A Duke's Duty (The Duke's Club Book 2) Read online




  A Duke’s Duty

  By

  G.L. Snodgrass

  Copyright 2020 G.L. Snodgrass

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Dedicated To

  Margaret Johnson

  A True British Lady

  Other Books by G. L. Snodgrass

  Regency Romance

  The Reluctant Duke (Love’s Pride 1)

  The Viscount's Bride (Love’s Pride 2)

  The Earl's Regret (Love’s Pride 3)

  Marrying the Marquess (Love’s Pride 4)

  Confronting A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 1)

  Charming A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 2)

  Catching A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 3_

  Challenging A Rake (A Rake’s Redemption 4)

  Duke In Disguise (The Stafford Sisters 1)

  The American Duke (The Stafford Sisters 2)

  A Very British Lord (The Stafford Sisters 3)

  A Duke's Desire (The Duke’s Club 1)

  Western Romance

  Lonely Valley Bride (High Sierra 1)

  High Desert Cowboy (High Sierra 2)

  Sweetwater Ridge (High Sierra 3)

  Young Adult Romance

  Certain Rules

  Unwritten Rules

  Unbreakable Rules

  My Favorite Love (Lakeland Boys 1)

  One Night (Lakeland Boys 2)

  My Brother’s Best Friend (Lakeland Boys 3)

  Worlds Apart (Lakeland Boys 4)

  My Brother's Bodyguard (Hometown Heroes 1)

  My Hidden Hero (Hometown Heroes 2)

  My Best Friend’s Brother (Hometown Heroes 3)

  My Sister’s Best Friend

  Our Secret (The Benson Brothers 1)

  Hidden Truth (The Benson Brothers 2)

  Deception (The Benson Brothers 3)

  A Duke’s Duty

  Chapter One

  Dursley, The Cotswolds

  1794

  It wasn’t the pain. That could be endured. No, it was the gut-churning embarrassment that fueled his anger. Young Jack Hardy clenched his teeth as the headmaster brought the cane down once more.

  Six! The boys exclaimed. His fellow classmates. The boys who had abandoned him to this monster’s whim.

  Jack bit down against any display that would show weakness. Instead, he silently cursed his father, the man he had met only once in his life. Cursed him for sending him to this school. Cursed him for refusing to recognize him, for shaming his mother. But most of all, for making him a bastard.

  Seven!

  The searing pain flashed through him. The headmaster was laying welts over welts at this point.

  Turning his head, Jack glanced up at the headmaster with his best glare. No, he wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction of knowing he’d broken him. Not today, not ever.

  The Headmaster growled under his breath as he raised the cane to its full height and brought it down with every bit of strength in his body.

  Eight!

  His classmates called out. Their voices were not as loud as before. As if they had shifted from enthusiasm to embarrassment and perhaps even fear.

  Grunting, he dropped his head as the pain flashed through him. He took a deep breath and forced his head up.

  Some of them were enjoying this, Jack thought. Especially Barty, or Lord Bristol, as he insisted he be called by all of those beneath his status. Jack in other words. In Barty’s eyes, there was nothing lower than a bastard. And the fact that the school had admitted a bastard was a sin that could not be forgiven.

  They’d all shunned him ever since his arrival. Some simply with a cold shoulder or a direct cut. Others with a well-placed elbow or fist to the gut. Fortunately, the physical attacks had stopped once they learned that he gave better than he got.

  Instead, they had resorted to lying about him. The result, a caning in front of everyone. What made it worse was the knowledge that the headmaster knew that he hadn’t stolen the pie. But had refused to accept the truth and used the opportunity to punish the young boy, the bastard of a duke, the boy he had been forced to accept into his school.

  Nine!

  The pain was excruciating, but he refused to cry out. No, not in this world. He would never give them the satisfaction. His head dropped as he fought to hold back a scream.

  This was his life. It always had been. The outsider. Unaccepted, an embarrassment. And now, fifteen ten-year-old boys stood watching him be punished. His life could not get much worse.

  To hell with each and every one of them he thought as he braced for the next blow.

  Ten!

  Jack bit down on his tongue to stop from crying out. His legs were aflame with pain. But he’d done it. He’d survived without giving the devil what he wanted. Twisting, he looked back over his shoulder at the red-faced headmaster.

  Not today, he thought as he gave the man his best smile.

  The man scowled back down at him, obviously furious at being unable to break him.

  “Dismissed,” the headmaster barked at the boys without taking his evil glare away from Jack.

  Jack grunted as he tried to push up from the punishment rail. His arms shook as his muscles refused to work. He collapsed back onto the rail as he tried to gather his strength.

  “Here,” someone said as they draped his arm over their shoulder and helped him up. Jack instinctively started to pull away. He didn’t need help. Especially not by one of them. His fellow classmates.

  “No,” the boy whispered as a second took Jack’s other arm. “Let us show the Devil that we are with you.”

  A sense of a dozen different emotions washed through Jack as he tried to force his legs to work. Why were they helping? Surely, they were aware of how the Headmaster would make their lives difficult.

  A third boy joined them. Duncan, Jack remembered. Brock and Ian were the first two. His stomach clenched. Each was the son of a Duke. Was that why they were doing this? Before he could fully understand his mind wandered off into the clouds, lost in a hazy confusion, until he was gently lowered to his bed. One of sixteen hard bunks lined up against the wall.

  The three other boys stood next to his bed looking down at him with pity. Their looks lit a fire inside of him. He didn’t need their pity. To hell with them. Jack was tempted to curse them where they stood but was stopped when Brock turned and charged Barty. The other two boys, Ian and Duncan were close behind as the three boys attacked Barty and his cohorts.

  Pushing up on his elbows he tried to rise to go help. They were fighting because of him. It was the least he could do. But the effort was too much and he collapsed back onto the bed.

  When he returned from that other world of hazy confusion, he once again found the three boys around his bed. Each one sporting bruises, cuts, and bleeding noses. They each stood there with satisfied smiles. It had been a true dust-up and they had held their own.

  Brock, the Duke of Bedford since the age of three, smiled widely.
/>   “Gentleman,” the young Duke said as he wiped the blood trickling down his cheek from a cut under his eye. “I propose we add a fourth. That we become a Quartet. I give you Jack Hardy. He might be a bastard. But he is our bastard.”

  Jack’s stomach tightened. God, how he hated the term bastard.

  Both Ian and Duncan nodded, approving their friend's proposal.

  Brock continued, “Like us, he is the son of a Duke. And I fear that in the words of that rebellious Mr. Franklin.” Here he looked over his shoulder at the larger group of other boys. “If we do not hang together, we will surely hang separately.”

  Ian used his shirtsleeve to wipe at his bloody nose then said, “It will be called, ‘The Duke’s Club.’ An exclusive group pledged to the mutual protection and advancement of its members.”

  Jack winced. Why were they doing this? These boys were destined for greatness. He had been forced into this hell because he had an evil father. They were not of the same world.

  Duncan nodded. “Yes, and I would add. If we are going to take a beating for stealing a pie. Might I suggest that we actually take a pie? At least that way we get something for our troubles.”

  A sense of surprise filled Jack. That and a sense that not all humans were scum. It seemed there were some worthwhile.

  “The Duke’s Club,” Brock said as he held out his hand. Both Ian and Duncan covered his hand with theirs. Jack looked up, staring at each of them as he tried to understand. His insides fought with himself. He couldn’t be one of them. And heaven knew, they would never understand what his life was truly like.

  But, the three of them looked down at him, silently pleading that he join them. They wanted him.

  For the first time in his life, someone wanted him. Someone believed in him. A dozen beatings couldn’t have stopped him. Lifting up on one elbow, he joined his hand to theirs.

  Yes, he thought as they each smiled back at him. So, this was what it felt like to be accepted. Granted, it was three young boys. Not his father. But it was more than he had ever known and nothing could take this feeling away from him.

  Collapsing back onto the bed, Jack buried his face in his pillow so that his new friends would not see the tears in his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  The English Channel

  1808

  Captain Jack Hardy cursed under his breath as he watched his men make preparations for port. The French frigate had gotten in more than a few blows but she now rested on the bottom where she belonged. A captain couldn’t ask for much more.

  Mr. Chunley, his first mate approached. “Sir, all preparations complete.”

  Captain Jack glanced up at the sails and then aft at a distant storm. “Very good, Mr. Chunley, Have second watch lay below and rest. It will be at least three hours before we hit the Thames.”

  “Aye, Aye, Sir,” the Lieutenant said with a smart salute, then asked, “Any idea why the admiralty sent us to London for repairs vice Portsmouth?”

  Jack grunted and shook his head. “Neither of us will ever understand the ways of the Admiralty. But I am sure that it made perfect sense in their minds.

  It made no sense, he thought. But then, it wouldn’t be the first time the admiralty had its head up its own arse. The change in destination had added three days. Even now, His Majesty’s Ship, the White Tern, should be up on the weighs and swarming with dock workers making repairs. The sooner they were done, the sooner he could return to where the ship belonged. Fighting the French.

  He ground his back teeth with frustration as he thought of the six men who were to be avenged. Crewmen. Men under his command. Men he was responsible for. The French would be made to pay he swore to himself. They would pay until Bonnie and his ilk were driven from power.

  Chunley saluted again, then called Bosun Thompson and passed the word. Thompson saluted, then dismissed the men, yelling at them to hurry in case he changed his mind. Jack almost smiled to himself. Leave it to Thompson to keep everyone on their toes.

  Once the crew had been dismissed, the old Bosun approached, saluted, and said, “The pumps are holding, Sir. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we arrived drier than when we left.”

  Jack snorted. Three holes below the waterline and his men had plugged and patched her up better than new.

  “I expect we will receive replacements,” Jack said to the Bosun.

  Thompson coughed, then spit over the side. “If they send me any more farmers, I swear I’ll quit and go ashore. You’d think an island like Britain could find a man who knew the difference between a spar and a spike?”

  Jack turned away so the man wouldn’t see his smile. It didn’t do to encourage the man.

  “I am sure you will whip them into shape.”

  Thompson grunted.

  “Packet boat approaching,” the lookout from above yelled down to the desk.

  Jack shivered. He was once again in contact with authorities. Or at least their orders and instructions. It was no longer only his ship. It had returned to become part of His Majesty’s Navy.

  Thompson shot him a quick look letting him know that he was perfectly aware of how much his Captain despised the politicians and hidebound admirals above him. Jack had always been extremely careful to keep his thoughts to himself. Yet, somehow, Thompson had always had the ability to read his mind. It came from serving together for almost twelve years.

  “Have the mail sent to my Cabin,” Jack told the man, there were too many other vessels in the area for him to leave the deck at the moment. Fishermen and coastal traders for the most part. It would grow even more crowded as they approached the estuary. He needed his attention focused where it need be. And yes, he was perfectly aware that he was simply delaying the inevitable.

  “Aye, Aye, Capt’n,” the old salt said with a sharp salute before gathering men to handle the approaching cutter.

  Jack took a deep breath as he thought about the reports he had prepared. Detailed explanation of each action, each decision. Admiral Peters had already reviewed his preliminary report off Cadiz and told him to expect no problems. The fact that he had sunk the French Frigate more than justified the damage he had received. No one would second guess his decisions.

  However, Jack had learned long ago that some men wanted him to fail. It would confirm their belief that a bastard could never accomplish anything and shouldn’t even be given the opportunity to prove them wrong.

  Sighing, he glanced at the sails and told the helmsman to bring her three points to the East North East. Once he confirmed the sails catch that little extra bit of wind he returned to looking out over the horizon. God, he hoped they could get her repaired quickly. The only place he felt alive was commanding a ship, far from shore, with a firm mission and a good crew. A man couldn’t ask for more.

  .o0o.

  Captain Jack Hardy looked down at the letter in his hand with disbelief. He silently thanked God that he hadn’t seen it until after they arrived and were tied up to the dock. He would never have been able to remain focused on what he needed to do.

  No, not with this news. His father wished to see him. No, his father commanded that he come to see him immediately.

  A dozen emotions flashed through Jack as he tried to maintain control. He had met his father only two times in his life. Once, at ten years of age when he had been sent to that hell hole of a school in Dursley shortly after his mother’s death. And again, at fourteen when his father had informed him that he was to be sent to sea as a midshipman.

  “It is probably your best chance at a productive life, an opportunity to do your duty,” his father had said to him as if that was all that was important.

  Jack had wanted to ask him about a man’s duty to his son. But he had held his tongue. What right did a bastard have to question a Duke? None, obviously.

  There had been nothing more since that day thirteen years earlier. Not a letter, nothing. And now, a letter directing him to appear at the Duke’s residence at the earliest. Not a request, a command. As if the old man w
ere telling a servant to fetch him a cup of tea.

  Suddenly, Jack realized why the Admiralty had sent him to London vice Portsmouth. His father was very influential in the government. A good friend to the King and his son the Regent. According to the newspapers and discussions with other officers. As a Duke, his father was as politically connected as it was possible to be.

  That was why they had the White Tern coming to London. His father had pulled some strings.

  Once again, Jack reread the letter as he tried to understand why his father wished to see him. Was he disappointed in him? Was he proud and wanted to tell him so? Jack snorted, that would never happen. No, it must be bad news. There could be no other explanation.

  When the cab pulled to a stop before the large white house in Mayfair, Jack stepped down and paid the cabbie. Taking a deep breath, he ran a hand down over his best dress uniform and tucked his Tri-corner hat under his arm as he pulled the big brass knocker and announced his presence.

  The door was opened by a stern-looking butler.

  “Captain Jack Hardy to see His Grace,” Jack said as his stomach clenched up in anticipation of being denied. “He requested I call,” he added.

  The butler nodded slightly and opened the door wide. “If you will give me but a moment, I will see if His Grace is receiving.”

  Jack nodded as he placed his hat on a side table and examined the house. A wide staircase led to the upper floor. The white marble floor gleamed brighter than any of the brass work on his ship. Thompson would have been impressed. The walls were adorned with portraits. Where they ancestors of his? he wondered as he folded his hands behind his back.

  What did the man want? Fighting to slow a racing heart, Jack examined each portrait as he waited.

  “Captain, if you will follow me,” the butler said as he indicated a door off the entranceway.

  Jack swallowed hard, then nodded for the butler to announce him.

  “Your Grace,” the butler said as he opened the door, “Captain Jack Hardy.”

  Jack clenched his teeth and entered the room. He froze for the briefest of seconds. He had expected a study or library. A parlor at the least. Instead, he stepped into a sick room. A large bed in the center of the room and a frail old man sitting up in bed, surrounded by papers and medicines on the side table.