An American Duchess

by Caroline Fyffe

  “That’s true,” Beranger added.

  “I have a gown that I’ve never worn and that will look gorgeous on you, Charlotte.” The duchess rang for a maid. “Get settled in your room and I’ll have the dress sent over. We’re about the same size, and I know you’ll look stunning. Carmichael can help you do your hair as well. I’m more than happy to share. And Mr. Llewellyn, we’ll find something for you as well. Never fear, tonight will be amazing.”

  Tristen cut a look at Charlotte. Her eyes had gone dreamy. He remembered how beautiful she’d looked when she’d shared her dream of dancing in an Adonis-blue gown. He’d not spoil her chance to feel like a princess by refusing to go. If he didn’t eat at the duke’s table, neither would she. This was the least he could do to make her fantasy come true.

  A resounding clang that resembled a giant cymbal echoed through the hall and into the room.

  The duchess rushed over to Charlotte. “You have an hour to prepare. That’s plenty of time, even if you’d like a hot bath. Please say you’ll join us. Beranger is feeling better, so we have something special to celebrate.”

  The duchess’s gaze slipped back and forth between him and Charlotte. He needed to act fast.

  “We would be honored.” Tristen spoke up.

  Emma clapped her hands. “Wonderful.”

  Beranger looked at Charlotte. “And you agree, Miss Aldridge?”

  Charlotte nodded, a sentimental smile appearing on her lips.

  A soft knock sounded on the door.

  “Please come in,” the duchess called. A chambermaid stepped inside, looking doubtful. Seemed the word had gotten around about the duchess’s stranger behavior of late. And the missing letter. “Please show Mr. Llewellyn and Miss Aldridge to the two suites across the hall, and then send for a bath for Miss Aldridge, and Mr. Llewellyn, if they’d like. When you’re finished with that, please let Carmichael know she’ll be dressing Miss Aldridge as well as me tonight. So there is no time to lose.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  After her bath and donning the gorgeous sapphire dress the duchess had sent over, the lady’s maid named Carmichael had swiftly, with years of practice and skill, swept Charlotte’s hair up in a soft, understated style that suited her oval face. The woman had been soft-spoken and kind, ignoring the fact that Charlotte was only a country girl from their kitchen, being treated like royalty by the American duchess. That fact must be making some waves in the castle. Charlotte didn’t want to cause ill feelings with her friends and associates in the kitchen, and especially not her cousin Amelia. She didn’t know why the duchess had taken to her so, except for the fact she resembled her younger sister and had, quite serendipitously, been available to her in her moment of need that late night in the servants’ hall.

  A knock sounded on Charlotte’s door. She took another look at herself in the mirror, not recognizing the woman before her. Her heart skittered up and down her throat. The time had finally arrived.

  The knock came again. Charlotte opened the door, feeling more beautiful than she ever had in her entire life.

  Tristen stood there, dressed in dark formal attire. His eyes grew large. “Miss Aldridge, you look—”

  “Silly? I know. I feel like a fish out of water.”

  “No. Not silly at all. Beautiful. Let me be the first to tell you.”

  “Thank you, Tristen,” she said, warmth kissing her cheeks. The look of appreciation—and something else—in his eyes made her take a sudden deep breath. She wondered if Mr. Winters would be at dinner as well. He’d come into the bakeshop a couple of days before and stayed long enough to draw attention from her aunt. His whispered comments were becoming more daring, she reluctantly admitted to herself. He’d taken her hand and traced a finger across her palm when they’d been alone. Surely he didn’t know how he was coming across, him being so far above her. Would she be happy if he was genuinely interested in her? She really didn’t know.

  Once again, Tristen’s gaze traveled to her face and then up to her hair, ending back in her eyes. When they dipped for an instant to her lips, a jolt of surprise made her take a tiny breath. Though startling, his eyes held not a hint of the lusty appraisal she’d seen now and again from a man leaving the Silver Sixpence Pub in Brightshire, when she’d happened to pass by the establishment on an errand.

  She brushed at the delicate fabric of her sleeve again, feeling her face heat. “Thank you again.” If she wanted to encourage him, she’d tell him how attractive he looked—but she didn’t dare. Even though he must have combed his dark locks, they still gave the impression he’d been out in the wind.

  He stepped back and held out his arm. “May I? I went down earlier, and the duke asked if I could come fetch you. They’re ready to go in.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I can’t get used to this large place. I’m used to the woodlands, meadows of tall grass, and the chatter of birds, not the echoes and emptiness of a castle. It took me more than ten minutes to find my way to the dining room.” He smiled at her. “But have no fear, I know the way now.”

  After an endless trek on Tristen’s arm—and she was thankful for that to steady her runaway nerves—the two found the drawing room, where the others waited to go into the dinner.

  Mr. Winters arrived at the exact same time. He also looked quite handsome in his dark formal attire. “Miss Aldridge, you look amazing tonight. I was delighted to learn you’d be joining us.” His gaze slid off her face and lingered where it should not.

  Tristen hugged her hand next to his side and cleared his throat.

  Mr. Winters gave him an amused look, made a small bow toward Charlotte, and hurried into the drawing room.

  “May I speak candidly, Miss Aldridge?”

  Her face still burned from Mr. Winters’s appraisal. “Of course,” she replied quietly, not wanting to draw attention. “What is it?”

  “Frankly, it’s Mr. Winters.”

  She waited.

  “I know he’s been showing you attention. Please be careful.”

  “You mean a man like him couldn’t be interested in me?”

  “No, on the contrary. I’m sure he’s very interested. As a matter of fact, I can tell that he is. But that’s what I’m fearful of. I just want to say this to you in case no one else has: men of his standing don’t marry women of yours.”

  Women of yours? She knew she should be offended, but the night was so beautiful, and Tristen looked so earnest and handsome, and he was just watching out for her welfare. She took no offense. Hadn’t Alcott said the same? And Mrs. Darling too. “Thank you, Tristen. I shall keep that in mind whenever he is around. But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” She glanced at the doorway. “Shall we go in?”

  Charlotte tried to control her amazement at the grand chamber. Three tall windows, reaching all the way to the ceiling, were adorned in a lovely floral fabric with burgundy flowers and tiny yellow blooms on a creamy background. They were a focal point and would have framed the outside view of the castle gardens beautifully if there had been light to see. A large bookcase took up one wall and gorgeous artwork the others. Numerous chairs and sofas were set about, each with its own side table accented with a vase or other decorative object. The lavishness almost stole Charlotte’s breath.

  The dowager duchess and Lady Audrey stood together in conversation. The dowager wore a soft yellow gown with a sparkling tiara almost hidden in her hair. Lady Audrey dressed in a vibrant pink, which suited her creamy skin tones. The garment had an abundance of drapes made from a gauzy, sheer fabric that made Charlotte’s fingers itch to touch. The girl was so slender the crisscrossing of see-through drapes enhanced her shape.

  Feeling like an impostor, Charlotte allowed herself one quick glance at the ladies and then steered her attention away. It seemed someone had alerted them that there would be guests for dinner—guests that would usually be serving them in some way—because they showed no surprise when she and Tristen entered. In fact, they showed little emotion at all. Neither di
sdain nor acceptance. Charlotte wished she could be so controlled, for she feared a look of sheer terror might be etched upon her face.

  Mr. Winters smiled from where he stood with the duke and duchess when they entered. His warm attention brought a blush to her face, and she pondered what Tristen had said, what he’d warned.

  The duke stood next to the large fireplace, as if he were overseeing a grand undertaking. He exuded an air of confidence she hadn’t seen in him before. The duchess, garbed in green velvet, with tiny glittering rhinestones at her collar and cuffs, was gorgeous.

  When Emma saw her and Tristen, her eyes lit up like matching emeralds. She excused herself from their conversation and hurried over.

  The duchess took Charlotte’s hands in her own. “This dress suits you!” She pressed her cheek affectionately to Charlotte’s. “You outshine everyone in the room.”

  After greeting the duchess, Tristen left to go speak with the duke and Mr. Winters.

  “I hardly think so, but thank you. And thank you for lending me this dress.”

  “My pleasure.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “I hope you’ll relax and enjoy tonight. I’ve come to love the formal dining rituals, but when I first arrived, I found myself dreading them. It’s not all that difficult. Just don’t let anyone or any comments spoil your time. Unfortunately, the dowager thinks of dinner dialogue as some sort of sport. Be on your toes. I have no idea what the discussion will be, but if I know the dowager, you may be uncomfortable. Just let her words slide off your back without injury. That’s what I do. And that’s what Beranger has done all his life.”

  “I’ll try,” Charlotte replied softly when she found her voice. The dowager had been shooting glances their way as soon as Emma had hurried to her side. But so had Mr. Winters. She didn’t know how to feel about him. “This whole fairy tale is due to you. I can’t believe I’m here.”

  She glanced at the duke, speaking with Tristen and Mr. Winters. “How is the duke feeling?” she whispered. “He appears completely recovered. Perhaps all your fears were for naught.”

  Emma smiled. “Let us pray for that.”

  Pencely stepped into the room. “Dinner is served.”

  “Thank you, Pencely,” Beranger replied, his hand still resting on the fireplace mantel, making Charlotte suspect he wasn’t as recovered as the duchess might wish. He gave her a small smile, as if he’d read her thoughts. He made his way to Charlotte and put out his arm. Carmichael had informed her that the duke would escort the most honored female guest, and the duchess would walk in on the arm of the most honored male guest. Behind them Emma slipped her arm through Tristen’s, and they went through to the dining room. Mr. Winters followed with Lady Audrey and the dowager duchess, one on each arm.

  Charlotte tried to stay her surprise. The table, dressed for seven, was magnificent, with more splendors than she’d seen in all her life. Two candelabra made the silver and crystal glitter like gold. A white linen napkin was tented on each plate, and a beautiful fresco of a multitude of angels in the clouds was painted on the high ceiling. A tapestry of a medieval scene hung on one entire wall. It was the stuff of dreams.

  As the duke assisted Charlotte into the chair to his left, she felt a small waver in his stance. She looked up at him and their gazes met. “You’re quite fine, Your Grace?” she asked under her breath as the others were occupied being seated.

  At the other end of the table, Tristen assisted Emma. She was too far away to hear their words.

  “Fine enough to sit through dinner,” he whispered back. “Please don’t give me away.”

  After seating the dowager duchess on Emma’s right and Lady Audrey on her left, Mr. Winters took the seat next to Charlotte’s, across from Tristen and Lady Audrey. Thankful she was between the duke and Mr. Winters, and not one of the women, Charlotte smiled and glanced around.

  Once everyone was seated, the night unfolded uneasily. She recognized the two footmen from her time in the kitchen. Allen Copley, who didn’t look much older than herself with white-blond hair and a sweet disposition, and Jos Sleshinger, the dark-haired fellow who’d spoken with her on her first day. Jos, being the older of the two, circled the table offering small wedge-shaped slices of a delicious vegetable-and-egg dish, cooked firm. Behind him, Allen ladled on a semiclear sauce that had Charlotte wondering what the ingredients were. After that was consumed and cleared, a tasty consommé was served.

  When Beranger picked up his spoon, everyone else followed suit.

  After the soup, the servants arrived with platters of cold mackerel and cod and a basket of several types of hard bread. Pencely filled the crystal glasses with white wine. Charlotte felt like she was running a gauntlet with each course that was served. So far, to her limited knowledge, she’d done well and hadn’t made any mistakes. Once, when Mr. Winters had smiled into her eyes, she’d almost tipped the wine goblet she’d been sipping from, but rescued herself at the last moment.

  “I’m very heartened to see you’re feeling better, Beranger,” the dowager said, her expression sincere. “I wanted to stop in but wasn’t allowed.”

  “I second that, Brig,” Mr. Winters threw out. “You gave us all a scare. Don’t do that again. There’s been too much death around here in the last few years. I, for one, was alarmed.”

  Emma leaned forward as if trying to get closer to her husband at the opposite end of the linen-covered table. “Not anyone more than I, Justin. I’ve never been more frightened in my life. He’s never been sick before. Thank heavens the vertigo passed quickly.”

  The dowager scoffed softly. With a note of sarcasm, she said, “You hardly know the man, my dear. Three months has yet to pass since you and my stepson even met. I’m sure everything about him is a mystery to you and your American ways.”

  Shocked that the woman would so openly challenge Emma at her own table, Charlotte reached for her napkin and discreetly patted her lips. She’d been sitting very straight, and not being used to such posture, her back had begun to ache.

  Emma blinked several times, the only indication her feelings had been hurt or that she was perturbed. Charlotte would have liked to spring to her defense, but a little voice inside said to leave it be. Let the things she says roll off your back.

  Emma nodded to Jos, who’d just placed the next course on her plate, and she waited as he moved to the dowager. “Time does not matter where true love is involved,” she said.

  The dowager’s eyes gleamed like the circlet on her head. “Your naïveté is showing, my dear Duchess. The passage of time is everything. The Northcott name is listed in the Domesday Book. In fact, our lineage can be traced all the way back to the arrival of King William the Conqueror in 1066.”

  “That’s all very well,” Emma responded without missing a beat. “But you’re not a true Northcott. I wonder if your maiden name is listed?”

  Beranger straightened in his chair, giving Charlotte the impression he was doing all he could to stay upright. He smiled briefly at his wife and then lifted an eyebrow at the dowager. “We have special guests tonight. Let’s keep the conversation civil.”

  The entrée of roasted chicken and an assortment of colorful small potatoes and other vegetables was served. Sitting so close, Mr. Winters had Charlotte on edge. Each time he turned her way, she felt her face heat, and she hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. Much to her dismay, he whispered into her ear three times, once thanking her again for her assistance with the berry stain, then to tell her how much he enjoyed seeing her in Brightshire. And once again, much to her distress, and loudly enough for everyone to hear, to exclaim how gorgeous she looked.

  “I hear you have a new lady’s maid, Duchess,” Mr. Winters commented, turning to Emma. “Is she working out to your satisfaction?”

  Doesn’t he know the footmen and butler have ears? That’s not something to ask except in private; the duchess’s answer will absolutely get back to Carmichael. Shame on him.

  Emma patted her lips with her napkin. “She’s be
en very kind and efficient so far. But I’m sure you’ve heard, a cherished letter from my deceased father disappeared today, after she and the dowager duchess visited my rooms.” Emma glanced at the dowager and then to Beranger. “I’ve yet to learn anything more.”

  “The letter will be found, and the culprit with it,” Beranger stated irritably, glancing at his distant cousin. He’d just taken the last bite of his meat and chewed and swallowed. “If I hadn’t been reduced to my spinning bed earlier, the chore would already be done.”

  As calm as could be, the dowager took a sip of her wine and then replied, “Why on earth would anyone leave such an important piece of mail lying about? I think you must have misplaced the thing and don’t remember. We never had a problem with pilferage before.”

  “That’s not possible,” Emma replied in a cool, unruffled voice. “I’ve not moved the letter since I arrived. It’s been in the same spot the entire time.”

  Any pleasantness that had been on the duke’s face vanished. “This is no small matter and will be treated as such. On a dresser in our private rooms is not ‘lying about.’ That letter is of great importance to both Emma and myself. Tomorrow, we’ll search the castle until it’s found.”

  Jos, now standing against the wall since the next course had been served, glanced at Allen Copley. The younger footman swallowed nervously. The duchess’s missing letter had all the servants on shaky ground. Nobody wanted to be suspected.

  “In that case,” the dowager replied, “we will pray for a speedy resolution. Accusations of any kind put all the servants on edge—and me as well.”

  Mr. Winters wiped his mouth as the entrée dishes were cleared away and the side dishes were switched in preparation for the roast course. Sorbet was served to cleanse the palate.

  “I didn’t mean to bring up another contentious subject,” he said, turning to Charlotte. “On a nicer note, I was delighted to hear you were to be a dinner guest.” He leaned a bit closer, and she felt the distance between them vanish. “The last time we spoke, you were hard at work in your bakeshop.”