The Duke's Secrets Read online

  The Duke’s Secrets

  Historical Regency Romance

  Abby Ayles

  Copyright © 2017 by Ashley L. Hunt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or 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.

  Contents

  The Duke’s Secrets Complete Story

  About the Author

  The Duke’s Secrets Complete Story

  For My Loyal And New Fans!

  First I would like to thank you so much for downloading this book. I am truly honored by this!

  This is my 1st complete story of my Historical Regency Romance stories.

  This is available only for my loyal readers such as you!

  Fasten your seatbelt and let’s travel back in time!

  Introduction

  Mary Elridge is of age to marry, and yet her parents are cautious. Her mother, Lady Elridge, is more familiar with the social mores she grew up among as the daughter of a Baron. And her father, Sir Elridge, knows little to nothing about choosing a suitor for his daughter.

  Mary believes her parents have struck gold when her first and only suitor, the mysterious Mr Haskett, arrives. He is handsome, witty, and charming. But Mary works out very early on that he cannot be who he claims to be. After discovering the secret of his true title and status, their blossoming love must face hurdle after hurdle. Between Lady Elridge's high aspirations for Mary, Sir Elridge's poor understanding of marriage, and Mr Haskett's insistence on keeping her in the dark, it seems as though this man, whom Mary is growing to love, may end up not as her husband, but as her first broken heart.

  Can Mary give her heart to a suitor who keeps so many secrets from her? Can Mr Haskett trust Mary, and her parents, or do they know too much about him? Will their love succeed against the odds, or shall this courtship end in disaster?

  Chapter One

  Looking out of her bedroom window across the garden, young Marianne Elridge felt at peace. Her life was one of ease and beauty, her heart was at rest, and everything had purpose and meaning. As of yet.

  Her father, Sir James Elridge of York, was away on important business. Her mother, Lady Diana Elridge, was downstairs entertaining some Barons and a Countess—these were people she knew from her days as a Baron's daughter herself.

  Marianne was different from her mother. She preferred her shortened name, Mary, and she considered socialising a vexing inconvenience. Mary was hiding away upstairs, waiting for the evening to end so she could have her supper and maybe practise her piano forte in the assembly room.

  She was at the cusp of womanhood, no longer young enough to be introduced as a child or excused for her faux pas. Mary was a young woman finally of age to be a wife, yet not quite yet ready for marriage proposals—although her parents would argue this. She had yet to consider herself a respectable, serene young lady prepared for marriage. Since Mary was an only child, her mother was wringing her wrists and pacing the floors quite regularly, fretting about how, when, and where to find the right suitor for her.

  Mary denied it in the face of others, but she took offense to the assumption that she needed to be managed. She was much of the mind that if her mother did not know what to do with her, she could just let her carry on studying, learning etiquette, and socializing until she did know. Why not remain a child until she was ready to be a woman? Her second cousin, now twenty-three years old, was still treated as a child. But Mary was not about to say such things to her mother. After all, it was a hard job to be a parent and a Lady at once. Despite her insubordinate thoughts, Mary still had deep respect for the woman who had taught her all she knew.

  So she stayed upstairs and whiled away the hours, a little tired, but content. The sun glistened on the rose bushes and the privet, misted with a faint layer of droplets of rain. The hedge cast a shadow over the lawn, hiding the smaller buds in the flower beds. The cold night air smelled delightfully fortifying.

  It was too dark to continue reading, but not dark enough to light a candle without feeling like she was squandering the house's income. So she sat at the window, watching the sun fall and she listened to the murmur of conversation from the drawing room below.

  A knock at the door made her jump, but she quickly closed the window and straightened her skirts. “Yes?” she replied with caution, unsure of who it was, and for what purpose.

  “It's only me, Mistress,” the housekeeper's voice echoed, “I am informed that the Baron and Baroness are soon to take their leave, and that your mother wants the dining room laid out so you can have supper with her.” Mary’s shoulder’s relaxed at the familiar voice of Miss Ramsbottom.

  “I will be on my way shortly,” she finally said, remembering that a response was most likely required. “And will you please stop calling me ‘Mistress,’ that is more suitable for my mother. I do not run this household,” Mary called out, but she knew Miss Ramsbottom had fled and she was only talking into an empty space. She huffed out an amused stream of air. Sometimes it felt like Mary was, indeed, the mistress of the house; she was most conscious about the whereabouts of everything.

  Mary had undoubtedly grown fond of their housekeeper. Miss Ramsbottom showed her and her mother equal levels of respect. Mary smiled to herself in thought.

  She was already dressed for dinner, and there would be nobody there but her mother and the help, but with guests coming and going, Mary could never be certain. She lit the candle in front of the mirror next to her armoire.

  After checking her hair and blotting some of the stain from her lips to ensure she would not be chastised for immodesty, she took her candle and headed for the dining room.

  Although the rooms upstairs were frigid and dark, every candle visible from the front door was lit. This was to impress the guests, surely, and a fire roared in the front room, dining room, assembly room, drawing room… Mary was used to this, though—it was what needed to be done. She much preferred the rigid confines of her chambers and the feeling of possibility that radiated from her walls. This, downstairs, was a façade.

  Her mother was waiting at the table, but had no plate in front of her. Mary's place was set for three courses, and the first already sat on the table under a cover to keep it warm. Mary curtsied to her mother before finding her seat.

  “I trust all went well, mother?” she asked cautiously. Her mother looked happy, but that was never a guarantee.

  Her mother nodded and beamed. “My cousin, the Baroness, complimented me on my dress, and the Countess was so pleased with the poussin she requested the recipe from the kitchen, so her cook may prepare the same for her.”

  Mary smiled. “That sounds most wonderful, mother.” Mary couldn’t help but notice the hollowness in her mother’s eyes—the flicker of hesitation. But, as soon as it came, it fled and her mother was once again Lady Elridge, the exuberant woman who raised her.

  Mary looked around but there were no servants waiting on the table. They were probably cleaning the drawing room after tea. She looked at the plate cover and contemplated lifting it on her own. She would have done so without hesitation a few months ago, but now... she needed to act more like a Lady.

  “And the Baron?” Mary asked, looking away from her plate and hoping a servant would arrive before it grew cold. Her stomach began to roar with hunger.

  Her mother seemed oblivious to the situation, caught in her own mind as she made an effort to find the right words. “The Baron's circumstances were... unfortunate. You see the Count was supposed to be here, as was your father. As neither could make it the poor Baron was quite beside himself. He expressed his thought that a man in
his position ought not to be in the company of women alone. He withdrew to the billiards room and drank some brandy as we women talked in the withdrawing room.”

  Mary smiled and nodded. “I see. I hope he did not drink too much.” Mary nearly snorted in a cynical contest.

  Her mother cast Mary a disapproving look. “Marianne! Such words from a young woman's mouth! Such sounds! It is times like these when I truly wonder what I am to do with you. Please, think before you speak... and remember, what is—”

  “What is may appear from a child may be unseemly to a young lady,” Mary finished unenthusiastically.

  Her mother only shook her head in disbelief and gazed off at a painting on the wall. Mary realized she should not have cut her mother off, but there was no changing it now. Mary was trying… perhaps not hard enough, she thought.

  “Marianne, what am I to do with you? At this rate you will have to marry down.” She sighed, and shook her head again.

  “But you married down, and you handle it so wonderfully,” Mary replied, trying to act courteous—like a Lady. Mary had hoped the words would sound reassuring, and supportive, yet all she managed to do was sound prude and degrading.

  “Marianne, one step down is enough. It is bad enough that I am beneath the Baroness, my own cousin, but imagine if you were to marry a... a doctor, or a... no, I do not wish to think of it.” Her mother sighed. Her face was red and shone with perspiration from worrying. “Where is service? I require my salts... and you must eat, you are becoming gangling again. It does not suit you.”

  Mary contemplated what she should say. At this point, she decided it would be best to keep quiet and stay obedient for once.

  Mary's mother produced a small bell and rang it thrice before a flustered maid appeared in the doorway. “Where were you? My daughter needs her supper.”

  The maid curtsied repeatedly. “I'm so sorry Milady, we were just tidying—”

  “I do not wish to hear it. Just serve my daughter, and then fetch me my smelling salts. I seem to have misplaced them,” Mary's mother ordered in agitation as the maid lifted the cover from Mary's dish and served her some gravy.

  Mary was hungry, and grateful her meal was now served, but she was not as bothered by the lack of service as her mother was. Her family had recently cut back on staff, as her father took home less in the winter, and they could not afford to keep everyone on starting in September. This only meant that staff had to multitask until at least February, whilst Sir Elridge travelled and socialised more.

  Mary was never quite sure how being sociable made them money, and she did not question it. Something or other to do with trade and lands. But, as usual, this was not a woman’s place. All she knew was that their servants were overworked.

  Her mother, used to the fine life as a daughter to a Baron, was less understanding. Despite having lived in this situation for twenty-five years, she had never grown accustomed to the fluctuations in wealth and standard of living which they experienced, and frequently voiced her disappointment that Sir Elridge had not increased his wealth or status during this time. She had wanted much more from life, and harboured a deep regret that she had chosen to marry a man beneath her station, and Mary knew this. Lady Elridge made it clear the same fate would not befall her daughter.

  But the thought just made Mary cringe.

  “I do not see why we are so concerned with marriage as of yet,” Mary said as she reached for her wine. “It is not as though I have a single suitor. Indeed, I believe it is three months since I last saw a man who was not of the help, or my own father.”

  Her mother glanced towards her with yet another disapproving glare, letting the girl know full well that she was speaking too much again. “When your father and I have found a list of appropriate suitors whom we both agree upon, you may begin to see them. And when that occurs, I expect nothing less of you than a perfectly ladylike composure.”

  Mary nodded and sipped her wine some more.

  “And do not drink too much wine, dear, it reddens the face and spoils the appetite. Eat your poussin,” her mother demanded

  The maid returned at this point with the smelling salts. Mary's mother sat at the table and lightly inhaled the pungent air, rubbing her temples lightly with her fingertips.

  Mary did not mean to cause her mother so much pain, but she was not quite sure how to prevent this either. It was not as though she knew the right answer to everything—how was she supposed to know the right way to be, please her family, and keep her identity?

  After supper, there was no time for the piano forte as she had originally hoped. Mary made her way upstairs, undressed, washed her face at the basin, and reluctantly climbed into bed. At first she was concerned she would be so guilty for talking back to her mother that it would interfere with her sleep. But after a few minutes, lying awake in the dark, she drifted off.

  * * *

  Mary awoke by a loud knocking at her bedroom door. The sun barely glinted beneath the curtains, and from the faint outline she could see her clock was marking six, long before she usually had to get up for breakfast. But the knocking, although stern, was not fast, or in any way urgent. What could it possibly be? She rubbed her head and face, took a sip of water from the glass beside her bed to make sure her voice was soft and ladylike and answered. “Yes? Who is it?”

  “Sorry to trouble you at this hour, but your mother has received a letter and wishes to see you right away.” It was Miss Ramsbottom.

  “Ought I get dressed?” Mary asked, reaching for her bed coat.

  “I expect so. It sounded urgent, but I doubt she wants you wandering the house in your bedclothes when the young man could arrive at any moment,” the housekeeper replied.

  Mary felt her heart skip a beat and her stomach tighten. “Young man?” she replied cautiously. After all, he could be a servant, or a relative... anyone from outside the house, really.

  “That is all I know,” the housekeeper's voice resumed, sounding slightly frustrated, as though she had things to do. Which she probably did, at that hour of the morning, with a guest on the way, and a dozen hands short of help. “All I know is that he shall break fast with yourself and your parents and that I am to prepare the good silverware.”

  “Indeed,” Mary replied. “That will be all, Miss Ramsbottom.”

  She bowed her head in submission. “I will send a maid to help you get into your dress.” And with that, the footsteps began, then faded down the hallway.

  Mary washed her face and began combing her hair. During the summer months, a maid would help her with this, too, as her hair hung down to her waist and was heavy, requiring brushing with two different textures of brush. Her hair required folding, twisting, and countless clasps to make it shine and lift it up into a style considered appropriate and fashionable.

  It was a hassle, and all her friends wore their hair shorter and turned to wigs for more elaborate dress. However her mother treasured Mary's hair, and her father, although he insisted that she keep it tied back at all times, had expressed he wanted her to keep her luxurious locks for the benefit of her future husband. Husband. Hearing that someone was there had awoken a yearning in her which she did not know existed.

  The maid arrived just as Mary was ready to tie her hair back. After half an hour of efforts, Mary was finally groomed, dressed, and ready to meet their guest.

  Walking downstairs she met a wall of warmth which meant every fire was on again. This guest was someone important. Either another Baron... or perhaps a Count? Turning the corner into the drawing room, she saw that it was empty. The table was laid and the food was prepared. The clock was just striking eight.

  Had it taken her two hours to get up?

  But it was not yet time to dine.

  Then again, perhaps they would hold it early for their guest? Mary resisted the urge to rush as she walked about the house, looking for her parents, the guest, the servants, or, quite frankly, anyone. She quickly noticed that the door to the morning room was shut, and heard a faint mur
mur behind it.

  Opening the door, she had expected to see some servants cleaning, her parents and the guest, or some small group of people. Instead, her eyes locked with the deep green eyes of a tall man. He was half dressed, not formal, but definitely knowing he would be in mixed company, and had not yet removed his coat, which was perfectly fitted to his broad back, and gleamed like it had recently been brushed. His gloves and hat had been removed and his hair was impeccably waxed. He was holding a book which he had taken from the shelf, and had was reading aloud to himself.

  Mary took a step forward and the man turned around to face her.

  His surprised expression turned to bemusement and he flashed a roguish grin. “Why good morning, Miss Elridge.”

  Chapter Two

  Mary's face was cast in crimson red. Here she was standing in the doorway to her morning room, with a strange man there, reading her father's books, and no one else around. She had no idea what to do in circumstances such as these. So she chose to retreat.

  “G-Good morning, Sir,” she said in a rushed whisper, curtsying before turning around and marching down the hall as fast as she could manage towards the drawing room. She could have sworn she heard a slight laugh as she left.

  Mary was still flustered at breakfast, sitting down the table from her parents and the new guest. He had been introduced to her by her mother as “Mr. Christopher Haskett” in a way that suggested he was not a “Mr.” at all, but rather that he was concealing his title and that poor Lady Elridge could barely hold herself back from declaring it. Mary knew that gleam in her mother’s eyes.

  On the one hand, Mary was glad to see her parents looking so happy. Both of them must know who he is and approve, otherwise none of this would be occurring. If only she could work out who and what he was...