Return of the Duke Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Regency Hearts Series

  Other Books by Jennifer

  Newsletter Information

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Return of the Duke

  Regency Hearts

  Book 2

  Jennifer Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 Jennifer Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The Duke of Fire

  Return of the Duke

  The Defiant Brides Series

  The Duke’s Wager

  The Spinster’s Secret

  The Duchess Remembers

  The Earl’s Mission

  Duke of Thorns

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  Chapter One

  William Hawkins gave a grunt as he dug yet another hole in the unyielding earth with a pointed spade, ready to prepare the garden bed for the new spring flowers he was to plant later that week. No matter how little or great the rain was, he always found the ground hard. The air was especially warm for this early in the year, and he stood and wiped sweat from his forehead.

  Beside him, Thomas Wilkins straightened and massaged his lower back. “I fear my days of gardening might be coming to an end,” the man, who was at least thirty years older than William’s one and twenty, said. “Though I don’t know what I’ll do next with this life of mine. I might find myself awfully bored.”

  “Maybe buy a small cottage and do a bit of farming?” William suggested as he leaned on the shovel.

  The older man shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Voices coming down the garden path made the two men turn. Miss Margaret Garvey, the only daughter of their employer Lord Garvey, 3rd Baron of Foramint, was of the same age as William, as were the other three women in her company, or so William assumed. He had to fight a smile that threatened to spread across his lips while studying the group of women as they made their way toward Thomas and him. It was not out of disrespect or admiration that he studied the woman, however, but rather an interest in how women of the ton conducted themselves as compared to those who lived the life he had. He knew better than to outright ogle them, for it could easily land him back on the streets from which he came. Lord Garvey had made that point clear when William was hired on as undergardener to Thomas just over four years earlier.

  “If you so much as look at my daughter,” he had said in that smug tone he was wont to use when dealing with any of those who were in his employ, “I will see you not only thrown out of my home but also flogged beforehand. My Margaret is not one of your types and will not be treated as such. Do I make myself clear?”

  William had agreed wholeheartedly, though he found it difficult to not study the girls and her friends. They were very beautiful with their carefully styled coiffures, lace dresses, and impeccable postures, and the way they held up their fans in front of the faces and giggled when the saw him looking their way was intriguing. However, he would do nothing to be accused of wrongdoing, for he needed this position. Granted, thirty guineas a year was not much as far as wages were concerned, but it was certainly better than what he had before, which was nothing at all of which to speak. The fact was that his food and lodging alone would have made the hard work he put in worth every minute of his time in the garden. No, he would do nothing to jeopardize what he was thankful to have, but it was not easy to keep his eyes from wandering from time to time.

  As the women passed the two gardeners, one of Miss Garvey’s friends, a Miss Flanks if William remembered correctly, looked his way, a mischievous grin forming on her pouting lips.

  William’s cheeks burned and he pushed back his hair in a self-conscious manner as the women giggled and then turned a corner and moved out of sight.

  “Ya should stop yer dreaming,” Thomas said. “I’ve been doing this work for coming on forty-five years now, and them types won’t never speak to the likes of us.”

  William sighed. “I know, but it’s nice to wonder, ain’t—isn’t—it?” He had been working on getting his speech to sound more refined, but after so many years of bad habits, he was finding it more than difficult. What he needed was proper instruction, but where would a gardener get that type of training? “Can you imagine going to their fancy parties and attending them during their outings?”

  Thomas snorted. “Which you’ll never be a part of. Them dresses alone cost more than you or I would ever earn in a year. Nay, in a year. Concentrate on yer work; that’s the only thing to do.”

  The old man was right, but William could not help but allow his mind to wander to what might be. Most people in the lower class had the same thoughts, he knew, for he had shared in conversations with more than one of the servants on what life would be like to be of the genteel people. It did little harm to dream, and William voiced as much.

  “Little harm?” Thomas asked in an admonishing tone as he picked up the hoe once more. “I’d say it does lots of harm if ya spend yer days leaning on that shovel instead of using it to finish yer work. Now, get busy now or ya might just find yerself back out of a position before the sun sets.”

  William sighed and stuck the tip of the shovel into the ground and pushed down with his foot once more. “Well, one day, I will have my farm and I’ll not have to work for anyone else. Just you wait and see.”

  “Sure ya will, my boy,” Thomas said, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Won’t we all?”

  “William,” a singsong voice called out, making him turn once again. Lady Garvey, Miss Margaret’s mother, walked up, and he gave her a polite smile.

  “Yes, My Lady?” he replied with a respectful bow.

  Lady Henrietta Garvey was nearing fifty years of age and had not lost any of the beauty or youthfulness she had possessed from her younger years. The woman had always been kind, and William respected her that much more for it. When William first obtained his position at Millweed Manor, he had not been able to read a single word or write his own name, but Lady Garvey had taken pity on him and allowed him to take lessons from the tutor when the man finished lessons with her daughter. Lady Garvey had been amazed at how quickly he learned to read and soon allowed him to choose from a small collection of books on a shelf in the servants’ quarters. Most of the books had loose or missing covers, but the stories were complete, and William devoured them much like he had devoured his first real meal at Millweed after he had not eaten for more than two days prior.

  “Alfred wished to know when the flowers will be planted,” she said. “I informed him they would be planted when you finished readying the beds, but alas, he wants to know which day exactly.”

  All of the servants
were aware of the obsession the Baron had with time and planning, and although Lady Garvey had never had an ill word for her husband, it was clear she found his fixation amusing, if not a bit nettling.

  “We should have the beds ready by this evening, My Lady,” William replied. “Then we can begin planting tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, William, Thomas,” she said with a smile for each of them. “I will inform my husband immediately.” And with that, she turned and walked back to the house.

  “Ya realize we’ll be working till sunset now,” Thomas said with a scowl, though his tone was not unkind. “I don’t think my ole back will keep up at this pace.”

  “Don’t worry,” William said as he clapped the man on the back. “I’ll make sure it’s all finished in time.” He took great joy in planting and tending the flowers once they bloomed. The various colors of rich purples and reds were among his favorites.

  The two men resumed their work, and an hour passed before they paused to take a break. Miss Garvey and her friends had already returned to the house, but this time William did not stop to look at them. He had promised Lady Garvey to have the beds ready by sunset, and William was a man of his word if nothing else.

  Thomas grimaced in pain and grabbed his back.

  “You need to rest,” William said. “Here, have a sit-down. If your back locks up and the Baron finds out, he won’t be none too pleased.”

  “I don’t need no one telling me what to do,” Thomas said with a scowl.

  William laughed, knowing the man was not truly angry with him.

  “My back is nothing but muscle,” the old man said. “I’ll continue working, thank you very much.” When he pushed the hoe out, however, he cringed again.

  “And your stubbornness is as hard as your muscles,” William said with a pat on the man’s back. “Please, if anything, let me catch up on my share of the work. For years now, I’ve allowed you the majority of it. It’s about time I do my part.” In all actuality, William did as much work as Thomas, if not more at times, but he knew the old man would never agree to rest unless William gave him the credit he was due.

  As expected, the old man nodded, his hand scratching the stubble on his chin. “You are a lazy one,” he said, handing William the hoe. “Fine, I’ll sit back for a while. I suppose I’ve earned it after all.” He hobbled over to a large tree and lowered himself gingerly to the ground, placing his back against the trunk with a sigh.

  With a smile, William returned to the work at hand, and soon the sounds of Thomas’s snores made William’s grin widen that much more.

  ***

  Late the following morning, William planted a few flowers as Thomas pruned the limbs on one of the nearby hedges. It was always the same, William hunched over the well-turned ground while Thomas worked standing where the work was easier on his back. They went through the same argument every planting season since the first.

  “I’m not an old man,” Thomas would snap. “I’ve been doing this work since before you took your first breath.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of your experience,” William would reply calmly. “But both jobs need doing, and you are much better at pruning than I.”

  Then Thomas would puff up his chest. “Well, that there is the truth. All right, we’ve got work to do.” And he would be off to gather the sheers needed to prune as William would shake his head after the man.

  William stood and surveyed his progress. The first bed had been planted and he was now halfway through the second. Soon they would break for a bite to eat, but he supposed he had time to finish one more row before then.

  “Ah, William, there you are!” Lord Garvey called out in a congenial tone that sounded odd coming from the man, at least when he was speaking to a servant. As William turned toward the man, the Baron smiled, making William cringe. That look was so strange it was frightening. It was not evil as such, but William doubted he had ever seen a smile on the man’s face in the four years he knew him despite the man’s tone toward his family and friends. However, it was not as if William was inside fraternizing with the man or his equals, so perhaps it was more common than William realized.

  However, it was not the smile Lord Garvey wore that held William’s curiosity. Beside him stood a man with silver hair and dapper dress in his dark tailcoats and perfectly-tied cravat. The man did not have the look of the ton, but he did appear someone important.

  “My Lord,” William said as he gave a deep, nervous bow and clutched his hat in both hands, “I’m doing my best to hurry the work along. But don’t worry none; the flowers will be planted by the end of the day and in no time you’ll have your garden in full bloom just as you like it.”

  “Nonsense, my boy,” the Baron said, which caught William off-guard. “The flowers can be planted later. And by someone else.” He clapped William on the back as if they were old friends who had not seen each other in a long while, which only made William cringe all the more. What was the man up to? Sometimes these people of the higher class could be strange. “This is Mr. Charles Ludlow, and he has some wonderful news for you.”

  William gave the man a deeper bow than he had given Lord Garvey. “Mr. Ludlow.”

  The man looked him up and down, much like one looking at a horse to purchase, as if sizing him up. “Good day to you,” he said in a formal tone William had never heard used toward him. Then the man looked at Lord Garvey. “Is there a place where I might speak with him in private?”

  “Of course,” the Baron replied in a fawning tone. He had yet to remove his hand from William’s shoulder, which William thought even stranger than all he had witnessed thus far. Lord Garvey was never one to dirty his hands, even if it was done by simply touching one of the servants. “Right this way.”

  Confusion ran through William as Lord Garvey led him and Mr. Ludlow to the house. What would this man want with William? Then fear struck him; he knew what this man wanted. So, it had finally caught up to him. The offense was not a hangable one, but it would send him away to prison for several years. He would lose his position here at Millweed Manor, of that he was certain, and that was the worst that could happen to him.

  They moved through the house and entered the parlor, a room William had never entered before. Not that he had many opportunities to be inside the house, of course, for the room to which he had been assigned was located at the back of a small building where supplies for the gardens were kept. He shared the space with Thomas, and not a day went by that he was not thankful for the small bed and the few pegs on the wall where he hung the scant number of clothes he owned.

  “Margaret,” the Baron snapped at his daughter, who sat with the same friends who had been present the day before in the garden, embroidery hoops in hand, “you and your friends must leave. William needs this room.”

  Margaret rose, her eyes flames as they glared at William. “The gardener?” she gasped. “You wish me to abandon this room…” she stared at him in disgust, “for him?”

  William made no comment or reaction; he was accustomed to such treatment from those of the classes above him and did not expect it to change anytime soon. This did not mean the words did not sting, but what could he do? The streets were not a friendly place to live for anyone of any station, but certainly much less friendly than Millweed Manor.

  “I said leave! Now!” her father shouted.

  Margaret clicked her tongue. “Come along, ladies. We can continue our work in the study, although the lighting will not be as bright there.” And with a swish of their skirts and a snub of their already upturned noses, they left the room.

  The Baron smiled at William. “Please, Son, sit where you please. Might I suggest this chair.” He walked up to a leather wing chair beside the now empty fireplace. “This is my personal seat.” Before William could move, a maid entered burdened with a tray. “Ah, our tea,” Lord Garvey said. “Let me pour.” He shooed away the maid and poured tea for all three men, William almost forgetting to keep his mouth closed. “Come now, have a seat. I am sure y
ou are more than ready to rest after so many hours in the garden. I imagine it is difficult work, but you perform it so well.”

  The wide smile the man gave William as he sat in the chair the Baron had indicated made William tremble. The manner in which Lord Garvey treated him indicated he was in grave trouble indeed. When the Baron handed him the teacup and saucer, William held both as if they would shatter if he did no more than look at them. The tea sloshed around in the cup, and William set the saucer on the arm of the chair to keep it from spilling over. When he looked up, Lord Garvey sat only with his teacup in his fingers and the saucer on the table, so William took the man’s lead and placed his saucer on the table. The tea was the best he had ever tasted.

  “Now, where shall we begin?” Lord Garvey asked as he looked at Mr. Ludlow.

  Mr. Ludlow gave the Baron a pointed look. “I would like to speak with Mr. Hawkins alone, if you do not mind. You understand, of course.”

  William expected the man to bluster about how the house belonged to him and that he could not be chased from any room within it; however, instead, he replied, “Oh, yes. Well, of course. I have business elsewhere, anyway. If you need anything, please, simply ask.” Then he shocked William further by giving him a hurried bow—a bow to his gardener!—and he left the room.

  All William could do was stare at the now closed door in awe before Mr. Ludlow cleared his throat and removed several papers from a case he had set on the floor beside his chair.

  “Mr. Hawkins,” the man began, his voice deep but quiet, “tell me about your life.”

  William stared at the man. His life? What was there to tell? “What do you want to know?” he asked. “There’s not a whole lot.”

  “Your parents, you, how did you come to work here? Those types of things.”

  Mimicking Mr. Ludlow was not an easy task; it was awkward holding the tiny cup in two fingers, but William did his best. More than once the liquid dripped down the side, and when he almost dropped the delicate porcelain, he gave up the pretense and set the cup on the table.