Falling for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  Robert had given up trying to figure out why she’d brought him into it. He’d let her go once and waited for her. He would have let her go again if he’d known that’s what she wanted. Why go to all the trouble of creating an injurious tale? She’d made more than a mess of things for him.

  Did the ruse have to do with getting Hempstead to notice her as a romantic possibility? Robert hadn’t known her to be so ambitious. Or so scheming. She’d been away for three years, true, but she was so changed he felt he barely know her anymore. He could only attribute the change in her to the shock of losing her mother.

  The carriage arrived at Regent Street and came to an abrupt stop. Dan hopped down to open the door for him. “I came back by the back route, My Lord, I thought you’d prefer it that way.”

  “Yes. Very good, Dan. Thank you.” Robert jumped down and made his way through the door in the wall dividing the mews from the garden. He walked along the passage towards the anterior of the house and entered through the area instead of going to the front door.

  He bounded up four flights of the servants’ stairs, went to his bedchamber, flung open the door, and fell upon the bed. He pulled a pillow over his head to shut out the light. He wanted to disappear.

  “I hope you intend to stay around the house and not be seen. I thought you were still in the country.”

  Startled, Lord Robert removed the cushion and opened his eyes to view his brother. James appeared smug and satisfied sitting in a chair in the corner of the room.

  “What do you mean by that? There have been two elopements and the birth of a baby, four months after the wedding, since I’ve been at Hempstead. Surely, the talk about me has died down. I don’t expect to remain Lady Gossip’s favourite.”

  “Listen Robert, and listen carefully. What I mean is I don’t want to see you at any of the places I frequent. I mean I don’t want you to accompany me anywhere. I mean stay away from me. Far away. Your scandal far outweighs any our Regent sovereign could be embroiled in. I’d say that’s what has put you in Lady Gossip’s top spot.”

  “Look here, James. I won’t sit near you at a luncheon or dinner we might both attend. I won’t acknowledge you anywhere. I won’t even look at you. But you cannot keep me from the pleasure of watching the faces of my naysayers when I show up at some of the private balls. You know I’ll be invited to all of them. Scandal or no. In fact, there’s a good chance I’ll be invited precisely because of the reason I’m allegedly involved in some wicked doings. It’s part of the hypocritical nature of things. I might as well get some fun out of the situation.”

  “Suit yourself, but I will not acknowledge you.”

  “So you’ll be a liar and a hypocrite yourself My Lord? You will speak to me here, in our father’s home, but ignore my presence in everyone else’s?”

  Lord James said nothing.

  You have my word, dear brother. You will not even know I’m ... wherever we happen to mutually be.” Lord Robert threw his head back and laughed. He heard the bedroom door slam and shrugged, pulling his watch fob from his waistcoat. He had time for a nap before the ball tonight.

  *******

  It had been weeks, but Lady Phoebe Sinclair still hoped to see the man from the bridge. It appeared he’d been headed to the country, but she’d had no idea where. She’d confided this to her maid, Mary, but the maid knew of no gentleman who rode in an unmarked carriage.

  And then Phoebe had come down with the typhus. She’d been ill for a solid month and hadn’t been to a social outing in weeks.

  “Do you think he’ll be at the ball tonight, My Lady?” Mary was busy flourishing the curl iron to produce ringlets in Lady Phoebe’s hair. “How delightful if he were to ask you to dance.”

  “I don’t know.” Phoebe had a faraway look in her eyes. “I hope so. How will I ever make his acquaintance if he’s not somewhere I go? Except for Lord Thomas Radcliffe, I don’t have the acquaintance of many young men in London. Four years away at boarding school, then two living in Paris. Oh dear, Mary. Maybe the man from the bridge has been in London while I lived in Paris, and now he’s moved to back to France!”

  The two young women erupted into peals of laughter, and when they came back to themselves, Mary went to the clothes press. She opened the doors and looked over her shoulder at Phoebe.

  “What will you wear tonight, My Lady?”

  “The white silk. I want simplicity, something that makes me look like I’m floating when I dance. It’s vain I know, but alas Mary, I’m very vain!” They erupted into more laughter.

  “You’ll look like an angel from Heaven, My Lady.” Mary removed the garment from its resting place and assisted her mistress in dressing.

  Lady Phoebe examined herself in the glass. “You’ve done a wonderful job with my hair, Mary. I’m leaving it as it is. No ornaments. I always feel so beautiful when you dress me,” she said with a smile.

  Mary was more like a sister to Phoebe than her maid. She’d often wondered how she could boost Mary into society, at least the gentry. Phoebe would have to set up an advantageous marriage for her friend. Something that would raise Mary up from the working class she existed in. Still, it was not usual for a fashionable young man to look in the direction of a lady’s maid unless he was looking for one thing only.

  “You look lovely, My Lady. I’ll tell Peter to get the carriage.”

  “Oh, that won’t be necessary, but thank you, Mary. Lord Thomas Radcliffe is escorting me this evening.”

  “Ooh. My Lady. Lord Thomas is handsome, indeed.”

  Lady Phoebe giggled. “It’s not like that Mary. We grew up together although we lost touch for a while when I was away at boarding school. Then I came back to London and left less than a year later to live in Paris. Lord Thomas and I are comfortable friends.”

  “Rather like a long married couple, My Lady?”

  “Rather not.” Lady Phoebe winked at her maid. “More like sister and brother.”

  Phoebe exited the room and walked to the end of the hall. She descended the grand staircase of the townhouse she lived in with her father, Duke Carlisle. Within minutes, Lord Thomas had come to the door to collect her. He flashed Mary a smile, and soon Phoebe and he were in his curricle heading to their destination.

  They shared small talk about the weather, if the waltz or the quadrille was more fun, and wagered on how many turbans and ostrich feathers would occupy the ballroom. They pulled up to Hudson House, in the middle of London, and went inside. Some guests were dancing already, while others gathered in small groups talking and laughing, and still others were enjoying the gardens behind the mansion. They were announced to the host and hostess then ventured into the ballroom.

  Lord Thomas handed Phoebe a glass of ratafia and turned his head to speak to some friends for a moment. Phoebe perused the ballroom looking for friends and acquaintances.

  Her eyes stopped when they peered through the doorway to her right. There, her eyes rested on a man tarrying in the drawing room. He was standing close to the fireplace leaning against the mantle. He was partially facing away from her, but something about the fine quality of his posture was familiar to her.

  Thomas turned back to Phoebe after making plans that were to unfold at Brooks’s later in the night. Following Phoebe’s gaze, he grinned, “Oh, wonderful. It’s Lord Robert.”

  “Lord Robert?”

  “Yes, come along my dear Lady Phoebe. Do I have your permission to introduce someone to you?” Lord Thomas propelled her along until they were in the drawing room standing next to Robert. He appeared to be lost in thought as he stared into the fire.

  Thomas nudged his friend, and Robert glanced up from the flames. “Tom.”

  “Hello, Lord Robert. I have someone I’d like to present to you. Lady Phoebe, may I introduce to you, Lord Robert Weston.” He stood back and watched the eyes of Phoebe and Robert meet.

  With a shock, Phoebe realized this was the man from the carriage on the bridge. She meekly smiled, and Lord Robert bowed to her. They c
ontinued looking into each other’s eyes. She felt sure he must remember her from the bridge.

  “I suppose I’ll go and find some refreshment,” Lord Thomas said backing away from the couple.

  The two stood as if in a secret, invisible column of light devoid of time, locked in an embrace of the eyes, unmoving.

  Robert, seeming to pull himself out of a trance, spoke to her, quietly. “Would you care to dance, Lady Phoebe?”

  “I would sir.” Phoebe’s heart pounded. Did he not hear? She placed her empty glass on a side table with shaking hands and took his arm. They stepped into the ballroom.

  The giant gaslight chandelier twinkled magically over the dancers making them appear as glowing beings, and when the music stopped, Lady Phoebe was engulfed in a cacophony of requests to dance. For the rest of the evening she was paired up with this one and that one, never lacking for a dance partner, and engaging in endless chit chat about nothing. She tried to enjoy herself, but her eyes insisted on scanning the room ... looking. Searching for the man from the carriage. Lord Robert. That’s what Tom had said his name was. Lord Robert Weston.

  *******

  Robert should have left Hudson House immediately after dancing with Lady Phoebe. The glares he’d received from just about everyone in the ballroom were enough to frighten even him back to the countryside. It had been much less enjoyable to observe the ton’s disdain than he’d anticipated.

  So, when Lady Judith made her entrance with his brother, the Marquess Hempstead, Robert knew it was time to make his exit. Apparently, allegedly leaving one’s betrothed held more weight on the scales of gossip than underage elopement or children born just this side of legitimacy.

  He’d hurried out through the servants’ entrance off the kitchen. Dan was waiting for him in the unmarked carriage. Robert alerted the driver on where they were going, and in no time they were on the road that led to the country. Robert was escaping the sort of contempt he’d thought was particular only in his home. His mind circled back in time as the carriage swayed. Back to his fifteenth birthday.

  *******

  “Robert, is it you?”

  “Yes, Mama. It’s me.” He’d knelt down at her bedside. The baby she’d birthed, after five prior miscarriages, had been stillborn. Her body had sustained a fever, and it was only a matter of time before her soul would vacate it. The only recourse for her pain, emotional and physical, had been the attempts of the staff and her younger son to alleviate her suffering.

  “Ah, my boy. Come close.” She placed a hot hand on his cheek. “I’ve something to tell you. Something you must know, love.”

  “Yes, Mother?”

  “You, you must never speak of it to anyone. Do you understand?” She closed her eyes. The effort to speak had been great. Robert waited patiently for her to continue.

  Finally, she’d opened her large, sherry coloured eyes made larger by the contrast of her scorched, white flesh. “Closer, child,” she’d whispered. “You must know this about yourself. And about your father.”

  Robert had sat back then and lifted himself up to sit on the side of his mother’s bed. “Shh. Mama. Rest. There’s no need to speak of my father and me. Not now. We’ll talk of it when you’re well.”

  She’d smiled. A wan, sad, soft reflection of the flashing grin she’d been nearly famous for since she’d been presented at court seventeen years prior. At eighteen, with a fortune behind her to match her beauty, she would have been quite the catch for any man wishing to strengthen his position within the ton. Her father had been a Duke. And she’d been married off, on her eighteenth birthday, to his gambling partner’s first son, who would, himself, be a Duke one day. Lord John Weston, the Marquess of Hempstead.

  The Marquess had been dashing and handsome then and, also, quite the catch. But after meeting Lady Sophia, he’d fallen in love with her at first sight. By all accounts, it had become his mission to ingratiate himself with her. He’d shown that he was beside himself at the good fortune which had united her life with his.

  “No, we, we must speak now, my son.” She opened her eyes and gave him the same sad look. “My Robert. I owe you a great debt. I am so very sorry.”

  “Mama, you owe me no debt. There’s nothing for you to say you’re sorry about. You owe me nothing. Mother, please. Don’t talk that way.”

  The Duchess had shaken her head against the damp pillow. “You must heed my words, child. You are made from love. It’s why your father has always misunderstood you.”

  “What are you saying, Mother?” She must be delirious. “Let me call the doctor.”

  “Shhh. When I married your father, I … I was in love. With another. And he was in love with me. He worked for the family of a dear friend of mine.” Sophia closed her eyes to rest for a moment.

  Robert was beginning to experience a roiling in his stomach. He was suddenly nervous about something other than the imminent death of his mother. He waited for her to gather some strength.

  She opened her eyes once more. “I … I’ve been a good wife, Robert. I did my duty by my husband. I lived by the rules of the life I was born into.”

  “Mother, lie still.” Robert wrung the head cloth out in cool water and replaced it on his mother’s brow. “You must rest. Please.”

  “No, you must listen.” Her small, withered hand reached for his. “I cared for your father, Robert. You must believe that. I am not a … a bad woman. I am not a … a harlot.”

  She must surely be delirious, voicing fears and regrets about a life spent in service to her family’s place in society. “Mama, let me get the doctor. I heard him arrive a little while ago. He’s probably with father in the library.”

  “You must stay here, my son. My Robert. Your father, the Duke of Atwater. Dear, he is not.”

  Once more, she closed her eyes. It was a full five minutes before she opened them again.

  “Two months after my marriage to his grace, a new groom arrived at Hempstead Hall. He was in the Duke’s employ until …” her eyes brimmed with tears, “… until the Duke found us talking in the garden one afternoon.

  “He was a groom, you see. It wasn’t acceptable. Even a conversation about something other than carriages and appointments. I was to tell Terence’s father, the butler then, when I needed a carriage. I was not to fraternize with anyone from the stables.

  “I wanted to run away with him when I was eighteen. And when my first love came to Hempstead, I believe the Duke thought I might do just that. You see, there had been some rumours about the groom. And me. Our friendship was unseemly. Our love impossible. So, the Duke had the groom dismissed.” She sighed, finding the need to rest yet again. “Robert. I’m sorry.”

  The roiling in Robert’s stomach became so intense he doubled over. He began to question facts. He was shrewd beyond his years, and he didn’t like the one fact that some of the details of his mother’s life seemed to point to.

  “Mama?”

  Sophia slowly nodded her head. “You must understand, Robert. He was the love, the true love of my life. And he was taken from me. But he returned two years later. He’d been to exotic lands and had made a name for himself in the King’s navy.”

  “There was a ball ... at Almack’s. In his honour. He’d been knighted for his successful ventures for the crown.” Lady Sophia sighed deeply. “No one but myself and his grace, the Duke, knew the true identity of the guest of honour.”

  “And?” The young Lord Robert had become involved in the confession his mother was sharing. Her deathbed avowal. A tale that was as an inverted night-time story, where the one to go to sleep was the narrator. And the one who heard the story would live with the consequences of the telling.