The Duke & the Preachers Daughter Read online

  “You told me your father’s name is Aaron which is somewhat unusual. May I enquire what is your Christian name?”

  “I think you will find that unusual too,” Miss Calvine smiled. “It is Benedicta.”

  “I have never heard of it before,” the Major ejaculated.

  “I was expected to be a boy,” she explained, “and was to be called Benedict. My father had a special feeling for the Saint of that name. When I was disappointingly a girl, he merely added an ‘a’ to the name he had chosen.”

  The Duke smiled.

  Then he said,

  “As Benedict means ‘blessed’ you certainly have something to live up to.”

  “I know,” Benedicta replied, “and I find it somewhat intimidating.”

  As luncheon progressed, the Duke and the Major learnt by asking undeniably curious questions, that the Parish in Huntingford had been the gift of Benedicta’s grandfather.

  “Surely,” the Duke exclaimed, “your grandfather must have wished to prevent you from setting off on this strange journey with your father with apparently no money for your food or anything else?”

  “Papa believed that God would provide us with all that was necessary,” Benedicta replied.

  Then she added with a touch of humour in her voice,

  “And indeed He has, except when it comes to my gowns!”

  The Duke laughed as if he could not help himself.

  “Perhaps you come in the same category as ‘the lilies of the field’,” he answered, “and are expected to provide your own raiment.”

  “That is something I have often thought of myself,” Benedicta agreed. “I am not complaining, but I do feel slightly out of place in this wonderful house.”

  She looked around her, as she spoke and said,

  “Your pictures take my breath away! Might I be allowed to look at them when I am not caring for Papa?”

  “I should be delighted to show you the best of them myself,” the Duke offered.

  “But you have not answered the question,” the Major said impulsively. “Why did your grandfather let you leave Huntingford ?”

  There was a little pause before Benedicta responded,

  “I am afraid my father and grandfather do not see eye to eye. He is very orthodox and he did not like the way Papa took the Services and actively disliked his sermons.”

  There was a faint smile on her lips as she added,

  “In the end, he even left the Church before Papa preached!”

  “That is something I have often wanted to do myself!” the Major exclaimed.

  “I think after Mama died,” Benedicta went on, “if Papa had not left, my grandfather would have found some way of throwing him out of the Parish.”

  “So you just walked out?” the Duke asked.

  “Papa decided one night that we would go away and we left the next morning.”

  “You did indeed walk out!” the Duke exclaimed.

  “It was like starting a new life,” Benedicta said, “or opening the pages of a new book. We laid aside the past and set off into the future.”

  There was something wistful about the way she spoke. The Duke, who was unusually perceptive, thought that she was thinking not of the material luxuries she was leaving behind but perhaps the memory of her mother and the friends she must have had in the village and in the County.

  Having had a chance to look at her, he realised that she was in fact not pretty, as the Major had said, but lovely in a different way from any woman he had seen before.

  At first her face had seemed so pale and peaky that he had not thought of her as anything but a pleasant-looking young girl.

  But after she had eaten and the colour had come back into her cheeks and the sparkle into her eyes, he saw that it was only hunger and perhaps shock that had made her look drawn and stricken.

  Now when she was talking to him quite naturally, her lips curved in a smile, he thought she had an unusual fascination besides an expression that was almost spiritual.

  Despite her reference to her shabbiness, he wondered how any other woman of his acquaintance would have carried off her threadbare patched gown, without being so uncomfortably conscious of it, that she would have communicated the feeling both to himself and to the Major.

  As it was, as Benedicta talked, she might for all the difference it made have been attired in the very latest fashion.

  ‘Perhaps she thinks it is a sin to think too much about herself,’ the Duke thought a little sardonically.

  But then he knew that Benedicta’s behaviour was entirely natural and came not only from a lack of self-consciousness but also from a pride and what was obviously good breeding.

  He found himself as curious as the Major had been to know more about her.

  “What is the name of your grandfather?” he asked.

  “Marlow,” she replied, “but in Huntingford they always refer to him as ‘The Squire’.”

  “That is what they call my father,” the Major exclaimed.

  “I think it is rather a nice title,” Benedicta smiled, “for it means that the people you employ and those who are your tenants look up to you as if you were a father figure.”

  “Your grandfather does not appear to have looked after you very well,” the Duke commented.

  “He would have done so if I had not left with my father,” Benedicta replied, “but I promised – ”

  She stopped suddenly, as if she felt she was talking too intimately to strangers and the Duke felt that both he and the Major had been unfair in almost forcing her to reveal her private life.

  Tactfully, with a charm that he could exert when he pleased, the Duke began to talk about his pictures and he knew by the wide-eyed manner in which she listened to him, that Benedicta was genuinely interested.

  When luncheon was over, they moved from the dining room towards the library, but when they reached the hall, she stopped.

  “I must go to Papa,” she said. “Thank you very much for inviting me to luncheon with Your Grace.”

  “We were delighted to have you and I hope you will also dine with us.”

  He was surprised when Benedicta hesitated.

  His eyes were on her face and he knew that something perturbed her.

  Then after a moment she said,

  “It is very kind of Your Grace, but I feel that as dinner is a more formal meal – I-I should be somewhat – out of place.”

  The Duke knew she was speaking of her appearance and he replied,

  “The Major and I will be alone and we should be very disappointed if you refuse to join us. As you have raised the point, you will find us quite informal.”

  He smiled as he spoke and after a second, she smiled faintly in response, then curtsied.

  “Your Grace is more – kind that I can possibly – express,” she stammered, “and – thank you – again!”

  She turned towards the stairs as she spoke and the Duke walked into the library.

  The Major followed him and closed the door.

  “Talk about manna from Heaven!” he exclaimed. “Your prayers are answered! After this, I will always believe in miracles!”

  “What are you talking about?” the Duke enquired.

  “Benedicta!”

  “What about her?”

  “You were searching for her – or rather you instructed me to do so – and out of the sky she appears. What more can you ask?”

  The Duke, who had been walking towards the desk in the centre of the room, stood still and stared at his friend.

  “Can you really be suggesting – ?”

  “Why not?” the Major answered, before he could finish the sentence. “She is lovely, she is obviously pure and innocent, and very different in every possible way from Delyth Maulden. What is more – which is something you did not specify – she is a lady!”

  There was silence for a moment, then the Duke laughed.

  “My dear Bevil, I believe you are right! You call it manna from Heaven and that is exactly what it i
s!”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Duke sent for Mrs. Newall.

  She stood in the library with her hands folded over her black silk apron, her chatelaine glinting in the sunlight coming through the long windows.

  “I want your help, Mrs. Newall.”

  The Duke was seated at the huge rosewood writing desk that stood in the centre of the room and which had been used by the owners of Kingswood for many generations.

  He knew that Mrs. Newall was an extremely efficient housekeeper and had not only the well-being of the house at heart but also of the family.

  All the older servants at Kingswood spoke as if the house, the estate and everything that appertained to them, were part of themselves.

  In fact since he had inherited, the Duke had often thought that the whole place was like one big family, and he intended to keep it that way.

  “I’ll be glad, Your Grace, to do anything that’s in my power,” Mrs. Newall said in her well-modulated voice.

  “It concerns Miss Calvine,” the Duke said.

  He paused, knowing Mrs. Newall was listening attentively.

  “It appears,” he went on, “that it will be a long time before Miss Calvine’s father can be restored to health and, as I know that they have no money, I am concerned with what she has to wear while staying here.”

  He saw a responsive expression on Mrs. Newall’s face but she did not speak and he continued,

  “It would, of course, be incorrect for me to provide a young woman with clothes, even though I am prepared to do so, but I was thinking that perhaps you could do something positive about her appearance.”

  “I understand, Your Grace, from the housemaid who is looking after Miss Calvine,” Mrs. Newall said, “that she’s nothing with her except a few meagre necessities that she carries in a small bag.”

  “That is what I suspected,” the Duke replied, “considering the fact that they walked all the way from Northumberland!”

  “One can hardly credit, Your Grace, that such a fragile young lady as Miss Calvine, could have survived such an experience.”

  “She must be stronger than she looks,” the Duke answered, “but obviously her gown and doubtless her shoes have suffered.”

  “They have indeed, Your Grace!” Mrs. Newall said, suddenly garrulous on the subject. “How Miss Calvine can walk at all, seeing the soles of her shoes are worn through to the bare flesh, I’ll never know!”

  “Then what can we do about it, Mrs. Newall?”

  “It had crossed my mind,” Mrs. Newall replied, “that Miss Calvine’s foot might be the same as that of Her late Grace. There are quite a number of her possessions here, which have been moved upstairs.”

  Mrs. Newall was obviously thinking as she spoke, because she hesitated for a moment, before going on,

  “I think too, there’re some slippers which belonged to Lady Emmeline when she was a girl.”

  “And perhaps some gowns?” the Duke suggested.

  Mrs. Newall shook her head.

  “I think not, Your Grace. If there were, they’d be sadly out of date and perhaps you remember Lady Emmeline was on the large side, even when she was in her teens.”

  The Duke nodded.

  His cousin, now nearing her forties, had always been large in build and had put on weight after childbearing.

  “What I’ve got, Your Grace,” Mrs. Newall continued, “is some rolls of material. Her Grace often bought muslins and silks when she was in London, intending to have simple gowns made by her lady’s maid.”

  “Then that will solve our problem. I do not think Miss Calvine could refuse material that is obviously not being used and also would not feel that we were treating her as an object of charity.”

  “I’m sure the young lady wouldn’t feel like that, Your Grace,” Mrs. Newall protested. “She’s no airs and graces about her and is exceedingly grateful for anything that’s done to help her and her father.”

  “Then I will leave these matters in your capable hands, Mrs. Newall. If there are things you want to buy for Miss Calvine, of course do so, but perhaps it would be more tactful to let her think they come from your store of unwanted goods.”

  Mrs. Newall gave the Duke a look of understanding and, promising once again to do her best, she curtsied and left the Library.

  After she had gone, the Duke sent for Hawkins.

  He had already spoken to his valet about the nursing of the two invalids and Hawkins had promised to plan everything carefully and let the Duke know how it was to be done.

  He came hurrying into the library, moving smartly with his shoulders back, as if he was still in uniform.

  He was a small, wiry little man, who was possessed of quite extraordinary physical strength and also an endurance which came, the Duke had always thought, from a determination that almost echoed his own.

  “Well, Hawkins,” he asked, “what have you arranged?”

  “I thinks everything’ll be to your satisfaction, Your Grace,” Hawkins replied. “Mister Richard’s valet and I will take turns in looking after him and I’ve found that one of the footmen, Jackson by name, is interested in nursing and wishes to help me with the Reverend gentleman.”

  Hawkins drew breath and added,

  “Of course the young lady, sir, desires to do everything she can for her father.”

  “She is not to do too much,” the Duke said firmly. “Nursing a heavy man who is unconscious requires a strength that no woman should be expected to have, let alone somebody so frail as Miss Calvine.”

  “I understand that, Your Grace,” Hawkins said in a slightly reproachful tone as if he thought the Duke had misjudged him.

  “Then what have you arranged?”

  “Jackson’ll sleep across the passage from the Reverend gentleman and be on call at night, but the young lady insists that, as her room communicates with that of her father, she’ll also be listening for him.”

  The Duke frowned and it seemed as if he was about to argue about this arrangement.

  Then he said,

  “Is the Reverend gentleman likely to be restless?”

  “Not at the moment, Your Grace. Of course one never knows with a coma. He may come out of it at any time.”

  “Then Miss Calvine is not to be over-fatigued in what nursing she has to do,” the Duke ordered, “and there is another thing, Hawkins.”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “As soon as Mister Richard is conscious, I would like Miss Calvine, if she is agreeable, to take some part in nursing him.”

  He saw the valet looked surprised and went on,

  “She can read to him, talk to him and keep him amused in a way which, without disparaging your efforts, would be, I am sure, extremely beneficial.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace, I understands.”

  When Hawkins had left the room, there was a faint smile on the Duke’s face as if he felt he had laid his plans carefully.

  He had in fact responded immediately to Major Haverington’s suggestion that Benedicta was what they were looking for as a young woman to interest Richard.

  Last night when she dined with them, he had been extremely struck not only by her looks, but also by her intelligence.

  It was a long time since he had conversed with a young woman who was not trying to flirt with him or in some way draw his attention to herself as a woman.

  Benedicta spoke both to him and to Major Haverington with a frankness, at the same time an impersonal interest, that she might have accorded to her father.

  In a way, to the Duke it was a sobering thought that they must seem quite old to her, for he had discovered that she was only just nineteen.

  At the same time, her knowledge, the way she phrased her sentences, the manner in which she was prepared to discuss subjects that were not within the usual range for a young woman, surprised and, if he was honest, intrigued him.

  He soon learned that the Reverend Aaron Calvine was in fact a scholar of some distinction.

  He had taken H
onours at Oxford in Classics and had written some short thesis on the Scriptures which had been published by an Ecclesiastical firm in London.

  They had made no money, but the Duke learned, had brought the author letters from Clerics and other scholars all over the country.

  “Why did your father not go on writing?” he asked Benedicta.

  “He felt it was too impersonal,” she replied. “He believes that those who are in trouble need the human touch and that is what he tries to give them.”

  The Duke found such an answer was refreshingly stimulating to his mind and he thought when dinner was finished that their conversation had been on a very much higher plane than he remembered ever having at any meal, either at Kingswood or in London.

  As dinner finished, Benedicta asked,

  “Ought I to withdraw, Your Grace, and leave you and Major Haverington to your port?”

  She spoke as unaffectedly as a child might have done and the Duke smiled as he replied,

  “Neither the Major nor I are heavy drinkers of port and we would like you to stay with us a little while longer, unless you are bored with our company.”

  “I could never be that,” Benedicta replied. “It has been very exciting for me to dine here tonight with you and in such magnificent surroundings.”

  “I have not forgotten that I promised to show you my pictures,” the Duke said, “and you must tell me if there is anything else you would like to do.”

  “There is – one thing I would – like,” Benedicta said, “if you will – forgive me for – asking for it.”

  “What is that?” he enquired.

  “If I am very very careful of them, which indeed I would be,” Benedicta said, “may I – borrow some of your – books?”

  “But of course!” the Duke replied. “My library is at your disposal.”

  She gave a sigh of sheer relief and he understood she had been afraid he might refuse her request.

  “It will be so wonderful to have books to read again,” she said. “The only thing we could carry with us on our travels was Papa’s Bible and I am beginning to think I know it by heart.”

  “Then I can certainly offer you some new horizons in the literary field,” the Duke smiled. “Do you read French?”