The Duke's Neglect

The Duke's Neglect

Copyright 2018 Becky Lunt

Published by Becky Lunt at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

The e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters within this novel are completely fictitious and any likeness to another person alive or dead is purely coincidental.

The Duke's Neglect is the first instalment of the trilogy involving the Duke of Densby, his brother James and his best friend Henry Greystone the Earl of Hawthorndene.

This e-book is dedicated to my friend Tim.

He is not long for this world, but each time we speak his first question is ‘have you written another book for me yet Bec?’

Now with this one finished I can say yes and pray that he can fight the cancer a little longer to read it.

Table of Contents

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

Chapter Twenty-Three

Please keep reading

About Becky Lunt

Other Books by Becky Lunt

Chapter One

The music above was loud enough to shake the watercolours hanging on the walls of Olivia's bedroom and had been going on for hours. The tunes pace lively one minute, slowing the next, as the sets changed from a cotillion to a controversial waltz. It had been so long since the maid had delivered the tray of cold meat cuts and sandwiches, but Olivia was not overly concerned with the rumble of her tummy. She’d grown used to the sound and fluttery feeling associated with hunger. She shivered involuntarily as another gust of wind rattled the single glass pane in the window, the noise reminding her of the unseasonal storm raging outside. The scullery maid had not been in to light the fire in the small fireplace and the room was chilled. That was something she’d not had to grow familiar with as the weather had not been so harsh. Even today, the rain had started late leaving no one prepared for the sudden deluge. Lightening flared through the otherwise darkened room, briefly illuminating the faded red flowers on the wall paper. Olivia curled up tighter, bringing her arms to hold her knees in place. The frayed grey blanket offered little protection added to the flimsy cotton nightgown but it was pulled up high covering her ears. Sleep would come eventually. It always did when her stepmother was entertaining.

This was the third year Agatha Greystone, Dowager Countess of Hawthorndene, had dragged her to town for the season. The third year of attendance since her beloved father had passed away. The third year watching her stepmother trying to entrap not only a wealthy husband for herself but one for each of her own two daughters where Oliva was sadly neglected. The third year of hoping for a miracle; hoping someone would see her; hoping for her freedom… just really hoping she reflected ruefully.

Truly, the loneliness would not hurt so much if her brother Henry was here. As the current Earl of Hawthorndene, it was his role to ensure Olivia was well cared for, but he’d been travelling the continent for several years now, doing his Grand Tour as papa had once explained. Unfortunately, no one had heard from Henry for so long that perhaps he’d not known of papa’s passing and of his succession to the title. Or perhaps he had heard but like everyone else just didn’t care.

He’d left so soon after papa’s marriage to Agatha and he was so angry at the time it would not have surprised her at all if he'd just forgotten all about them ... all about her. She could remember vividly the arguments between father and son and how the new countess would play one against the other to achieve her own aims. Olivia was more inclined to think of her stepmother as the gold digger she was but papa had refused to listen to an eight-year old’s fears; refused to believe all the gossip about the woman he’d fallen in love with, although Olivia was certain the woman had held no finer feelings for him. Ten years her senior, Henry had thought similar of their new stepmother and had tried to influence papa’s choice but when he had no success he’d been old enough that he could walk away. So he had! Olivia had not seen him since and if there were any letters she no longer received them. For the same three long years, she'd had no letters, no visitors, no friends. She closed her tired eyes and eventually the fatigue allowed her to find sleep.

Marcus Hartley, Duke of Densby, glanced dispassionately around the ballroom. It was elegantly decorated no doubt, but the one thing he had tasked himself to see was surprisingly absent. He’d heard the whispers circulating about the late earl’s only daughter but he’d not believed the rumours claiming she’d died at some stage over the past years. The girl was close to marrying age, surely she’d be dancing a whirlwind similar to her two silly stepsisters that he’d seen often in the three weeks since the start of this year’s season. The girl should surly be making her bow this year… that is, at least she should be if she was well. The dowager’s tinkling laugh drew his gaze towards the far wall. Her beauty still so evident, it disguised her age cleverly. The ball gown's colour matched the dark green hue of her eyes. Eyes, that even now constantly scanned those gathered for her next dalliance. He knew well how stronger men than he had been tempted by such lures but as he studied her discretely, he understood why the estate’s man of business had paid an unexpected call to the trustees administering the estate in Henry Greystone’s absence. Her expenses had increased to ridiculous sums and she'd requested access to funds in the estate that she had no right to. And now, as Marcus studied the two hundred faces that made this ball the first full crush of the season, not a penny of the expenses benefited Lady Olivia at all. He'd send a message to the solicitor first thing in the morning.

'Not inclined to relax and enjoy the entertainment your Grace?' The speaker did not wait for a reply before continuing. 'I'm a little surprised you bothered to make the effort of coming here at all!'

‘l was asked to for a particular purpose James, you know I would normally not be seen at circuses such as these.’ Marcus turned to face his brother. The pair could not be any different then what they were. James preferred the idle lifestyle afforded the second son of a duke - the dedicated rake, where Marcus was never content to suffer the frivolities of England’s elite.

‘Business hey? How … Predictable! With all these lovely young ladies about I had hopes you’d finally decided to bag yourself a bride.’

‘Prey, do not joke.’ Marcus replied. ‘As if I have the time to encourage any of these foolish children.’

‘You know you will need to use the nursery soon. The title must be secured.’ James prompted.

‘I am content enough to leave the family linage to you brother, you are bound to have better luck then I.’

‘One day, sooner than you expect, you will find your other half Markie and you’ll be glad that I am the way I am.’

‘How so?’

‘So, you can get a look in.’ James laughed heartily before slapping Marcus on a shoulder.

‘You know you are not all that.’ Marcus stated before letting out a bark of his own laughter. ‘And I know you would not risk meddling with the decent class for fear of finding yourself snared in the parson’s mousetrap too.’

‘So true your Grace. Marriage is most definitely not for me.’ With that, James departed leaving Marcus to his own company and thoughts.

Close to a week later, Olivia was called to attend the dowager in the family parlour. The door was opened wide waiting for her so with far more courage than she felt, Olivia stepped through it. ‘You wished to speak with me my lady?’

‘Apparently there have been some concerns about your health Olivia. I have called you to put them to rest!’

‘My health?’

‘Yes! I am most aggrieved by such gossip but I trust you recall your father’s solicitor?’ The dowager’s ringed hand waved agitatedly to the side. A man smartly dressed in a business suit stepped forward and bowed. His age was perhaps close to her brother’s but his face showed signs of stress that were not easily hidden under his bead whiskers.

‘Lady Olivia.’

‘Mr. Thompson, it has been such a long time.’

‘It has indeed my lady, and I’m honoured that you remember me.’

It surprised Olivia also, since the last time they met was at her father’s funeral. He barely spoke a word to her having his time monopolised by her stepmother. Although, granted there was not much to be said between the pair when he was only the family lawyer relating the details of her father’s will.

‘How my I help you Mr. Thompson? As you may see, my health is quite certain.’

‘I am happy to have such fears allayed my lady.’

‘That is all you are needed for Olivia, you may leave.’ Agatha commanded.

‘As you wish my lady. Good afternoon Mr. Thompson.’ She retreated quietly through the door and paused on the rug just out of sight where their words were sure to carry.

‘You insult me Stanley!’

‘It is not my intention to my lady, I am merely here to make you aware that the trustees have determined that you have overspent your allowance quite considerably and that they do not provide their approval to access the funds set aside for Lady Olivia’s upkeep because you are not acting in her best interests.’

‘Do not be absurd. Your eyes can tell you quite clearly that is not the case.’

‘The dressmaker invoices all clearly itemise your purchases and not one can be attributed to the late earl’s daughter, you’ve made no effort to introduce her to society this year and no one other than myself now has seen her since you arrived in London.’

‘She is too young!’

‘Not so, she is a year older than when your eldest daughter made her bow. The trustees have noticed the inequality my lady.’

‘The trustees don’t know their heads from their own arse.’

‘They do however know money. And you have squandered too much from your own accounts and therefore if you continue to spend, payment will be taken from the dowries arranged by his late lordship.’

‘That is unjust! George set up the dowry accounts specifically for their unions.’

‘As he set up your trust as your widow’s pension but you have blown the funds.’

‘Surly there is something you can do?’ Olivia heard the rustle of material and shuffled further from the door. ‘For old time’s sake Stanley, please I beg you.’

Olivia’s nose twitched in distaste at the realisation that the young lawyer had been caught in her claws too. He’d seemed like an intelligent man.

‘There is nothing I can do my lady. The trustees have been very explicit in their instructions. You have to curb your spending drastically or remove the family to the country seat.’

‘I cannot do that, the girls have been quite successful this season, and I am certain that offers are very close.’

‘Then your expenses will be paid for out of their dowries in which you must realise that is the only thing of value either of them can offer in a match. Being merely the stepdaughters of an earl does not help them in their respectability.’

‘George was particularly cruel in his orders about my girls. I could never understand it.’

‘I think that perhaps his lordship knew of us … knew of our history.’

‘That is impossible. There is no way he could have found out about us. George was not very observant.’

‘He rewrote his will shortly after so I cannot think of any other reason. But either way you have a choice to make and I shall leave you with it my lady.’

Olivia rushed across the reception hall to the servant’s door as quickly and quietly as possible now the conversation was over. What would her stepmother choose?

Another week later, Olivia had her answer. She had spent the days avoiding her stepmother for fear of betraying her knowledge, preferring to take her paints or needlepoint out into the small back garden. The weather had improved immeasurably from the storm of the prior weekend, gifting her hours of solitude amongst the greenery.

‘Miss?’ Herman, the new butler intruded upon her thoughts and forced her to turn towards the voice. ‘Her ladyship calls you to her parlour immediately.’

Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and retreated inside. Olivia thought of Glass, the previous butler, and how he had lasted a little more than a year before he’d quit as a result of the excessive commands of the dowager. Would this man last any longer or succumb to the stresses employment in the earl’s household led to in recent times? Silently, Olivia made her way to the parlour, her peace shattered for the day.

‘Your ladyship?’ Olivia dipped her head in greeting.

‘You took your sweet time!’ The dowager exploded. ‘Get your bonnet we must be off to the dressmaker before the shop shuts.’

‘Ma’am?’ Olivia was confused, she’d not been to a shop since her father died and the dowager had no need to pretend an affection not felt. All her gowns were hand-me-downs from Susan or Julia when they felt they no longer needed them or when they were well and truly out of fashion.

‘Get your bonnet!’ Agatha screeched, her porcelain cheeks flushing with angry red and Olivia jumped to obey. A maid was waiting with a bonnet she’d never seen before, purple tulle and velvet flowers adorned the wide brim. It was quickly tied in place with a wide sash under her chin. The dowager stormed out of the parlour, her heeled boots clicking loudly on the marble tiled floor of the reception hall. Her two daughters trailing silently in her wake with only the briefest glance towards Olivia.

The carriage was waiting on the pavement below the steps, the groom was assisting his mistress inside. The continuous flow of insults could be heard along the street should their neighbours have been keen enough to listen. Olivia’s face flushed with embarrassment at the outburst and her only option was to lower her head to hide her face as she stepped into the expensive carriage. It was a silent and uncomfortable journey to the modisté’s shop that her ladyship preferred to patronise.

‘Wonderful…’ Agatha spat angrily, ‘at least you did not overly delay us with your tardiness Olivia. I warn you not to open your mouth for you know nothing about what is required.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ Olivia stammered meekly. It would be no hardship to hold her tongue as she had no idea about anything. It was always safer that way.

Agatha waited for one of the grooms to unlatch the door and lower the steps before alighting. Another of her father’s servants had already rushed to the shop door and was holding it open ready.

‘Good afternoon your ladyship,’ the seamstress greeted them as they entered the overly warm shop. ‘How may I be of assistance to you today?’

‘My stepdaughter has need of a complete wardrobe for the season however as she is still growing and this decision has been taken out of my hands you will need to include additional material in the seams so they may be let out as she grows.’

‘Certainly, your ladyship. Have you a particular notion of colours and patterns?’

‘Susan and Julia will guide her in such when reviewing your plates, I myself have matters of business to attend to elsewhere at the moment. The carriage will be sent back in an hour.’

‘Very good your ladyship.’

Agatha turned in a swirl of skirts and stepped hurriedly from the shop leaving the three young ladies alone with the seamstress. Olivia felt ill at that moment. Her clothes were to be picked by her stepsisters not herself. What would they choose?

‘I have followed the trustees’ instructions to the letter your Grace, but Lady Greystone has been surprisingly obstinate in conforming to them.’ The Greystone’s lawyer advised, as Marcus lifted the delicate china cup of tea to his lips. ‘She has made no attempt to curb her spending or remove to the country seat.’

‘Then I trust that any of her accounts have been paid out of the dowries rather than the estate accounts?’

‘Of course.’ Both gentlemen turned to the door at the slight tap. ‘Come!’

‘Forgive the intrusion Mr. Thompson sir, your Grace, but there is a woman here wishing to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment but she said it was an urgent matter relating to the Countess of Greystone and I thought that since his Grace was still here it would be something he’d need to be a part of as well.’ The young clerk stuck his head through a small gap between the door and frame.

‘Send her in then.’ Thompson authorised, ‘although if you are needed elsewhere your Grace I am sure this would be something I could deal with easily.’

‘I am in no hurry.’ Marcus assured lightly, anything to do with the Greystone estate had to be resolved as a matter of urgency while the dowager was throwing money that was not her own away. Henry would be returning at some point over the coming months and his friend would need something worthwhile to return too. He placed the cup onto the matching saucer on the lawyer’s large oak desk and waited patiently for the woman to be shown in. The door opened wider and allowed a middle-aged working woman the freedom to enter.

‘Mr. Thompson I must say how right sorry I am to burst in like this but after the last debacle I had to come.’

‘Have a seat Mrs. Morris, this is one of the estate trustees his Grace the Duke of Densby, your Grace this is the dressmaker that the dowager frequents.’ Thompson advised quickly. ‘With what can I help you with?’

‘It’s just that after taking such a long time for her ladyship to pay the last account I wanted to know if this one she ordered today would be paid promptly or not.’

Marcus responded before the lawyer could find words to offer. ‘It would depend on the order Mrs. Morris.’

‘Well, you see … I think that is where a problem might arise.’ She stammered nervously.

‘How so?’

‘Well … her ladyship bought her stepdaughter in for a fitting of a complete new wardrobe however the instructions were somewhat … odd.’

‘How so?’ Marcus repeated, it was an effort to keep his voice modulated for politeness with the woman’s prevarication.

‘Well … I’ve been told to cut the dresses much larger than the girl needs but to sew it to her size now. Her ladyship said it was because the girl is still growing and I might have been thinking that but then the poor girl never had a choice of colours or cut. Some of them are quite ridiculous for the girl.’

‘It appears that her ladyship is attempting to find a way around her predicament.’ Marcus spoke his thoughts. ‘It matches your assessment of the situation before.’

‘Yes, and unfortunately there is no-one available to protect Lady Olivia’s position.’

‘You were right to come to us before commencing the order Mrs. Morris, because if you fill it as it stands, you would not be paid for some months. I would suggest if you wish your account settled promptly that you fill the order matching the young lady’s size exactly and I would trust you have sufficient talents to determine which colours and designs would best suit her.’

‘Thank you, your Grace.’ The seamstress bobbed quickly, the relief evident on her plump features as she hurried from the office.

‘Well…’ Thompson breathed. ‘What are your instructions now?’

Chapter Two

‘Remind me to ask Lady Cecily which dressmaker she prefers. I am not at all happy that Mrs. Morris ignored the particular details of my order and have sent word to the solicitor not to pay the account when it is presented. I will not be using her services again but I am certain that Elizabeth Cecily will know which dressmakers are notable enough for us to visit in future.’ Agatha was quite out of sorts as she and her charges were helped into the light travel cloaks ready to depart for the evenings’ engagements. Olivia stood slightly away to appease her stepmother’s disgruntled mood but she was still close enough to hear all the slurs aimed at the woman that had produced an exquisite set of gowns for her. Of course, that was this issue, none of them were made in the patterns or fabrics that they’d selected for their own benefit. The seams were sized exactly to her trim frame without an inch to spare so they could not even be altered. The cream gown she had chosen for this evening’s card party was only the first of many lovely outfits, Olivia could only hope her stepmother was planning to include her more often in their entertainments as the gowns were that delightful it would have been a shame to never wear them.

The carriage was waiting in the fading light of the road, the horses standing with a single groom holding the lead rope. The road was almost deserted at the late hour so their journey to Cecily House was smooth and thankfully rather quick.

‘I hope I do not need to tell you how to act appropriately Olivia. I still believe you are far too young to come