The Duke’s Dark Desire, page 1
The Duke’s Dark Desire
2nd Edition
©2020 by Sophia Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, events or locales is completely coincidental.
1st edition published 2016.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
Jonathan Fairchild, a wealthy man from the North of England in Shropshire, who lived alone in his small cottage with the exception of his only daughter Margery, had had a long and studious life. At the ripe age of twenty nine, Jonathan’s wife had given birth to their first and only child and, being small in frame and older as she was, bearing a child took too strong a toll on her weak body. Jonathan became a father and widow in the same afternoon. Absolved in his grief, Jon Fairchild wanted nothing else to do but to care for his small and fragile new companion. His studies fell from the top of his to do list, leaving every precious moment to be spent in the tending to of the sweet child he was now to raise on his own. She was the promise he had made to his wife.
The child was born with a full head of chestnut curls which never seemed to be facing in the same direction. Her complexion was fair with a slight glow to her cheeks when she played out in the sunlight. She was thin and somewhat short compared to the other little girls in the Shire which made Jonathan extra cautious of her well-being. As she grew older, her hair fell in more organized waves from the top of her head down to the center of her back which remained narrow and elegant. Her father had always thought her to be the most beautiful child he had ever laid eyes on and hoped to see her well disposed of in marriage when she was old enough.
Margery was a high-spirited girl from a young age in her childhood. Mr. Fairchild was constantly running here and there in order to keep up with her, but he often failed; losing sight of her just long enough for her to cause some form of mischief whether it be knocking over one of his plants, or letting the ducks into the house. It was not until his daughter had reached the age of seven that Jonathan decided he would soon be in a great need of help to look after and raise the girl. She needed a female companion, someone who could teach her the ways of being a respectable lady since she did not have a mother to do such things.
Her care and education was spared no expense, and she was given the best governess that Jonathan’s money could provide for. Charlotte was her name. Charlotte taught Margery everything she would ever need to know; from her writing and her posture to her reading and piano playing, that latter two being her more preferred activities and even horseback riding for exercise on the weekends. The two had created a close companionship, and it was a rare sight to see one without the other. When Margery reached the age of sixteen, it became obvious that the financial state of her father was growing thinner by the day. They had to let Charlotte go a few years earlier, although she continued to visit the cottage to check up on Margery and help out around the house as best she could.
Margery did what she could to make things easier for her father as she became aware of the situation, cleaning and saving money when she went into town for the essentials. In the fall of her eighteenth year, Margery’s father grew very ill. All the while trying to deny he needed any assistance, he remained insistent that he work with her to maintain the estate. Things only got worse as time went on and before Margery reached the age of twenty, her father had become bed ridden, and she was to run the estate on her own.
At the end of that year, mere weeks before her twentieth birthday, Margery Fairchild was left alone after the lamented event of her father’s death, for she had no other family close by who were able to take her in once her father had passed.
Upon informing her aunts and uncles who lived away from the Shire, Margery received a visit from her Uncle William Firth to assist her in dealing with her father’s final will and testament as well as to aid Margery in her plans for the future in whatever way he could. It would not be an easy path, and both he and Margery were well aware of it. A woman at the age of twenty with no family to keep her would have no other alternative but to find work in the household of a family that could afford to keep her on in their home. And if that was not a possibility, a desperate match would have to be made to find Margery a husband who would provide for her from then on.
“Dear child,” her uncle greeted her with open arms when his carriage pulled up outside of her door.
“Uncle,” she replied in a forlorn manner he attributed to her newfound orphanage.
Although twenty years of age, Margery had no real experience living on her own without the dependence of others to assist her. In her loneliest days, her father could always be counted on for conversation, and he made sure she never wanted for anything. She had reverted to the state of a child who had lost their teddy in the woods, completely lost in mourning and confusion.
Her uncle placed his hands on her slim shoulders. “Let’s get things settled shall we, my dear?”
“Yes Uncle,” she consented and led him through the cottage to the small study which her father inhabited most of the day while he lived. The pair worked through boxes upon boxes of old paperwork, most of which Jonathan Fairchild had been too stubborn to throw out for fear of losing anything of importance. As the work dwindled and time dragged on, Margery’s uncle began to feel a pang of concern in the pit of his stomach.
What was the child to do? he wondered, watching her closely. He considered the family tree, trying in vain to think of someone who might be able to lend a hand in helping his young niece. Her only cousins belonged to her aunt on her father’s side but they were both girls and, like Margery, unable to take over the household. Their father, Riley Fairchild, had also passed a few years earlier, leaving his wife an unsuitable match also. From his memory, there was no eligible man in the family young or old who could take possession of Jonathan’s estate, and the only thing he could do to protect Margery was to help her in her next steps.
“Margery,” he spoke aloud at once. She gazed up at him through thick lashes giving away no emotion other than despair. “What would you like to do?” he continued, “Once the cottage sells that is,” he added as delicately as he could. She had not taken the time to think of her own situation to the extent that her uncle had and now that she finally had, she burst into tears and her uncle caught her hand and held it tenderly.
“Don’t cry child,” he soothed, “Your aunt and I will think of something.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” she hiccoughed.
Chapter 2
Knowing that he and his wife were not spry enough to keep a lady of Margery’s age in good health and enjoyment, they had friends nearby who most definitely were. The Mason’s lived just down the road from the Firth’s, and their son, Thomas, had just sent his second governess running. The child was a tyrant, and a more spoiled young lad one would fail to find anywhere.
Margery’s aunt, Claire, arranged for her to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Mason on the eve of the child’s seventh birthday. Her extensive knowledge of the literary world and her keen interest in the education of children ensured Margery a place with the Mason family for a twelve month role. Within the following fortnight, Margery’s aunt and uncle assisted in her movement of belongings and self into the guest corridor of the Mason house which, she was told, had once belonged to her grandfather.
Once settled, Margery learned of her responsibilities to young Thomas and was given all information concerning her spare time, exercise and boundaries inside and outside the walls of the Mason household. Of her liberties she was given, she was to be allowed to spend four hours a day out of doors to do as she pleased within the bounds of the woods before reaching the main road from town. With no serious prospects to her name, Margery accepted these freedoms with open arms and took advantage whenever possible.
Her favorite pastime, once she became more comfortable living with the Mason family, was riding one of the family horses. Firefly was the name of one which she most often took out in her hours of leisure. Thomas was often up to some sort of trick to avoid getting his studying finished, and it kept Margery on edge while she planned her lessons. The child never made things easy for her when he finally sat down at his desk to work with her. If it was not the need for something to eat, it was the sun shining too brightly in his small eyes to allow him to see what he was expected to be reading. And if not either of those things, the tantrums he often threw due to his parents’ absence were enough to make Margery insane.
But lessons passed and days went on, and it was her evening rides on Firefly that kept her motivated each day to push through the tricky moments because there would be a reward at the end of the day.
“Good morning my beautiful girl,” Margery cooed to the horse one sunny afternoon.
“Good morning Missus!” Thomas cried as he ran out from behind the cowshed. Moving so quickly that Margery had no chance to stop him, the little tyke barrelled straight into the back leg of Daemon, the most obstinate and temperamental of the Mason’s horses.
“Thomas, get out
Running up the path leading to the house was Mr. Mason followed almost on heel by his wife who was in a complete fluster.
“Whoa Daemon, Whoa!” he hushed as Margery grasped Thomas to her bosom protecting his small head in her hands. The horse thrashed and guffawed for a few more moments and only ceased when Mrs. Mason came bustling into the barn after her husband with a handful of freshly plucked carrots from the garden.
“What the devil happened in here?” Mr. Mason demanded of the two on the ground. Margery rose, dusting off her apron and explained that she had simply knocked over a bucket and pick that was standing nearby which sent the horse into a tizzy. Thomas peeked up at her through squinted eyes which had been closed tightly as he expected Margery to tell his parents the truth about the horse.
“I’m sorry, and I will clean up the barn immediately,” she concluded calmly, winking down at the lad hiding behind her skirts.
“See that you do,” said Mr. Mason, “before your evening ride.” He and his wife strode back to the house, young Thomas scuttling to catch up and smiling behind him as he went.
As well as Margery knew she should not have lied to her employers, she had developed a small soft spot for the child which she could not help but indulge in every once in a while. He did test her patience, but she would not want to see him punished for something as mundane as setting off an already irrational beast such as Daemon.
“Whoa, calm down, boy.” Margery stroked Daemon’s nose. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” She held out a carrot, which Daemon eagerly took.
“All right, Firefly, I hope you’re looking forward to our ride as much as I am.” She held out a carrot to Firefly. This was her favorite part of the day.
Chapter 3
There was enough sunlight remaining when she had completed the cleaning that her evening ride had not been lost to the tyranny of the child’s antics that afternoon. Reclaiming her spot beside Firefly, she gathered her mittens and hat, donning both with speed and alacrity, already anxious to get on the horse’s back. Once saddled, Margery kicked off on Firefly’s side and started off at a gallop, too ready to feel the wind in her hair after such a long day.
Riding Firefly was like a dream for Margery. It was a place for her to escape from teaching Thomas, from cleaning for Mrs. Mason, and from thinking about how lonely she had become since her father had died. Of course, Charlotte continued to visit with her even now that she had been staying with the Mason’s for the past few months. Every weekend, she was allowed to visit her aunt and uncle down the road for a change of scenery from the same old walls of her grandfather’s old house. Charlotte would often have a place to stay at her aunt and uncle’s cottage as they understood the importance of friendship between ladies of their age. This weekend, Charlotte was bringing her brother Hugh along for the first time as he was back in town from London where he was training with the militia. Charlotte had informed Margery in a letter that her brother had been in hopes of finding a wife soon. His comrades were either engaged in courting young ladies in town or else had one waiting for them in their own villages which they called home.
Of course, Margery had not given much thought to marriage but she could not help but think that her companion may be hinting towards her own desire of seeing herself and Hugh together one day. Looking forward to this happy meeting, as Charlotte had always mentioned her brother with such tender love and respect, Margery picked up the pace and let the slowly fading sun glow on her face. As she grew older, her color shifted ever so slightly from a pale shade to one with a brighter hue than simple ivory. She glowed in sunlight, and moonlight lit up her face and features in the most charming way imaginable. Her hair had also darkened with tints of auburn which would catch the rays of the sun on an evening such as this. She glanced up at the sky which she could only see through the holes in between the foliage of the thick trees which surrounded her.
Being thus distracted by the beauty of the evening and the richness of the forest, she had not noticed the sound of trotting horse shoes gaining on her from the east.
“Hello there,” called a deep and friendly voice, rich with good manners and the evidence of a wealthy family.
Jerking the reins back to prevent herself from falling, Margery pulled Firefly to a stop and looked to see who the intruder was. Stopping just shy of the horse beside her, Margery came face to face with a man with the most agreeable features she had ever seen. He had dark hair which fell neatly to one side of his face, shading his eyes to make him look all the more mysterious. His jawline was proud and prominent with the sense of an impending beard lurking somewhere beneath the surface. A gently pointed nose that was straight and small led back up to those eyes. They looked dark to her at first but as she saw his head move from one side to the other and the light entered them, she found herself quite lost in them. The sun looked as if it had locked itself in behind them and was shining through the sparkles like it shone through the holes of the foliage above. She realized that she must have been staring because the stranger spoke to her as if answering a question her eyes had obviously asked.
“Avery Navarre, ma’am,” he said graciously as Margery caught her breath and made sure to blink a couple of times.
“Margery Fairchild,” she sauntered closer and reached a hand out which he took graciously and kissed.
Her heart fluttered at this, and she had to look at the ground to prevent herself from getting lost once more. He pretended not to notice.
“Pleased, I am sure,” he said, taking in her delicate frame with interest. Now he felt as if he were the one staring and so he spoke again. “But may I ask why you are riding alone on such an evening as this?”
Blushing in the fading sunlight, Margery replied, “I like to ride alone; it gives one time to reflect on the day’s events.” She smiled sweetly and looked away as the pair rode slowly side by side.
“I hope the day’s events were pleasing to you, Miss Fairchild,” he offered in a reserved tone.
“Actually on the contrary, I had a horrid morning followed by an even more unpleasant afternoon,” she smirked in his direction.
“Whatever has made you so negative on the day, Miss?” he pondered, wanting to know more about the mysterious woman riding alone at nearly nightfall.
“If you must know, Mr. Navarre, I am a governess, and my pupil was in a right state of mischief all day today. I have only just gotten away from the house.”
“Ah,” he sighed with relief. “For a moment, I thought your terrible day had been made worse this afternoon by the meeting and interruption of a strange gentleman on your evening ride in the forest.”
She giggled at this and questioned him back. “What is your purpose for interrupting me so, Mr. Navarre?” She continued to gaze upon him for a moment as he had truly a very attractive figure, tall and not overly muscled. His eyes continued to give off a magical sparkle even in the final rays of sunshine, and his smile made her nervous to speak.
“It is Avery Navarre, Duke of Dunshire, actually, and I am off to visit with my estranged cousin South of Shropshire for the week and decided to ride ahead of the carriage which will bring my personal belongings tomorrow. I enjoy riding alone in the sunlight. It is one of those rare times I get to spend with myself without the dealings of the Dukedom at hand.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace...” Margery began to apologize for not addressing him properly before the Duke cut her off.
“Do not apologize to me, dear lady, you could not possibly have known my history nor I yours, but now that we do, shall we agree to speak to each other in more civil terms, Miss Fairchild?” He flashed a smile at her which she had no choice but to acknowledge.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace, that’s very kind of you.”
They spoke for several minutes, Margery telling her brief tale of how she had come to be a nanny for the Mason family while Avery listened with interest.
