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

  They had to go through it all again.

  As the second shots rang out, there was a scream and a thud. One man had been hit. Edward Lennox lay on the ground. Annabelle fainted away on the carriage seat.

  •••

  When she awoke, she was laying in her own bed.

  For a moment, she did not know where she was. Then suddenly remembering the night before, she wondered if she had been dreaming. The sun shone full into her room. She thought it must be almost noon.

  Sitting up, she looked around her. The gown she had been wearing was hanging up, her shoes underneath, were still wet and covered in grass. It had not been a dream.

  Edward!

  As she let out a low moaning sound, Jenny rushed into the room. She had been waiting for her mistress to wake. Sir Henry had called at her door in the early morning, on their way home, to help look after the mistress, who had fainted clean away.

  “Jenny, what news of my cousin, Edward?”

  The young girl looked frightened.

  “You are to lay quietly, Miss. Doctor’s orders. I will fetch you a cup of hot chocolate. It will do you the world of good.”

  The girl sat up, looking frail and yet wide awake.

  “I do not want any hot chocolate, Jenny. I just need to know what has happened.”

  Jenny turned pale.

  “I do not know what you mean, Miss.”

  Busying herself around the room, she picked up Annabelle’s wet shoes, avoiding the question.

  “I must get these dry for you, Miss, or they will be ruined.”

  The girl was losing patience.

  “Jenny, please look at me. I know that you know something about what happened last night. Where is Edward?”

  Jenny immediately burst into tears and sat down onto the bed.

  “Oh, Miss. I promised not to say anything.”

  Taking her hand gently, Annabelle wove her fingers within her friends.

  “You must tell me, Jenny. I will find out anyway, in due course, but I would rather that you tell me. I will take the blame. You have no need to fear.”

  The young maid wiped her eyes and looked steadily at her mistress and friend.

  “Oh Miss, I am afraid that your cousin is dead.”

  21.

  The words rang shrilly around her head. Suddenly, she was chill, all light and warmth removed from her world.

  “Dead?”

  “I’m afraid so. He was fatally wounded in the duel. Sir Henry told me all about it in the carriage ride back here. You had fainted clean away. Apparently, Edward had taken the first shot, but it seems he shot wide and then he stood squarely to face his opponent, as if awaiting the bullet. Sir Henry had said that the young man must have had a death wish.”

  Jenny knew that her young mistress was fond of the young Marques, but did not know the details. Annabelle had kept her feelings to herself, out of respect for her husband.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Miss. He was such a fine young man.”

  •••

  Annabelle took to her bed for the next few days. She could neither eat, nor sleep, and all she could think about was Edward Lennox, and the way she had left him. It was all her fault. If she had only agreed to go away with him, he would still be alive. She could easily have lied to Sir Henry. What harm would another white lie have been, but then, there would have been another and another. Yet what was a lie worth at the side of a life? A lie for a life. If only she could go back to that afternoon in the Gatehouse. If things could only have been different, Edward would still be living.

  His death was on her hands, and life was no longer worth living. The doctor was called for, as she took a fever and for several days, her life hung in the balance. She became delirious and could not distinguish between her vivid dreams and real life. Sometimes, she thought she woke to see Sir Henry watching over her, as he sat by her bed. Sometimes, she saw Edward Lennox, his eyes blazing at her through the darkness.

  Eventually, the fever broke and she slept soundly. She had youth on her side and despite appearances, was strong.

  Jenny coaxed her to eat and drink a little each day, and eventually, her body healed, even if her mind was still in turmoil.

  Now, it was Sir Henry’s turn to become ill. The damp early morning of the duel had fuelled his bronchitis. He had insisted on sitting by Annabelle at the height of her sickness. He had not slept, and the worry and lack of sleep, had taken their toll. The bronchitis had turned into pneumonia, and once again, Sir Henry was taken to his bed. Annabelle had not seen her husband since the morning of the duel, and now she was kept away due to his sickness.

  Late one night, she was awoken by Jenny. Sir Henry was asking for her. Quickly putting on her dressing gown, she rushed down the stairway and to his room.

  Her husband was propped up in bed. He looked older, his illness taking hold. He looked tired and his eyes burned unnaturally bright, glassy and deep set in their sockets. His breathing was shallow and rasping.

  At first, she thought that he did not recognize her, and she sat gently beside him on the bed, taking his hand on hers.

  “Henry, darling, I am here.”

  The man tried to sit, but was too weak, and slumped back onto his pillow.

  “Annie, dear Annie, I must tell you something.”

  The effort of speaking was too much, and he closed his eyes again.

  “Henry, you must sleep and get your strength. I will sit here with you until you sleep.”

  His eyes opened once again, and he beckoned her close, half whispering his words.

  “I have something important to tell you. My cousin Edward—he is not dead.”

  The words hit her like a bullet. At first, she thought she had heard incorrectly.

  “You are not well, Henry. You must rest. You do not know what you are saying.”

  He struggled against her, his hand grasping at hers.

  “No, listen to me, Annie. He is alive. He was shot, but it was only a flesh wound to the arm. I was envious of the young man, and I’m afraid I wished him dead. When you fainted, it gave me the ideal opportunity to say he was dead. I told Jenny and knew she would tell you. No one in the village would talk, since dueling is illegal, and they would not want their part in the proceedings to be known. I told Jenny not to talk of it. She is a good girl and would not gossip.”

  “But why would you be jealous of Edward? I do not understand why you had to lie to me and say he was dead?”

  “I’m afraid I know all about you and Edward, but I do not judge you, Annabelle. You are a young woman and need someone to love, someone young, who can live life to the fullest with you.”

  Annabelle looked puzzled.

  “You must be delirious, Henry. Edward and I, there was nothing. I swear.”

  Henry struggled to breath.

  “You do not need to pretend anymore. Perkins saw you go to the Gatehouse with him. I’m afraid I asked him to keep an eye on you. He was looking through the window. I know that he kissed you. When you denied seeing him that day, I knew that you must love him.”

  Annabelle could feel the blood drain from her face. Her hand trembled in his.

  “Oh Henry, it is true. But it was a brief kiss and that is all. I told Edward that I was your wife and indebted to your kindness, and that I would never leave you.”

  Her tears fell freely.

  “There, there, Annie. I was selfish asking you to marry me. Debt is not the same thing as love. I have wronged both you and Edward. I am a dying man, and I wish to be reconciled to my cousin, for the sake of my late wife. I have deeply wronged you both, and I want to make my peace, before it is too late.”

  “Dear Henry. You will be well soon. I will look after you. The duel was my fault. I should never have visited Edward that day.”

  Shaking his head, he looked at her, his hollow eyes beseeching.

  “I am afraid there is more, Annabelle. That night, when I knew that you had been to the Gatehouse with Edward, I went to see him. I was jealous and
angry, and told him that I would divorce you and disinherit you, if his attentions continued. I told him to leave immediately and to never see you again. Otherwise, there would be a scandal, and you would never be accepted in polite society again. It is my fault. I drove him to drink again. We have never consummated our marriage, Annabelle. It has been a marriage in name only. I believe Edward loves you, and you him. Now, say no more. I believe Edward is in Bath. Perkins will drive you in the carriage tomorrow. Bring him here and we can be reconciled.”

  Sir Henry had said all he needed to and sank back onto his pillows exhausted. There was nothing else left to say.

  22.

  The carriage left for Bath early the next morning. There was no time to lose. Perkins had made enquiries, and had an address, where the young man might be lodging.

  The address was located in a cheap part of town—a shabby building with tatters of curtains hanging at the dirty windows, a stray mangy dog lay sleeping outside the front door. Perkins wanted to come with her, but Annabelle needed time alone with Edward, and told him to wait in the carriage a few streets away.

  Her heart stabbed heavily in her chest, as she knocked on the door.

  During the carriage ride, she had imagined him opening the door and immediately falling into his arms. She had anticipated this moment for so long.

  There were footsteps, before the door slowly opened, only part way. A white face looked out.

  It was not Edward, but a buxom looking woman. On seeing Annabelle, she opened the door fully, looking the girl up and down in slight amusement.

  “Yes dear?”

  Annabelle was taken off guard.

  “Does Edward Lennox live here?”

  The woman raised a painted eyebrow.

  “And who should I say is calling?”

  She stuttered under the woman’s gaze.

  “My name is Annabelle Featherstone. I am his cousin.”

  The woman smirked.

  “His cousin? Well, you had better come in, dear.”

  The hallway was dark, all the curtains closed against the daylight. There was a smell of damp and stale alcohol, and Annabelle carefully picked her way over the cluttered hallway, and into the main room.

  “Edward, someone to see you.”

  Her shrill voice echoed up the stairs, disturbing the heavy air.

  “Sit down, dear. He will not be long.”

  Annabelle perched on the edge of a tatty red velvet chaise lounge, disturbing the dust that hung in the air, which danced in the patches of sunlight like tiny stars.

  The two women sat in silence regarding each other steadily.

  The woman looked much older than Annabelle, but under the makeup, it was difficult to tell. Her brows were arched, giving her a perpetual look of surprise, her lips flabby and red and her cheeks highly rouged. She was dressed in little more than a loose fitting silk shift, and although it was almost noon, Annabelle had the feeling that she had not long been out of bed.

  A thud thudding sounded above their heads, a heavy tread across the floorboards that slowly descended down the stairs.

  Edward Lennox entered the room looking the worse for wear. He looked much altered and in a worse state than the first time she had seen him. He looked thin and undernourished, and his hair long and matted. He was drunk.

  “Cousin, it has been a long time. What brings you here? I see you have met Isabel, my friend.”

  He looked at the woman, and both of them started to laugh.

  “Has she offered you a drink? There must be a drink around here somewhere, unless I have drunk it all, of course!”

  Once again, they laughed.

  “I do not need a drink, Edward. Sir Henry is dying. He wishes to be reconciled with you, before it is too late.”

  The young man looked puzzled.

  “Why should he want to see me, of all people, on his deathbed? There must be some mistake, cousin. You should go back home and tend to your sick husband.”

  “But you do not understand, Edward. You see, he told me you were dead, after the duel. I fainted and did not see what happened. Until last night, I thought that you were dead.”

  She stood and walked toward him.

  “Please, dear cousin.”

  Edward Lennox looked scornful.

  “I am not your dear cousin, only by marriage. I may as well be dead to you also, as I am dead to myself. My father has all but disinherited me. I am nothing, Annabelle. You are better away from me. I wish that you would still think of me as dead.”

  “But you are alive, Edward, and standing in front of me. I have told Sir Henry everything. He has given his consent.”

  The man laughed.

  “His consent for what? Poor dear, romantic, cousin. Can you not see with your eyes? This woman is a common prostitute. I share her house, as I have none of my own. Forget me, Annabelle. We are too different, you and I.”

  “But …”

  The girl stared, rooted to the spot. It was not supposed to end like this.

  “Goodbye, Annabelle, and tell Sir Henry that I am dead. I may as well be.”

  The girl turned away in tears. There was nothing left to say. As she headed for the door, she could hear the couple drunkenly climbing the stairs and laughing.

  Reaching the door, she stopped. She had almost forgotten. From her pocket, she pulled the little book of poetry that Edward had given to her. She had kept it with her always. The pressed rose was still inside the pages. It had given her hope, and she wanted to show it to him. Now, there was little point, and walking back into the room, she left the book of poetry on the table.

  •••

  Sir Henry did not live long after her return. She had sat with him until the very end, even when he no longer knew that she was there beside him.

  She inherited everything, and would want for nothing ever again, yet the poor girl felt more alone and unhappy than ever before.

  Six months of mourning passed. Annabelle stayed indoors, hardly venturing outside. She never returned to the walled garden again, the memories being too cruel to recall.

  Poor Annabelle lost the will to live. She stayed mainly in her room and could not be coaxed out. The doctor was sent for, but she refused to see him. Mrs. Shaw tried to tempt the girl with tasty morsels of food, yet Annabelle ate very little, and soon became very weak. Elsie Shaw and Perkins had vowed on Sir Henry’s death bed to look after the girl, yet they were at their wits end, not knowing what to do.

  Hope finally arrived in the most unlikely shape of a plump, middle aged woman, Lady Merrington. Anne Merrington was a widow with no children of her own, and was a distant relative of Sir Henry’s. She had attended the small funeral and had immediately warmed to the girl. With no family of her own, Lady Merrington had wanted to help the girl. She had written many times, and yet her letters were never answered.

  It was Jenny who discovered the letters, some left unread, hidden beneath the bed. She immediately showed them to Mrs. Shaw, and together they made a plan. They would write back to Lady Merrington, inviting her to stay at Wallington Manor. They would write as if they were Annabelle. It was a deception, but it might just save the poor girl’s life.

  23.

  Anne Merrington was a generous and ample woman, and arrived with a flourish. Her carriage pulled up in the drive of Wallington Manor, and four trunks were unloaded. Before Annabelle had time to speak, the woman had made herself at home in front of the Drawing Room fire, and had already ordered tea. Things were going to change.

  Lady Merrington was shocked to find the girl looking so pale and ill, yet she was not one for letting things be. The girl was young and had all of her life ahead of her. Wellington Manor had become like a mausoleum.

  The curtains were pulled back and the windows opened. She believed that fresh air, and good food, would clear all ills.

  She also thought a change of scenery would do the girl good. For too long, she had been cooped up in this old house. The girl needed to see life!

  Every y
ear, Lady Anne spent the Season in her house at Bath, and this year would be no exception. Annabelle would accompany her, and she would not take no for an answer.

  The girl finally agreed. She cared not where she went. Her heart was empty, and life held no joy for her.

  The trunks were repacked, ready for the journey. If Annabelle would not join in the preparations, then Lady Anne would do them for her. She brought dress makers to the house to prepare a brand new Season of clothes for the girl. Day dresses and evening dresses of every material and color were made, and the shops were visited for the purchase of shoes and fans, and every accessory that the woman could think of.

  Still weak, Annabelle watched the woman from her place in front of the fire. Even she was caught up by the woman’s enthusiasm. It would have been impossible not to.

  •••

  By the time the date arrived for their travel, the girl was almost looking forward to a change of scenery. She had heard so much from Lady Anne about the Season in Bath that she could see it all in her head. It had all been planned. She would take the waters at the Pump Rooms for her health, and they would attend the dances and Grand Balls at the Assembly Rooms in the evenings. Lady Anne had many acquaintances in Bath, and there wouldn’t be a moment to spare.

  At first, Annabelle had worried that she might see Edward, but what of it? She doubted in the first place that he would still be there, and if she did see him, she was nothing to him. He had made that very clear when he had said that he was dead to her.

  •••

  Bath was full of noise and life, people and living. At first, the everyday hustle and bustle tired the poor girl out, and apart from a gentle walk in the park, which Lady Anne insisted on a daily basis for her health, and a trip to the Pump Rooms to take the sulphur waters, for much the same reason, Annabelle stayed in the pretty town house. There were plenty of visitors to keep the ladies entertained, and very soon, Lady Anne noticed a change for the better in her charge. The hollows in her cheeks began to fill out again and the color started to return to her cheeks.

  Lady Anne decided she was ready for the Ball.