The Duke & The Preachers Daughter

CHAPTER ONE 1817-1

CHAPTER ONE

1817Footmen with powdered wigs and gold-braided livery extinguished the candles around the big dining room, leaving alight only those in the golden candelabra on the dining table.

The six candles created an oasis of light which was reflected not only on the magnificent ornaments but on the table itself.

This, in the fashion set by the Prince Regent, had no cloth, but was polished to reflect like a mirror everything upon it.

The butler put a decanter of port and one of brandy, standing in their ornate coasters, on the table and after a glance round the room withdrew followed by the footmen.

The Duke of Kingswood leant back in his chair and said to the gentleman sitting beside him,

“You have been strangely quiet this evening, Bevil. Is there something on your mind?”

The gentleman he addressed hesitated a moment before he replied,

“You know me so well, Nolan, that I might have guessed you would suspect that I had something to tell you.”

The Duke waited with a cynical expression on his face. It would have proclaimed to anybody watching him that he was quite sure nothing that he was told would surprise him, and it would be doubtful if it would even interest him.

It was strange that a man who had such vast possessions and could in fact command anything he desired should look so blasé and so bored with life.

It was not only his friends, and he had a great number, but also the lovely ladies who tried to capture and hold him in their wiles who had found it almost impossible to keep the Duke’s attention for long.

His companion was very different.

Major Bevil Haverington, who was in fact the same age as the Duke, looked younger which was due perhaps to his enjoyment of the life he lived and his simple, uncomplicated nature which ensured he was pleased with almost everything.

In a way it was strange that the two men should be such close friends, but they had gone to Eton and Oxford together, then had served in the same Regiment through the long gruelling years in the Peninsula.

It had been a campaign which could have made any man age quickly and perhaps, as in the Duke’s case, look at life thereafter with prejudiced eyes.

Major Haverington had in fact enjoyed every battle and as a regular soldier he had no intention of giving up his Regiment now that there was peace.

The Duke, on the other hand, although he had been one of the youngest Commanders on the battlefield, had been forced on his father’s death to buy himself out.

He had returned home to administer his estates and take his place not only in the House of Lords but in the County and at Court.

The Prince Regent had welcomed his homecoming with open arms and so had a great number of other people in the Beau Monde mainly for some selfish reason of their own.

It was unusual for the Duke to be alone with only one friend at Kingswood, but he had decided after receiving unexpectedly a letter from his agent that his presence there was necessary and had invited Bevil Haverington to drive down with him from London.

Major Haverington had been only too glad to oblige. He preferred being alone with his friend, when they could talk over the battles they had fought side-by-side and reminisce in a way they knew the majority of their friends found extremely boring.

Ever since they had arrived in the magnificent house which had belonged to the Wood family since the time of Charles II, the Duke had sensed a reserve and a feeling of unrest about the Major that was unlike him.

Now he knew he was about to hear the explanation and he was quite certain that if it concerned himself it would be, if not unpleasant, certainly nothing that would add to his enjoyment of the evening.

He took a sip of his port before he said,

“Come on, Bevil, out with it! If there is one thing I dislike, it is to anticipate the worst!”

“It is not as bad as that,” Major Haverington replied. “At the same time you will not be pleased.”

“That will be nothing new,” the Duke added sardonically.

“It concerns Richard.”

“I might have guessed that!”

“He is making a fool of himself.”

“That is certainly nothing unusual.”

“This time it is rather more serious. He has asked Delyth Maulden to marry him and she has accepted!”

It was obvious that the Duke was surprised from the way he stiffened and his eyes were hard as he exclaimed,

“I always knew Richard was a fool, but not such a damned fool as to marry Delyth Maulden!”

“He is too good a catch for her to let him go,” the Major said simply.

He fiddled with the stem of his glass as he went on,

“You know, ever since Gosport refused to marry her, she has been trying to find somebody of importance to take his place.”

“Gosport’s mother managed to save him at the very last moment,” the Duke said. “She had almost got him to the Church door.”

There was silence as both men were thinking of the weak, good-humoured young Marquis of Gosport, who had cast himself and his title at the feet of the most acclaimed and certainly the most cunning beauty in London.

He had nearly been saddled with her for the rest of his life.

Lady Delyth Maulden, daughter of the dissolute and impoverished Duke of Hull, had burst upon the Social world five years earlier.

There was no doubt that she was exceedingly beautiful and the Bucks and Beaux of St. James’s, always ready to be captivated by a fresh and lovely face, had declared her an ‘Incomparable’ and drunk her health in even deeper draughts than was usual.

It was, of course, the great hostesses who had discovered first that Lady Delyth was as dissolute as her father, with morals which even in an immoral age could not be accepted without protest.

She took lover after lover and, although she might have attempted to keep her amours discreet, regular wagers were soon laid at White’s Club, as to who would be the next victim.

The Duke had heard that his young cousin, heir presumptive Richard Wood, was infatuated, but he had in fact paid little attention to the gossip.

It would do the boy no harm, he thought, to learn the hard way that Delyth would extract every penny he possessed and a great deal he did not possess, from his pocket.

If he was disillusioned in the process, it would doubtless make him more particular next time as to where he cast his heart.

But that Delyth would plan to marry the boy had never entered his mind and now he realised that he had been almost as foolish as his heir.

Of course Delyth Maulden would consider Richard a good catch, seeing that it was known by everybody that the Duke had said not once, but a dozen times, that he had no intention of marrying.

It had been such a sensational statement from a man of such high rank that it was impossible for people not to be curious as to why he intended to stay a bachelor, when according to all the rules and traditions of the nobility he should be anxious to have a son.

The Duke did nothing to assuage their curiosity.

He merely said he had no wish to take a wife and when he was dead, which would not be for a great many years, Richard would undoubtedly take his place most admirably.

Nobody could quite believe that he would remain resolute in such a contention.

Yet four years had elapsed since he had inherited the title, and his love affairs, and there were a great number of them, were always conducted with lovely, sophisticated women who invariably had husbands.

The Duke, however, had a great pride of family.

He had not expected when he was young ever to inherit the title as his father had been a second son and his uncle had a son and heir and every prospect of being able to add to his family as the years passed.

But several strange quirks of fate, accidents and illness swept the Duke into the seat of power when he least expected it.

Although his private life, which he considered his own, was slightly reprehensible, his public appearance upheld all the dignity and consequence of his position.

He fulfilled his duties punctiliously and with a formality that at times could be quite awe-inspiring.

Therefore the idea that somebody like Lady Delyth Maulden should become the Duchess of Kingswood and chatelaine of the mansion in which they were now sitting, was more of a shock than even his friend Bevil Haverington had envisaged.

“Damn it all!” he cried aloud. “Why marriage?”

“Delyth has seen to that. As I told you, Richard is infatuated to the point where he would try to give her the moon and the stars, should she ask for them.”

The Duke’s lips tightened.

“When did you hear this?”

“I was told it last night and thought I had better keep the information from you until we could discuss it quietly and alone.”

“What is there to discuss?” the Duke asked savagely. “Delyth Maulden has extracted a promise of marriage from Richard and she will not let him go back on his word.”

“I am afraid not,” Major Haverington agreed.

The Duke sat almost like a statue and his friend knew what he was thinking.

He had seen the same expression on his face when they were facing the enemy, outnumbered and strategically in an impossible position.

And yet dozens of times in such circumstances, he had seen the Duke lead the forces he commanded out of what seemed the certainty of annihilation and carry them almost by the force of his own willpower to victory.

At the same time, the Major thought despairingly, war was one thing, love was another and young Richard was in it up to his neck.

As the Duke did not speak, he volunteered after a moment or two,

“As a matter of fact they are not far from here at the moment. They are staying at Tring Castle.”

“Tring was a good soldier,” the Duke said automatically.

“He has been pretty wild since the war ended,” Major Haverington added. “I found one of the parties I attended at The Castle was far too noisy for my liking. But that is the sort of thing that Delyth enjoys.”

The Duke had a sudden vision of the same sort of parties that the Major was describing, taking place at Kingswood. The idea made him wince.

He knew when men and women were riotously drunk how easily treasures were damaged in the process and were far more difficult to replace than damaged reputations.

Clenching his fist, he brought it down heavily on the table making the crystal glasses jump.

“I will not have it! Do you hear me, Bevil? I will not permit Richard to marry this woman.”

“But how can you stop him?” the Major asked bluntly.

“Give me an idea. You used to be full of them when we were fighting in Portugal.”

“If we were there,” Major Haverington replied, “we could doubtless have Delyth kidnapped or send Richard home in a slow ship! But Portugal is one thing, England another.”

There was a scowl between the Duke’s eyes as he said,

“There must be something we can do. You know she ruined young Morpeth and he had to retire to the country.”

“Without a penny to his name,” Major Haverington agreed, “and Morpeth was not the only one. But where Richard is concerned she intends to be his wife and although one may dislike her, you have to admit that she will grace the Kingswood diamonds.”

“Not if I chuck every one of them into the lake with my own hands!” the Duke thundered violently.

His glass was empty and he reached for the decanter of port, then changed his mind and picked up the one containing brandy.

“If anything could make me feel uncivilised and ready to commit murder,” he said, “it is the idea of Delyth Maulden making a fool of Richard – and of me.”

“There is one quite simple solution.”

“What is that?”

“That you should get married and have an heir!”

As Major Haverington spoke, he saw a flash of anger in his friend’s face that, even though he knew the Duke so well, was frightening.