Karma Mends A Broken Crown: A Mornington Park Novel, #5

By K. E. Chaloner

Oliver Prendergast the Duke of Dunsborough is London's worst cold hearted rake who has ever walked the streets. After experiencing a turbulent childhood that continues to plague his dreams always turning them into nightmares, he has finally lost the will to live, so when he has the opportunity to partake in a duel, he jumps at the chance. 

The only problem is Monique MacTavish holds the most accurate duelling pistols ever created and will not relinquish them except for one thing. She will exchange the pistols if he will spend his last ten days on earth teaching her everything there is to know regarding the lessons in the bedchamber.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. E. Chaloner
• Release date: Nov 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780648081449

Book preview

Introduction

Oliver Prendergast the Duke of Dunsborough is the worst cold hearted rake who has ever walked the streets of London. After experiencing a turbulent childhood that continues to plague his dreams always turning them into nightmares, he has finally lost the will to live, so when he has the opportunity to partake in a duel, he jumps at the chance.

The only problem is Monique McTavish holds the most accurate duelling pistols ever created and will not relinquish them except for one thing. She will exchange the pistols if he will spend his last ten days on earth teaching her everything there is to know regarding the lessons on sex.

1799

Oliver Prendergast, the Duke of Dunsborough sat at his writing desk in his Eton bedchamber when he heard a knock at the door.

Come in, he called out, annoyed he was being disturbed while trying to study.

How are you Oliver? asked Perceval Rutherford, the Marquess of Westcott, his deep voice vibrating around the stark room as he entered.

Oliver turned around and stood up.

I am well Sir, he cordially acknowledged, watching the tall stately man approach him with his arm out to shake his hand.

I believe Happy Birthday is in order? Perceval offered, shaking the lad’s hand as he surveyed the fourteen year old boy, not surprised how handsomely tall he was becoming with his long mop of blonde hair, that fell over his large blue eyes. And those eyes penetrated whoever was standing before him, trying to work out if the person was friend or foe, the same way as they had done when he was a sick child, and why Oliver still did not miss who and what was going on around him and everything and anything surrounding him…not unlike himself.

Staring at the lad, he was even more amazed how much he was like himself in colouring, never contemplating he would still look like Laurence at this age, to the point if people saw the two teenage boys together, they would automatically assume they were brothers.

I believe so, Oliver dryly replied, surveying the marquess, who seemed shocked at how much he had grown. He was also aware the marquess would not only be visiting him because of his birthday. Thank you Sir.

Please sit down Your Grace, Perceval kindly directed, walking to the small bookcase in the corner of the room. Taking out a book he studied it, better than contemplating the teenager’s questioning hallow eyes. How are you getting on with the other students?

They are a congenial lot, Oliver graciously replied, watching the marquess open a book on the history of England.

Do you spend much time with Laurence, Mornington and Nicholas? Perceval lightly ventured, already knowing the answer and wanting to hear what the lad had to say for himself, as he flicked through the pages of the book.

We do not mix in the same circles, Oliver respectfully remarked. He remained standing keeping his legs ridged as he placed his hand on the back of the chair.

This was not the first time the marquess had dropped in to see how he was going, always concerned about his physical and mental state. Especially to find out if he was making friends.

He was under no illusion that the marquess had also possibly just visited his son Laurence, to find out the same thing.

Is there anyone you associate with? Perceval replaced the book back on the shelf and observed the lonely frail boy. When he first met the child he was four and a beautiful vibrant kind child. Now, all that remained that he could see was the shell of a teenager.

It was a terrible and sad situation.

He now wondered if he should be telling the lads the truth, but the adults concerned had all decided years ago, it would be best to remain silent for Oliver’s sake, so he could grow up as his own man and not suffer for the sins of the fathers, let alone the parents, for they had all played a hand in what had happened.

I occasionally study with Sebastian. He is also my fencing, boxing and riding partner, Oliver expressed, sure the marquess was already aware of their association.

Perceval nodded his head in agreement, for he knew Oliver was not only making a name for himself in winning every sport he played, whether it be singular or as part of a team, but his academic prowess was exceptional, surpassing past and present students.

The name Oliver Prendergast, the Duke of Dunsborough would be left on many an honour board for generations to come and well into the future.

Your Grace, there are very few people in the world who know who you are, and that knowledge will certainly be going to the grave with us. To make your existence more bearable, I believe you should try and make a few more friends, if only to stop the boredom of life, he proclaimed, sitting on the bed opposite the boy.

I do not need friends My lord, I am very happy with my studies and learning about England and how it is governed, Oliver stoically replied, wishing the marquess would leave him in peace. One good association is quite ample enough.

I cannot disagree, as one loyal and most trusted friend is always better than a multitude of acquaintances. What about France, are you interested in learning what is happening over there?

No, My Lord, not in the slightest. It has done nothing for me and I do not wish to have anything to do with the people…The French, Oliver spat out, as if it was a dirty word.

Perceval nodded his head, not blaming the child for his anger.

It had been a hard lesson for the boy to learn and he was not at all surprised Oliver remained standing over him, though he was sure the boy was not doing it from any conscious thought that he was superior or because this was his room.

More for the lad to leave quickly if the need was required, like he had taught him, to always have an escape plan for every building and confinement he might find himself in.

When a country goes to war with itself, brother against brother, there are many reasons and it is extremely complex, so do not blame all the French people for their actions during the revolution, he instructed, leaning forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. One should always remember…when society allows their fellow citizens to be homeless and starving, it is because of man’s greed for themselves…that allows the bullies to treat their fellow man with cruelty……that is the problem. What we should be doing is opening up and sharing our home and food with kindness to the less fortunate, so it helps them to rebuild their lives, he added, deep in thought. He placed his fingers to his mouth when he heard a knock at the door. Even though it was Oliver’s room, he stood up and answered the door anyway, as a good servant should do.

That thought alone made him smile at the situation.

Mrs Anderson, please come in and let me help you with that, he offered, taking the basket from her hand. Mrs Anderson may I present Oliver Prendergast, the Duke of Dunsborough. Your Grace, I would like you to meet Mrs Anderson, Mornington’s cook and housekeeper among other things.

Oliver bowed with a deep respect on meeting the woman he had heard so much about.

I am very pleased to meet you Mrs Anderson, he admitted, extending his arm to shake the hand of the attractive lady with the warm smile, standing before him.

Mrs Anderson curtsied before shaking the lad’s hand.

Happy Birthday Your Grace, she kindly expressed, holding out two parcels towards him.

Oliver surveyed the brown paper parcels in her hands.

I do not understand, he questioned, glancing at the marquess before his eyes returned to her.

Everyone is entitled to a birthday present Your Grace, she warmly smiled with tenderness, handing them to him so he could not refuse. Please open them.

Oliver placed the parcels on the bed and unwrapped the soft one first, to reveal a beautiful royal blue cable jumper. He stood in awe of the well knitted garment. It reminded him of a fisherman’s jumper, except where they were white, this was an amazing dark blue. He glanced at the marquess and then Mrs Anderson.

It is very beautiful, thank you. Did you knit it? he gently asked, unable to hide the smile twitching at the side of his mouth.

He held back a tear which was trying to form in his left eye, all because of her kindness and generosity.

I did. I know how cold these rooms can get from time to time when you are studying and not moving around. I was hoping you may like it, she replied, smiling broadly.

It was Mornington's birthday last week, should you not have knitted him one? he suggested, confused.

I enjoy knitting of a night around the fire while my husband and I chat, she confessed, tapping the other parcel. And I had already knitted the Duke of Mornington and his brothers jumpers so I thought you may also like one.

Oliver watched the woman lay her hand on the large square box also covered in brown paper.

I like the jumper very much indeed and I look forward to wearing it, thank you. I do not require another present, he whispered, a little embarrassed, even though the woman had a sincere gentle kind way about her. From her countenance and the complexion on her face, he was sure she knew who he was, though to everyone else he was sure they would not notice. What did show in her eyes, was she was equally concerned he was an orphan without a family.

We all require another present, she comforted, her eyes twinkling, encouraging him with a cheeky grin to unwrap it. It is something that may come in handy during your study years and goes with what is in the basket.

Oliver suddenly felt as if he did not wish to disappoint her.

He had no idea why he should feel that sensation when he had not felt any emotion in years. Maybe it was because she had a gentle kindness about her, as if she was a mother hen protecting her chicks.

He nodded his head as he unfolded the paper to reveal a beautiful carved wooden box, like a miniature camphor wood chest.

Opening it up he smiled at the top tray containing different jars of condiments, everything from Foie Gras, Tapenade, an assortment of Dijon mustards and bottles of olive oil, plus three small tea caddies holding tilleuil which was lime flavoured, verveine and camomile loose leaf teas. He removed the tray to see an array of small crockery, cutlery, napkins and everything required for a picnic.

How wonderful, he stammered, turning to Mrs Anderson who was now opening the lid of the basket and removing towels containing Brioche buns, Pains au chocolat, pains d’epices and a long Fougasse.

Mrs Anderson warmly smiled at him again.

Now this basket contains a selection of cheese including Roquefort, Brie, Ami du Chambertin, Comte and Tomme de chevre. Plus an array of smoked ham, Rosette de Lyon sausages and pickle vegetables plus a Walnut and pear pie. I thought it may help with your studies, as I have always believed you should never study on an empty stomach, she grinned, seeing a very small glint in his dead pan eyes. I hope you enjoy the nibbles, Your Grace.

Why? Oliver murmured, contemplating Mrs Anderson and then the marquess.

It is your birthday… Percival insisted, about to say more on how Oliver should show more appreciation and thankfulness to Mrs Anderson for her hard work, when he felt the woman’s hand on his arm halting him, and interrupting him.

Your Grace, I like to cook, well you could say it is a passion of mine so every recipe I find, I like to experiment with and usually make more than the castle inhabitants can eat. I also believe in sharing, especially when someone has a birthday, she explained, instantly liking this young lad whose soul was sad and extremely bruised from what Elizabeth had told her.

It was remarkable he was still alive at all after what he had endured and what had happened to him. And as much as he was trying to hide his emotions, she could see there was a tiny speck of light in his beautiful dull blue eyes. She had seen a speck of light like that once before in the mirror, and if it had not been for another woman and her kindness, she knew without a doubt it would have gone out and she would have died.

She tapped the sausage with her finger as she smiled at him.

These sausages may taste a little different to what you remember, as I feel the gentleman who gave me the recipe may have forgotten an ingredient, but from what I have read over the years, I have added what I think is required.

Oliver listened to her softly spoken voice full of love and kindness and knew instantly she was not pitying him, for there was something in her eyes that indicated she had definitely seen Hell once and she had come out the other side, with the help of a friend.

He now understood how the gift of kindness was worth more than all the money in the world.

You spend all your time cooking and knitting? he jovially jested, raising an eyebrow, surprising himself at his own playfulness.

I do not get out much, she chuckled, watching the young lad, aware her smile was turning into a giggle, which even surprised herself at what was coming out of her mouth.

I find that very hard to believe, Oliver replied, finally giving her a full smile as he witnessed the mischief in her eyes, for they were displaying she got out as much as she liked and was not forced to cook or knit. He smelt the sausage, drawing in its aroma and suddenly felt light headed as the memories of love and family flooded his brain and his emotions that he had not felt in years.

He quickly grabbed the chair to steady himself.

This is exactly how I remember the sausage and will possibly only smell it forever, he remarked, regarding her.

Mrs Anderson sincerely laughed.

You are most welcome Your Grace and please do eat it as I make these sausages every month and have a room full of sausages and smoked ham, as they have become a favourite of the castle’s inhabitants. Please let me know if it tastes as good as it smells and if you think there is anything else I should add, to make them the way you fully remember them to be.

Thank you Mrs Anderson, it is very much appreciated and I am extremely grateful for your kindness, he admitted, amazing himself how genuine he felt. It was not from what she implied, for he felt she kept a lot to herself, but it was the expression in her eyes saying she understood his pain from experience, that had him feeling as if he had met a kindred spirit.

That was a frightful thought.

He quickly closed his eyes for a second to the horror that caused his nightmares.

I think it is time we went, Percival indicated, ushering Mrs Anderson to the door.

Oliver quickly moved towards Mrs Anderson.

Thank you. This is the best birthday I have had in a very long time and I will be forever grateful.

Then you will not mind if I return when I have over-baked? she smiled, gently placing her hand on his arm.

I will very much look forward to your company in the future Mrs Anderson, he replied, removing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

Then in a moment of surprise more to himself than Mrs Anderson, he kissed her on the cheek.

It was the most intimate contact he had had with any human-being in years.

Mrs Anderson fought to keep the tears from her eyes and smiled broadly.

I will make sure I have more time the next time I visit, so we can enjoy a cup of tea. Enjoy, Your Grace.

Oliver smiled, nodding his head.

You will be very welcome Mrs Anderson.

Chapter One

18 Years Later - Chalon-Park Abbey - Tuesday 21 January 1817

Oliver Prendergast, the Duke of Dunsborough woke with a start at his desk in his study. He raised his head and rested it in his hands before running his fingers through his hair.

At least the dream was not a nightmare, like they so often were he thought, shaking his head and gazing around the room until his eyes fell back onto his desk.

He spied the letter from Juliette and Laurence laid on the blotting paper, thanking him for the offer of his house in Mayfair, and as grand as the offer was, Juliette would not be requiring it now or any time in the future. She had simply stated she would be looking forward to seeing him again when he returned to London, so they could once again enjoy a meal together.

He stood up and strolled over to the window and viewed the lake in front of the Abbey, thinking about his dream.

He had not thought of that day in years, when Mrs Anderson had visited him on his fourteenth birthday. She had visited him regularly and every birthday after that and every jumper or cardigan she made for him, he still wore when at the Abbey and treasured them all greatly.

Like the dark green cardigan he was now wearing.

He totally understood why the Blackenhawke brothers were in love with Mrs Anderson, because he was as well.

He had come to count the days to his birthdays and not because of the presents she would surely bring, but more for her company.

Whenever she visited she would stay for up to an hour or three, having tea and cake, chatting about his studies and what interested him. She had continued until he finished at Cambridge and still sent him the odd note from time to time.

Though he would not be surprised if Jack and his brothers never knew of her visits, because he knew for a fact she also visited Sebastian, and not only on his birthdays.

He did not often think of Brandon’s cousin, Sebastian Wainwright these days, as more often than not he was not in England.

He had though always liked the man for he was similar to himself, both coming from dysfunctional families. They were both damaged and possibly why the two outcasts found solace in each other, so they still felt part of the world.

He remembered Seb laughing when they studied together, saying if it was not for Mrs Anderson’s jumpers and cardigans they would have both frozen at Eton.

He wondered where Seb was freezing now, for the man always seemed to find the coldest spots on earth.

If he had not been a duke, he too would have liked to be a spy alongside him, travelling the world and thought if he had, he may have a different outlook on life.

No point in thinking of what might have been, for it was now so long ago and well in the past, like his own life.

And like his own staff, Mrs Anderson had been his saving grace, even if he had trouble achieving all her advice. He had found as hard as he tried, he had trouble replacing the horror images from his childhood with better ones, that she so often suggested he try.

Not only would the horror not leave his daily thoughts, it would not leave his dreams. The screams would always wake him up during the night, only to find himself covered in sweat and the screams coming from his own lungs.

He could not remember when a dream was not a nightmare.

There were only a few nights when the nightmares had not been so violent and that was when he was under the same roof as Juliette and Laurence. The night they spent at the Abbey and when he had stayed with them at the Hall and Featherstone Village, had been a brief relief. However, as they could not live with him or him with them, it was time to get his life or what was left of it in order.

He could not live this way any longer, for it was not living he thought. He was only existing and that was a poor excuse for a life.

He now understood why slaves would be prepared to die, than live a life in captivity being persecuted by a tyrant.

Death was preferable to cruel tyranny any-day.

He had felt the same way as a child and why he was so close to death when he was rescued, but the problem he had now, was he had never been able to find how to have a sustainable and substantial life. And more so since he had met Juliette.

He had never understood how she fought to stay alive with a happy heart after everything she had experienced. It was just beyond him, but he was glad she and Laurence had found each other. He could see the happiness radiating out of her eyes when she looked at Laurence and how Laurence positively glowed like the sun ever time he saw her. He could not stand by anymore, always being on the fringe of their love and happiness.

It was too much to bear.

Time to finish what he had started.

He pulled the bell cord to summons his butler.

Your Grace? Bradley formally enquired, entering the room.

Oliver turned to the elderly man as he entered.

Can you advise Hugo, Ivan and Hamilton I will require the sleeping carriage at nine tomorrow morning. We will be going to Birmingham, he instructed, hoping the old man would not hate him for what he was about to do.

Yes, Your Grace, is there anything else I can do for you?

No, thank you Bradley, he sighed, then having a second thought he called out. When you have finished that, would you mind returning here?

Not at all, Your Grace.

Oliver nodded at the man and when he left the room he approached his brandy decanter and opened it.

He poured the liquid into two glasses and drank one before refilling it. The least he could do was offer the man another taste of his father’s favourite brandy, which he knew Bradley well liked.

Bradley may not say much, omitting his thoughts, but he had helped him over the years with his kind and concerned guidance.

As a child the man had been his staunch ally and again through his teenage years to now. He also knew without a doubt the man would be angry with him for his decision.

It could not be helped.

He knew his staff loved working for him at the Abbey and he also knew they were extremely grateful for being treated well.

What he was really hoping for, was that they would all feel free to live an even better life with their dreams and aspirations, especially when they received his generous offer, once he was gone.

He was not feeling sorry for himself or he hoped not, it was just that after seeing how much Laurence and Juliette loved each other and also witnessing the love between Mornington with his wife Cherie, and the growing love between Gabriel and Stephanie at a ball last year, he felt the pain of lose more everyday.

He would never again be secure in a family, let alone a family of love. He stayed awake every night drinking and playing music until he literally fell into a coma of deep unconsciousness, so he did not have to face his nightmares.

This was not living he thought, this was only surviving at the lowest ebb, into a gradual decline, waiting for the end.

Chapter Two

Wednesday 22 January 1817 . . Birmingham

Oliver peered out the coach window at the passing buildings as they drove through Birmingham. He was surprised to see they were in a seedy part of the large city, as the coach slowed to a stop in front of a shop, where the small windows were covered in brown paper, indicating the shop was now closed.

He alighted the carriage at the same time as Hugo his coach driver, exited from what he liked to call his cockpit.

Is this the correct address Your Grace? Hugo gritted out, standing beside the duke inspecting the dismal street, that normally he would have thought twice of entering on a bright summers day, let alone when the sun was descending over the horizon, netted by clouds on a cold dismal winters day.

I believe so, Oliver replied, sensing the man’s concern, for he had the same misgivings himself, as he scrutinised the piece of paper in his hand that William Chaloner the best known gunsmith in not only Birmingham, but in all of England had given him.

When William informed him he did not have any duelling pistols available, the old man advised there was a Scottish man who had been his most dedicated student, living on the outskirts of Birmingham who had recently died.

But William was sure his daughter may still have a set of his duelling pistols. William was also insistent the pistols were better than anything he had ever made, believing Neacal MacTavish’s craftsmanship would carrying the man’s name into the history books for years to come, resonating around the world before his own.

Oliver once again scrutinised the windows covered in brown paper, before he looked down again at the paper in his hand.

He had been sent on a wild goose chase he thought, until he heard the sound of an indignant scream coming from a woman inside the shop. Then another tormented scream from a child, bellowing loudly, telling the perpetrator to leave his sister alone.

Ivan who had been idly sitting in the coach’s cockpit, watching Hugo and the duke standing by the door of the closed shop, immediately threw Hugo a pistol as His Grace took a running leap, raised his leg and broke through the shop door.

Oliver cascaded into the premises like an explosion, surprising himself he had not crumpled onto the floor in a heap and even more amazed at how well the woman was fighting the man.

He grabbed the large man by the collar and threw him so hard against the wall, the man went white, before sliding down into unconsciousness.

A thousand things ran through Oliver’s brain as he squinted at the man at his feet and more so for what he had done a month ago in helping to save Juliette. As much as he was not proud of his actions then or now, he had no remorse in saving any woman from any man he considered to be a bully, if that was the case.

I am not criticising, but if you are going to fight like a man, you should be prepared the man will in turn fight back as if you are a man, Oliver announced, looking bored as he straightened the lapels of his coat and adjusted his jacket.

So I am finding out, but I think I had the matter at hand under control, the woman commented, annoyingly pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

I beg your pardon My Lady for my actions, especially if I have been over zealous in the force I used, in thinking you may be in requirement of my assistance, Oliver stated, turning to look at Hugo standing by the door with a gun pointed at the man on the floor. Keep an eye on him Hugo?

By all means, Your Grace.

Oliver was satisfied the man was going nowhere in the interim, as his surveillance of the room led his eyes to the woman standing tall on the other side.

And on immediate inspection when his eyes roamed over her, he found his feet glued to the floor and his lungs fighting for breath.

She was extremely attractive, to the point of being stunning.

He suddenly felt light-headed, as if his lungs could not hold the air he was looking for when he saw the colour of her bright long red curly hair, that had broken away from its clips and combs. Her magnificent hair lit up the room brighter than a candle and he would not have been surprised if he saw a halo around her head, for she definitely appeared to look like an angel.

How could anyone not see how striking and imposing she was, with her untamed red hair flowing around her alabaster skin sprinkled with freckles.

She appeared and sounded mature, however she could not be anymore than three and twenty years, and he found himself wondering if her perfectly shaped lips had ever been kissed.

He quickly shook his head to clear his thoughts and tried not to gape, as he observed her laughing grey eyes telling him, she was satisfied with her fighting skills.

Any gentleman who offers assistance is always greatly welcomed by a lady, especially against an arrogant misogynistic bully, she annoyingly pointed out, regarding the man on the floor. Except I had just placed my knee into an area of Rancidall’s body that I hoped would cause and rendered him…let us just say doubled over in excruciating pain. She called for her eight-year-old brother to stand beside her. Who are you and why are you here?

Oliver did not flinch at her comment regarding what she had done with her knee, only pleased she had not inflicted it on him.

I beg your pardon My Lady. Let me introduce myself. My name is Oliver Prendergast and you are? he asked, bowing, trying not to smile as he peeked at her beautiful grey eyes through her glasses evaluating him, surprised the glasses were not askew after her fight. He watched as she slowly raised her index finger to the middle of her glasses, more out of habit he suspected than to adjust the frame, so she could inspect him and for a second he was not sure if she was inspecting a Dragonfly, or Praying Mantis.

He hoped he was the Dragonfly and not the Praying Mantis, when he noticed his hands together, though not in a praying sense.

He slowly separated his hands and removed his gloves, finger by finger as he surveyed the man on the floor, while trying to keep his emotions in check.

I am Monique MacTavish and this is my brother Louis MacTavish, she confirmed, wondering why he was trying to appear as if he was a common man, as she surveyed the cut of his coat.

He most definitely was no ordinary man because even if he had worn a sack, his regal stance spoke volumes of his aristocrat heritage and his deep voice was of a highly educated man, not to forget he was wearing extremely expensive clothes.

The man with him was obviously a servant, though he was as equally dressed, and with his heavy bear like build, she would not like to go up against him at any time.

Who is the man behind you with the gun?

Oliver did not need to turn around.

My driver Hugo and my other two drivers still in the carriage are Ivan and Hamilton, he confirmed, inspecting the tall slim boy for his age who he suspected was no older than eight-years-old. Your name is Louis? he gently questioned, his voice rasping as he felt a lump in his throat and quickly shook his head to get a grip on his thoughts.

It is, Louis replied, stepping forward to shake Oliver’s hand. Pleased to meet you My Lord.

"It should be ‘Your Grace’, Louis," Monique softly corrected.

Louis nodded his head.

I beg your pardon, Your Grace.

A common mistake Louis and the pleasure is all mine, Oliver replied, impressed with the child's manners and strong grip as the boy let go, then step around him to shake Hugo’s hand.

Monique nodded at Hugo then cast her eyes back to the blonde Adonis in front of her. She was sure his wife referred to him in the same way, though possibly not to his face.

I gather you are a duke?

I did not think it important. I am the Duke of Dunsborough at your service, he bowed, with deep respect.

Why are you here Your Grace? she quizzed again, motioning with her hands for Louis to come back and stand beside her.

Are you French? Oliver smoothly asked, ignoring her question, because it had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone with French names or in French.

No, she responded, watching the questions in his eyes. Our mother was French-Welsh and loved everything about France hence our names. Not good during the Napoleonic wars when trying to tell people we were not French, though my father was Scottish and not someone to trifle with. If you do not mind me asking again, why are you here?

Do you speak French? Oliver softly broached, still ignoring her question, for the sound of her voice was honey to his jaded ears.

Monique wondered why he was concerned about France.

Oui, Oui, we both do, she steadily glared, knowing she could be mistaken for French when she spoke the beautiful romantic language, that she herself also loved so much. The moment she uttered the two simple French words, she saw a longing in his eyes.

Your Grace the rubbish on the floor is coming around, would you like me to remove it outside? Hugo warned, already pulling the man up and holding his arms behind his back so he could not do anymore harm to anyone.

Oliver kept his eyes on the lady.

Thank you Hugo, make sure he does not return.

Rancidall shook his head as he felt himself being pulled up from the floor into a standing position, even though he was confined.

I will be back you bitch…you cannot get away from me! he bellowed, while fighting to loosen the man’s grip on his arms. I will marry you, you virgin bitch and send your brother down a mine. You are wrong, women have no rights! Only men have rights!

Oliver noticed her flinch at the man’s outcry.

He had no time for bullies or people who had hatred in their eyes, especially men who wished to do women and children harm.

He immediately and swiftly swung around at the man’s comments, punching the man so hard in the face he possibly broke Rancidall’s nose, but he felt no regret.

Men do not hit woman you scumbag and you will not be marrying Miss MacTavish and most certainly will do no such thing to the boy! he icily commanded with strength, his voice full of self-confident authority with an edge of malice. He watched the man’s eyes roll around to the back of his head before he passed out again and slump to the ground.

The only reason Rancidall did not hit the floor again was because Hugo still had hold of him.

Oliver pulled his fingers to make sure none were broken as he turned back to Miss MacTavish, watching her wrap her arms around the child hugging him close to her, as Hugo dragged the man out of the shop.

Do you wish to marry that man? he queried, still stretching out his fingers and palm.

Absolutely not, he has been trying to marry me for years. Rancidall is a tyrant, and believes because he owns land he has every right to whatever he wants and he wants my father’s business and me, she spat, watching the concern crossing the duke’s eyes, and could not understand why.

It appears the business is closed, Oliver remarked, taking a step to the counter so he could stretch his hand out on the wood, when he noticed a Welsh Triple Harp sitting in the other room.

My father died last November so my brother and I are moving to America. There is nothing here for us, plus I wish to get away from men like him, she advised, not sure why she was telling this stranger her history when she did not know him, or why she felt she should trust him as she kept her arm over her brother’s chest, protecting him. When Louis placed his hands over her arm covering his chest, she saw the unmistakable concern in the duke’s eyes regarding her brother.

Suddenly she had an unbelievable feeling sweeping through her body, that this man would go out of his way to protect Louis against the world. She did not understand why, maybe it was wishful thinking she thought after what he had said.

We are leaving on the mail coach later this evening. How is your hand? she asked, with concern.

My hand has not done much over the past month so it was in need of a little exercise, he pointed out dryly, glancing at the three bags at her feet. That is your only luggage?

Thank you for your help, it is appreciated, though I do not think this is any of your business or your concern.

Possibly not, Oliver replied clinically and emotionlessly, the dryness in his voice sounding weary and uninterested. If you do not want Rancidall to return and stop you from boarding the mail coach, I could possibly help you. I could take you and Louis to Liverpool so Rancidall does not follow you, he offered, watching her trying to decide why he was offering her help and if she should trust him. Where is your other luggage?

Monique leant over and kissed Louis on the head, before peering back at the duke.

I believed I had sent four trunks on to Liverpool, apart from the bags at my feet. Apparently Rancidall took them off the coach and has stolen them, thinking it will make me stay. Stupid imbecile of a man, for I can assure you Your Grace, hook or by crook, I will be on that coach. With or without luggage.

And the Welsh Triple Harp in the other room?

Monique turned to glimpse her beloved harp.

Unfortunately I cannot take it with me, so I am just leaving it as no one around here can afford it or to be more precise, wanted it, she sadly frowned, turning back to him. Why are you here Your Grace? Dukes do not usually visit us.

I visit many places dukes, earls or barons do not visit, he mused, again bowing to her. I am here because I believe you have a set of duelling pistols that are the most accurate in England. I wish to purchase them and I will also purchase your harp. How much would you like for both of them?

Monique had heard the Duke of Mornington and his brothers were the most unbelievably handsomest men in all of England, though last year she had suddenly heard the name of the Duke of Dunsborough being mentioned for the first time. Apparently all women wanted him and all men wanted to be him.

She again examined the handsome blonde headed man standing before her and could now understand why.

He certainly was an Adonis and she had an unexpected thought, making her wonder what he was like under his clothes.

She shivered while trying to get her thoughts out of the gutter.

He obviously had money, power and the world at his feet to do as he wished in life, but she was curious if he had ever worked a day in his life. Let alone have the ability to understand what the majority of the human race had to do during their lifetime…to survive.

She had been having this argument with herself for years regarding rich men. Yet the more she watched his eyes, she wondered what had happened in his life for the sadness and darkness to take residence in his beautiful mysterious blue iris’.

She also wondered if the men and women who wanted him, saw or understood the mystery of what appeared to be a tortured soul.

The guns are not for sale. The harp though is, if you can guarantee it will be well taken care of, she advised, watching the coldness she had witnessed before join the sadness and darkness in the depth of his eyes.

You question my motives when you were going to leave the harp and that man could smash it up, just to give you pain? he protested, in no mood to argue, watching Louis leave his sister and move the brown paper aside so he could peer out the window. Besides, everything is for sale for a price.

I like your Shires, they are very impressive. You have a funny and unusual carriage outside Your Grace, Louis grinned, turning to Oliver. What is it?

It is a sleeping carriage, Oliver stated, wondering how intelligent the child was, as he moved to stand beside the boy by the window. Seeing Hugo returning after dispatching the man he peered down on the child. Would you like to have a look?

Yes please, can I Moni? Louis spluttered, turning to his sister.

No, I think it is better you stay with me, she replied, even though she was sure Hugo would not hurt him.

Oh Moni please, it has eight Shire horses, please? Louis pleaded, appealing to her.

He will be safe I can assure you, Oliver reassured, thinking it best if the child was not in the room as he tried to convince the woman to sell him the pistols. Walking back to the door he called Hugo over to him. Would you mind showing Louis the horses and carriage?

Not at all Your Grace, it would be my pleasure, Hugo replied, turning to Louis. Our horses are the best in England.

No! Monique cried, rushing to grab Louis’ hand.

It had been a long time since she had trusted anyone and today she did not wish to make the wrong decision, especially when they only had a few hours to go before the mail coach arrived. No matter what, she intended