The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Read online

“You’ve killed your mother, you wretched boy!”

  He heard his father’s voice as clearly as though the man had risen from the grave and was standing beside him.

  “Get up from that chair! You know where you belong! You’ll sit at the table when you deserve it, not before.”

  “Frightened, boy? Scared of the dark? Expect me to waste a candle on you? You know what happens to cowards in my house…”

  “Crying, now! Pathetic! My only son, future Duke of Langdon, crying like a servant girl! Is that what they’ve made you at that puffed-up school? Ralph the coward? Ralph the snivelling, Ralph the wretched, Ralph the –”

  “Ralph!”

  He shuddered back to the present.

  An arm wrapped around his shoulders. Half-blind with remembered pain, Ralph struggled against it.

  “Hold still,” came Charlotte’s voice, clear and calming. A cool hand pressed against his forehead. “My husband, you’re not well.”

  Ralph ran a finger under his cravat to loosen it. “It was only the heat of the room…”

  “Here, let me help you.” She tugged the starched linen from around his throat. “There. Can you breathe a little better now?”

  “I am quite well.”

  “You’re pale as a ghost. Let me fetch Withers, we’ll help you to your bedchamber –”

  “Not Withers,” Ralph rasped. “No-one. No-one must see me like this.”

  Charlotte blinked, startled by his insistence, but nodded.

  “Is there anything I can fetch you? A glass of water, perhaps?”

  “All I need is time.”

  Charlotte’s arm squeezed him closer. Ralph let his head fall onto her shoulder.

  “This affliction,” she began cautiously. “Have you always suffered from it?”

  “It is not an affliction,” said Ralph. “It is…a memory. It’s this house. This time of year.”

  Charlotte laced the fingers of her other hand through his. “Would it help to talk about it?”

  “I never speak of it.”

  “Then how am I to help you?”

  “You cannot.”

  “I am your wife.”

  “And you were right in what you said earlier. I should never have married you. If you knew my true nature…”

  “Hush. I didn’t mean what I said. It is only that… Your Grace, I feel I hardly know you.”

  She’d let the tremble slip back into her voice again. Did she know what it did to him, hearing her so vulnerable? All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her until that tremor of pain went away.

  If only he could summon up the strength…

  “We are married,” said Ralph, aware of how painfully inadequate his words were. “It is ridiculous for you to go on calling me Your Grace.” Would it be foolish to tell her how much he’d liked the sound of his first name on her lips?

  “Would you prefer Langdon?” she asked shyly. Ugh. In Ralph’s ears Langdon would always mean his father.

  “Call me Ralph,” he said. He heard Charlotte’s sigh of delight. “It’s only appropriate.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you, Ralph.”

  “Charlotte,” he answered, breathing her name as though it held the power to bless him. “Charlotte, I…”

  “Yes, Ralph?”

  “I am going to bed.”

  “That seems wise,” she agreed, though he heard her disappointment plainly. “I’ll send up your valet.”

  “No, let him be. Let him enjoy the party.” Ralph sighed and dug his fists into his eyes until spirals of colour burst behind them. His head ached. “I will explain everything to you, Charlotte. Tomorrow, when I have the strength, I will explain. And I hope you can forgive me. I know you did not think you were marrying a broken man.”

  “Hush. That’s quite enough of that.” She stood up and offered him her hand. “It’s for me to decide whether the husband I have taken is adequate to my needs.”

  The wicked twinkle in her eye assured him she was joking. Ralph took her hand and steadied himself against her as he rose to his feet.

  “You’ll stay and take care of our guests?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Charlotte lowered her eyes again, suddenly shy. “Well… Goodnight, Ralph.”

  How were husbands supposed to bid goodnight to their wives? With a kiss, he supposed. It would certainly be no chore to kiss Charlotte. She was astonishingly beautiful in the silver rays of moonlight which lit the stairway. Her black hair fell in a series of perfect curls around her face, each of them begging to be wound about his finger. Her rosebud mouth hung slightly open, as though awaiting his own.

  He was not selfish enough to do it. After what he had shared with her, and the worse things he had promised to tell, he could not bring himself to impose upon her in that way.

  It would be up to her to decide whether to accept him as husband or not, once she knew the truth.

  “Goodnight, Charlotte,” he said, desire deepening his voice from a growl to a black-treacle purr. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He did not know, as he ascended the stairs, whether the thought of spending time with his new wife still brought him dread, or hope.

  6

  Charlotte usually liked to rise with the dawn, but there was no question of that on Christmas morning – especially after staying up so late the night before. She took the rare opportunity to lie in bed and wriggle her toes under the covers, luxuriating in the warmth from the cheerful fire, and watching the gentle spiral of snowflakes blowing past the window. It was the perfect Christmas morning.

  The only thing missing, Charlotte thought with a mischievous grin, was a handsome duke’s chest to use as a pillow.

  Well, as luck would have it, she was more fortunate than most of the girls in England lying abed dreaming of such things. She had the perfect man in mind, and he was waiting for her just down the corridor.

  Charlotte slipped her bare feet into a pair of slippers, wrapped herself in a dressing gown, and ventured out into the hall. The house was quiet and peaceful. Most of the servants had been given the morning off, and aside from lighting the fires, there was very little to be done. Presently, she would ring for Tilly and order up a pot of hot tea. Perhaps she and Ralph would even take it together in his rooms. Her visions of a muscular pillow might not be so far off from reality.

  The thought of Ralph lying in wait for her, bare-chested and oozing masculinity, sent her into a fit of giggles. She bit down on her lower lip to stop them as she knocked on his door. She might not know him as well as she wanted to, but she knew enough to be sure he wouldn’t appreciate being laughed at.

  “Come in!”

  Charlotte thought Ralph was expecting her, but his astonishment when he saw her tiptoeing into his room in her slippers told her otherwise.

  “Charlotte! You are not dressed!”

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, kissing his cheek before he had a chance to object. Unlike yesterday, his skin was smooth and clean-shaven. She wasn’t sure whether she missed the beard. “You’re up early.”

  It was true. He was dressed and ready for the day. Well, he’d had an earlier night than she had.

  “I am about to go riding.” Ralph flashed her one of the flinty glares that she now knew masked all manner of deeper emotions. “I suppose you will want me to wait for you to join me?”

  “Not at all. Ride as much as you wish. I have plenty to attend to here.”

  He raised an eyebrow suspiciously at that, but made no enquiries and went back to tying his cravat. “I will be home in time to accompany you to church. Then we may dine together, if that pleases you.”

  “Very much,” said Charlotte. She prudently decided not to tell him yet that they wouldn’t be dining alone. “Ralph, before you go…”

  His hands froze at his throat, mid-knot. “Yes. Yes, I did promise you.”

  Charlotte sat on his bed – his room was so impossibly Spartan that there was nowhere else to sit – and patted the space besi
de her. Ralph watched her with baffled amusement.

  “Are you inviting me to sit on my own bed?”

  Charlotte refrained from pointing out that, as his wife, she had the right to do a great deal more than sit on that bed. “Stand, if you prefer. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

  Ralph cleared his throat. It was painfully obvious that nothing would make him truly comfortable under the circumstances. He held his hands behind his back like a schoolboy reciting lines, and fixed his gaze on the mantelpiece several feet away from Charlotte’s head. Her heart broke a little to think of the effort this was costing him.

  “Charlotte, I’m afraid I was not entirely honest with you before our wedding day. That is not to say I told you any untruths, but rather… I lied by omission. There are things about me which you must understand in order to accept the reality of our marriage.”

  “I’m listening,” she said.

  Ralph coughed awkwardly and began pacing about the room. Charlotte longed to put her arms around him and comfort him, but she knew he would be mortified if she acknowledged his show of weakness. She waited patiently until he was ready to speak.

  “My childhood was an unpleasant one,” said Ralph. “I will spare you the details. You need only know that I was not raised to be a family man. This was not a loving household such as the one you knew at Bessington. I was alone, for a start – no siblings to stand beside me – and I was the sole subject of my father’s rages.”

  He went to the window, so that all Charlotte could see was the silhouette of his dark head against the snow. His hand clenched into a fist on the mantelpiece. “As soon as I was old enough, Eton became my escape. I spent summers with my friends. My father never summoned me home. But at this time of year…”

  “You had to return home for Christmas,” said Charlotte. Her need to take him in her arms was stronger than ever, but she let him finish.

  “My father was not a religious man. It was not to honour the spirit of the season.” Ralph glanced back towards her, revealing for a brief moment the pain on his face. “It was for the sake of my mother’s memory. She died at Christmastime. It was my fault – Father was away on business, and when Mother fell ill I did not summon a doctor in time.”

  “But you were only a child!” Charlotte gasped.

  “I was old enough to know better. I suppose I panicked… or rather, I was too excited by playing with the village boys who had come by to sing carols. Regardless, by the time the doctor arrived, it was too late. My father never let me forget it. From that day forward, he hated me. And I’m afraid I was never the same, either. The comforts of home, the trappings of family life – the Christmas celebrations – they are all repugnant to me. I cannot bear them.”

  “Oh, Ralph.” Charlotte held out her hands towards him; she couldn’t help it. Ralph stared at her outstretched arms in astonishment.

  “Did you not hear my story? I am unfit for family life. Charlotte, whatever dreams you had for our marriage, surely you see now that they must be put away!”

  “I see only that your father was cruel and that you have believed his words for too long,” she said. “Come here, my husband, and let me kiss you.”

  Ralph took a step back, astonishment plain on his face. Charlotte rather enjoyed the fact that she had shocked him so deeply.

  “I do not believe I am capable of giving you the affection you deserve,” he muttered. Charlotte rose from the bed.

  “I believe you are capable of giving me a good deal more than you think,” she said. She felt as though her heart were tugging her towards him, desperate to soothe him with kisses until the ghosts of the past ceased their torment. But she would not push him. No, she would go slowly, slowly, and carefully. Now that she had seen her route to the duke’s heart, she would not let haste mar their future. There would be time enough for kisses when he was not so distraught.

  She simply placed her hand on his chest, above his heart. Ralph gripped it so hard it almost pained her.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  They stood together for a long moment, all sound but the fire muffled by falling snow, Ralph’s heartbeat slowing and calming under Charlotte’s hand.

  “I will teach you what a family is, if you’ll let me,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. “And we’ll replace your painful Christmas memories with happy ones.”

  “I would like that,” said Ralph. Their eyes locked. Charlotte couldn’t be certain, but she thought she saw the light of desire kindling in his ice-blue eyes. A flame which matched the one in her own heart.

  She wanted, more than anything, for him to lean down and press his lips to hers.

  A servant’s footsteps went past outside his room, and they jerked apart like guilty lovers caught hiding in a corner.

  “Go for a ride,” said Charlotte, reluctantly putting her longing aside. “It will clear your head. But please make sure you are home in time for church.”

  “Of course,” said Ralph. Just before she left the room, he caught her bare hand and pressed it to his lips. Charlotte was completely caught off guard. The warmth of his mouth send fizzes of delight rushing through her.

  “Oh!”

  “Oh,” he repeated solemnly, watching her reaction with a knowing expression that told her he knew exactly what he did to her, and went back to tying his cravat as though nothing had happened at all.

  7

  Ralph had not been to Langdon village church in years. In some ways, it was exactly as he remembered it. The flagstones etched with the names of notable Langdon residents past. The stately stained glass windows which scattered the morning sun in jewel-coloured fragments across the congregation. The Christmas candle burning beside the pulpit. The indescribably church-like scent of old paper in the air.

  The last time he’d come here on Christmas morning, his father had been beside him. That forbidding presence, a head taller than Ralph yet hunched like an old crow, loomed out of his memories, causing him to stumble a little as he made his way down the pew.

  Charlotte caught his arm. The cold outside had brought a pink glow to her cheeks which sent Ralph’s shadows flying into the church’s dimmest corners.

  It wasn’t very holy, but he wanted nothing more than to kiss the chill away until her cheeks dimpled with delight.

  The pastor was surprised to see Ralph taking his place at the front of the congregation. It must have stood empty for many years. Charlotte, cheerful as ever, gave the man a friendly wave.

  As the service began, Ralph felt as though a weight was lifting from his heart. The pastor was only retelling an old, familiar story, using old, familiar words, yet for once that very familiarity felt as comforting as a meeting with an old friend. He looked behind him at the rows of faces he’d known since boyhood – Withers, as starched and stiff as ever, the men from the village, his tenants in their Sunday best – faces he’d long resented, faces he’d avoided for years. Now, he was struggling to remember why. They had never harmed him, after all. They had never voiced blame for the death of their beloved duchess.

  Perhaps Charlotte was right. Perhaps he was not so broken as he’d always thought.

  Perhaps he might be able to find peace in his own home.

  Afterwards, Ralph was ready to head back to Langdon Manor. He’d had quite enough of company for the day, though he said no more than a few passing words to the other members of the congregation. As he made his way down the path through the graveyard, Charlotte tugged his arm.

  “They will want you to stay and wish them a Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

  Ralph turned back and saw that it was true. The pastor was standing in the doorway, shaking the hands of each man and woman who passed him. The moment they left the pastor, all eyes turned to Ralph, nervous but hopeful.

  The thought of speaking to all those people, of wishing glad tidings he did not truly feel, set Ralph’s pulse hammering again. “I cannot –”

  “Of course you can,” said Charlotte, nudging him forwards. “Are you not Duke of L
angdon? Are these not your tenants? They look up to you. Don’t disappoint them on Christmas day.”

  He was about to turn away and reject the notion out of hand when he caught that pleading tremor in her voice. “Please, Ralph. Do it for me?”

  Hang it all! He could not possibly deny her when she asked him in that heartrending tone.

  Ralph took up his place besides the astonished pastor. The villagers, smiling nervously, tipped their hats to him one by one and wished him and the duchess a very merry Christmas. Ralph accepted their good wishes with inarticulate grunts and nods of his head. It did not seem like much, but apparently it was enough. Charlotte, at his side, was beaming with pride. She seemed to know the intimate family business of every person in the village. Her stream of chatter was as meticulous as it was endless. She asked after Mrs Garrett’s knees, Mr Fulham’s children, the Jenkins family cow… How on earth had she come to know all these people?

  Ralph asked her as much when they were in the carriage home. He asked rather bluntly, but the question delighted Charlotte into another dimpled beam. She had taken it as a compliment.

  “I pay attention, I suppose. I’ve taken great care to keep up with my charitable visits about the village. There are so many people in need, you know. I have such great plans for tomorrow –”

  “Tomorrow?” Was the wretched Christmas season never to end?

  “Yes, Ralph. Tomorrow is Boxing Day. I have written up a strict schedule so that we may attend to all the poor people in the village. It’s all in hand.”

  “I see.” Ralph turned to the window, hoping she could not see his face. The last person he had accompanied on a Boxing Day visit was his mother.

  “In the meantime, we have dinner to think of,” said Charlotte. “I didn’t mention it earlier, but you know it is traditional not to keep up the usual formalities at Christmastime…”

  “Yes, you’ve made that inescapably clear.”

  “Well, I have invited the servants to dine with us today. It’s what we used to do at Bessington, and it’s a lovely way to get to know them better.”