Chapter 23
In the weeks since his old employer had died, Charles Holt expected every day that the new Duke would dispense with his services at any moment.
But as each day passed without dismissal, he began to wonder if he had been wrong for all those years. Charles had always assumed that James Harrington would be done with him the minute the old Duke died, and yet that did not seem to be the case at all.
It was nearly three years since Lord Harrington had brutally held Charles against the wall of the study and put him in fear of his life.
But from that moment onward, not another word had passed between the two men until the old Duke had finally passed away.
So, Charles simply continued to complete the little tasks that he had been handed prior to Richard Harrington’s death. And every month, he received payment for his work, payment that had been approved by the new Duke.
After some weeks of this, and as Charles neared the end of the tasks he had been working on, he was finally called to the new Duke’s study.
When he walked through the corridor and tapped lightly at the door, Charles realized it was with far more trepidation than he had ever felt previously.
As much as the old Duke was a difficult man, one given to sudden outbursts of rage, he did not make Charles Holt afraid in the way that James Harrington did.
He knew, even if he did not openly admit it to himself, that he had underestimated that man all those years ago. He had thought him nothing more than a fool who ought to have been more serious and had never once considered what a powerful man James Harrington truly was until they had been eye to eye with Charles’ very breath being squeezed out of him.
Indeed, there was a side to the new Duke, a silent and unseen side, that made Charles Holt afraid.
“Come in,” came a voice from within, and Charles took a deep breath before walking into the study in what he hoped was a confident, respectful manner.
“Your Grace,” Charles said, addressing James Harrington for the first time since his title had changed.
He bowed deeply, all the while his heart racing as he expected either dismissal or another physical attack.
“I believe you are nearing the end of the tasks my father set you before he died, Holt,” the Duke said levelly. “And so, I have something else that I would like you to look at, if you will.”
“Certainly, Your Grace.” Charles stood with his hands behind his back in front of the great desk in the way that he had always done with the old Duke.
He had never imagined that he would one day have to pay his respects in such a way to the young man he had so despised. And even now, even after having his little bit of revenge three years ago, still it irked him that a person such as James Harrington could find himself a Duke. Still, his old resentment remained.
“I have been looking through the conditions that my father set for the tenant farmers and can see that he charges a higher commission on their crop yields than is regular. I would like it to be dropped by one quarter. To that end, Holt, I would be pleased if you would re-draft the contract for each and every tenant farmer and have them sign.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Charles Holt said. “But will that not lessen the Duchy income?”
“Indeed, it will, although not by a great deal,” the Duke said thoughtfully. “But I am certain that my father’s demands were excessive, and I am determined to put that right. And I am sure that the farmers will be pleased to have a little extra money in their own pockets for a change.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Charles felt the familiar disdain as he looked at his new master.
He was once again reminded of the old Duchess with her shrewd eyes and her clever ways, and he thought that the new Duke did not have an ounce of sense compared with the old Duke.
“That will be all,” James said and looked up from his desk to dismiss him.
And at that moment, Charles saw everything he needed to know. There was such a look of revulsion in James Harrington’s eyes that he realized nothing had changed between the two men. James Harrington was continuing to employ him in spite of his low regard, and Charles instantly knew the reason for it.
The new Duke was scared of the knowledge that Charles had. His father might be dead, but the old threat to Miss Charlotte Cunningham and the hapless Baron had not died with him.
Charles suddenly felt ten feet tall and full of power over the man who had held him against the wall and bruised his windpipe.
Charles bowed and turned to leave the room, hiding his smile of self-satisfaction from the man he now thought he had on a piece of string.
When James received a letter from Hector Hanover, he could not be more pleased to read its contents. Some weeks had passed since his father had died, and James was finding that life as the Duke of Sandford was not as tedious as he had imagined it would be.
The truth was that he had already learned everything he needed to know, albeit a little unwillingly, in the preceding years. He had as much time to himself as ever he did and was pleased to put right some of his father’s wrongs, particularly concerning the tenant farmers.
And whilst he was not happy exactly, James had found a certain amount of contentment, peace even. He did not miss his father, even though he had mourned his loss in the end.
He was bright enough to know that had the old Duke lived, their relationship would have continued much as it had done throughout James’ entire life.
He had realized that there could only ever have been reconciliation at the end, and he had come to terms with the idea very quickly.
His father’s apology had allowed him to close the door and look towards the future, and Hector’s words on the day of his father’s passing concerning Charlotte and the idea that James might one day win her affections again had made him gently optimistic.
In truth, the only blot on his landscape was Charles Holt. He did not trust the man, and he despised the fact that he had been forced to keep him on by necessity. If nothing else, he could silently thank his father for his last words, for it had never occurred to him the serious damage that Charles Holt could still deliver.
If his father had not spoken so, dismissing Charles Holt from the Duchy of Sandford would have been James’ very first act as Duke; an act that would have undoubtedly led to that devious man giving into his own spite and wreaking the havoc that James had previously avoided by sacrificing his own happiness.
But when he had opened Hector’s letter and read it at the breakfast table, all thoughts of Charles Holt evaporated entirely.
“My dear James,
I had intended this letter originally as an invitation for you to finally return to Hanover Hall after your lengthy absence. Indeed, Pater has continually asked when you might visit us again, and I am bound to say that I think the old dear has rather missed you.
But it turns out that I cannot yet extend such an invitation, for I have news which I think will be of particular interest to you.
After a recent visit from dear old Lucas Cunningham, I have discovered that my cousin Charlotte is to be in the south of the county on an extended visit to her aunt.
I do not know if you are particularly acquainted with the woman, but I thought it well worth mentioning since her little estate in the South is actually rather south-east and not so great a distance from Sandford. And even if you do not know the lady, perhaps you have acquaintances in common that might serve you well in the coming weeks.
But to give you more information, the lady is a Mrs Gwendolyn Dearborn of Hawthorne Manor in Rayworth, which I believe is but seven miles from your own fine estate.
It is short notice, I realize, but perhaps it is enough time for you to make some enquiries of your own and to find some way to insert yourself into the same society. Although now that you are Duke, I am sure that you will find very little by way of objection to your attendance anywhere. Oh, the power, my dear chap!
And so it is that I have told my disappointed parent that you will not yet be a visitor to us at Hanover. But perhaps I might fetch the old dear over a few weeks from now to spend a little time with you and me in the comfort of your fine home. What do you say?
Anyway, I have very little else to report, given that it is only a few weeks since we last met, and so I shall end this now and let you immediately set about your own enquiries.
Do respond with your own news, though, for I am as excited to hear it as a young girl waiting for the final part of a romance in three volumes. And let me know what you think of my own proposition for mine and Pater’s visit also.
Well, good luck with it all; I am sure it will work out favourably if you put your mind to it.
With kind regards,
Hector.”
“As excited as a girl waiting for the final part of a three-volume romance, eh?” James said to himself and laughed. “Thank the Lord himself that you never change, Hector Hanover.”
James folded the letter and stowed it in his pocket. He reached out and helped himself to three more rashers of wonderfully well-cooked, crispy bacon, and poured himself another cup of tea.
His own sudden excitement had given him an appetite, and where he had thought he was finished with his breakfast, he now thought he could entirely eat the same amount all over again.
He had to admit that the name Dearborn only rang the very faintest of bells, although he had the idea of a man who had lived very well from the fortunes of a family business, perhaps industry of some kind.
Still, he was sure that he could easily employ the services of a trustworthy attorney to make a few enquiries for him sooner rather than later. What he did know for sure was that the attorney in question would most certainly not be Charles Holt.
Within three days of the receipt of Hector’s letter, James had not only discovered all the information he had sought but had managed to secure himself an invitation to an afternoon of bridge in the home of Lady Elton.
Employing the services of a Mr Jacob Summerton, attorney at law, he had quickly discovered that his original idea had been right. Giles Dearborn had been the son of a man who had amassed a very decent fortune in industry, and thus he had inherited very well.
Hawthorne Manor, an estate of some note, had been passed onto Giles Dearborn’s own son when he himself had died two years before.
But his son had expressed a wish to travel through Europe and see some of its sights, much in the style of the grand tour that many young men of note took these days.
In fact, it was a tour that James had wanted to take himself as a young man, but the idea of the polished education and culture it would have afforded him had, predictably, meant very little to his father who had denied his request almost before he had finished making it.
But the young Mr Dearborn, with his mother’s full blessing, had taken himself away for a lengthy excursion to see all the delights that Europe had to offer.
Mrs Gwendolyn Dearborn had remained at Hawthorne Manor, something of a pleasant widow who was making the very most of the freedom that her husband’s death had afforded her. And that would appear to include an extended visit from her only niece, the child of her dear sister.
Jacob Summerton had immediately proved himself to be worth his weight in gold, not only discovering that much information but making a very comprehensive list of the acquaintances that the new Duke and Mrs Gwendolyn Dearborn had in common.
Without asking a question as to the Duke’s intentions, that fine attorney had gone on to discover a list of engagements to which he felt sure Mrs Dearborn would be invited, and it was left to James to hope that she would take her visiting niece with her.
And so it was that James found himself nervously preparing for an afternoon of bridge at the home of Lady Elton. He knew the fine lady very well indeed, although he had never played a single hand of bridge under her roof.
James simply knew her from so many other events that the two had attended in common and was pleased to be extended an invitation to her long-standing bridge game when he had called upon her almost as soon as his new attorney had given him the requisite information.
He had done his best to give Lady Elton the idea that he was intent upon making his mark in the county as the new Duke, and therefore, finding himself as many fine social events as he could manage.
Although he could see that she was not entirely convinced by his assertion, he could also see that she was pleased nonetheless to find herself the subject of the new Duke’s interest.
Her home had never been graced by the old Duke, and James was sure that his father had barely spared a word for the dear old lady when their paths had crossed in years gone by.
But James always had, and he realized now that it was going to pay dividends. Lady Elton was a sociable woman, and she would undoubtedly be a very pleasant stepping-stone to other such events due to take place whilst Miss Charlotte Cunningham was staying at Hawthorne Manor.
When Samuel Jones, his valet, had finally finished dressing him, James stood alone in his chamber for some minutes surveying his appearance in the mirror.
He remembered well how Charlotte had always seemed to like his immaculate appearance, and he checked himself over from head to foot to make sure that there was not a hair out of place or a speck of dust anywhere on his deep blue waistcoat and tailcoat.
He studied his own face and could see that he had changed a little in the last three years. His hair, although still immaculate, had a few more strands of silver woven through its darkness, and the skin around his eyes had developed a few deep lines.
He was still only three-and-thirty, and he knew he certainly did not look old by any stretch of the imagination. He just looked older than he did.
James wondered then what changes would have been visited upon Charlotte herself. At ten years younger than him, he could hardly imagine that the hands of time would have done anything to that beautiful face, that clear glowing skin, and those bright blue eyes.
But more than anything, he longed to look at her, to see that slightly uneven, slightly sardonic smile and the little hint of mischief that had always seemed to shine from her whenever the two of them embarked upon one of their more lively conversations.
James could only hope that they would one day enjoy such a conversation again, for as it stood, he did not even know if she would acknowledge him. In truth, he did not know she would be there, for he had not dared to ask Lady Elton and risk giving away his true intentions.
All he had at that moment was hope. Hope that she would be there, hope that she would acknowledge him, and hope that she would not turn away as he had done three years before.