The Duke's Rose: A Clean Historical Regency Romance (Tales of Bath) Read online

  The Duke’s Rose

  A Clean Regency Romance

  Tales of Bath

  Kira Stewart

  Copyright ©2018 by Kira Stewart. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Table of Contents

  1.

  2.

  3.

  4.

  5.

  6.

  7.

  8.

  9.

  10.

  11.

  12.

  13.

  14.

  15.

  16.

  17.

  18.

  19.

  20.

  21.

  22.

  23.

  24.

  1.

  It was a cold and bitter day, unnaturally so for the beginning of September. The wind whipped at the faces of the somber gathering, the dark skies reflecting the mood and appearance of the mourners.

  John Roebuck was dead, and around the graveside stood his tearless wife and three daughters, all dressed in their best black crepe. At a distance, stood Annabelle Bradshaw, the niece of the deceased.

  The girl looked striking stood in the half light, something quite unearthly, dressed in her dark mourning gown. Her pale, beautiful face looked almost ethereal in its grief. The green blue eyes shimmered with tears, the full lips trembled.

  Not only did she weep for her uncle, but she wept for herself.

  The young girl had never felt so miserable in her whole life. Had she ever really known true happiness? There was some distant memory of smiling faces and affection, but the details had been long forgotten. She had loved her uncle as he had she, but his visits home had been sporadic and brief. Her parents had died when she was just six years old in a tragic carriage accident, and she had been left in the care of her mother’s brother and wife, her Uncle John and Aunt Vivian Roebuck.

  Annabelle’s mother had been a very beautiful woman. Vivian Roebuck was quite the opposite—a plain and stern faced woman, who had always been jealous of her sister-in-law and the attention she had received. She had been inwardly delighted when the poor woman had met such an untimely and tragic end, and blamed the deaths bitterly on the spirited woman, whose love for travel had sadly decided both her and her husband’s fate.

  She was also less than delighted when her husband agreed to take in the orphaned child. With three girls of her own, one still a babe, she had little appetite for the adoption of a child whose mother she had hated. Whilst John Roebuck was not an unkind man, his business kept him in London for most of the time, away from his family and he was not around on a daily basis to notice the small acts of unkindness to the girl.

  When he did return home, he tended to favour the pale and beautiful child to that of his own daughters. He pitied the child; his sister had been a favorite and the love he had felt for her, he then bestowed on his niece. This had incensed Mrs. Roebuck all the more, and although outwardly she had uttered not one word, inwardly she hated the girl.

  And now John Roebuck was dead, the little affection she had known was buried along with him.

  The priest’s words echoed through her mind:

  “Lord number out my life and days,

  Which yet I have not past;

  So that I may be certified

  How long my life shall last.

  O spare a little, give me space,

  My strength for to restore,

  Before I go away from hence,

  And shall be seen no more.”

  At that very moment, Annabelle wondered if it would be better if she too could follow her uncle and be seen no more. There seemed very little to live for, and the girl feared that with her uncle gone, she would be shown little mercy from her aunt.

  Indeed, Vivian Roebuck lost no time in removing any small comforts that had been afforded her niece during her husband’s lifetime.

  Changes were already afoot as soon as they returned home from the funeral.

  Annabelle sensed that something was to happen, but she did not realise how quickly.

  Before the widow’s tears had time to dry, Vivian called the girl into her late uncle’s study.

  “Sit down girl.”

  Annabelle sat. Now, even her name was dispensed with. She was a nobody and without even a name. The girl felt numb and cold.

  “Now that your uncle is gone, there will have to be some changes made. Although the girls and I are adequately provided for, I am afraid that my husband made no provision in his will for his sister’s daughter. I am sure that you can appreciate that my immediate concerns are for my own girls. I do not think you would begrudge me that?”

  Annabelle listened without feeling, watching the color rise on her aunt’s neck. Nothing could come as a surprise.

  “Although I am provided for, I am not a rich woman, and accordingly, will have to make some immediate adjustments to my outgoings. My cousin Margaret is to visit soon and I would like her to have your room. There is a bedroom in the attic that is quite adequate for your needs, and I think that most generous of me under the circumstances, would you not agree?”

  Annabelle looked at her aunt without passing comment.

  “I am also letting Mary the housemaid go. She is due to be married soon and I see no need in replacing her. You can take on her responsibilities. I am sure you would not want to think that you are living here on my charity alone. For your board and lodgings, you can take over the role of Mary as housemaid. I think that is fair given the circumstances. Do you not think so?”

  The girl sat there, neither agreeing, nor disagreeing, her face set without emotion—a plain mask that her aunt took as a sign of defiance.

  “I think you should be grateful for all of the kindness that I have showed you over the years, my girl. I am sure that you will not mind repaying some of the kindness and showing some gratitude, especially to your late uncle’s memory?”

  At the mention of her uncle, the girl sat up a little straighter and looked her aunt in the eye.

  “Indeed my uncle was very kind to me, and I could have asked no more of him. He treated me as one of his own, and for that I am eternally grateful to him. I will do whatever you ask of me.”

  Annabelle dug her nails deeply into the palm of her hands, so that the pain might detract from her tears.

  She did not want her aunt to see how unhappy she was.

  Vivian felt no compassion for her niece, the pale blank face made her hate her all the more.

  “Well, you cannot expect any more charity from me, Annabelle. You are not my own blood and I have my own girls to think of now. I think I am being very fair in providing you a roof over your head. I have already arranged for your things to be moved to one of the attic rooms. Now, it has been a very tiring day and I need to rest. That will be all. When you are settled, you can bring me some tea.”

  And that was that. Her uncle barely cold in his grave and Annabelle was already reduced to the status of a mere servant.

  She had known her aunt to be a cruel and heartless woman, but she had never imagined this.

  Without a word, she left her aunt and made her way through the house and up the stairs into the tiny attic room that had been allotted her.

  Once alone, the girl finally gave way to her emotions, and sitting on the bed, she wept until there were no more tears left to shed.


  Her personal items had been thrown into the heavy wooden chest that she had arrived with as a small girl. She owned little more now than what she had arrived with, and that was almost ten years ago. Opening the case, she lifted out her few clothes to hang up. There was little space in the small room and so it was lucky that she had so few dresses to hang.

  Beneath one of the petticoats, she noticed a familiar object—it was her old wooden doll that her parents had given to her as a present, before their last fated trip. After her parents’ tragic accident, and the move to live with her aunt and uncle, the doll had been her one solace, her only companion in those first lonely weeks and months. Once her aunt had realized how dependant she was on the doll, she had taken it from the child, as a punishment for one of the many things that the poor girl did not understand, but constantly annoyed her aunt. Annabelle remembered the day clearly and the sorrow she had felt at having the wooden poppet wrenched from her arms. The girl hadn’t seen the old doll since.

  Lifting it carefully from is hiding place, she felt the smooth wood in her hands, almost warm to the touch, despite the chill in the air. The old painted face was faded and worn, some of the colors having chipped away with the years, leaving the poor doll with only one eye, the other just a blank carved hollow.

  Annabelle hugged the doll close to her chest like a long lost friend.

  “Dear Lucy. Whatever is to become of me?”

  The girl suddenly felt tired and hungry. She had not eaten since breakfast and that had been very little under the circumstances.

  She stood up quickly from the bed. The tea! She had almost forgotten her aunt’s request to make her some tea. Not wanting to displease her aunt more than was necessary, she quickly straightened her dress, and leaving the unpacking for later, went to serve her aunt.

  2.

  The days and weeks that followed were almost unbearable to the girl, but now at least, she knew her place. She had never really been part of the family, only when her uncle had been home, and now she was just the housemaid at the beck and call of her aunt and cousins, every hour of every day.

  The girls, Harriet, Charlotte and Jane, loved to look down their noses at their poor cousin. Always jealous of her beauty, they now gloated, as she was reduced to wearing simple gowns made of course material, unflattering and plain. Tired with her duties and starved of affection, the poor girl grew thin and her bright eyes lost some of their luster.

  On one particularly cold day that winter, when the air was filled with the threat of snow, Charlotte, her eldest cousin, decided that she wanted some new blue ribbon for her hair. Although she was not going anywhere in particular, she demanded that she have the ribbon that very day. The town was two miles away, but poor Annabelle was sent on the errand to buy the ribbon.

  Her boots were thin, and she needed new ones, but her aunt would not spare her niece any additional expense, and sent the girl on her way, wearing little more than a wool shawl over her dress to keep out the cold. As her three cousins sat in front of a blazing fire, Annabelle stepped out into the chilly afternoon air. It was not long, before the thick flakes of snow started falling all around her.

  She felt the cold quickly, and pulled the shawl tightly around her. Her toes were numb inside her boots, and yet she trudged on through the thickening snow. It would be no use in turning back, she thought. She would only be punished for not buying the ribbon, and would probably be sent to her room without food. And she barely had enough to eat as it was. She was reduced to taking her meals in the kitchen, which was at least a little warmer than her attic room.

  Annabelle could no longer feel her toes or fingers. Her legs felt heavy and her head light. The snow was so thick that she could hardly see the path in front of her, and suddenly, her legs gave way and she sank swiftly into the deep, soft carpet of snow. She didn’t feel the cold anymore, and lay still as the snow covered her in its gentle blanket.

  •••

  “Whoa.”

  A large carriage drew to a halt on the road from the small village of Ealdon.

  Sir Henry Faversham, a wealthy sixty-year-old local landowner, peered out of the carriage window and shouted to his driver.

  “What on earth have we stopped for, Perkins? Is one of the horses lame?”

  The coach driver had already stepped down from his seat and was inspecting something on the ground.

  “There’s a young girl here, sir, in the snow.”

  “Well, what are you standing there for man? Help the poor creature inside at once.”

  Sir Henry Faversham was a cripple. For the past ten years, he had been unable to walk, following a riding accident, and was prone to be bad tempered and sharp at times.

  Handing his driver the blanket that had been keeping his own self warm, Perkins easily lifted the girl up into his arms and wrapping her in the blanket, laid her on the seat opposite his master.

  “She looks pale Perkins … is she still alive?”

  Henry Faversham peered at the white face of the young girl.

  “I think so, sir, just about.”

  “Well, let’s get home quickly. Look sharp man!”

  Henry Faversham lived in Wellington Manor, a fine country house, just two miles outside the village. The journey back was slower than usual due to the snow, and Sir Henry called harshly to his driver to move more quickly. The poor girl looked as though she could die from exposure at any moment.

  As soon as the carriage reached the house, the girl was carried into the Drawing Room, where a huge fire was already blazing, and fresh blankets were called for.

  The cook, Elsie Bradshaw, was sent for. A female was needed in such delicate circumstances. The woman was instructed to remove the girl’s wet clothes and dress her in a long flannelette nightgown that had once belonged to the young mistress of the house when she had been alive.

  Whilst the girl was being made as warm and as comfortable as possible, the doctor was sent for.

  Annabelle did not stir, but lay limply on the couch, as Elsie tried her best to dry the girl and warm her in the clean clothes and blankets. She had never been married herself and had not had to care for anyone else, apart from the cooking for Sir Henry Faversham. At first, she was annoyed at having been called away from her work in the middle of the day, but on seeing the girl, she immediately felt sorry for the poor waif and did her best to warm the poor creature.

  By the time Dr. Harris arrived, two red spots had appeared on the girl’s cheeks, but she lay as still as the grave, and only occasionally murmured half words in a faint voice that no one could understand.

  “I’m afraid she is delirious. It is a wonder she isn’t dead. If you hadn’t come along when you did Sir Henry, the poor girl would have surely died. And she’s still not out of danger. Who is this girl, and what on earth was she doing walking out in this weather? It is not fit for man or beast. Her shoes were not suited for walking any distance in. They were almost falling off the poor girl’s feet, and yet, she doesn’t look like the usual waif and stray. Look, her hands are quite soft and smooth. She is obviously not used to manual work.”

  Henry Faversham shook his head.

  “I have no idea who she might be. Of course, she must stay here until she is better. We can make enquiries in the village, as soon as the weather has cleared. Surely someone must know who she is.”

  •••

  Vivian Roebuck smiled as she looked out of the window, watching the great whirls of snow drift, forming a thick, white carpet upon the ground.

  “Poor Annabelle,” she stated to no one in particular.

  •••

  It was a long cold and dark night. The doctor stayed to tend to the sick girl, whilst Henry Faversham watched from his chair. For too long, he had spent his days feeling sorry for himself. Now, it was time to think about someone else, for a change.

  The poor young girl lay on the chaise lounge in front of the fire. The doctor considered her too ill to be moved, and besides, this was the warmest room in th
e house.

  Her long fair hair lay plastered around her face, the sweat on her brow beading into little droplets that glistened in the fire’s glow. She looked other-worldly, and for a moment, reminded Henry of his dear, late wife. She had died so young in childbirth and she too had looked like the young girl now set before him. Although not a religious man, he prayed to any god who might listen, to spare this young girl the same fate.

  The bells in the far off village church had just struck three, the tolling sounding particularly solemn muffled by the snow. Both the doctor and Henry Faversham, had fallen asleep by the remains of the fire, now only a small amber hollow in the grate.

  The girl who had lain still for hours, suddenly opened her eyes with a start and a startled cry escaped her lips. Both men awoke quickly and the doctor was soon by her side, feeling her brow and pulse for a sign of change, for better or for worse.

  Wrinkling his brow, he closed his eyes for a moment, as he concentrated on the beating rhythm of the girl’s heart. Finally, his eyes opened and he nodded sagely.

  “I think she will live.”

  3.

  The dawn broke onto a white world, the snow glistening under the early sun’s rays. Having snowed for most of the night, the sky was now free from its heavy burden and the skies were clear.

  Vivian Roebuck had not slept well. Not for the fact that she had been worrying over her poor niece, but more about what people would think of her, should anything have happened.

  She had stood by the window and watched the snow fall all night, imagining Annabelle cold and miserable, and left to the mercy of the elements. At first, she had been glad. The girl wouldn’t last long out in the cold. She had been half hoping that it would be the end of her niece. But now an icy fear cut across her heart. If Annabelle was dead, would she be held responsible for the girl’s death? Who in their right mind would have sent the girl out in such weather? People would certainly wonder why no one had ventured out to look for the wretched girl.