Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Charlotte was a romantic who knew how cruel the world could be at times, yet chose to always have a sunny disposition. On this day, a conversation that was difficult not to overhear, would challenge her unwavering smile. She was simply on her way to get her book when her stepmother's unpleasantly high voice rang from the main sitting room.

"What does it say?" Lady Wentworth asked her husband.

"Allow me to read the letter so that I may tell you." Lord Wentworth replied as calmly as he could.

"It's from The Duke of Devonshire. It's about the promise I made to him years back."

"What promise?" She almost hissed at him.

"That he could marry Bethany. It's been years, I would have thought he would have found a wife by now. Also it was long before the accident. Bethany won't accept this." He replied.

"Then that's the end of that." She said folding her arms.

"No, don't you see? I can't go back on my word. It would disgrace our lineage."

"I've got it," she replied waving her hand in the air.

"What have you got?" he asked hopefully.

"We send Charlotte in her stead. They look so similar, he won't remember what Bethany looked like in detail." Lady Wentworth's reply was smug.

Charlotte wanted to scream.

Would my father really agree to this? The thought made her panic.

"We can't do that!" Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief at her father's words.

"And why not?" Her stepmother's tone was rather nasty.

"She's younger than Bethany, and…" Her father said.

"And she will do perfectly," her stepmother countered.

"I know she's not your child, but that does not mean you should treat her differently," he said with a warning in his voice.

"Bethany won't marry… a man like him."

"That's unkind." Charlotte heard the disapproval in his voice. "It had been such an untimely accident. Do you know the duke had just about to be wed to one of the most influential families known to modern society, only to find himself so egregiously injured by so much all at once."

"Tis the truth. Then what do you suggest, love? Take away the only real chance Charlotte will ever have? That would be cruel. I care for her future."

"I cannot make a decision like this hastily," he told his wife.

"You had better decide soon. Or I will send Charlotte myself," she warned.

Charlotte watched as her stepmother came out of the room before her father had the opportunity to say any more. He followed his wife, and when she turned to face him, she graced him with her best performance. Charlotte had seen her become ill and faint so many times to get her way, this was no different.

She had been only eight when her mother had been murdered. The man who did it walked free while Charlotte was in a prison of grief. Her father had remarried when she was only ten years of age. Her stepmother had shared in her older stepsister's dislike of her. She could have seen it as nothing else when they had made her their servant in her father's absence. It would have been nice if they at least liked her.

"You look unwell my beloved. I apologize to have upset you so." He said with concern.

She did not correct him.

"I should make it through yet another of your mistakes," she replied dramatically.

"I will send Charlotte in Bethany's stead. My only condition is that the courtship last a month. I don't want her stuck with a man she is incompatible with."

"That is wonderful news my love. You will soon see that this is all for the best," she said sounding well recovered.

"I hope you are correct. Although I did make a promise, there's something that feels out of place."

Charlotte put her hand over her mouth to conceal her sobs. She felt betrayed that her father would not choose her over that woman.

I won't do it, I just won't! I don't care how unfashionable or unreasonable it is. I will marry for love. And what does ‘a man like him mean'? What kind of monster are they sending me away to! Charlotte thought as she made her way to her room. This was not the twenty-fifth birthday present she had hoped she was getting the following month!

***

Henry

The duke rode as quickly as what was fair to his horse. But the letter had found The Wentworth Manor in good time and he could merely stand there and watch his destiny sealed before his eyes. He watched as the letter was handed over to a servant at the door. His response was to seize the letter and leave. His body however stood rigid as a statue.

He turned to make the long journey back home. By carriage it would take two days and two nights. With a horse and rider it could almost be halved.

"Your Grace, the main way back to the estate is rather well traveled today." The duke's usual traveling companion, Byron, told him. He had been informed of the duke's whereabouts and had immediately gone to find him. He was one of the few men that knew the duke's secrets. It had been out of necessity in order to move outside the estate. Byron was a man twice the duke's age. He wore a well-groomed mustache while the duke found it an annoyance to have any facial hair.

"Then what route shall we take?" the duke enquired.

"That is the hindrance, Your Grace. The only other way is a rather perilous one. Those who have used it say thieves are around every corner and that the path is overgrown," Byron replied.

"Could we not just move away from the path in order to avoid other people traveling?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I just fear that we might not be able to conceal your identity very well." Byron said carefully.

"It would have been better to have come with the carriage," said the duke.

"Indeed Your Grace," Byron said with a sigh.

The duke looked down for a moment and then nodded. They took the path that few would, let alone a duke. The path looked like any other though it did have a strange silence to it. They went well into the evening before they decided on a place to rest for the night. The next morning, they set out again. They were barely an hour into the voyage, when it seemed trouble was ahead.

The duke rode ahead and saw three men stealing from another carriage. His hand went to his waist where he kept his pistol. It was something he did not travel without.

"Stop! What you are doing." The duke said as he pointed his pistol in the direction of the three men. They looked at each other and sneered.

"What are you and that little pistol going to do? We would not want you to dirty those fancy boots, would we boys?" the one man said to his two laughing companions.

"I believe the gentleman asked you to make your departure," Byron said as he came to stop his horse next to the duke's. The three men looked at each other and went to draw their weapons. The duke was faster and shot the gun from one man's hand and shot another grazing his shoulder. Byron disarmed the third. They surrendered and left as quickly as their shaking legs could carry them. Then one of them turned back for a moment.

"I thought your face looked familiar," he yelled from a distance away."

"We do not know one another," the duke yelled back."

"Perhaps Henry Morehead, Duke of Devonshire, yet I know who you are. It seems as though you have made a miraculous recovery. It also seems this knowledge is somewhat of a secret."

The duke went after him without hesitation, but the men knew the path better and managed to escape quickly.

"He knows me. What if he reveals this?" the duke asked, now worried.

"I am not sure anyone would listen to him, Your Grace." Byron replied dismissively.

"We traveled this path to help conceal my identity and then that happens."

"I do apologize Your Grace. I should have carried out my duties with more skill," Byron replied.

"It is not your fault. We will just have to see what comes of this. Men like that do not give up easily once they smell an opportunity to benefit finically," the duke said.

The duke traveled the rest of the morning lost in thought. He had no way of knowing what to expect from the men they had just let flee. Then there was the impending courtship to Lord Wentworth's daughter. If he does honor his word. The rest of the way home held no further delays, and they were soon home again.

The duke's secret had caused him to have to enter his own home as though he were a criminal.

"The same as always, Your Grace?" Byron asked.

"Yes thank you Byron," said the duke.

Byron rode ahead to the back gate. Once he gave the signal, the duke knew it was safe for him to enter the gate on foot. The duke had considered that perhaps it was an easier option to let his secret be known. Then came the thoughts of how people would suddenly be kinder to him and how easily he would then find a woman to wed.

"How do you think she will react to me being in s wheelchair?" The duke asked Byron as he found him inside the walls.

"Your Grace, I can have no way of knowing. If I were expecting a bride, I would at least want her to want me as I am," he replied honestly.

"That is what I'm hoping for. I do not think it is likely," the duke remarked.

"We can only wait until we know more, Your Grace." Byron gave the duke a hopeful smile.

As they'd arrived late at night, Henry bid Byron goodnight and went to bed. He spent the entire restless night wondering if she would be satisfied with the estate. He began wandering around, moving furniture and trinkets. Every time he stood back to admire his work, he felt more unsure than he did before.

I wish I could remember what she looked like. She surely must have been beautiful to peek my interest in the first place! The duke's thoughts were racing as he tried to settle in for the night.

He had been put in charge of his household at a very young age. Many had been after the land and the great wealth it held beneath the soil. They had thought the young heir easy to persuade and had been taught a vital lesson in humility. He had been raised knowing that one day he would take over his father's duties.

It had been a few days too soon when his mother had told him he had passed. The illness had been so swift and unknown that it had taken mere days for him to fall ill. He had passed three days later leaving the duke with his new title at twenty years of age. Sixteen years had not erased that painful memory.