Father had been dying.
She reached for the envelope, but then let her hand fall away. She wasn’t quite ready yet.
Feeling melancholy, Emma returned to the bed. Her door was locked, as was her window latch. Keyed up, she knew sleep would elude her for hours.
Fingering the counterpane, she counted sheep for ten minutes. When that didn’t help, she counted the rooms she knew in the castle. This was not the grandest room by any means. Beranger had told her that he hoped, at some point, the dowager would want to take Lily House. He’d been surprised that Gavin hadn’t moved her there already, but perhaps he’d been waiting till he took a wife himself.
Frustrated, she sat up. She’d never fall asleep at this rate. All she could see was the face of Mathilda Tugwer. The witch from the Brothers Grimm’s “Hansel and Gretel” fairy tale had nothing on her.
I need to stop! At this rate, I’ll never get any rest. Tomorrow, at the tea, my eyes will be puffy. I’ll not be at my best. I must conquer my fears and take hold of my imagination.
She glanced at the door. If only she could have a cup of sweet warm milk. Within a few minutes, she’d become drowsy and fall asleep.
She supposed she could pull the velvet cord, as she’d been instructed, but then Hyacinth would have to come down to Emma’s chamber, see what she wanted, go to the kitchen, and rouse somebody that could do Emma’s bidding and return again upstairs. A lot of work for a cup of milk.
No, this was Beranger’s castle now, and she was Beranger’s wife. She’d go fetch her own milk. How difficult could that be?
She stood, slipped on her robe and a pair of socks. Taking the candle, she silently went to the door and listened. All was quiet.
Summoning her courage, she opened the door and slipped out onto the mezzanine. Darkness bubbled up from below. The stone balustrade was thick and opulent. She turned left, went to the bend, and turned right to find the wide staircase that connected each floor. With a tripping heart, she quickly descended the floors without making a sound.
Gooseflesh rose on her arms and legs from the chilly air. A breeze made the candle’s flame dance. Is a window open somewhere?
She passed the large tapestry of a field of grazing deer, and then a long row of huge portraits. It’s nice to see you all again, she thought, making herself smile. When she got to the bottom, she stopped. Which way to the second staircase that led to the kitchen and servants’ area? She’d been so busy with the dowager duchess and standing for the dressmakers, she’d been to the kitchen only the one time. And then the group had been talking, and she hadn’t paid attention.
A drop of scalding wax fell on her hand.
Shocked more than hurt, she gasped so loudly she actually extinguished the flame. The light that had been guiding her evaporated into the darkness. A creepy feeling slithered down her spine.
“Don’t panic,” she whispered, hearing only the pounding of her heart. Swallowing down her fear, she waited for her vision to adjust to the darkness and then continued carefully onward.
Her intuition told her left. A moment later she found the green-cloth-covered door that opened to the staircase that led to the basement. Doubtful that anyone was up at this time, she was surprised to see golden light filtering up from below, making her descent much safer. At the bottom, she followed the sound of murmured voices and came upon none other than Mrs. Darling and Miss Aldridge sitting at the large table in the servants’ hall. The cups they were drinking from clattered to the tabletop.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Charlotte blinked in astonishment. The Duchess of Brightshire stood before them in her nightclothes, holding an unlit candle. Leaping to her feet, Charlotte almost knocked her chair over as she remembered to curtsy at the same time.
Startled, Mrs. Darling bolted to her feet as well. She rushed forward, sputtering, “Y-Your Grace, is something wrong?” A note of panic marked her voice. She glanced at Charlotte as if a kitchen maid would have the answers to her questions.
The duchess put out her hand, a surprised smile on her lips. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” She glanced at the gas lamps, her smile growing. “My candle went out, and I had to proceed in the dark.” She laughed, stepping closer. “I’m thankful I didn’t fall and break my neck. And now to find you two is a delightful surprise.”
Charlotte glanced at the housekeeper for direction. She didn’t quite know what to do, or what was expected of her, but she was moved by compassion. She’d known nothing but kindness from the duchess. Perhaps she was as befuddled as Charlotte at being plunged into this new world. “May I brew Your Grace a cup of tea?” she asked softly. “I can deliver it to your room in less than five minutes, as well as biscuits fresh from the oven.”
“Yes, thank you,” the duchess replied. “A cup of tea sounds lovely. But only if I may join you here in this room. I’m lonely upstairs all by myself. And I like the feel down here much better. I’m so happy to find you both. Would you mind horribly?”
Heat rushed to Charlotte’s face. The duchess taking tea in the servants’ hall? She hadn’t been here but two days, yet she knew that was not commonplace.
Mrs. Darling made a swishing motion, and Charlotte hurried away. Standing next to the warm stove, she listened to their quiet voices while she worked, steeping the tea and arranging a selection of baked goods on a plate. “Here you are, Your Grace. I hope this will settle your nerves.”
The duchess smiled her thanks.
Mrs. Darling dipped her head in appreciation of Charlotte’s fast thinking.
The duchess sat, but when Charlotte and Mrs. Darling remained on their feet, she patted the tablecloth. “Please, sit,” she said with exasperation. “Where I come from, everyone is equal. I’m not used to special treatment and don’t know if I’ll ever be. I hope my American ways won’t be a disgrace to Beranger.” The duchess brought her cup to her lips and blew on the hot liquid. “Please, go ahead before your tea gets cold.”
Charlotte and Mrs. Darling sat and sipped from their cups. She wondered what she could say to entertain the duchess, but Her Grace beat her to it.
“What I really came all this way for—and the way is long,” the duchess said, then laughed, “is my crutch. Would you believe at my age I sometimes need a cup of warm milk to fall asleep? I’ve been lying in bed for hours. I miss the duke, and thought, Why not?”
Their gazes touched, and Charlotte felt herself relax. The American’s simple charm was appealing, and nothing like what she’d heard of the lofty Lady Audrey or her mother. Alcott had said the dowager duchess never interacted with the staff and only spoke to them when absolutely necessary—or when she was firing someone. And it was mostly the same with Lady Audrey.
“I’ll warm some milk before you leave,” Charlotte said. “So you can take a cup to your room.”
“Thank you. And you must show me how, so in the future I won’t have to bother anyone. I can’t imagine this will be the only time I’ll need it since I’m—well . . .” The duchess sucked in a deep draft of air and quickly looked away to hide her face.
Shocked, Charlotte glanced at Mrs. Darling and then extended her hand and gently patted the duchess’s arm. “There, there. Everything will be all right.” It would, wouldn’t it? “Please have some tea before it cools. You’ll feel better.”
The duchess dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Please forgive me. It’s just that I miss my sisters. We’ve never been apart.” Unshed tears glittered in her eyes.
“That’s quite all right, Your Grace,” Mrs. Darling said, seeming to have gotten over her shock. “I can understand how different living in a castle must be for you. How strange and uninviting, surrounded by servants. Is there any way I can help?” She glanced at Charlotte. “How we can help, I should say.”
“I just want a friend.” Her gaze tracked between them. “I want to get to know you both. Is that all right or against the rules as well? The dowager duchess was quite explicit on the subject of friends, and who they cou
ld and could not be.”
What should she say? Surely what she was suggesting was not all right at all, at least with the dowager duchess. Not from the standpoint of things Charlotte had heard from Amelia and even in the last two days from Margaret. She glanced at Mrs. Darling to see how she would respond. Surely, being the housekeeper in Ashbury for many years, the woman would have an answer to this question. One acceptable to everyone.
“Of course we’re your friends, Your Grace. But you have other friends as well. The duke’s family. The dowager duchess and Lady Audrey. And what of the woman who arrived in your group?”
“Gertrude Bucket.” She lifted her cup and took a sip. “I suppose you’re right. Gertrude is my friend, but she took to her room claiming a headache and hasn’t left since. I’ve tried to visit her a few times, but she always turns me away, claiming she doesn’t feel well enough to talk. The voyage to England was arduous. Choppy seas and winds kept us in our cabins for days.”
Mrs. Darling smiled. “Maybe sharing about your sisters will make you feel better.”
The duchess’s lips wobbled upward. “Yes, that’s a good idea. Well, let’s see. Two of my sisters, Belle and Lavinia, are happily married and settled. Katie, the youngest, the one who resembles Charlotte, has recently had her heart broken. She’d anticipated a proposal, but he turned out to be a handsome rake. A woman from his past came to Eden. And that was that.”
Charlotte bit her lip. How sad. Two men’s faces popped into her mind, and she firmly dismissed them both. She’d not let either break her heart.
“And then there’s my oldest sister, Mavis,” the duchess went on. “She’s a widow. The man she’s fallen for, our sheriff, is a handsome devil in his own right. His eyes light up like the sun whenever Mavis steps into his office, but he’s dragging his feet for no apparent reason. Watching is difficult. I can see how much she loves him, but she holds her feelings inside because she doesn’t want to worry her sisters.”
Charlotte and Mrs. Darling exchanged another glance.
Mrs. Darling gently patted the table between them, as if she wanted to comfort the duchess with a soothing touch but didn’t dare. “Don’t worry overmuch, Your Grace. Things’ll work out for the best. Sometimes a woman wades through several common brown frogs before she finds her prince.”
The duchess nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing Mrs. Darling’s words. “Thank you. I’m feeling much better. Thank you for caring. Sometimes all a troubled heart needs is someone to listen. You’re both very good listeners, indeed.” Her smile grew stronger and warmer, and she drank the last of her tea. She pushed the plate of biscuits forward. “Neither of you has eaten any of these delicious cookies,” she said, and then realized her mistake. “Biscuits. So many details to remember—you’d think I’d get this small one correct. Please have some.”
Charlotte and Mrs. Darling indulged. The duchess seemed calmer with food in her stomach and a few minutes of conversation. She quickly pried out Mrs. Darling’s first name and learned that Charlotte was a baker in Brightshire filling in for her sick cousin. With the new duchess’s friendly interest, Charlotte’s brief life story tumbled out—that she had an older brother named Thomas who delivered the bread to Ashbury every Tuesday, Charlotte’s quick-tempered aunt, even how she imagined herself wearing a beautiful blue dress.
After they’d all relaxed for a while, the duchess grew serious.
“The tea tomorrow has me anxious. Would you, my new friends, be so kind as to offer me a few suggestions to calm my nerves?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For Beranger, the miles between him and Emma seemed far too many. Each bump of the carriage plucked away at his already thin agitation. The important vote in Parliament had been postponed for reasons he didn’t know. What he did know was that Gavin had left the coffers of Ashbury all but empty. Drastic measures would have to be taken, or else they’d have to sell more land to pay taxes.
Lord Harry shifted in his seat. “Stop brooding, my boy. We’ll take one day at a time, that’s all. The one bright spot is that your stepmother was spending Ashbury money fixing up and renovating the old place almost faster than Gavin could lose the funds at the gambling table. We may be broke, but almost everything that needed fixing has been repaired, replaced, or updated. The castle looks better than I ever remember.”
Beranger stared as the coach bounced along. “True enough. And you trust this solicitor, Alfred Batkins?”
“He’s served the dukes of Brightshire for as long as I can remember, even before your father, when I was just a boy.”
“That wasn’t my question.” Fatigued, Beranger rubbed a hand over his face. He’d gotten little more than two hours of fitful sleep last night worrying over Emma. “Batkins is as old as sand. Perhaps he’s missed something important. Or perhaps he’s the problem itself. I don’t trust anyone until they prove to me they’ve earned my trust. And I don’t know him from Adam.”
“Yes, I remember that about you. You’re always watching and waiting. Seeing what presented itself. I think your scrutiny has served you well. But about Batkins, I don’t know what to say. He’s partner at one of the most respected firms in London. To question him may prove counterproductive. I’d suggest you go about business, for now, as if he’s part of your trusted inner circle.”
The coach slowed while passing through Brightshire. When they made the last turn that led to Ashbury, Beranger’s dark mood began to lighten. He’d have Emma in his arms soon. And if he could manage some privacy, perhaps they could spend the remainder of the afternoon alone, in their chamber. That shouldn’t be too much to ask of anyone, should it? As the horses’ hooves clattered over the bridge and headed for the woodlands that had been his refuge as a boy, a rush of warm sentiments gripped him. They entered the forest, the interior of the coach plunging from brightness into darkness.
“I’m sure the Dowager Countess of Sarre as well as Lady Coldred have enjoyed spending time with Emma,” Lord Harry said, a happy chirp to his tone. “Perhaps there are some cakes and biscuits left. I’ve a gnawing ache inside my belly.”
“Hell!”
“You’ve forgotten the tea?” Lord Harry let out a chortle of laughter. “I’ve been wondering why you’ve been so quiet. You’ve been thinking of Emma and returning home. Well, that’s understandable for a newly married chap.” His smile widened. “She’ll be busy for the next two hours, at least. Just because teatime is coming to an end doesn’t mean the lady guests will be on their way. They’ll still need to take in the gardens, make a full day of it.”
Beranger growled. He’d wanted to depart London directly after breakfast but had been detained by several lords who wished to discuss yesterday’s votes and get to know him—and they had not shown any hint of the rejection he’d feared. There were important issues that needed to be addressed. Those decisions would affect the people who lived in Brightshire and the surrounding areas. Regular folk, who relied on their lords to make the choices that would protect and preserve them as they did their best to live well and prosper. He’d never expected to be a duke, but since he was, he wanted to do right by the people. But how did a person even begin to do that? Especially if he had no idea what those regular people expected of him?
The coach rolled by a young man crouched at the side of the road holding a rifle. By golly, Beranger wanted to get home, but he also wanted to know the happenings around Ashbury. Here was a way to begin gathering that knowledge by seeing what, on the castle lands, had caught the fellow’s attention. He reached up and pounded the ceiling.
The coach rolled to a stop. Without waiting, Beranger opened the door and bounded out. “What’s this, my lad? Is there a problem?”
The fellow stood. He must have realized he was face-to-face with the new duke by the way he looked at Beranger’s eyes.
“Your Grace.”
Beranger pushed away his impatience to be home. Each person he met deserved his full, undivided attention. He only had one chance to make a first impression.
He wanted that to be good. For the people to trust him. He wasn’t his father or his brother. Beranger would do things his way. “Is there a problem here?”
“Possibly, Your Grace. Early this morning, I’d spotted some tracks. As I went deeper into the surrounding woods, I spotted the blood. Now I end up here.” He pointed to the ground, where drops of blood tinged the leaves. “Either someone was hurt, or they’ve been poaching and this is animal’s blood. I’m not sure.”
As if on cue, an adolescent-size golden retriever crashed through the underbrush to skid to a halt by the fellow’s side. A bright red tongue rolled out the side of his mouth, and his sides heaved from running. He couldn’t have looked happier.
Beranger straightened. “And you are?”
“Tristen Llewellyn.”
“Ah, you’re Henderley’s nephew, then, from Wales. Helping him gamekeep.”
“I’ve been helping for two months now.”
From habit, Beranger stuck out his hand, and they shook. The youth’s eyes went wide. Beranger turned to Lord Harry, who had come to his side. “An hour or two, you say?”
“I’d guess that, yes,” Lord Harry replied. “You may as well find something else to bide your time, because you’re not going to get within twenty feet of the duchess until then. Did you want to visit good ol’ Arson?”
Beranger looked Tristen in the eyes; the young man was as tall as he was. “I do. If I hadn’t had to make this fast trip to London, I would have already looked in on him and Rose.” He put out his hand toward the coach in invitation. “Come along. You’ll ride with us.”
“I couldn’t. I’ll meet you there,” Tristen responded. “I have Bagley.”
“The dog’s welcome.” Beranger stopped by the driver. “To Henderley’s.”
Inside the coach, the three large men got comfortable. Bagley leaned on Tristen’s legs.
“Your aunt and uncle were always good to me.”
An American Duchess Page 9
