Chapter 1

One

Lancashire, England, 1794

“… C ome, ye blessed children of my Father, receive the kingdom prepared for you from the beginning of the world: Grant this, we beseech thee, O merciful Father, through Jesus Christ, our Mediator and Redeemer. Amen,” the rector said, stepping back from the graveside, before concluding with the grace.

Ralph watched from afar as a final salute was taken, and the mourners tossed handfuls of soil into the open grave. He had never understood such a practice – throwing dirt on a loved one in their final resting place. He sighed, brushing a tear from his eye, and glancing at his mother, who stood stoically at his side. She wore a black veil, her head bowed, supported by Anna, her lady’s companion.

The funeral had passed in a blur – the military honors, the rousing eulogy in which a military chaplain had extolled his brother’s virtues, the prayers and promises of resurrection. It all seemed so final. It was final. Max was dead, and Ralph was now the Duke of Lancaster. It was an honor he had never sought, an honor he had never wanted. But that was the tragedy of aristocracy – for a title to pass, death was necessary, and Max’s death had come all too soon. The chaplain had spoken of honor on the battlefield, but Ralph could see little honor in dying on some foreign field in a war which still dragged needlessly on.

“What a waste of life,” Ralph thought to himself.

The mourners were dispersing now, and the gravedigger had stepped forward to cover the grave. They were standing in the family plot, in the churchyard of Saint James’ – the church of Burnley Abbey, where generations of Ralph’s family had been interred. A gravestone would soon be erected, and the dates of Max’s short life carved into the stone. It was final, and Ralph could feel only sadness at the prospect of what was to come – a life lived without his brother, who had been his dearest friend.

“My deepest condolences, Your Grace,” one of the mourners said, passing Ralph and tipping his hat with a mournful expression on his face.

Ralph was still not used to being referred to in such terms. He had been raised as the younger brother, with no expectation of inheritance. He had not yet found his purpose, and now it had been thrust on him through unexpected sorrow.

“Thank you,” he replied, and other expressed similar sentiments as they passed.

All the while, Ralph’s mother, the Dowager Duchess, Lady Diana, stood silently at his side, her head bowed. She had barely spoken that day, lost in grief over the death of her eldest son. In that moment, Ralph did not know what to say to her, though he had done his best to be dutiful in the weeks following his return from Corsica with Max’s body and had taken his responsibilities seriously. He was the Duke of Lancaster, and now he had a duty to his brother to take up his legacy.

“I want to go home now,” Ralph’s mother said, as the gravedigger shoveled earth into the grave.

“This way, my Lady. There’s a carriage waiting,” Anna said, taking the dowager by the arm.

“I’m going to walk,” Ralph said, still staring at his brother’s grave – such a waste of life.

His mother was led away, and it was now Ralph who noticed a woman standing some distance away across the graveyard. It was Teresa, one of the servants, and now she approached, holding a single rose in her hand. It was late summer, and the warmth of the day was giving way to a gathering storm. Dark clouds lay on the horizon, threatening rain, and a breeze was blowing across the churchyard, as though signifying the changes to come.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, might I?” Teresa asked, and Ralph nodded.

“Of course, you may,” he said, as Teresa placed the rose on the now filled grave.

Teresa was with child. It had become more evident in the weeks since Ralph’s return. There had been whispers, but Ralph had ignored them. She had been a loyal servant, and his brother had been fond of her.

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” she said, with a sorrowful look on her face, and Ralph gave a weak smile.

“It’s kind of you to say so. My brother was…a good man,” he said, and Teresa nodded.

“He was good to me, Your Grace,” she said, sighing, as though recalling happy memories amidst the pain.

They stood in silence for a few moments, and Ralph felt the first drop of rain falling, as a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance.

“You should get back, Teresa. I don’t want you catching a chill,” Ralph said, and Teresa nodded, glancing at the grave with tears in her eyes.

“I won’t forget him, Your Grace,” she said, with a look of determination in her eyes.

“I won’t forget him, either,” Ralph replied .

As the rain fell more heavily, Ralph watched Teresa go, bobbing between the gravestones and disappearing through the gate at the far end of the graveyard. It was an ancient place, surrounded by yew trees, the squat medieval church tower rising out of the moorland like an ancient fortification. Burnley Abbey lay a short distance away, on the edge of the moor, and a path ran through woods from the church onto the main driveway. It was this route Ralph now took, sheltering from the rain beneath the trees, though walking slowly, lost in his thoughts.

“A fitting tribute, Your Grace,” a voice behind him said, as Ralph reached the gate leading onto the drive, where the tree line ended.

He startled, not realizing he had been followed, and turning, he saw the now familiar figure of Connor Edge, the son of Ralph’s father’s advisor, and now Ralph’s own. He was the land agent for the estate, having taken over the responsibility following his father’s death, a man who knew Burnley Abbey better than anyone, and following Ralph’s return from Corsica, he had been quick to offer his services to the new duke. Max had not trusted him, but Ralph had seen no reason not to, and had relied on him heavily in the weeks following his brother’s death. He was in his forties, with a striking head of red hair, and bright blue eyes. Now he hurried forward, clearly having followed Ralph all the way from the church.

“Yes… I thought so,” Ralph said, pausing at the gate, as Burnley Abbey itself came into view through the trees.

“Your mother seems inconsolable,” Connor continued, shaking his head sadly.

“Grief comes differently to us all. I’ve had so much to think about, I’ve hardly had time to…well, I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I miss him, and I curse him for getting himself killed, as terrible as that sounds. He should be here,” Ralph exclaimed, forgetting himself for a moment as his emotions overwhelmed him.

Connor reached out and placed his hand on Ralph’s arm. He had been a reassuring presence in the weeks following Max’s death, always ready to offer his advice on anything Ralph was unsure of. The business of running the estate, of managing the house, and attending to his wider responsibilities had seemed overwhelming, but Connor had been a steady guide through it all, and Ralph was grateful to him for his reassuring presence at this difficult time.

“But he isn’t, Your Grace. A funeral offers finality. It makes the loss real, and the future uncertain. But your brother would have wanted you to take his place. This is your rightful inheritance. It’s yours,” Connor replied.

“Yes…whether I like it or not,” Ralph replied.

They walked together through the gate from the trees, joining the sweeping drive leading up to the house. Burnley Abbey was a fine dwelling, one of the handsomest houses in the county, built around a central tower, in a gothic style, with a grand entrance on its east side, and windows to the west looking out over the moors. The gardens were in full bloom, and despite the rain, a heady scent of roses and lavender hung in the air. Carriages were parked outside, for the guests at the funeral had been invited for refreshments at the house, and Ralph was expected to be their host.

“You’ll find it easier in time, Your Grace, I assure you. You’ve so much still to learn. It’s only natural you should feel somewhat overwhelmed by it all,” Connor replied.

“I feel as though I’m being pulled in every direction possible. I’m demanded here, or here, or here. Responsibilities lie at every turn. When I concentrate on one thing, it’s to the detriment of another,” Ralph replied, shaking his head.

His brother had often spoken of the burden he carried, even as he had marched merrily off to war, leaving the estate in the hands of Connor. But Ralph was not his brother, and he was finding the burden almost too much. In the army, he had been given responsibilities, but they were contained and certain. As the Duke of Lancaster, it seemed he could work day and night and never finish what he had started.

“You’ll get used to it, Your Grace. I’ll help you in any way I can,” Connor said.

Ralph gave a weak smile. He was grateful to Connor for everything he had done. Not only for him, but for his brother and his father, too. Without Connor, he would be lost, and he was coming to rely on him evermore in the day to day running of the estate.

“I couldn’t do it without you, Connor. I’ll get used to it, I suppose. One can get used to anything if one has to,” Ralph replied.

“I noticed the maid, Teresa Baker at the funeral, Your Grace,” Connor said, as they walked towards the house.

The rain had lessened, though a strong breeze was driving it in sheets across the moorland, where blue skies and black clouds, made a strange contrast of light and dark. Ralph paused, turning to Connor with a puzzled look.

“Why shouldn’t she be? Gregson was there, and a number of the other servants, too. I told him they could be – it’s up to the butler how he organizes things,” Ralph replied.

Connor smiled.

“Ah yes, Your Grace, but… Teresa isn’t quite the same as the other servants, is she?” he asked.

Ralph sighed. He had been trying not to think about the matter too closely, but Connor was right, Teresa was different. She was with child, and as much as Ralph had tried to protect her, he knew the matter would soon come to a head. A maid, pregnant out of wedlock, was a scandalous thing, and Ralph knew he could not ignore the matter for long, even as he was uncertain how much of his own involvement in the matter was known.

“No, I suppose she isn’t. But…what do you suggest?” Ralph asked, for he was uncertain what to do about the matter, even as he feared Connor’s response.

“She can’t stay here, Your Grace. She’ll bring scandal on the house when it’s born. Besides, a woman with child can’t work as a maid. She can’t fulfill her duties. She should be told to leave. Immediately,” he said.

Ralph was concerned. He wondered just how much Connor really knew about the situation, and at the same time, he felt terribly guilty. The thought of asking Teresa to leave seemed terribly unfair, for he felt duty bound to protect her – and the child – given all that had happened. Where would she go? And what would happen to her once the baby was born? He thought back to the sorrowful look on Teresa’s face as she had laid the rose on Max’s grave. To cast her out amidst such sorrow was surely a terrible wickedness, and yet Connor was right – if she remained, scandal would engulf them.

“I…well, I don’t want to see her left destitute. I won’t do that. She could be paid off, I suppose,” Ralph replied.

“If you pay her off, Your Grace, what’s to stop every maid in the house taking advantage? You know what these girls are like,” Connor replied.

Ralph blushed.

“I…but I can’t just send her away. My brother was fond of her. I’m fond of her. She’s worked hard here,” he stammered.

“Fond of a maid, Your Grace?” Connor replied, raising his eyebrows.

“I was merely…we have a responsibility to our servants, don’t we?” Ralph replied, despising himself for even contemplating sending Teresa away like this.

“And servants have a responsibility to this house and estate, Your Grace. An unwritten moral contract. A maid, pregnant out of wedlock – an…unknown father. Imagine the scandal. Your poor mother deserves better than that, doesn’t she?” Connor replied.

This was the trump card, and Ralph had no choice but to agree – morals would certainly be called into question, if the truth was known, and Ralph did not like the way in which Connor left open the question of the child’s father. His mother had suffered enough, and the thought of engulfing her in such a scandal was unthinkable. Teresa would be paid off and sent away. There was nothing else Ralph could do, even as he felt a terrible sense of guilt for even thinking as much. They had reached the portico of the house, and the butler, Mr. Gregson, now opened the door for them.

“Good day, Your Grace. You’ll find the mourners in the east drawing room,” he said, with a curt bow.

“Thank you, Gregson,” Ralph said, removing his outercoat and hat.

“Think on what I’ve said about the maid,” Connor said, as they entered the drawing room, joining the throng of guests, who were drinking cups of tea and helping themselves to dainty morsels arranged on a large table by the window.

Ralph’s mother was sitting alone by the window, gazing out at the ever-changing weather, a rainbow now having appeared over the moorland. Ralph approached her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up, her veil now pulled back, shaking her head with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Ralph…it shouldn’t have been like this, should it?” she said, and Ralph shook his head.

“No, Mother. It shouldn’t have been. But we live with what life presents us,” he replied.

There were times when Ralph wished it was he who had perished on the battlefield, and in his darker moments, he wondered if his mother thought that, too.

“And what now? A lifetime of sorrow. Your dear brother, buried in the ground. I could hardly bear to leave him. I’ve asked Anna to take me there tomorrow. I want to sit with him and keep him company,” she said.

“We should let the dead bury the dead, Mother. He’s with God now, not lying in the grave. Think of him as he was, not as he is,” Ralph replied, but fresh tears now rolled down his mother’s cheeks, and she dabbed at them with a handkerchief, bursting into fresh sobs, as Ralph stooped down and put his arm around her.

“I can’t forget him, Ralph, I can’t,” she cried.

“No one’s asking you to forget him, Mother. We won’t. But we can’t live in mourning our whole lives long,” Ralph replied.

The dowager looked up, taking a deep breath and sniffing.

“I don’t think I can make that promise, Ralph” she replied, turning back to look out of the window, where the rainbow cast its covenant across the moorland.

Ralph straightened up, not knowing what to say, even as he knew his mother was right. Life would never be the same again. His brother was dead and buried, and the responsibility for the estate was now his. He had made a decision about Teresa, one he bitterly regretted, and now he wondered how many other decisions he would make in the coming months and years, decisions of life and death, decisions to define him, decisions he would have to live with his whole life long…