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Claiming the Heart of a Duke
Sweet and Clean Regency Romance
Arietta Richmond
Chapter One
Having broken his fast at the Inn that morning, Hunter Barrington, tenth Duke of Melton, had decided that he would ride for the last leg of his journey, because he was heartily sick of the stuffy carriage and of his valet’s mournful mien.
This worthy, whom he had hired following his friend Raphael’s advice (for it seemed that his business was a source of excellent information, not just imported goods), had vainly tried to turn him into a dandy during their short stay in London. Hunter smiled thinking of Bulwick’s dismay when he had flatly refused to use the cane that Bulwick had tried to foist upon him, or to buy the inordinate number of fobs, which it was fashionable to attach to one’s watch chain. After years in the field, his taste in dress was so simple that it could be called austere. Not so long ago, a day with clean clothes had been worth savouring, so all of this fuss seemed rather ridiculous to him.
Poor Bulwick had been horrified when he had declared his intention to ride.
“You can’t possibly do that, my Lord,” he had whispered.
“You will reach Meltonbrook Chase in a dishevelled and mussed condition. You will get a head cold, of a certainty. And, my Lord, if I may presume to comment further, the road is in very bad condition and frozen all over.”
“Fustian!”
Hunter had exclaimed, shrugging away his valet’s concern.
“It will do me good. Look after my luggage, Felton. I’m off.”
The road, in his opinion, was quite good – certainly a vast improvement on trampled battlefields and roads in a war zone!
So, without further ado, he had swung onto his horse, leaving the bewildered valet with his mouth still open in protest. For the first few miles, the ride had been exhilarating. Warmly clad in his greatcoat, beaver hat and fur lined gloves, astride his dapple grey stallion, he had delighted in the cold wind and in the speed-blurred landscape, as he let the stallion run off his energy.
The feeling of freedom, however, did not last long and had already vanished when Meltonbrook Chase appeared in the distance. It was the first time he had seen his family estate since his father, the late Duke, had purchased a commission for him, as was traditional for a second son.
Hunter could remember, perfectly well, his father’s stern admonitions, imparted before sending him on his way to London, and hence to the Peninsular and war.
“Honour first of all, my son. Honour means more than life to our family. Never tarnish it, never demean yourself, never show a streak of the yellow. Remember, an officer and a nobleman must be an example for his men. England must stand against the French tyrant. Your commitment must be wholehearted. Your days as a dissipated and wild young buck have ended. Do you understand?”
’I thought I understood, Father, but I didn’t. Only later, I did. Oh, yes, later I understood, all too well, what you meant.’Hunter’s thought was wry, and a little sad.
He was so absorbed in his musings that he was barely registering the landscape. It took some time for him to realise that he was inside Meltonbrook Chase’s expansive park. He reined in his horse, and stopped to look at the wintry landscape around him.
The silence was profound, broken only by the cawing of a crow, somewhere in the woods, and by the soft murmuring of the nearby brook.
The grounds were immaculate under the heavy pall of snow, the ice-traced tall poplars, which surrounded the lake, shining like silver filigree under the setting sun’s slanting rays.
“I’m home.” he thought, steeling himself for his first meeting with his family, after so many years.
Riding into the deserted stable yard, it seemed surreal that he was actually here – and even more surreal that his father and brother were gone, that all of this was his now.
He dismounted, the icy gravel crunching under his feet, as a brawny groom, in a leather coat, came running toward him.
“Master Hunter! Master Hunter! Is it you? Is it really you? At long last you’re home again!” The man suddenly checked and lowered his head.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace. I’ve been overfamiliar, but me happiness made me tongue run away with me, it did, old fool that I am.”
“Never you mind, Nick. Master Hunter it is, if you wish it, as long as you keep it just between us. You know how stuffy my mother can be… Now, this is Nuage.…” he gestured to the horse, which snuffled curiously at the old groom. “I bought him in France, and a valiant fellow he is. Take good care of him, will you? Go with Nick, my boy, he’s a good one.”
Nick stroked the horse’s silky coat and took the reins.
“Always been a good judge of horseflesh, Master Hunter. Since you was a stripling, you was. Come along Nuage, a good rubdown is what you need right now. And what about some clean straw to lie on and some oats to chew?” Talking to the horse, the head groom disappeared around the corner toward the stable, as the carriage, bearing his valet, and his meagre luggage, drew up before the house.
