In a struggle of denial and destiny, dare they defy fate and chase their heart's desire?
In Sommer-by-the-Sea, Lady Nanette de Chappell
and the reluctant 5th Duke of Preswick, Morgan Fitzhugh, share a
history shaped in childhood friendship. Fitzhugh, a man sworn to
bachelorhood, resolutely guards his heart, while Nanette endures endless
unsuitable suitors, yearning for something more.
Their worlds collide when Nanette embarks on a
quest to reclaim her grand-mère’s cherished heirloom, a journey that leads her
to Dunamara Castle, where Fitzhugh resides. A fierce snowstorm traps them at
the castle, forcing them to rely on each other to survive.
As they face nature's icy grip, they discover an
unexpected connection, finding solace and strength in each other's company.
Amidst the howling winds and swirling snow, their hearts thaw, revealing a
dormant love that has endured the test of time.
"The Duke’s Lost Love" is a tale of
passion and self-discovery, where two souls navigate the treacherous terrain of
their own desires. Will they dare to acknowledge the love that has silently
woven its threads through the fabric of their lives, waiting patiently to be
embraced?
Chapter One
The wind whipped Lord
Morgan Fitzhugh's hair as he galloped across the park. The air was thick with
unexpected snow. Baron, his stallion, enjoyed the adventure, kicking up the
snow as they raced along the familiar path back to the stable.
The heavy snowfall was
unusual for Sommer-by-the-Sea, even at Christmastide. But that didn't stop
their morning ride. Fitzhugh gave the animal his bit, laid out along Baron's
neck, and spoke softly, encouraging him along.
"Gallop like the
wind."
He reveled in Baron's
thundering hooves, bunching muscles, and playful spirit as they powered along.
Up ahead, the park fence
came into view. Their fun over, Fitzhugh shifted in his seat and picked up the
reins.
"Ease up. No
jumping today, my friend. Not in this weather." Rather than take the
fence, he slowed Baron to a trot and brought him through the gate into the
estate drive.
Winded from the ride,
Fitzhugh rode up to his Preswick Hall. He dismounted and rubbed the horse's
neck as the stable boy approached.
"Thank you for an
exhilarating ride. You earned your prize." He took an apple from his
pocket, held it in his palm as the horse smiled in its fashion, and gently took
the offered treat.
Fitzhugh gave him a
final pat, handed the reins to the stable boy, and hurried across the porch as
the butler opened the door.
"Good morning, Your
Grace."
Fitzhugh stomped and
knocked the snow from his boots before he stepped into the vestibule.
"Mr. Keats."
Fitzhugh brushed the last of the snowflakes from his greatcoat before the man
helped him out of it. "Where's my brother?"
"Lord Matthew is in
the drawing room with your guests."
Fitzhugh took the three
vestibule steps in one stride. The click of his Hessian boots echoed as he
hurried across the black and white marble reception floor.
The white walls made the
sizeable area, grand enough to host a modest sized soiree, look even larger. A
balcony, where he and his brother had once spied on their parents’ routs,
encircled the area. But the soaring sky-blue dome with its gold trimmed oculus
was the most striking feature. He imagined it a magical looking glass into the
world beyond. Now, he enjoyed the flood of light it provided.
Six doors encircled the
hall’s perimeter. They led to the dining hall, drawing room, library, parlor,
conservatory, and a hallway to the estate office and steward’s rooms. Twin
staircases, one to his left, and the other to his right, met at a landing in
the middle and continued to the first floor.
"Your Grace."
Fitzhugh, his hand on the door latch to the drawing room turned and glanced to
his right. Mr. Jennings, his steward, came through the hallway door carrying a
journal.
"Just the man I
wanted to see. I'd like to see a report of the Count de Moyne's mountain
holdings. I went as far as the Dunamara pass this morning. De Moyne will be
here today for his annual review. I want to make certain everything is in good
order."
"Right here, Your
Grace." Jennings handed Fitzhugh the accounts.
"Good man. You best
be on your way. Send my regards to your father and the rest of your family.”
“I’ve already packed the
brandy. We will all drink to your good health.”
A brandy together was
the senior Jenning’s and Fitzhugh’s father’s favorite drink after seeing to the
accounts.
“Enjoy your holiday.
We'll see you back here for Twelfth Night."
"Thank you, Your
Grace. And a good holiday to you." Jennings returned to the estate office.
Young Jennings had
served him well while he was in London. The man was accurate and timely. He
returned his attention to the task at hand and entered the drawing room.
This was one of his
favorite rooms. The room held the personal essence and character of the
Fitzhugh family. Christmas. The room reminded him of Christmas ever since he
was a young boy.
The warmth of the room
went beyond the green wallcovering that reminded him of the outdoors, red
drapes that picked up the color from the carpet, and the oversized hearth with its
welcoming fire. He was surrounded by leather-bound books in the bookcases that faced
the fireplace, and the walls and surfaces were filled with artworks and
personal collectibles his father had brought back from his travels.
The two green and white
striped sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace were soft and
comfortable, whether one was reading or relaxing. A pianoforte waited to be
played in one corner of the room, while a round table with four chairs were in
the other.
"Ah, there you
are." Three gentlemen sat around the table with their morning beverages.
Lord Matthew put down his cup of coffee and wiped his mouth with a serviette.
Lord Anthony Linton and Sir Edward Drummond halted their conversation and gave
him their attention.
"Good morning,
gentlemen. I hope you slept well." Fitzhugh put the journals on his desk as
he made his way to the hearth to warm his hands. "You should have joined
me this morning. There is a beauty and serenity to the snow. It's quite
invigorating."
"You must have been
up before dawn. Despite your early activity, you appear to be energized. You
make me tired just looking at you." Linton shook his head and took a sip
of his coffee.
"You should come
riding with me. That would be enough to get your heart racing and set you to
rights for the day. It certainly gave me an appetite." He turned away from
the fire and glanced at the sideboard. "Come. Eat. Mrs. Howard's breakfast
will inspire you." Fitzhugh stepped to the buffet and took a plate.
"Ride? In this
weather? I don't think any of us expected this much snow." Matthew joined
him at the sideboard. "Although it is fitting for the season."
Fitzhugh opened the
chafing dish, spooned eggs onto this plate, and passed the spoon to his
brother. "I'm sure it will stop soon. The sun will come out and melt it
all away. By tomorrow, the snow will be a fleeting memory."
He looked at his brother
then glanced over his shoulder at the others. He turned away and stifled a
smile having glanced at his guests’ narrow squinted eye. "What time did
you go to sleep? Or have you been up all night?" Fitzhugh moved on to the pork.
"While you took to
your bed last night, we continued our discussion." Matthew popped a piece
of morning cake into his mouth.
Their plates full,
Fitzhugh and Matthew took their seats. Linton and Drummond went to the
sideboard and portioned out their meal.
"What kept you out
of your beds?" Fitzhugh gave his eggs a dash of salt and sprinkle of
pepper.
"We deliberated
which historical figures are the embodiment of chivalry." Matthew placed
the serviette on his lap.
Fitzhugh stared at
Matthew, his fork, loaded with eggs, poised in midair.
"We congratulated
Drummond on his knighthood."
"Teasing him, no
doubt." Fitzhugh ate his eggs.
"Of course. We
likened him to the knights of old. One topic led to another." Linton
brought his plate to the table.
"And that's how you
came to chivalry."
Fitzhugh nodded to
Drummond who took the seat across from him. "Again, congratulations on
your appointment. New knight of the realm. It is well deserved."
His friend had proven
himself on the battlefields in Spain and had the wounds to show for it.
Fitzhugh turned his
attention to the footman and motioned to him for coffee.
"You really should
have remained with us last evening." The smile on his cousin Linton's face
warned him of something afoot.
"Am I to assume
that your enthralling discussion continued into the morning?" Fitzhugh
shook his head as he glanced at the others. They didn't meet his glance. He
schooled his face not to give himself away. What are they up to?
"Indeed we did stay
up to early hours of the morning," Matthew announced with a bit of pride. His
gaze ran from Linton to Drummond, and back to Fitzhugh. "It was like being
back in philosophy with Professor Eliot. Our discussion ran the gamut. From
chivalry, to friendship, to happiness, to the purpose of life."
"Today is a time of
great change in art and literature, much of it driven by the Prince Regent
himself."
"Linton, you sound
like you're giving a lecture." Fitzhugh chuckled and continued eating.
"You laugh.” Linton
kept eating. “We discussed the impact of the wars in America as well as the domination
these last years with the war with Napoleon. Let's hope he's captured, and
soon."
"Everything around
us seems to be changing. People are moving to the cities in droves, and
industry is creating a new wealthy class not dependent on land." Matthew
joined the discussion.
"In the midst of
all this our social systems are changing." Linton put down his fork and
motioned for more coffee.
"Ah. We're back to
your discussion on chivalry," Fitzhugh offered.
"You mock us, but I
tell you we are quite serious. We thought to establish an academy. Mrs.
Bainbridge has her Female Seminary that sparks debates on topics that are most
interesting. We would like to develop our own and hope you will join us."
Matthew kept his eyes on his plate.
"All this from
discussing chivalry." Fitzhugh slathered Mrs. Howard's warm bilberry
muffins with butter and glanced at Drummond.
Drummond put his fork
down. With his elbows on the table, he tented his hands, and stared at
Fitzhugh. "We went on to discuss chivalrous love."
"Chivalrous
love?" Fitzhugh finished eating and sat back with his cup of coffee.
"What do we know of
such things? Look at us." No one raised an eyebrow at his assertion.
"What a sorry sight we are on that topic."
All of them were
suffering from one form or another of feminine defeat. Matthew lost his love to
a rival. Linton made his career a priority and drove his love away with
indifference. Drummond, off serving his king, was never in one place long
enough to fall in love.
Yes, they were a sorry sight.
It was the reason he invited them for Christmastide, to bolster their spirits.
Although, to be honest, Fitzhugh didn't want to spend another holiday alone. He
believed this time of year was for new plans, new beginnings. But to move
forward, the past had to be buried and forgotten.
Matthew shook his head.
"You may be right, but you are one of us, my dear brother. Your isolation
here at Preswick Hall doesn't fool us. You remain sequestered, hiding behind
the family obligations ever since—”
Fitzhugh turned toward
his brother with his unmistakable hard glare. The incident was no longer the
talk of the ton. Only the guilt remained.
Matthew didn’t flinch at
his brother’s scowl. Fitzhugh's unfortunate incident happened two years ago.
They never spoke of the episode, and Fitzhugh had no intention of doing so now.
“You threw yourself into
managing the family affairs and I am in awe that under your guidance, they have
grown substantially. There are enough houses and properties to give one to each
of us, as well as one to each of the staff. How many houses and farms must we
have? Is wealth the purpose in life, or it is happiness?"
"That would be a
good topic to study." Fitzhugh and Matthew shot Linton a glance surprised
the man would think the topic was appropriate.
"Study?"
Fitzhugh glowered at Linton. What is Matthew up to? His brother knew
some topics were not for discussion. Was this a way of Matthew wheedling information
from two years ago out of him? At the moment, he kept what he wanted to say
behind his clenched teeth.
"Yes. The academy
Matthew mentioned." Drummond nearly jumped out of his chair. "We
agreed we wanted to commit to a life of study and self-improvement. We simply
need to decide on a topic and commit ourselves to the task."
"Drummond is
right." Linton's face lit with excitement. "We spent most of the
night discussing happiness. You remember. What was the question?"
Linton gestured to Matthew
while he rubbed the back of his neck. "You must remember it. We spent time
researching in Fitzhugh’s library." At last he remembered and pointed to
the others. "Is happiness the most important purpose in life?"
"We all agreed we
enjoyed the evening studying and debating." Matthew's eyes sparkled. He
grabbed Fitzhugh's arm.
Fitzhugh hadn't seen his
brother or friends this enthusiastic in a long time. His Cambridge days. And
nights. The four of them had been close. Exploring. Researching. Debating. Nothing
was impossible. Everything was an adventure. It would be good to feel that
alive again.
"The discussion
went better than we expected. Drummond, you found the quotation from Aristotle,
‘Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of
human existence.’"
Matthew stood and paced
in front of the fireplace. "We said finding happiness requires a life in
which every aspect contributes toward personal fulfillment. It is a decision an
individual makes. Yet." He stood still and faced Linton. "You brought
a different point of view into the discussion."
"Happiness is an
emotion based on a positive circumstance that happens by chance. Nothing
more." Linton motioned to the footman for more coffee.
"I can see you are
all committed to returning to Cambridge." Fitzhugh smirked, knowing
returning to the university was not what they intended.
Matthew went to the desk
and took out writing materials. Sitting with the others, he scratched some
words onto the parchment, crossed some out, and wrote some more. Finished, he
put down his quill. Content with his writing, he glanced at his friends, and
handed the declaration to his brother.
Fitzhugh took the
document. He shook his head when he finished it and glanced at his brother.
"Go on. Read it to
everyone."
Fitzhugh nodded and
raised the document.
"We the
undersigned, members of the prestigious Preswick Academy for Men, agree to the
following: for the period of three years, we will abstain from women, fast one
day a week, eat but one meal on the other days, and sleep no more than three
hours a night. All our waking hours will be spent in the pursuit of
knowledge."
"No women is one
thing, but that is barely enough food to survive. What will Mrs. Howard think
of that?" Fitzhugh looked at Matthew.
Drummond got to his
feet. "And no sleep to allow more time to study. Exhaustion and starvation
is what this is. We'd have no strength to think about eating or a woman,
for that matter. You go too far."
Fitzhugh draped his arm
around his friend. "Our time will be well spent. No distractions. I will
tell Mr. Keats to turn all guests away. Think of all we will learn. And we will
learn together."
Fitzhugh took up the
quill and signed his name. He stood and held out the writing implement to the
next taker.
"I'll sign."
Matthew took the quill and signed, Linton behind him. When Linton finished, he
turned to Drummond.
The knight looked at his
childhood friends, men he respected and trusted. Shaking his head, he took the
quill and signed his name with a flourish.
"Well done."
Linton and Matthew pounded the knight's back.
Fitzhugh handed a glass
of port to each of them. He raised his glass. "Our hunger for knowledge
will soothe our appetites for all things. This holiday will be different. We
will enjoy our time with peace, study, and discussion."
"And no
women," Drummond added.
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