Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
“ G ood morning, Witmore,” said Lady Annabelle Elkins cheerfully. She had a slight skip in her step as she walked from her coach to the entrance of Heartwick Hall in the May sunshine, her maid by her side. “How lovely the house looks at this time of year! I am so glad to be here again.”
Short and curvaceous, with lively blue eyes and a mass of strawberry-blonde curls that had been pinned earlier that morning but were now escaping from beneath her bonnet, Lady Annabelle looked exactly like what she was: a good-tempered young woman of appealing aspect but slightly younger in personality than years.
The usually staid butler looked bewildered and disgruntled as he came down the steps to meet the two women. He nodded at Annabelle’s remark and directed two footmen to the coach to collect the baggage. Annabelle had interrupted him while he was exchanging tense words with other servants but had been unable to make out what was being said.
Nonetheless, Heartwick Hall did indeed look quite beautiful. The clematis and wisteria were both coming into bloom around the front door, and some of the potted plants that the Dowager Duchess tended so carefully with her own hands were also beginning to sprout. There was no need for Annabelle to concern herself with what was likely only a squabble among the staff.
But where was the Dowager Duchess?
“Is the Dowager Duchess indisposed?” Annabelle wondered aloud, looking around the front of the house with a frown. “I hope she does not have that awful cough that is going around the Ton. My mother was quite ill for two full weeks, and we feared what would happen if the contagion spread to Father.”
There had always been someone to greet her during her previous visits. Before marriage to the Duke of Walden, it would have been her friend Penelope, but the Dowager Duchess was also usually present, smiling gently in the background, wearing the muted clothing of an extended widowhood. Penelope was now the mistress of Walden Towers and about to embark on the great adventure of motherhood.
Witmore shook his head gravely, still appearing rather displeased. He made Annabelle feel like a naughty child who had trespassed in a forbidden orchard or shed.
“The Dowager Duchess is visiting the Duke and Duchess of Walden.”
“Oh!” Annabelle said incredulously, halting on the steps. “But the Duke of Heartwick and my brother arranged for me to stay here while my family is away. I believed the Dowager Duchess was expecting me today. I do not understand…”
Annabelle did not know what to do in the absence of her host or hostess. Should she go inside? Should she return home, which was more than an hour’s ride away? The latter was likely not an option. Aside from a skeleton staff, their servants would be gone, either accompanying her family or taking their own holidays.
“Your arrival was certainly expected but not for at least another week, Your Ladyship,” Witmore said tersely as he caught the eye of a junior footman. “We shall make all necessary arrangements with your rooms. Gordons! Go and inform Mrs. Kimble of Lady Annabelle’s early arrival.”
The youth scurried away to alert Mrs. Kimble, the housekeeper at Heartwick Hall.
“But Frederick must be home,” Annabelle commented, noting another small carriage tucked around the side of the house rather than in the carriage-house, as though ready for a quick getaway. “I see he has a visitor.”
“The Duke has many acquaintances,” Witmore responded cryptically, leading the two women into the house. “I could not say who is presently calling. Do make yourself comfortable in the drawing room, Your Ladyship. If your maid speaks with Mrs. Kimble, she will advise on your rooms.”
Annabelle was completely taken aback. She felt like an unwelcome trespasser, and an unwise one too. The Dowager Duchess was absent, and the Duke had an unknown caller about whom Witmore was either unable or unwilling to speak. Stephen would have never sent her here under such circumstances. This was not the usual warm welcome guests received at Heartwick Hall.
What on earth had gone wrong?
“A letter was definitely sent ahead last Tuesday to confirm that I would be arriving today,” she told the butler, in case he thought she had deliberately—and rudely—arrived without prior notice. “If the timing of my visit was deemed inconvenient, the Dowager Duchess or the Duke would have written back. It must have been lost. How vexing! Stephen will be most displeased with the messenger when I inform him of the mishap.”
At these words, Myrtle, Annabelle’s elderly but much-loved maid, gave a nervous cough and grabbed her young mistress’s arm, bringing them to a standstill in the hallway.
“Oh, My Lady, this is all my fault,” the poor woman said with some distress, holding out a slightly creased letter with unsteady fingers. “I was meant to give this to the messenger last week, was I not? But here it is, still in my pocket. Mr. Witmore, I must apologize to you, and the Duke and the Dowager Duchess. What a foolish old woman I am to cause such problems!”
Annabelle patted the maid’s hand sympathetically. Myrtle was becoming increasingly forgetful in her old age, but she had served the Elkins family faithfully for more than forty years, and Annabelle could not be truly angry with her. Nor did Witmore choose to take issue with the innocent error, to Annabelle’s relief.
“Our staff is perfectly capable of accommodating Her Ladyship and yourself today,” he said to the distressed maid. “The Duke and Dowager Duchess will not be inconvenienced.”
“Indeed, it is as Witmore says,” Annabelle agreed. “The Duke will not give a fig if I am here today, tomorrow, or next week, will he? He has his own life. As for the Dowager Duchess, if we write and tell her of the mix-up, perhaps she will come home straight away. Yes, it can all be ironed out, and we will not even need to tell Stephen…”
“You are both kind to an old woman,” sighed Myrtle. “But I am ashamed to have caused such a breach in etiquette, in the home of a duke, no less. I would never have led a young lady into such a tangle twenty years ago.”
“Really, Myrtle. Frederick might be a duke, but he’s still just… Frederick,” Annabelle continued to reassure her as they entered the drawing room, despite feeling uneasy herself. “From everything I hear around the Ton, he is the last man in the world to value propriety for its own sake. Some people even call him?—”
She bit her tongue before she could call her friend’s older brother a rake in front of his own staff, remembering injunctions from both her mother and Stephen about avoiding indiscretion and showing good manners.
Thankfully, Witmore had not entered the room with them and stood expressionlessly in the doorway, as though he had not overheard her words to Myrtle.
“Allow me to escort you to Mrs. Kimble, Mrs. Muggins,” said the butler smoothly. “Tea and cake will be brought in shortly, Your Ladyship.”
“Will Frederick and his other guest join me?” Annabelle queried as Myrtle followed Witmore out of the room.
Witmore’s face was inscrutable as he turned back to answer.
“The Duke is not to be disturbed this morning, Your Ladyship. If the Dowager Duchess were here, she might suggest a walk in the gardens after you have rested, or perhaps you might like to make use of the library or the music room.”
“Thank you, Witmore,” Annabelle replied, feeling more lost and unsure than ever as the door closed behind the two servants and she sat down to await her solitary morning refreshments.
When it arrived, the tea and cakes were as fresh and tasty as they always were at Heartwick Hall, although Annabelle found that she did not enjoy them as much without the company of Penelope and the Dowager Duchess. Even the Duke of Heartwick’s loitering about the room with his mercilessly teasing remarks would have been better than the silence, which was broken only by the ticking of the clock.
Some in Society might call him a rake, but that was never the persona that he showed to Penelope or Annabelle.
“Is the Duke still with his other guest?” Annabelle asked the young maid who came in an hour later to collect the tea tray.
“I would not know, Your Ladyship,” said the mousy girl quietly without raising her eyes. “Can I get you anything else?”
“You surely must have some idea,” pressed Annabelle, but the young woman only shook her head.
“Mr. Witmore and Mrs. Kimble have ordered me to keep to the main rooms downstairs when the Duke has personal guests and not ask any questions. I do as I am told, Your Ladyship.”
“You do not even know who he is? The other guest, I mean.”
Annabelle sighed in frustration as the young girl again shook her head without raising her gaze.
Like Witmore, the little maid’s attitude was decidedly odd, and it put Annabelle further on edge.
“Never mind. You may take the tray back to the kitchen.”
As the girl scuttled away, Annabelle felt another pang of uncertainty in her gut and wished that her brother had not sent her to Heartwick.
Without the Dowager Duchess in residence, he would never have done so. Frederick might be a family friend, but he was also a notorious rake. A man as proud of his family’s reputation as Stephen would never allow his sister to remain alone under the Duke of Heartwick’s roof for a single night.
If Stephen found out about the mix-up, he would likely rush all the way back from Norfolk. He might even fire poor Myrtle for her part in the confusion. Annabelle hoped that Frederick would realize that it was imperative that the Dowager Duchess return immediately and send her an express message.
It was unfortunate that so many other close friends and family were out of town, ill, or expecting babies. Of the wider options, Stephen had already dismissed the possibility of Annabelle staying in a hotel, even with Myrtle. It would have been fun to visit Victoria Crawford, who was presently residing with her cousins in London.
Despite their contrasting personalities, Annabelle and Victoria had become good friends since Maxwell married Penelope. Stephen, however, was only slightly less dubious about the propriety of Annabelle staying with another young woman in London than he had been about the hotel idea.
Her brother could be such a stick-in-the-mud about his principles, like a man twice his age.
Stephen had settled on Annabelle staying at Heartwick Hall and instructed her to obey Frederick and follow his guidance throughout the Season in Stephen’s stead. She wondered if Frederick would be as strict as her brother or more permissive, given his own habits. She hoped for the latter.
Well, whatever position the Duke of Heartwick takes, and however this present confusion is resolved, this year I have my own goal, and no one is going to stop me from achieving it.
“Not even you, Frederick!” she stated aloud, starting slightly as the clock struck twelve.
Noon. And still no sign of Frederick. He must be aware of my presence by now, mustn’t he? It is quite rude of him not to acknowledge my arrival.
She thought again of the small carriage around the side of the house. Had Frederick been drinking with a friend until late and was still sleeping it off?
Annabelle briefly wished that Frederick and his friend suffered the terrible headaches and indigestions they deserved but then immediately felt remorse. What if Frederick had fallen and hit his head?
She recalled last year’s appalling events at Huntingdon Manor—a story only gradually revealed after the wicked Lord Silverbrook had fallen drunkenly down the stairs while attempting to assault Penelope. The Duke of Walden had luckily witnessed the scene and managed its consequences.
Annabelle reassured herself that the staff would have found Frederick if he had fallen down the stairs. Still, he could have stumbled inside his room and hit his head on the solid oak furniture. He might be bleeding, unconscious or too weak to call for help. The possibility of Frederick being injured plagued her thoughts.
Fraught with worry, Annabelle left the drawing room and ran upstairs. She fondly recalled how she and Penelope had taunted thirteen-year-old Frederick in the early mornings by knocking on his door and running away when they were little girls. He had shouted and chased them down the corridor.
Would Frederick be equally cross today if Annabelle woke him up? She would not run away now, of course. It would not bother her if he were angry, because it would prove he wasn’t sick or injured. It would serve him right to be disturbed. It was far too late to be lying in bed, and she needed him to send an urgent message to the Dowager Duchess.
Feeling bold and justified, she marched up to the next floor and walked down the corridor to Frederick’s bedroom.
Standing outside the door, she raised her hand to knock but froze as a strange and rather animalistic sound came from inside the room. The moan was almost one of pain, but with some peculiar quality that Annabelle could not identify, and the voice did not sound like Frederick’s. But who else could it be in his bedroom? Perhaps he really was injured and unable to speak properly!
“Frederick!” Annabelle called out in a panic, grabbing the door handle and turning it before she knew what she was doing. “Are you hurt? Frederick?!”
If her limbs had frozen a few moments earlier, now her very blood seemed to have turned to ice at the sight that met her eyes.
Frederick was here. Frederick was well. Frederick was also half-naked, kneeling on the floor between the thighs of an equally half-naked woman, spreadeagled on the bed with her hands tangled in his blond hair.
Good God, what was this?!
Shocked to the core, she could only stand there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as the woman retreated swiftly under the bedclothes and Frederick stood and turned to face her.
Bare-chested and barefoot, he stood before her wearing only his under-breeches. Annabelle felt her face flame as hot as a bonfire at the sight of his bare limbs and the indelicate situation in which she had found him. At such close quarters and in such a state of undress, there was no disputing that Penelope’s elder brother was a handsome, well-built man.
Frederick had the long, lean limbs of an athlete, likely thanks to his love of riding and other sports, which balanced out his drinking and carousing. The golden hair on his head also glinted on his strong forearms and chest, running all the way down to his navel. He looked like a young Greek god from her old storybooks.
The expression on his face made her swallow. Flushed and slightly wild beneath his tousled hair, his blue eyes were surprised but oddly fierce, as though he had been interrupted in the middle of a fight rather than… whatever this was.
His gaze sent a strange fire through Annabelle’s veins that melted the ice and jolted a good dose of indignance and bemusement in her stomach.
What on earth had he been doing to that woman, and why had she allowed it?
What Annabelle had witnessed did not match her limited understanding of intimacy. The one thing she was sure of was that it was highly improper.
Finally regaining control of her legs, Annabelle turned on her heel and ran out of the room.
“Annabelle?!” Frederick called after her, his voice rougher than usual. “Annabelle!”
“There you are, My Lady!” exclaimed Myrtle as Annabelle nearly collided with her on the landing that led back to the main staircase. “I went to the drawing room to tell you that your room is ready, but you were gone. We thought you must be taking a turn in the garden.”
“I must go to my room, Myrtle,” Annabelle said, slightly breathless after her flight from Frederick’s bedroom.
“Of course. You will be wanting to change out of your travel dress before luncheon, will you not?”
“Yes. That is it. I must change,” Annabelle gabbled. “I must be decently dressed for luncheon, mustn’t I?”
“I will lay out the sprigged muslin dress, shall I? Or the blue poplin one?”
“You have done enough, Myrtle. Go and take some rest. I shall change my own dress.”
“Are you sure, My Lady?” said the maid a little doubtfully, although Annabelle knew that Myrtle would appreciate any opportunity to rest.
“Please, Myrtle. I am quite sure. I know how hard travel is on your rheumatism.”
As soon as the old woman agreed and went back downstairs, Annabelle entered her room and closed the door before leaning back against it and dropping her head into her hands.
Why did she have to witness such a scene? And what had she even witnessed?
Her confused mind replayed the strange sounds and the sight of Frederick’s semi-naked body rising from the ground, his face flushed, and his eyes fixed on her. Strangely, she could barely remember the other woman, only her nakedness and posture. The memory of Frederick speaking her name made her tremble.
A few minutes later, the sound of carriage wheels caused Annabelle to fly to the window, half wondering if the Dowager Duchess had returned. She shook her head at the thought. Frederick had certainly not sent a message, and the Dowager Duchess could not have made the two-hour journey from Walden Towers so quickly.
The small open carriage was departing Heartwick Hall, not arriving, and it carried a single passenger whose face was well hidden under a hat and veil, although Annabelle could detect blonde hair underneath the disguise.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve-thirty. With growing horror, Annabelle realized that, in half an hour, she would have to sit across from Frederick at the lunch table. She would have to pretend she had seen nothing and speak of relatives, parties, and mutual friends as though everything was perfectly normal. Her stomach clenched painfully at the thought.
The Duke of Heartwick might have the face and body of an angel, but he was certainly not one of their numbers. Annabelle realized that she had finally seen him as other women presumably did: a highly desirable but dissolute man.
She angrily paced the room, unable to push the unwanted sounds and images out of her head. No wonder Witmore and Mrs. Kimble would not let the young maids venture far when the Duke had company. Did the Dowager Duchess have any idea what shenanigans he had been up to under her nose?
At that moment, the unlocked door suddenly opened. Frederick stepped inside and closed it behind him.
“I did not invite you in!” Annabelle squeaked, noticing that while he had thrown on trousers and a shirt, he had not yet fastened the latter. Her gaze was once again inexorably drawn to his torso.
“That cuts both ways, Lady Annabelle, does it not?” he replied pointedly, sparking a self-conscious blush as she recalled her intrusion. “I believe we must both dispense with such niceties today. We must discuss our… encounter, and it is best to do so privately, given the circumstances.”
“How dare you conduct yourself in such a vile manner! Especially when you have a guest. My brother would be utterly scandalized if he knew what was going on in this house,” she berated him from across the room, stopping beside the window, as far away from him as possible. “Does the Dowager Duchess know about your flagrant cavorting in broad daylight?”
“I am sorry you had to see that, Annabelle,” he said as he fastened his shirt and tucked it in. “But do not exaggerate matters. My friend has left. You will not meet her again. There is no need to upset either of our families.”
“If you were capable of being sorry, you would not do such things in the first place. You are shameless and indecent and—and…”
Annabelle paused, searching for words, conscious that Frederick was regarding her with folded arms and an amused smile.
“You speak of things you do not yet understand, little Annabelle,” he said, as though she were still a girl rather than a young woman.
“And you need to brush your hair!” she threw back at him, matching words with actions as she picked up a brush from the nearby dressing table and hurled it at him. “You utter rake! I cannot believe Stephen has left me here with you.”
Lightning-fast, Frederick reached out his hand and caught the offending brush before it could strike him. His expression became serious.
The ferocity of her anger caught her off-guard. While she had a right to be upset and pass judgment on such flagrant misbehavior, throwing things crossed the line. Maybe she was too angry for her own good, but her shock at seeing the dark side of Frederick’s character had been overwhelming.
Where is the teasing, irreverent, light-hearted Frederick I know? He is certainly not in the room with me now.
The Duke walked over to the dressing table and carefully placed the hairbrush beside the other toilette tools.
“I cannot apologize for what I am, Annabelle,” he said. “I am only sorry that you had to see what you saw. You have always been Penelope’s friend, and you are always welcome at Heartwick Hall, but you know that I am not Penelope, nor am I one of your other lady friends. I am a man, and you must remember that. My bedroom is off limits to you.”
Frederick was now standing so close to her that she could smell the faint scent of his skin—a combination of fading cologne and fresh sweat. He had evidently not yet taken the trouble to bathe after his exertions.
Annabelle might have run past him and out of the room if it had not been for the suspicion that he would seize hold of her and make her listen to him. She swallowed hard and then found her voice.
“I understand perfectly. A respectable lady should never be friends with a rake. We need never speak of this morning, or your so-called friend, again, Your Grace. If I encounter other ‘friends’, I shall look the other way.”
Already rather steely, Frederick’s blue eyes hardened further at her declaration.
“I have promised your family that I will keep you safe at Heartwick Hall, and I shall do so, Annabelle. I will bring no other women to the estate while you are here. You were not expected to arrive until next week. That was why I was using the opportunity earlier. Do you understand?”
While the sternness of his voice and gaze slightly unnerved her, his words touched her in some strange way. He would never have deliberately brought another woman into the house while Annabelle was here. Did that mean he respected her? Liked her? In any event, he had made it very clear that he intended to look after her.
Part of her wanted to smile at him, to see his face melt into its usual lighthearted if somewhat provoking expression. Perhaps they could one day laugh at their awkward encounter. Annabelle shivered as she recalled what she had seen in his bedroom.
No, I could never laugh at that with Frederick. It was all so disturbing.
“I understand, Your Grace,” she said primly, deliberately abandoning his first name. “You will do your duty, and I will keep my mouth shut about your liaisons. Your private life is none of my business.”
“Annabelle,” Frederick said crossly, looking directly into her eyes with an expression that evoked some kind of danger. “Are you actually trying to provoke me this morning?”
“I…”
She stopped, feeling on increasingly uncertain ground. Provoke him? What did he mean?
“If you are, I suggest you cease immediately,” he continued before she could think of a witty or cutting retort. “For your own good as well as mine. We will talk further during lunch. There are more consequential issues in this house than your naivete.”
With those words, the Duke turned on his heel and left the room.
As the door closed behind him, Annabelle realized that her whole body was trembling.