Danger to the Duke Page 2

  “I am going to marry Simon Harrington.”

  Michael stiffened.

  He could not believe what he had just heard – there must be some mistake.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  “I am sorry, Michael, and I know it will upset you, but Mama and Papa are delighted, as you can imagine, and although I love you we could never have managed with so little money.”

  “We would have been together – ”

  His voice did not sound like his own and he still could not believe what she was saying.

  Then as she did not reply, he demanded,

  “Why, why are you doing this?”

  Even as he spoke he knew the answer. Simon was the eldest son of the Duke of Cambria and there was no need for Felicity to explain further.

  There was in fact no need for either of them to say anything to each other.

  For a moment Michael thought of pleading with her, telling her how much he loved her and that he knew she loved him. Then his common sense told him it was useless.

  Simon could offer her a title and he was well aware that was what every young woman in the Beau Monde craved for.

  Felicity would be the success of the Season – a beauty who had landed the greatest matrimonial catch available.

  Because he knew when he was defeated, he turned and walked from the room.

  As he closed the door behind him, he heard Felicity call his name, but he did not go back. He ran down the stairs two at a time.

  That evening he joined a Regiment which was going out to India almost immediately.

  Because he was so hurt and had, he believed, a wound that would never heal, he volunteered to join the Great Game as soon as he reached India.

  He was successful because he forced himself to concentrate on what he was doing as he had no wish to remember the softness of Felicity’s lips and the fire she ignited in him.

  Of course there were eventually other women in his life.

  He would have been inhuman if he had refused the favours that were offered to him so eagerly because of his good looks and the irresistible charm he had inherited from his parents.

  His affaires-de-coeur were never with young women.

  There were plenty of married women whose husbands had been sent to the North-West Frontier or were fighting in the intolerable heat of the plains.

  In his heart he despised them for being unfaithful, but equally it was impossible to refuse what they offered him because it helped him to forget Felicity.

  His father and mother had been so happy together and it had not worried Lord Charles that he was cut off from his family and the position that was rightfully his.

  Michael had never considered how much it mattered to a woman to acquire an important title or that any woman would value it more than the possession of a man’s heart.

  *

  In India he found that most people were categorised according to the importance of their rank or that of those with whom they associated.

  He watched with a touch of cynicism on his lips the manner in which the English bowed and scraped to the Viceroy and he found it amusing that the Indians treated their Maharajas as if they were Potentates from another world.

  It was a relief from all that pretension to fight against the Russians, who were becoming more and more dangerous in their determination to infiltrate into India and win the country for the Czar.

  Most people assumed that it was impossible for the Russians to snatch India from Britain’s grasp, but in fact they were quite capable of doing so. There was no doubt that they were behind the unrest on the North-West Frontier.

  Russian Agents moved in every community, making trouble and causing unrest amongst the tribesmen and in all these activities they made it extremely dangerous for young Officers like Michael to interfere.

  He knew this only too well when on a dark night a pointed dagger missed him by only a hair’s breadth.

  Another time his instinct prevented him at the last second from stepping into a trap that had been laid for him.

  Now at the age of twenty-seven he was, he knew, spoken of secretly as being very important to the Government and especially the Viceroy of India.

  He could not help enjoying a feeling of satisfaction when he was consulted by the Chiefs of Staff and, when Generals, diplomats and Statesmen came out from England on a visit, they greeted him as if he was one of themselves.

  Now that he was going home he began to ask himself what was waiting for him in England.

  His father had died three years ago, following his mother who had died a year earlier.

  Michael had not been able to attend either funeral as he had been heavily engaged in tracking down one of the gravest instances of treachery that had ever been known to the Great Game.

  It had been impossible for him to leave and when he had succeeded in bringing the whole affair to a successful conclusion, it was far too late.

  He had known that, if he ever really wanted to return home, he now possessed a house of his own left to him by his father and just enough money, apart from the pay he earned, to keep him in comfort.

  It would never be enough, he thought bitterly, for someone like Felicity who desired a Coronet and ducal millions behind her.

  Perhaps one day he would find a woman with whom he would share his life and who would love him for himself.

  That was an optimistic aim, he told himself cynically, because all women were the same and, as in the case of Felicity, a title mattered to them more than love.

  He might never be as lucky as his father had been when he ran away with his mother and it was something Michael knew Lord Charles had never regretted.

  In fact he had often said to his son,

  “I am a very lucky man, Michael. Whenever I consider my brothers, who never communicate with me, I pity them. Can you imagine the boredom of sitting opposite a woman every day whom you have nothing in common with?”

  ‘What it comes down to,’ Michael had often said to himself, ‘is that I must never get married. My father was right, if I had to spend my life with any of the women I have met out in India, I think I would go crazy.’

  He found, as so many men had found before him that women were not really interested in anything but love. If a man tried to discuss any other subject, they somehow twisted the conversation round and they were only satisfied when it was back on their all-important theme.

  Michael had sometimes wished that he had someone with whom he could discuss what he was doing. Someone who would enjoy the adventure and thrill of his new life as much as he did.

  If that was impossible for a woman, then he could not marry anyone when he was still so much involved in the Great Game.

  Women talked too much and women were indiscreet.

  Michael had never trusted a woman with his secrets and he told himself he never would.

  In which case quite obviously he would have to remain a bachelor.

  Now, going home, he had wondered where he should go and where he should stay.

  Of course he would visit his family house and he had heard from the old couple who were looking after it that it was exactly as his parents had left it.

  It was, however, not very exciting to be all alone in the middle of the country with nothing to do, except that he could ride the many horses his father had left him when he died.

  ‘I might stay in London,’ he told himself.

  He started to think of how many of his old friends would be glad to renew his acquaintance.

  Of course there were those who had returned from India and had made a great fuss of him because they had been told by the Viceroy that he was invaluable, but the majority of them had been much older men.

  As well there were several members of the Cabinet and Statesmen in attendance on the Queen, but Michael could hardly trouble them with his problems once he was back in residence in England.

  The ship in which he was travelling had just steamed into the Mediterranean and he was beginni
ng to speculate that he might find England rather dull and even lonely because he had been abroad for so long.

  Then he remembered the friends he had made at Oxford and he felt sure they would be pleased to see him again, even though some of them had married whilst he had been away and others had moved into different parts of the country.

  At the same time he was wondering how soon he could return to India and the Great Game.

  A number of Russians had died because he had discovered the dastardly plot they were preparing against the life of the Viceroy. Others had infiltrated amongst the tribesmen and persuaded them to attack British troops when, as they thought, they were least expecting it.

  Those who had died were no longer a menace, but there were quite a number, as the Viceroy had been aware, who had guessed at the last moment who had betrayed them.

  They would be determined to make him pay for it.

  As the Marquis of Dufferin had said to Michael, he was now a marked man and unfortunately Russians had a long memory.

  ‘I suppose I shall find something to do,’ Michael tried to reassure himself not once but a dozen times.

  He had kept to his cabin from the time they left Calcutta until they passed through the Suez Canal.

  There had been two sinister episodes in the past year.

  Two men returning from India had each suffered what was called ‘an unfortunate accident’ on the ship they were sailing on.

  One man had fallen overboard in the middle of the night for no reason that could be ascertained and the other had been found dead in his bed, having taken what was assumed to be an overdose of some drug, but no trace of it was ever found.

  Those who had taken part in the Great Game had learned to be suspicious of every shadow and every step they heard.

  Now, since nothing had happened, Michael believed he could relax.

  There was a tap on his cabin door, and when he called, “come in,” the Steward who looked after him appeared.

  “I thought, sir,” he said, “you’d like the English newspapers. They’re ten days old but I’ve brought you The Times and The Morning Post.”

  “That is very kind of you, Smith.”

  He had found the Steward exceedingly obliging and intended to give him a good tip when they finally reached Tilbury.

  “The sea is smooth, sir, and you should go out in the sunshine,” advised Smith. “You’re looking a lot better now than when you came aboard.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” replied Michael. “Thanks to you, I do feel better.”

  He had to make excuses for not leaving his cabin, making out that he was suffering from pains and sleeplessness which were only understood by his doctors.

  The Steward had been very concerned over him.

  “Is there anything I can bring you now, sir?” he asked.

  “Not for the moment, thank you.”

  The Steward moved towards the door.

  “There’ll be dancing tonight,” he added, “and there are some very pretty young ladies who have just come aboard.

  You might care to have a look at them, sir.”

  Michael laughed.

  “I might indeed, I will certainly think about it.”

  “It’ll do you good, sir, and young gentlemen are not over-plenty on board at the moment.”

  He closed the door as he finished speaking and Michael laughed again.

  He felt that Smith, a middle-aged man, had more or less adopted him and was anxious that he should enjoy himself as much as possible.

  He had also been rather inquisitive to know what Michael did.

  The passport with which he had been provided was in the name of Martin Morris and this name was the only key anyone had to his identity.

  It was the Viceroy who had insisted that he travelled under an assumed name and he had ordered a new passport to be issued to Michael.

  ‘They certainly wanted to keep me alive,’ thought Michael ‘and Smith is anxious I should enjoy myself.’

  He picked up The Morning Post.

  When he had first arrived in India he had avidly read the English newspapers when they arrived about three weeks late.

  He desperately wanted to know what was happening at home feeling that he was in a land where he did not belong.

  Now it was the other way round.

  The Indian newspapers which he had become accustomed to reading interested him as they represented all that was familiar and meant something personal to him and England seemed very far away.

  Now he was the alien and out of touch with everything that had been his since he was a child.

  He cast his eyes over the headlines in The Morning Post.

  They were all about a political row in Parliament between the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition.

  There was a paragraph about Queen Victoria and a long description of a drawing room event that had taken place at Buckingham Palace and the names of the debutantes who had been presented were listed.

  Michael turned over a page and opposite the Court Circular he found the obituary column.

  Heading it was the Duke of Grangemoore.

  Michael had not thought about his grandfather for a very long time and in fact he had no idea whether he was alive or dead.

  Now he had died and Michael very slowly read the report printed in the newspaper.

  “It is with deep regret that we announce the death of the Fourth Duke of Grangemoore, at Grangemoore Hall in Norfolk on the 30th April.

  His Grace was eighty-one last year and had been in ill health for some years.

  His eldest son, the Earl of Grange died five years ago in 1880, leaving four daughters.

  His Grace’s second son, Lord Henry Moore, who was killed in a train accident last year, married twice without issue.

  His third son, Lord Charles Moore, died three years ago in 1882.

  The heir to the Dukedom is therefore Lord Charles’s only son, Major Michael Moore, who is at present serving in India.

  The Solicitors to the Grangemoore Estate are making every effort to be in touch with him.”

  There then followed a long description of the Duke’s antecedents and those of the Duchess.

  Michael read through the announcement for the second time.

  Even then he could hardly believe what he had read was the truth.

  Could this be possible after his father had been exiled from his home and his family?

  That he, himself, who had never even spoken to his grandfather, should now take his place as the Fifth Duke of Grangemoore?

  It hardly seemed possible, yet there it was in front of him in black and white.

  He sat staring at the newspaper as if he still could not believe it was not all an illusion. He must be imagining what he had read.

  Then almost as if it was a picture appearing in front of him, he could see Felicity and she was telling him that she intended to marry Simon Harrington because he would become a Duke.

  He had left for India, feeling his life had ended because he had lost her.

  Then he could see himself in the Great Game, taking risks with his life that no other man would have ever contemplated and yet somehow he had survived even the most perilous undertakings.

  He was looking back almost as if seeing pictures from a magic lantern.

  Now he remembered a year ago someone in Viceregal Lodge saying to him,

  “I believe strange things are going on at Grangemoore. Do you ever hear from your grandfather?”

  “No, I do not,” Michael had replied curtly.

  “Well I live in the same County,” the man continued, “and from what I hear there are all sorts of high-jinks happening at Grangemoore. When you next go to England you should find out about them.”

  Michael had made no reply and he saw no reason why he should tell the man that he did not know his grandfather and indeed had never even met him, nor that what his grandfather did or did not do was no concern of his.

  ‘He behaved very badly to my fath
er,’ he had thought at the time. ‘We must have managed without him all these years, now he can now manage without us.’

  He had never given the matter another thought.

  Now everything that had been said come back to him and he considered it very strange as he began to plan what he should do when he arrived in England.

  He supposed the correct procedure would be for him to go at once to his grandfather’s Solicitors, although he had no idea who they were.

  Then he remembered that there was a house in London which was known as Grangemoore House. He had seen it in Park Lane when he was visiting Felicity and he recalled vaguely that the shutters had been closed over the windows.

  The house itself had looked somewhat dilapidated and he supposed that was because his grandfather was too old to come to London.

  Apparently his uncles, whom he had also never met, preferred the country.

  Now he thought about it, it was most insulting that neither Lord Henry nor his brother had ever communicated with his father.

  They were of course obeying the Duke’s instructions, but yet as brothers they might have felt some affection or responsibility for Charles, who was younger than either of them.

  ‘Now I think of it,’ Michael told himself, ‘the whole family behaved extremely badly when my father married. After all it was not as if he was marrying an actress whom they could not possibly accept. It was just because they were snobs that they would not accept my mother. Perhaps, although she never said so, she resented such treatment.’

  He had always felt bitter about his grandfather and his other relatives and it was extraordinary that none of them had ever visited his father.

  No one had held out a hand to him when he was in London saying, “I am your cousin.”

  ‘Yet now,’ thought Michael, ‘I am head of the family.’

  He knew only too well it meant he would be responsible for a large number of distant relatives, apart from carrying on the dignity and duties of the Dukedom itself.

  From all he had ever heard, just casually, his grandfather was a very rich man and yet he had been prepared to leave his youngest son in financial difficulties.

  It had, Michael appreciated, been a hard struggle at first for his father to make a living by breaking in horses and to employ only one servant and to have to count the pennies before he spent any money.