The Theft of a Dukedom

  The Theft of a Dukedom

  Lyndsey Norton

  © 2013 by Lyndsey Norton. All Rights Reserved

  The right of Lyndsey Norton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Createspace and Lesnor Enterprises

  ISBN-13: 978-1481821872 ISBN-10: 1481821873

  Prologue

  Badajoz

  April 1812

  ‘It would be an unfortunate place to die!’ Captain Richard Dunsmore shouted over the deafening guns. He was twenty eight years old and the third son of an Earl. But his exalted bloodlines wouldn’t stop him from dying this night. He scraped his hand through his thick, wavy dark brown hair and looked over at his compatriot with his blue eyes flashing in the flickering light.

  ‘I don’t know whether I can even move.’ Captain Charles Stafford said through gritted teeth, the red hot shot from the grapeshot burning in his thigh and back. He’d already had to discard his flaming tunic. Richard’s was extinguished when he rolled over on his back. Charles was a very old twenty four, his wavy, mid brown hair streaked with lighter highlights from the hot Spanish sun. He turned his face towards Richard, his hazel eyes reflecting the pain that both men were in.

  Richard lay on his back and looked back at the flames reflecting off the clouds that had blanketed the sky all day. ‘If I didn’t die at Cuidad Rodrigo, when that French Cuirassier’s sword tried to split my gizzard! Why do I think that I’m going to die looking at the red sky at Badajoz?’

  ‘Maybe we should try to get back?’

  ‘Are you joking?’ Richard spat. ‘I can’t even sit up!’

  They lay calmly in the dark listening to the battle rage around them. They heard the growl of ten thousand men, as they steeled themselves to fill the breach, even through the bellow of the cannon and they heard the mines explode as the French tried to keep them out of the breach in the fortress at Badajoz.

  ‘I’ve sold my commission.’ Charles said softly, in a lull. ‘I’m going home after this. My father has insisted.’

  ‘When did you hear from the Duke?’

  ‘A month ago. He has insisted I come home, now that Robin has been accused of murder and skipped the country.’

  ‘Was it a duel?’ Richard asked loudly as the guns fired again.

  ‘Yes and the opponent died. Robin was seen leaving the site by a Bow Street Runner of all people. Father said he left with alacrity!’

  Richard couldn’t suppress the guffaw, as he thought about how quickly he would vanish if seen leaving a duel, but it snagged in his throat and became a groan. ‘Do you want some company on your trip home?’ he panted.

  ‘I think that would be most pleasant.’ Charles said evenly, watching his friend with concern.

  ‘I’ll see if I can oblige.’I really think this time I won’t make it.Richard thought before he slipped into unconsciousness.

  Chapter 1

  London

  June 1812

  Why does it always happen to me? Lady Amelia Stafford, Countess of Stainmore, known affectionately by the sobriquet Kitty, thought bleakly as she stood with the growing wine stain on the front of her favourite ivory silk gown.Why couldn’t it have been champagne, rather than claret?

  ‘My Lady! Forgive my clumsiness!’ a masculine voice said beside her and she turned her cold, bleak face towards the voice.

  ‘No. I’m afraid I can’t.’ She said rather curtly, taking the bloated buffoon reaching for his handkerchief by surprise. ‘I think in future, Sir, you should not talk with your hands or better still only pick a glass up to sip the contents.’

  His companions spluttered with laughter. She gave each one of them a cold glance.

  ‘Lady Amelia!?’ another male voice called. ‘What happened to your gown?’

  That’s all I need!Kitty thought.Damn! It’s good to swear. No wonder men do it so often.She patiently waited as her most ardent suitor of the season rushed to her assistance, pulling his large cotton handkerchief out of his sleeve.

  ‘Gosh! That’s going to stain something awful!’ Lord Derek Ponsonby said in his overbearing way. ‘You should go to the retiring room and wash it out.’ He said helpfully and tried to smile at her gamely, as if the large purple stain on the front of her gown didn’t exist. Her eyes opened wide in horror as he clasped her upper arm and made to march her away.This is too much! She gritted her teeth, stomped her foot onto the beautiful Persian rug under her feet and refused to budge.

  ‘Take your hand off of my arm, Sir!’ she spoke forcefully. ‘Who do you think you are?’

  At that moment Thomas Stafford, the Duke of Durham arrived to rescue his young daughter yet again from a disaster not of her making. He had seen the entire incident from his prominent position. He was an imposing height and towered over his progeny. Forty nine, wealthy beyond belief and a powerful politician, he was not the kind of man to trifle with.

  ‘Kitty? What happened?’ he asked softly as he approached, his face composed, even though he felt like shrivelling the men around her.

  ‘Daddy?’ She blurted, and he could tell she was almost in tears. All the males around her knew who he was and shuffled their feet. The bloated buffoon apologised for the damage to her gown, promising to replace it at his earliest convenience. Ponsonby dropped his hand from her arm as he tried to explain he was going to escort her to the ladies retiring room, but Thomas did not miss the white pressure marks on her arm left by his fingers. Kitty, like all the girls this season, had her gloves pushed down to her elbows. He softly put his hand on the finger marks and stroked her arm. ‘Come along, my dear. I don’t think this is your night.’

  Filled with conflicting emotions, Kitty allowed herself to be led away, safe as her father gently placed his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked softly.

  ‘That fat man was talking with his hands!’ she said tearfully as she looked down at the huge stain. ‘And the one holding his wine hit my shoulder as I was passing and all the wine ended up down the front of my dress!’ she finished on a sob.

  ‘And I know that is your favourite gown.’ He said compassionately. ‘I’ll get your aunt to order another one exactly like it.’

  ‘I could probably salvage it if I went home now.’ Kitty said hopefully as she looked up into her father’s calm face. Thomas lazily pulled his watch from his waistcoat and glanced at the time. She watched his mind make the necessary calculations of time and travel. She sighed in resignation even before he shook his head. ‘I know. The Duchess of Wentworth is going to be here later and is expecting an offer of marriage.’

  ‘I know you don’t approve....’ he started, defensively.

  ‘It’s not that, Daddy. She’s really very nice and I’m not the one marrying her, you are. But I would so much like to look like a lady, instead of a walking disaster!’ She tried ineffectually to brush the wine stain from her gown. ‘Every time I come to a ball, somebody spills something on me!’ She said indignantly. ‘Last time it was a plate of devilled eggs over my décolletage!’ She placed her hand over her exposed chest.

  Thomas couldn’t help laughing at the pained expression on her face. ‘Be thankful it wasn’t roast beef and gravy!’

  ‘It would have burned my skin!’ She said, affecting innocence.

  ‘And you would not have enjoyed that one little bit, Kitty.’ Charles Stafford said as he appeared at her father’s side. Charles had been back from Spain for less than a week and Kitty had been shocked at the changes war had wrought on him. He was a younger version of her fath
er on the surface, but there was a disquiet in his expression most of the time. Standing next to their sole parent, Kitty was struck just how alike they looked. The long straight Stafford nose, the wavy mid brown hair, although Charles’s hair was streaked with gold from the hot Spanish sun and her father had grey flecks around his ears. Their eyes were different, Charles had inherited his mother’s hazel eyes, while Thomas’s were a piercing emerald green, but their faces had the same structure, from the prominent brow to the square determined jaw. Even the dimple on their chins was the same. They were very handsome men and Kitty wasn’t in the least surprised that the Duchess of Wentworth would accept her father’s marriage proposal. ‘Who did that to your favourite frock?’ Charles asked indignantly.

  ‘Would you like me to get you a chair?’ she asked Charles as he adjusted his balance on his walking stick.

  ‘Maybe in a little while, Kitty.’ He sighed and looked enquiringly at his father.

  ‘A clumsy oaf called Wittering.’ The Duke said cautiously. ‘He has already offered to pay for a replacement gown and I intend he should make good on the offer.’

  ‘Good! I wouldn’t want to turn him into a colander.’ Charles said jovially, but Thomas didn’t miss the hard light in his son’s eyes.

  Thomas had been shocked at Charles’s condition when he arrived home from Spain. Not just the physical debilitation of his injuries from Badajoz, but also the hard expression in his eyes. The carefree boy that left England to join Wellington’s army before Talavera was gone, replaced by a hard, almost callous young man.He needs a good woman!Thomas thought.

  ‘You’re hardly in a fit state to turn anyone into Swiss cheese. Even me!’ Kitty said frankly and Thomas closed his eyes and waited, hoping his son wouldn’t speak harshly to her.

  ‘I might put that to the test tomorrow.’ Charles said, lifting an eyebrow at his youngest sibling. ‘I still have the wooden swords that Rob and I used.’

  ‘Oh! Goody!’ Kitty said with a huge smile plastered across her face.

  ‘We will be receiving another guest tomorrow.’ Charles said to his father. ‘Richard will be arriving.’ His father nodded and promptly lost interest as Victoria Bertrand, the Duchess of Wentworth, entered the ballroom, looking radiant in a silk gown in dark claret. She immediately acknowledged his presence with a courteous nod and she changed direction, heading straight for the Duke. Again he gasped at the beauty of this woman. Her golden hair was stylishly arranged in a chignon on the back of her head and delicate ringlets brushed the elegant column of her neck like gossamer. Her gown revealed a goodly portion of her upper breasts and Thomas had an almost overwhelming desire to bury his face in her impressive cleavage.

  ‘If you’d like, I’ll escort Kitty home.’ Charles offered calmly, not mistaking the hungry look in his father’s eyes.

  Thomas cleared his throat and squirmed. ‘That would be most generous of you, Charles.’ He said distantly.

  ‘I might as well. She looks terrible in that soiled dress and I can’t dance anyway.’

  ‘Thomas.’ Lady Bertrand said in what could only be described as a sultry voice, as she extended her hand. The light in her blue eyes glittering.

  ‘Victoria. Can I say how lovely you look tonight?’ he offered gallantly as he kissed her fingers. He managed to keep his erection from Kitty’s view, as his body reacted to the fine woman in front of him. He looked down into her eyes and almost moaned at the promise they held.

  ‘Oh! Poor Lady Amelia. Whoever ruined your gown? I hope you make the blackguard pay for a new one!’ Victoria gushed over Kitty, but didn’t make the mistake of trying to hug her.

  Kitty squirmed, as usual, hating to be singled out as she bobbed a curtsey. Victoria extended her hand to Charles and he graciously bowed over it.

  Thomas whisked Victoria onto the dance floor and Charles stood beside Kitty’s chair. ‘Let me know when you’re ready.’ He murmured and Kitty nodded.

  Lady Emily Blunt appeared suddenly beside Charles. ‘My Lord. I’d heard you’d returned from Spain. Was it an enjoyable experience?’ she asked provocatively, making Kitty frown. Lady Emily, the daughter of the Earl of Alderney, was last seasons incomparable, with her cerulean blue eyes, shining blond hair and the face of a Madonna. Her ample breasts were showcased in the bodice of a turquoise silk gown with enough lace around the neckline to keep it from being scandalous. Not quite reaching Charles’s armpit, she was the epitome of a titled lady, graceful and petit.

  ‘No, I can’t say it was enjoyable Lady Emily.’ Charles said looking down at her cleavage, before he jerked his eyes up and looked into her cold blue eyes.

  She looked at the cane he was resting on. ‘You’ll not be dancing this season, then?’ There was a distinct barb in the comment that made Charles frown.

  ‘No.’ He said quite coldly. He didn’t like the look in her eyes at all.

  ‘Hello Emily.’ Kitty said evenly.

  Lady Emily turned her head, looked down at Kitty’s gown and laughed spitefully. ‘I see you’ve had another little accident, Amelia.’ And turned her face back to Charles in dismissal.

  ‘I’m just going to take her home.’ Charles said carefully.

  ‘Well, I’ll probably see you at the Henderson’s?’ she asked provocatively, resting her fan on his arm as he held his hand out to Kitty.

  ‘Anything’s possible.’ Charles said softly. ‘Come along Kitty.’ Emily watched them move away with a baleful expression.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ Charles asked his little sister.

  ‘You are a Marquis.’ Kitty explained softly. ‘You will now have to endure the attention that previously was focused at Robin.’

  They said goodnight to their father and Charles rested his hand on her shoulder as he limped to the exit. He wasn’t quite as tall as his father, but he still towered over Kitty.

  Kitty was appalled at the pressure Charles exerted on her shoulder as they walked slowly to the door. She looked up into his fine features and could see the film of sweat on his brow, even though the ballroom wasn’t excessively hot yet.

  ‘You should have told me earlier you were in so much pain.’ She whispered.

  ‘It’s nothing, Kitty. I’ve just been on my feet too long.’ He signalled a footman for the coach. When it arrived, she had to help him climb the steps and was grateful to the footman for his assistance.

  ‘I don’t think I would have been able to get you in here on my own.’ She said, as she manoeuvred his body around and he collapsed onto the seat. She perched next to him as the footman closed the door, taking out his big handkerchief and swabbing the rivulets of sweat pouring off his face. ‘We really should have left an hour ago, then maybe my dress wouldn’t have been ruined and you wouldn’t be in this state.’

  ‘Kitty, stop fussing. I’ll be fine once I’m home.’

  Charles sat back and looked at his younger sibling. Beautiful beyond belief, but she couldn’t see it, she always looked awkward around strangers and she had strict rules about closeness. Only he and his father were allowed to touch her in a familiar way. He knew it was caused by his brother. He and Robin had teased her mercilessly as children, but now she’d grown up. He had to remember that she was twenty years old and because of her reticence, she was only just having a season. When he left for the Peninsular, she’d been a girl, now she was a woman.

  He had admired her during the evening as she danced with the attendant beau’s vying for her hand in marriage. Her dowry was substantial, so the interest was plentiful and varied, from the Earl of Strathairn to Viscount Dalton. Like his father, he hadn’t liked the way Derek Ponsonby had grabbed her arm either, but he wasn’t quick enough to intervene.

  He looked at her now; her brow creased with concern, and wondered which man would actually be lucky enough to gain her trust and her hand.

  ‘Did Ponsonby hurt you?’ he asked softly.

  ‘Not physically. But I was terribly affronted by the casual way in which he grabbed my arm. Like I was his property. It
was most disconcerting.’

  ‘Would you like me to run him through for you?’ he asked cheekily and she sniggered.

  ‘I think he would run away if you threatened to call him out.’ She whispered, as if Ponsonby was in the next seat. ‘Anyway, who is this Richard?’

  ‘Lord Richard Dunsmore. His father is the Earl of Rutland.’

  ‘Will he inherit the title?’

  Charles shook his head. ‘No. He has two older brothers.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’ she asked without thinking.

  ‘On the ship out to Portugal.’ He said and smiled, as near as he ever got to smiling, just a gentle curve of his lips. Kitty was at a loss how to retrieve the brother who left for Portugal. A part of her believed that he died on a battlefield somewhere and the young man before her was a remnant.

  The coach jerked to a standstill and Kitty stepped down as the footman opened the door. Between them, they helped Charles out of the carriage and she helped him up the wide stone steps that fronted the ornate entrance to the ducal residence in Grosvenor Square. The first room was the formal drawing room and Kitty turned him in the door and helped him to sit down. She quickly poured him a large brandy and handed it to him.

  ‘Why won’t you tell me how you hurt your leg?’ she asked so innocently that he almost sobbed. She had absolutely no idea what war was really like and he didn’t really have any intention of explaining it to her.

  ‘It was just some stray shot at Badajoz.’ He said distantly, as if the subject was unimportant.

  How could he sit there and explain that he’d been hit with red hot grapeshot, which had not only set fire to his tunic, but had almost cost him his leg.

  The shot was the size of a cricket ball and it caught the back of his left thigh with a glancing blow as the burning canvas casing hit him squarely in the centre of the back, igniting his tunic. He’d turned around to check on the progress of his company at the same time that the French guns in the San Jose fort opened up with a mixture of grapeshot and canister. He felt the thud of the blow as his left leg buckled and pitched him onto his face. He heard somebody tell him his back was on fire and struggled to his knees to try and open his jacket. Suddenly Richard was there. He could see the horror on his face in the firelight as he pushed the burning material over his shoulders. Charles fell forward, as he lost control with the pain of his injuries and Richard was bent over him, trying to pull the burning cloth away. That singular act of charity saved his life as the guns of San Jose loosed off twenty rounds of canister, flaying both companies to death.