a certain understanding. If he stayed away from Langham House and Clarice, I would not flay the skin off his back. No, someone else decided to make Thaxter pay for his evil ways.’
The Langham and Radley families held little affection for the recently deceased heir to the Langham title. After Thaxter had made an attempt to seize Clarice’s dowry through a forced marriage, both families had severed all ties. Thaxter had disappeared not long after.
David would do everything in his power to protect Clarice. With a baby on the way, he was fully prepared to stare down the rest of the
ton
if it meant keeping his wife safe. As the illegitimate, but acknowledged, son of the duke, David had overcome many of society’s prejudices in order to successfully woo and wed Lord Langham’s only daughter.
‘Unkind as it sounds, I doubt many at Langham House will be mourning the demise of the eldest Mr Fox,’ his father replied.
‘No.’
‘You have a visitor, Mr Fox,’ the Langham House butler announced.
Avery quickly rose from his seat. As he took the small, cream-coloured calling card from the silver tray, the butler scowled. He was clearly unused to his deliveries being met halfway.
‘Thank you very much,’ Avery said. The butler scowled once more.
The practice of never openly thanking staff sat uncomfortably with Avery. Was it any wonder the French had risen up and overthrown the ruling classes? While he couldn’t see such a bloody and violent uprising happening in peaceful, verdant England, it still left him considering which side he would be on if it ever came to revolution.
He didn’t feel he belonged among the
ton
. He doubted he ever would. While Lord Langham and his family had welcomed him cordially, Avery had a deep-seated suspicion that they were only showing their social faces to him. They certainly didn’t trust him. At no point during any of his visits to Langham House had he ever been left alone.
Oh Thaxter, what did you do to these people?
He looked at the elegantly printed card and smiled.
‘Send the major in, please.’
‘Major?’ Lord Langham asked.
‘Yes. Major Ian Barrett. He was my commanding officer in the 2nd Battalion, 95th Regiment of Foot. His family were most generous to me after I was wounded at Waterloo,’ Avery replied.
As soon as Ian Barrett entered the room, Avery stood stiffly to attention.
‘At ease, Fox; neither of us is in the army any longer,’ Ian said. He offered Avery his hand.
Ian turned to Lord Langham, and before Avery had a chance to make formal introductions, he reached out and gave the earl a hard slap on the shoulder.
‘Frosty!’ he laughed.
Lord Langham chuckled. ‘I’m never going to live that down, am I? How are you?’
Ian nodded. ‘Well. Though I hadn’t realised you and Avery were related.’
‘Only distantly; we were the last of the line when it came to suitable heirs,’ Avery found himself replying.
He immediately regretted his words when he saw the disapproving look on Ian’s face.
‘How is your brother?’ Lord Langham asked.
Ian screwed up his face.
‘Albert has his good days and his not-so-good ones. Unfortunately, the not-so-good ones appear to have become the norm.’
Avery recalled the odd occasion he had seen the Earl of Rokewood during the years he lived at Rokewood Park, the Barrett family estate in Northamptonshire. Usually it was just a glimpse of his back from another room, but he had once set eyes on the man properly. They had encountered one another late one night in the library at Rokewood Park.
The sunken, haunted eyes of the earl had drawn him in. Avery’s stammered apology for disturbing the house’s owner was met with the merest of nods from a man who carried himself as if he were made of glass.
Lord Langham turned to Avery. ‘I was at school with both Lord Rokewood and Ian. I spent a summer in my youth at Rokewood Park; marvellous place.’
Avery nodded. ‘Yes.’
Rokewood Park had been Avery’s salvation. He owed a lifelong debt to the Barrett family for taking a non-commissioned officer into their home. After the war, he had nowhere else to go. His own family home had long ceased to exist.
‘So what brings you to London, sir?’ Avery asked.
‘Oh, this and that. When I read the notice of your brother’s death in this morning’s papers, I thought I should come by and pay my respects. I assumed you would be in residence here. I am sorry for your loss, Avery,’ Ian replied.
Silence hung in the room for a moment. Ian knew enough of Avery’s traumatic childhood to know he would not be beside himself with grief. Lord Langham’s response was consistent with the social veil which everyone seemed to adopt when Thaxter’s name was mentioned.
Once the funeral was over, Avery intended to get to the bottom of his late brother’s life. To discover as many of his evil secrets as he could. Whatever damage Thaxter had done in the short time he had been Lord Langham’s heir, Avery was determined to make restitution. To restore something of his family’s name.
He stifled a snort. Why he should care for his father’s good name was beyond reason. His father and brother had cared little for him. He had no memory of his mother. Yet despite all these years estranged from his family, it mattered to him.
‘Thank you,’ he replied.
‘If you like, I will leave the two of you alone to catch up on old times. My son-in-law, David, will shortly be back from the city and he and I need to discuss business matters for an hour or so,’ the earl offered.
Lord Langham shook hands with Ian and left the room. Of course the earl would allow them time alone; Major Barrett would make certain nothing was stolen from the room while he was present.
‘Well, you have had an eventful few weeks since you left us, Avery,’ Ian said, taking a seat.
Eventful! More like a bloody nightmare.
‘Yes, I had thought to start to look for employment, but it looks like I will have my hands full in dealing with Thaxter’s legacy,’ he replied.
Ian sighed. ‘You always said he was a bad one. God rest his soul. Any idea as to what happened?’
Avery fiddled with the glove on his left hand. He wore it to hide the angry scars he had earned on the battlefield at Waterloo.
It had only been two days since the police had dragged Thaxter’s body out of the river, but already he was uncomfortable with the whole business of condolences. The sooner his brother was buried, the better.
‘From what I understand, my brother made a lot of enemies over the past few months. He ran up a significant amount of debt, which he was unable to repay,’ Avery replied.
The fact that Lord Langham had left his heir to the mercy of what appeared to be murderous debt collectors spoke volumes about how far Thaxter had become estranged from him. The Langham family had closed ranks against the outsider and left him to his fate.
Earl Langham’s nephew Rupert, his original heir, had died the previous summer, and after a long search Thaxter Fox had been discovered as the next in line to inherit the title. With Thaxter now also dead, Avery stood in his brother’s place as heir to the title and fortune. He dreaded the day someone would bow and call him Lord Langham.
‘Nasty business, but it appears Fate has once more stepped in and given you a position with honour,’ Ian said.
Avery shook his head.
As he saw things, there was no chance of him ever restoring his personal honour. He had killed another man and personally gained from it. From that place, no man could return.
Ian shifted in his chair. ‘You cannot blame yourself for what happened. It was war. Many things happened on the battlefield that day; you should have no regrets. It was either you or that Frenchman. You served your king and country and that is all for which you need to account.’
Avery sighed; he and Ian Barrett had had the same argument countless times over the past two years, never once coming to agreement.
‘Will you come to the funeral? It would be nice to have at least one familiar face at the church,’ Avery asked.
Ian Barrett nodded. ‘Of course.’
Avery looked around at the gathered mourners. Apart from Lord Langham, he knew only a handful of people.
Lord Langham’s mother, the dowager Countess Langham, had cried off from the funeral, citing trouble with her leg and a terrible headache. During his visits to Langham House, Lady Alice had barely acknowledged him.
Standing on the front steps of St James Church, Piccadilly, he could hear the whispers and murmurs of those assembled around him. There was not a tear to be seen among the mourners.
Fifteen years and it was clear that his brother had not developed the ability to cultivate close friends.
I should not think ill of the dead, but nothing changes, does it, Thaxter? You always were a nasty piece of work.
‘Mr Fox?’
He turned at the sound of his name and found himself staring at the fair-haired beauty he had briefly met at David and Clarice Radley’s wedding ball several weeks earlier: David’s sister, Lady Lucy Radley.
‘Lady Lucy. How good of you to come,’ he replied.
She offered him her hand and gave him a sad smile.
‘I am truly sorry for the loss of your brother. A most distressing situation.’
He looked into her pale blue eyes, surprised that she appeared to be genuine in her concern for him. He found himself momentarily speechless.
On the way from his lodgings on Black Prince Road to Langham House he had practised his social face. The one where you were able to speak, but not show emotion. He had noted its widespread use at most social functions he had recently attended, and was beginning to understand its usefulness.
Lady Lucy was, however, a different story altogether. Her expression was one of fresh, open honesty. Her natural smile evoked an unexpected response: he longed to reach out and tenderly touch her face.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually shared a genuine emotion or truthful conversation with another person. His years in the army had begun and ended on a lie.
The rest of the Duke of Strathmore’s family paid their respects and they all slowly filed into the tall grey church. He noted with interest that Lucy Radley sat in the same pew as him, just to the left of Lord Langham.
Much as he had detested his brother throughout the long years of their alienation, he was surprised to find this act of solidarity to be a source of comfort. Lord Langham clearly felt duty-bound to show his support to his new heir, but Lady Lucy wasn’t bound by such social strictures. She was simply being kind.
The Radleys were only recently linked to him, by the marriage of the duke’s illegitimate son David to Lady Clarice Langham. Of all the members of London society to whom he had been introduced, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the Radley family.
He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The first three of the dark oak pews of the church were full, but the rest of St James was empty. Across the aisle, he could see that a number of Lord Langham’s household staff were present.
Making up the numbers
.
The final family members to arrive were the recently wed David and Clarice Radley. Lady Clarice wore a dark blue gown with a black rose pinned to the front. Her husband, also clad in blue, wore a matching black armband.
Avery frowned. Had things changed so much in England that no one wore black to a funeral, even the members of the deceased’s family?
Clarice smiled at him as she took a seat in the front pew next to Lucy. David reached over and shook Avery’s hand.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Avery said.
As the priest began the funeral service, Avery kept his mind diverted by staring at the stained-glass window high above the altar. The image of St James in his layered crimson robes, holding a staff, stared down benevolently at him. It was odd that he felt at home in this place, as he couldn’t remember the last time he had been inside a church.
From where she sat in the front pew, Lucy stole the occasional glance at Avery Fox. His hair, which she decided was on the light side of sable, had been flattened by his hat. The offending hat sat next to him on the seat. Inwardly she smiled. The men of her social class all knew to give their hair a ruffle after removing their hats, but Mr Fox, it would appear, was not used to the custom. It was an awkwardness she found charming.
She also noted the pair of black leather gloves Avery wore. Casting her mind back to their first meeting at her brother’s wedding ball, she recalled that Avery had worn only one glove that night, on his left hand. She had made discreet enquiries with Clarice as to this odd habit.
‘He was injured during the final onslaught at Waterloo. I haven’t seen his hand, but I expect he keeps it covered so as not to show the scars. Papa tells me they are quite unsightly,’ Clarice said.
She looked up and saw Avery’s gaze was fixed upon her. For a moment she was captivated by his emerald-green eyes. He blinked. It was a simple action, but it had an immediate effect on her. A flush of red heat filled her cheeks and she quickly moved back in her seat, her heart racing.
She sat and pondered her unexpected response to a simple blink. Had she lowered herself to the level of flirting at a funeral?
I can’t be that desperate to capture a man’s attention, can I?
Ashamed of herself, she made certain for the rest of the service that she sat so as to keep Avery blocked from her view. Lord Langham, seated between them, fortunately did not appear to have noticed anything was amiss.
After the service Thaxter Fox was buried in the small church graveyard. The bells tolled out the number of years of Thaxter’s life: thirty-one. Silence finally descended on the graveyard as the death knell came to an end.
Standing beside the grave, along with the other male mourners, Avery pondered his rapidly changing circumstances.
After visiting the undertakers to formally identify Thaxter’s body, the earl had taken Avery back to Langham House. Thereafter followed a long evening of whisky and toasts to dearly departed friends. Sipping the finest Scottish malt whisky, Avery had forced himself to show the outward signs of grief for his brother.
If he were honest, there were a dozen men he had grieved over more than Thaxter. Old pains and injustices could not be overcome through the simple act of dying. He, for one, could never forgive his brother.
Lord Langham cleared his throat at the graveside.
‘I trust you will understand why my family will not be going into full mourning with you, Avery. We buried my wife some three years past and while I came out of mourning a year or so ago, Clarice has only recently begun to wear colours again. I will not ask it of her to wear blacks again so soon. David has agreed that the men of the family shall wear black armbands for a month, and Clarice shall wear a black rose pinned to her dress. I trust that meets with your approval,’ Lord Langham said.
Avery looked down at his own set of mourning clothes. David had kindly lent him a black suit and it fitted him surprisingly well. He stifled a wry grin: black was his favourite colour; he could wear it every day and not be concerned. He certainly didn’t miss the rough wool of his old green regimental uniform and its very uncomfortable high hat.
