A Mouse for the Duke

by Lynn Landes

  His father passed away after an accident inspecting one of the sawmills. He was struck when a load chain broke and the loose end hit him. He lived long enough to secure a promise from his Grandfather.

  “You win, Dad. I hope you know what you're doing.” Declan jumps when a knock sounds at the door.

  The valet enters and smiles at Declan. “Sir, Lady Reagan is waiting for you in the sunroom.”

  “Thank you, Jonathan. I'll be right there.” Declan frowns and walks over to the desk and picks up the ring box. He doesn't open it. His memory is perfect. Inside, his Mother's ring is waiting for him to give to the woman that he loves.

  Declan opens the desk drawer and drops the box inside. “I may be getting married, but I won't smear the memory of my parent's love by including it in this sham.” He strides from the room and slams the door behind him.

  As he walks through the house, he decides to marry her quickly and set her up in a house with an allowance. That will allow him to continue working. He will no longer have to worry about being set upon by every mother and daughter in the city. Perhaps he can make this work for both of them. He grins as he walks into the sunroom.

  Chapter 3

  London is called from her room by the housekeeper. “Hurry, London.”

  Lady Hubbard is in the hallway shouting with excitement. “I told you he would propose, George! A Duke! Can you imagine what this will do for your business and our social calendar!” her giggle of excitement is contagious.

  “When is the wedding?” George runs a hand over his belly and grins.

  “November 23. Apparently, he can’t wait one minute longer to marry your daughter!”

  “That’s three weeks! So much to do!” George sniffs and walks with his wife into the family room. Reagan stands silently in the hallway and glares at them as they walk away from her. Slowly she wonders up the steps past the staff and into her room.

  No one speaks, instead, they drift away, and London follows her into her room. She watches quietly, waiting for Reagan to shout, scream or plead. Nothing. Worry has her almost moving towards her, but Reagan nods once and sits at the dressing table.

  “Help me with my hair, London.”

  “Yes, my lady.” She works quickly, pulling the pins and releasing the curls. After she brushes her dark hair, Reagan chooses a dinner dress and sniffs.

  “Declan and his Grandfather will be here for dinner. I’m to wear the navy dress. It’s his favorite color. He said it matched my eyes,” Reagan says.

  London jerks, and her eyes lift to meet Reagan's. “Your eyes are brown,” she snaps and slams the brush on the table. Reagan jumps and giggles at the anger coming from her maid.

  “Men,” she laughs, and it sounds almost hysterical.

  “Perhaps if you give him a piece of your mind, he will remember the way they develop glints of gold in them when you’re angry!” London grabs the navy dress and turns only to hiss in surprise. Reagan is standing in front of her.

  “What will I do without you, Mouse?” she sniffs, and tears fill her eyes. “I've never had a sister, and you are much too comely to be mine, but I would call you friend if I could.”

  London has to wipe her own tears and pulls her into a hug. “I would be honored to call you friend, Lady Reagan.”

  The years of working together day and night caring for another human being has crafted a strange bond. “I wish only for your happiness, Reagan. Life is too short for anything less,” London declares.

  “Exactly. Help me get dressed.” She straightens her spine and declares, “I’m wearing green, not the blue. He will know my eye color before he leaves this house.”

  London nods proudly and jerks the blue dress away to swap it out for the emerald green. “You can keep the blue one.” Reagan says, “I’m sure you can let it out and make it fit you.”

  A laugh escapes before London can stop it. “I'm no magician, my lady.” London doesn't say that she's kept the last ten dresses Reagan has offered her and had a seamstress fix them. Beneath her padded gown, she has a curvaceous figure. When she is able to leave, she will be dressed better than most women of the upper class in New York.

  They erupt in a fit of laughter, and Reagan squeezes her hand gently. “Thank you. I needed that.”

  London watches her leave and sighs. It seems this life is hard for all women. Today’s investments are going to ensure that she is not in the same situation as Reagan. The next few weeks will determine how much longer she will have to work at this job.

  Once Reagan is married, she will need to find another job. Lady Hubbard will not keep her on. It's time to pull the trigger and invest less cautiously. Reagan pulls her glasses off and rubs the bridge of her nose. In her room, she looks at herself in the mirror and has to laugh softly. If they knew that her hair was light blonde, the color of the fresh wheat before harvest. Her eyes are blue, lit with flecks of green. She's grown used to the pads, but one day she will be free, until then, the Mouse must stay.

  It bothered her at first when they started calling her such a horrible nickname. Now she takes it as a symbol of pride. The Lord knows what he's doing. She's learned to trust him, besides, only a mouse could get away with what she does on a daily basis.

  Chapter 4

  “Welcome to our home, Gentlemen,” Lady Hubbard says proudly.

  “Let me present my Grandfather, Matthew Sheridan,” Declan says.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Lord Sheridan,” Lady Hubbard replies.

  “Call me, Matthew, please. We are about to become a family.” He shakes Lord Hubbard's hand and steps back.

  “That we are.” Reagan’s father laughs loudly.

  “Your home is exquisite,” Declan gives the expected response as he steps inside the mansion's grand hall. New York's Central avenue is where the elite build their mansions. Each one trying to outdo the other. It is incredible the lengths some will go to feel unique.

  “Did I see polished limestone in the entry way?” His grandfather inquires.

  “Good eye,” Lord Hubbard replies with a smile.

  A valet offers to take their coats and moves away to hang them on the hook by the door just as the cook announces dinner is served. The men follow Lord Hubbard as he discusses how the home was designed and decorated by repeated trips to Europe.

  “All the stones used in the build were brought over from a quarry in France. We have a ten-room French Mansion, something simple. I didn't want it to be ostentatious.”

  Lady Hubbard waves at the staff lining the halls with a hand of dismissal. They instantly step back in one smooth motion. “You know how hard it is to find good help,” she giggles and takes her husband’s arm.

  London stands quietly, looking straight ahead and avoids looking at Declan, she knows what he looks like. It only took one glance to burn the memory of him in her mind. Declan is six-foot-tall, with blue, black wavy hair and dark denim blue eyes. It is evident by the way he holds himself that he is of regal lineage.

  Reagan steps back towards London and glances nervously at her as if pleading for help. London shakes her head, subtly.

  “We'll give you a tour before dinner,” Lady Hubbard walks with her husband pointing out each piece of art, being sure to explain how much each one cost. She gestures to the unique sculptures lining the bookshelves and gives detailed information on the houses they were copied from.

  “Reagan, would you care to join us?” Declan asks.

  “I've seen it,” Reagan glances once more at London and thinks about faking a sudden illness while Declan glares at his Grandfather, who clears his throat and follows them around the room.

  London watches the anger flash across Lady Hubbard’s face when she looks at Reagan, and inwardly groans I’m gonna pay for this later, she thinks.

  “George will show you around,” Lady Hubbard says and steps back while the men leave.

  Lady Hubbard moves to Reagan and whispers, “Don’t embarrass your father.”

  “Of course not,” Reagan instantl
y follows the men, leaving the hall.

  “You’re dismissed,” she snaps at the staff. “Not you!” she growls at London.

  She waits for the staff to leave and grabs London by her upper arm. “I don't know what kind of nonsense you've been filling her head with, but she will marry Lord Sheridan, and if you do anything to mess that up, I'll make sure that you end up in a workhouse!”

  London inhales in shock. “I’d never destroy her chances at a good life, Lady Hubbard.”

  “Make sure that you don’t, Mouse!” she shoves her away. “Go to your room.”

  London obeys instantly, and when she closed the door behind her, she is trembling with anger.

  “I've got to get out of here!” Is it possible that Lady Hubbard knows about her father? Only if she searched her room. Time to find a better hiding spot. London grabs the letter opener from her desk and pries at a loose wooden floor-board close to the corner of the bedroom.

  “Surely she wouldn’t think to look here,” she chews her lip nervously and looks inside at the few treasured items from her family. Her mother’s 14K gold black enamel 2-picture locket. Black enameled front adorned with gold engraved leaves and flowers accented with tiny seed pearls. The back of the locket is made with shiny black enamel. Inside there are two picture compartments covered with glass. London lifts it out from its hiding spot and draws out the envelope of cash, which she keeps in case she needs to make a speedy exit. Finally, her birth certificate and parent's personal documents. She nods contentedly, “Lady Hubbard wouldn’t be caught dead on her hands and knees.”

  “Tomorrow, I will take all of this to Dillon. She can store them with my trunk of dresses that she keeps for me.” London packs everything in a small carpet bag and shoves it back inside the floor before replacing the missing board.

  Time to write a note and slip it inside Declan’s coat before he leaves. She sits at her small wooden desk and writes, “Please be warned. Lord Hubbard and his business associates are targeting Sheridan Furniture Company for a takeover.” London sneaks from her room with the paper tucked in her pocket and runs to drop the note in the interior pocket of his overcoat.

  Declan is disgusted. George Hubbard just found out his daughter is engaged, and all he can talk about is business. Dinner was awkward as they struggled to find common ground. For a young woman about to be married, Reagan is oddly quiet. He glances at his grandfather, who sits back and smiles at Lady Hubbard.

  “Thank you for a delicious meal. My compliments to the Cook.”

  “You’re too kind, Matthew.”

  The sun is going to set soon, and he was hoping that spending time with the family would ease his stress. It hasn’t. How many times does he have to say that he has no plan to take on business partners?

  “Don’t answer tonight,” George says to Declan, “you never know when you will find yourself in need of more partners.”

  “Perhaps you would like Reagan to play the piano for us,” Declan suggests, interrupting Lord Hubbard.

  Reagan frowns and avoids looking at him. “Not tonight.”

  “Reagan!” Lady Sheridan hisses, but Declan just laughs.

  “That’s alright, another time.”

  “Do you plan an instrument, Lord Sheridan?” Reagan asks, glancing at him.

  “No, though I sometimes think that my tools have a musical quality.”

  “In what way?” Lady Sheridan asks.

  “The way they cut through the wood. It speaks to me in almost a musical way.”

  “That’s absurd,” Reagan starts to say but Tessa glares at her. No one speaks for a minute as they try to understand what he’s saying.

  “Perhaps Reagan would like to take a stroll around the garden,” his grandfather interrupts.

  “It’s a little cold to walk in the gar…” Reagan snaps.

  “Perfect!” Lady Sheridan laughs and practically drags Reagan to her feet.

  Declan stands slowly and watches as Lady Sheridan drags her from the room, whispering in her ear and into the garden. He sighs and looks to the men.

  “Forgive my daughter, she’s young,” George laughs awkwardly.

  “Not a problem. Declan grab our coats. We’ll be on our way after our stroll,” his Grandfather suggests.

  “Of course. I'll join you outside.” Declan watches him leave, and his heart sinks. Everything about this engagement feels wrong, but he is certain his grandfather won't care. He steps into the hallway to grab his coat and watches as a maid lifts it from the hook.

  “Your coat, Sir,” she whispers and avoids looking at him. “Make sure Reagan wears her coat, please.” London grabs a brown coat and offers it to Declan after he buttons his. “It matches her eyes,” London snaps, unable to resist the prod. His hand touches hers, and she jumps back.

  “Of course,” he watches her run up the stairs. “Brown?” he frowns when he realizes he doesn't even know what color his bride's eyes are.

  London runs up the stairs and into her room and catches her breath. She sits down and changes from her clothes into her sleeping gown with her housecoat over top. London braids her hair and moves to her mattress with a sigh of relief. “Done.” Hopefully, he will take the note seriously, and her conscious will be appeased. She thinks about the rough quality of his hand when he took his coat from her.

  Declan Sheridan is a man. Reagan prefers Edmund probably because she can push him around. Sheridan seems like the type of man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. It does beg the question as to why he’s marrying her? There is no doubt Reagan is lovely, but she doesn’t seem to be his type. London yawns and falls asleep thinking about him.

  London awakes with a start when a noise sounds from the adjacent room. “Reagan?” she murmurs and leaps from her bed, running into check on her charge.

  “Are you well?”

  “London? I told you to take the day off?” she hisses.

  “Your mother had different ideas,” London lights a lantern and turns to look at Reagan Her mouth falls open when she sees her. Reagan's hair is a mess, tussled by the wind. Her cheeks are flushed, and her clothes are wrinkled.

  “What?” Reagan demands and rushes to the mirror. She giggles and nervously runs a hand over her hair. “I was just getting to know my fiancé better,” she suggests, and London stiffens, setting the lantern down.

  “I see. Do you need my help?”

  “No, Mouse. Scurry back to your hole,” she snaps.

  London stomps to her room and shuts the door with a definitive click. Her heart aches at the thought of them together. Why? She knows better than to dream for herself.

  Chapter 5

  Reagan throws herself into the plans for the wedding. Particularly shopping for the dress. Lady Hubbard has a designer come to the house and custom make her gown. It’s a soft golden gown with a sheer lace overlay and long train.

  The past two weeks have been exhausting. Trying to keep up with Reagan as she orders a trousseau for the honeymoon and packs. Not to mention, all of the late-night dates getting to know Declan. They've been on multiple nights out, and she's visited his home with one of the valet's as a chaperone. Apparently, love is fickle. Now, Reagan glows when she talks about getting married.

  London listened and watched the stock market. Nothing else was said about Sheridan Furniture. It could be that Lord Hubbard decided not to go ahead with his plan, but something doesn't sit right with her. One afternoon after visiting her friend Dillon to drop off her personal items, she sent a telegram warning him, anonymously, of course.

  The week before the wedding, London is once again in the office to air it out. She opens the windows, despite the cold and begins dusting when she hears Lord Sheridan outside the window.

  “Do it tonight!” he hisses. “Sheridan will be busy. He’s out with Reagan every night. We have tickets to the opera. He’ll never know what hit him.”

  “I take my pay upfront,” the deep voice says.

  “Of course.” Paper rustles as the man counts his cash. “It�
��s all there. You must make it look like an accident.”

  “I know how to do my job. The fire may take out the entire shop and adjoining warehouse. Are you okay with that?”

  “No, Ryan! We discussed this. Just damage the warehouse,” a second voice snaps.

  “Fire is a tricky thing,” he looks up at the sky, “but it looks like snow. That will help control it.” Ryan chuckles. “I can’t promise that it won’t spread, but I’ll set it outside, containing the damage to the corner of the building. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

  London waits and listens.

  “How long until they dump the stocks?” David, his friend, asks.

  “A few days at the most. The newspaper will get the notification first thing in the morning. Sheridan Furniture will be in trouble by this time tomorrow,” Lord Hubbard laughs. “I bet he’ll need a business partner then!”

  London waits until they leave and rushes from the office and up the stairs. Once she's safely in her room, she paces.

  “What if someone's hurt?” Stepping over to the mirror, she stares at her reflection and shakes her head. “You have to warn them.” Reagan will be going out in a few hours, and they are heading to the opera, she can't leave until they do.

  “What about the stock?” The only thing she can think to do is to buy it herself. “Do I have enough money?” She digs out her little notebook from her pocket and looks at her savings and stocks. “If I sell what's left of my stocks, I should have enough to buy a majority percentage.” Surely, he would repurchase it from her once she explains everything. If anything, he will thank her and be grateful. London walks to the office and grabs a rag.

  “What are you doing, Mouse?” Lady Hubbard shouts from behind her, causing her to startle.

  “Cleaning the offices Lady Hubbard,” she explains in a shaky voice.

  “Good to know you work to earn your keep.” She stomps close to London and stares. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve decided to keep you on after Reagan leaves us. I’m sure I’ll find a use for you.”