The older woman’s face hardened into an expression that was almost frightening. Oh yes, Tristen had heard the stories of her sharp tongue and even quicker temper, how she fired servants at the drop of a hat. But until this moment, that’s all they’d been—stories and rumors. If looks could kill, he thought the new duchess might well be in her grave.
When the dowager had finally disappeared down a hall, the duchess rushed forward, her determined expression gone. She grasped his hands in friendship as if he were her port in a storm. “Again, thank you for coming so quickly. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to. I pray you don’t mind. Beranger is sick, although he won’t admit the fact. I’m beside myself. I don’t know if his food has been tainted, or if he’s come down with something that could kill him.” Her voice broke on the last word. “My imagination has taken wing in five different directions. I didn’t know who else to trust.”
If he were to guess, he’d say he was only a couple of years older than the duchess, and her imploring face before him gave him pause. He, Tristen Llewellyn, was her most trusted confidant in the castle? Only a handful of months ago he’d been released from prison. Surely, Pencely would have something to say about that when he learned about this summons. “I pledge you my trust, Your Grace, with anything you need. Just ask. I’m honored you called for me.”
“As I stated to the dowager duchess, I’d like you to stay in a room across the hall from us. When I’m away, I want you to stay with him. Make sure no one tries anything.”
“What about his valet? He knows the duke better than I.”
“Not much better. Besides, I trust you. I’m new and have no idea who is friend and who is enemy. Because of the last duke dying in the way he did, I’m frightened. Perhaps some evil person has a vendetta against the Northcotts—all the Northcotts—and is out to kill each and every one. I won’t let Beranger be the next target. I just pray we’re not too late. His dizziness has me extremely worried. I’ve known him long enough to realize this is out of the ordinary for him.”
“I see.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“I will.”
“You must understand there may be an element of danger for you. But I don’t know. Everything is speculation at this point.”
He nodded.
“And you’ll fall out with the dowager duchess, and most likely Lady Audrey. You may be blackballed forever.”
“Yes, I picked up on that. I was never in with them, Your Grace. I’m willing to risk it.” It seemed as if a great weight lifted from the duchess’s shoulders.
“Thank you. My lady’s maid is with him now, but I don’t dare leave him alone for long. I’m not sure about her either.” She gestured to the staircase. “We must hurry back.”
Tristen followed the distressed duchess, ignoring all the strange looks he received from footmen and chambermaids. The walk to the third floor took several minutes. When they entered the room, they found the duke asleep and the duchess’s lady’s maid reading silently by his side.
She stood when they entered.
“Thank you, Carmichael. Mr. Llewellyn will take over for you now.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she responded and headed for the door.
“Were there any visitors while I was gone? Did anyone try to come in?”
The woman turned back. “No. Everything was quiet.”
“He was sleeping when I left. Did he ever wake up?”
“No, Your Grace.”
As soon as she was gone, the duchess rushed to the bedside and felt Beranger’s forehead. She let go a sigh.
“He feels the same. Not warm in the least.” She turned to Tristen. “I have one other errand to run, but I’ll still be in the castle if you need me. Ring that bell at any change, no matter how small. Someone will be up right away. Don’t hesitate to use it—over any little thing.”
“Not to fear,” he responded. “I’ll use it first thing. No one will get close to the duke unless it’s you.”
That brought a smile to her face. “Thank God I have you, Mr. Llewellyn! And I hope to have another trusted ally here if things go my way. I’ll return as soon as I can.”
With that, Tristen found himself alone in the opulent room with the duke still asleep in his bed. How the tables had turned. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such trust, but he knew he’d be willing to protect this man and his wife with his life. Not that he thought that would be necessary. Surely the duchess was imagining the conspiracy against Beranger, and he’d just picked up some illness that would pass in a day or two.
He strode across the floor to gaze out the window at the wooded lands beyond the clearing. He was used to being out there and not in here. Now he was the duke’s most trusted ally. How would the duchess feel if she knew his past? That he’d killed a man with his own hands.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I know this is a strange request,” Emma stated, working to keep her voice calm and void of all jitters as she took in the circle of servants around her. She elevated her chin a tiny bit to evoke respect, but was sure to keep a small smile on her face. She wasn’t used to speaking in front of a crowd.
“I need a volunteer who won’t mind leaving Ashbury—perhaps for a few days, maybe longer—to work at the Smith Bakeshop in Brightshire. Whoever decides to help will be generously rewarded on top of your regular salary. But I must have a volunteer by the end of this meeting. I can’t tell you the work will be easy, but I hope you will consider doing it for your new duke.”
The cook and the other kitchen staff stood around her as she offered her proposition. Amelia Smith, in the front of the group, looked clearly confused.
“I’d like Charlotte Aldridge to return for a few days, and I do not wish to leave her aunt Ethel shorthanded.” She glanced around the faces, hoping one of the young women would speak up. The obvious choice would be Amelia, of course, but she’d have to wait for the young woman to offer herself freely. Emma didn’t want to force someone to do something they didn’t want to do. Besides, she hadn’t cleared anything yet with Ethel Smith, and that cranky woman, in all honesty, might tell her to go jump in a lake. She most probably would say no anyhow, but Emma had to try. Besides Tristen, she wanted her friend to talk to. She didn’t trust anyone else.
The jangle of Mrs. Darling’s large ring of keys preceded the housekeeper before she emerged from the hallway that led to her personal living quarters. She halted and looked around, surprise on her face. Before she noticed Emma, she called out sharply, “What’s this? Has an extra teatime been added that I don’t know about? You best get back to work, people. Hurry on.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t see you standing there. Is there something I can help you with?”
Yes, that was it. She should have gone to the housekeeper first thing. If anyone, Mrs. Darling seemed honest and good. She would know who in the kitchen could be spared, and who would have the right disposition to go into Brightshire. “Yes, I think you can, Mrs. Darling. Thank you.” Emma stepped through the staff, hoping this could be resolved right away. “You see, I need Miss Aldridge to help me with a special task, but I need one of the kitchen staff to volunteer to take her place in the bakeshop, so they aren’t left shorthanded. Only for a few days until Lord Harry returns. Will that be possible?”
Clearly surprised, Mrs. Darling’s gaze flew to the cook’s and then to Pencely, who had come down the stairs and looked irritated.
“I know it’s an odd request, but I can make it, can’t I? I am the duchess . . .”
“Of course you can, Your Grace! I didn’t mean to question you or imply otherwise.” A murmur seeped through the workers gathered in the room. “Let’s go to my room and I’ll have some tea sent in and we’ll dis—”
“I’ll volunteer, Your Grace! If you give me the chance, I won’t let ya down.”
Silence descended over the room.
Emma turned to find a plain-faced young woman pushing through the group. Her white apron was stained bu
rgundy, and a good portion of her hair poked out from under her cap. Emma remembered meeting her the day in the kitchen when she’d met Charlotte but didn’t remember her name.
“I’m sure I can do whatever is needed there for however long. I’m up for the challenge, as long as there is indeed a reward for going.”
Mrs. Darling snapped straight. “Margaret!”
Emma put out a hand. “No, that’s fine, Mrs. Darling. The first rule of a good business transaction is for all parties involved to know everything there is to know.” She glanced around and smiled. “Yes, Margaret. Five pounds will be yours if you take up my offer.”
Everyone sucked in a breath at the staggering amount the duchess had offered. Cries went out by others who wanted to be chosen instead.
“Thank you all, but I believe the position has been filled. Margaret, I’ll let you know about your departure as soon as I hear back from the bakeshop. I’ve yet to receive permission from Mrs. Smith. Is that acceptable to you, Mrs. Darling? Can we spare Margaret for a few days?”
She blinked several times and then nodded.
Excitement and something else shone from the kitchen maid’s eyes. Was that pride? Or camaraderie? Whatever, it had a good effect on Emma. One more small part of her puzzle had fallen into place—providing both Charlotte and her aunt Ethel agreed. For now, she’d stay positive.
Amelia caught Emma’s gaze and glanced away, but not before muttering loud enough for Emma to hear, “Mother is going to be furious with Charlotte for this. She’s not going to like her being called away.”
All Emma’s enthusiasm zipped away. Was she creating more trouble for Charlotte by summoning her? At this moment, she had no choice—no choice at all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Tristen was never good at waiting. Not when he’d been a boy, not when he’d been in prison, and not now waiting for the duchess to return. As soon as she was back, he’d go down to the kitchen and relay the news about Beranger to Aunt Rose to take home to his uncle. He’d promised to keep Uncle Arson informed, and he felt time slipping away.
A rustling on the bed made him turn from the window. The duke was sitting, arms straight and hands pressed into the mattress as if he couldn’t sit up without the support.
Tristen rushed over. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been stuck on a runaway carousel and I can’t get off.” He brought his gaze up to Tristen’s face. He grimaced and looked away. “And I’m still spinning, but not as bad as before. I never realized vertigo could bring a man to his knees.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
Tristen waited.
“What are you doing here?”
“The duchess sent for me. Asked me to stay with you until her return.”
“I see. When she returns, I don’t want you to let on that I’m still woozy. I need to get out of this bed, dress, and go down to dinner.” He turned slowly and looked at the window, his complexion almost green from the motion of moving his head over his shoulder. “What time is it? How long have I been lying here?”
“I’ve been sitting with you for about an hour and a half. No one’s been here but me.”
“Why did she send for you?”
“She’s frightened. Fears someone has targeted you, and has perhaps fed you some poison, or something like that.”
Beranger groaned and lowered his head into his hands, not looking like he felt well at all. “When will she be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve landed her in a mess. I don’t know why I’m sick, Tristen. I’ve never been sick a day in my life that I can remember. That said, I doubt anyone is trying to kill me. And if they were, poisoning would be too obvious. If they wanted me out of the way, a fall from my horse would be much less suspicious. Accidents do happen.”
Tristen cocked an eyebrow. “Like your brother, the young duke? He caught his heel while hunting and accidently fell, sticking his neck with his own knife?”
They stared at each other for a long minute. “Fair assessment. I’m surprised it’s taken me coming home and starting to ask questions to make others realize that Gavin’s death may not have been so accidental at all.”
Tristen, once again crossing the room, nodded. “Perhaps the duchess isn’t that far off the mark. We should at least keep an open mind.”
Beranger grasped the thick bedpost and slowly pulled his bulk to standing. His nostrils flared as he leaned his head against the post. “I’ve never felt so helpless. And from a little wobbly head. I’m astonished.”
Tristen felt a smile growing. “The duchess turned the dowager duchess away from seeing you. She was a tigress, and no one was going to get near her cub. I was very impressed.”
Beranger’s head jerked up. “Crikey. The girl has spunk. I’m glad she’s gotten over her attack of timidity. The dowager duchess has had her spooked for days. Were you there? What did the dowager say?”
“I was waiting in the next room and could hear the words exchanged. The dowager was none too pleased and put up a good fight, but your wife was very clear she didn’t care a whit and that no one, under any circumstances, was to bother you in your room today. No one!”
Beranger laughed. “If she can stand up to the dowager, I best get on my own two feet and out of this bed. Next she’ll be after me.” He took a step forward, then another. On the third, he rocked so violently to one side, Tristen had to jump forward and grab him around the middle.
“You best sit down. You don’t want to fall and hit your head.”
“You make me sound like an old man. I’m not but a few years older than you.”
“I’m not the one suffering from vertigo.”
Beranger pulled free and walked to the window. “True. But I’ll be up when my wife walks through the door and—”
The bedroom door opened, and the duchess breezed in. Behind her was Charlotte. The duchess hadn’t said a thing about fetching her. Tristen blinked, thinking of their talk in the loft only a few hours before. Since then, she’d plagued his thoughts. She was thoughtful, and he was attracted to her—but with his past, she deserved so much better. He wanted to train the pigeons to make her happy. And to show her how clever he was. And perhaps have a way to be in contact with her himself. Perhaps they’d make it a three-way conversation.
“Beranger!” The duchess ran the length of the room to her husband’s side and grasped his hands. “Beranger, when did you get up? You still don’t look well. Come back to bed immediately.”
Tristen could tell Beranger was doing everything in his power not to sway or show any signs of weakness. Should he keep what he knew to himself for the duke’s sake, or assist the duchess in getting him back to bed?
“How long have you been up?” she asked her husband again. “How do you feel? Has the dizziness passed?”
“Long enough to know this is some strange fluke, Emma. I’m fine.” He glanced at Tristen and then Charlotte, who had remained by the door across the large bedroom. “As I was telling Llewellyn here a few moments ago, I can’t ever remember being sick in all my years. I’m as healthy as a horse. Please stop worrying about me.” He waved Charlotte in closer. “Now what have you done? Summonsed poor Miss Aldridge too? Please excuse my state of dress, Miss Aldridge. My wife seems to be overly cautious where my health is concerned.” He actually laughed. “Thank you for coming at her request.”
The duchess looked back and forth between them. “Beranger, I hope you don’t mind I invited Charlotte to Ashbury. I needed some people around me that I feel comfortable with, who I can trust and confide in. With Lord Harry away, I feel like I’ve been marooned on an island. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Of course I don’t mind, sweetheart. Anything you want is fine with me. Ashbury is plenty large enough for an army, if you’d like. But please know, you can trust everyone here, my love. You’re just spooked, and I don’t blame you. I guess it feels like a conspiracy to you, being in a new country—and with my stepmother watching your ev
ery move.” He smiled at her and at the others in the room and then looked at the clock sitting on the fireplace mantel.
The duchess followed his gaze. “Thank you for understanding. But let me see you back to the bed.”
“I’m up and staying. And will sit at the dinner table in an hour.”
Her brows crinkled, she turned to Charlotte and Tristen.
“Since my husband has given me carte blanche to do as I wish, as any good husband should, let me ring for a maid to show you to your rooms. I’d like both of you to be our guests for dinner tonight—and every other night you’re here. You’ve come at my request, and that is the least we can do. I’ll hear no refusals.”
Tristen held his breath. The duchess glanced into Beranger’s face as if to see if he would refuse her.
“Of course, my darling. I wholly agree.”
Charlotte blanched. “I couldn’t, Your Grace. That wouldn’t be right. I’m a kitchen maid . . . I, well—”
“Nor I,” Tristen said. Eating with the family was a frightening thought. His aunt Rose had described the nightly occurrence in detail, how the diners took a whole hour or longer to dress in formal attire, then took hours to eat a seven-course meal, all the while making small conversation and abiding by centuries-old rules of etiquette. That felt as enjoyable as having a tooth pulled or having one’s blood let. He wasn’t going. “I couldn’t think of it. Watching over the duke is one thing, and dining formally with the family quite another.”
Charlotte put up a hand. “Perfectly said, Mr. Llewellyn. Besides, I have nothing to wear to such an evening. And the dowager duchess and the rest of your family would . . .”
Tristen nodded. “I would be very uncomfortable.”
“The dowager duchess has no say in this. Only a little over three weeks ago, I was just like you. I never dreamed I’d dine in a castle as a duchess. But I did, and it was lovely. Beranger and I will be honored with your presence.”
An American Duchess Page 18
