“Oh,” Lady Audrey said. “Pray tell.”
Charlotte could feel Tristen’s stare on her face from across the table. He’d been dining quietly, hardly saying a word, but she could tell he was taking in every syllable. He didn’t like Mr. Winters at all, from the expression on his face.
“Yes, such a delight and shock,” the dowager said. “I never dreamed of the day we’d be dining with the servants, but the future has arrived, much to my dismay.”
Emma caught her eye. “The duke and I are delighted Mr. Llewellyn and Miss Aldridge could join us tonight. Actually, since my arrival, this is the first time I’ve felt at home. Ashbury has so much to offer, it’s a shame to keep the beauty and splendor all to ourselves.”
“Like it’s been done for centuries?” Lady Audrey interjected, sounding almost exactly like her mother. “And would have still been had I inherited the title. But I did not, and now we will be the first great home to break with centuries-old social norms. I wonder what that will do to our good name and standing in the community. I, for one, am not optimistic.”
The roast course, succulent lamb covered in rosemary, arrived on silver platters, along with roasted courgettes with lemon and tomatoes, butternut squash garnished in butter and onions, and brown-butter radishes. New wineglasses were filled with a light red vintage. The footmen made serving look easy, but Charlotte knew better. The meal was delicious, and she’d be sure to let everyone downstairs know. With Margaret now taking her spot in the bakeshop for a few days, Rose Henderley must have done the side dishes, the sauces, and the rest.
Charlotte saw Emma bristle under her calm and cool exterior. Perhaps the duchess was used to being challenged by the dowager duchess but not by her husband’s younger sister. Lady Audrey’s comment seemed to have hit a nerve.
“In America, we believe all men are created equal,” Emma said, glancing at Charlotte and then Tristen. “Your destiny is up to your diligence and hard work, not who your parents happen to be or from which lineage you have descended. You’re welcome here anytime, my new friends. At Ashbury, the times are changing for the better.” She took a sip of her wine.
“Well!” the dowager blurted, apparently outraged. She glanced at Beranger. “Do something. Your mail-order bride is out of control! Surely, you don’t agree with what she’s saying. There is enough of your father in you to make sure Ashbury does not fall to ruin.”
Emma broke into laughter, followed by Mr. Winters, and then the rest. All except the dowager. Her ruby-red face looked painful. Charlotte had expected the group to explode into angry voices, not laughter.
How anyone, and especially Emma, could think such a tension-filled event could be enjoyable was amazing. From the moment the group had taken their seats, Charlotte’s nerves had been tested. She just hoped she’d get through the evening without some huge social blunder.
She took a small sip from her water glass, not trusting herself to take any more wine. All she wanted was to get through the next few hours without making a fool of herself, especially in front of Tristen and Mr. Winters.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
You’re lucky my wife has a sense of humor,” the duke said. “Mail-order brides are frequent in the West. There is no shame in being one. Emma is not, of course, but perhaps you don’t know the difference.”
Shocked at the insults, Tristen sliced a portion of his lamb and shoved it into his mouth. If someone had insulted his wife like that, there would be a price to pay.
It seemed the Honorable Justin Winters was anything but honorable. He enjoyed stirring the pot and was doing a good job tonight, one topic after the next. Tristen didn’t appreciate how nervous he made Charlotte each time he singled her out in conversation or whispered into her ear. He knew what he was doing. His intentions were the opposite of honorable when it came to her. Tristen just hoped Charlotte understood the way the upper class worked.
“And if she weren’t laughing right now, I’d take offense,” the duke went on. “But what she says is true. We talked extensively on the voyage here. Not because we knew then that Gavin and the rest had squandered much of Ashbury’s wealth, but because in America we think differently. Within a few months, hopefully, with some changes that are happening as we speak, Ashbury may be back on track and self-sustaining. We shall see.” He glanced at Tristen. “There’ll be other modifications as well, in the way things have been managed. Here and with my personal savings abroad. That won’t take place overnight, but soon enough.”
“I’ll be happy to do whatever I can to help,” Tristen said, finally feeling comfortable enough with the topic to break his silence. Besides saying yes and thank you, he’d been a spectator so far, but now that the duke seemed to be singling him out, he felt on firmer footing. “Maybe guided hunting parties, perhaps. Your extensive land holdings make that a possibility.”
Mr. Winters frowned.
“Changes? What kind of changes?” Lady Audrey asked, picking at the chocolate drizzle over the apricot tart that had been placed before her.
“What you hinted about earlier?” the duchess asked her husband, excitement glowing in her eyes. “Can you share the secret now?”
The duke beamed. “I can. With the help of Lord Harry, I’ve lent the dukedom cash from my personal savings in America to procure a shipping vessel. Ashbury Castle will export to America and import to England. Many Americans are hot to get some good Hereford bulls to cross with their cattle. And several of our tenants raise sheep. There is no end to what we can export and”—he glanced at Emma—“perhaps we will import beef from the Five Sisters Ranch in Colorado, as well as horses and cattle to breed. And what about sending English fashions to your shop in Eden, dear wife? As well as English items that Americans miss. Tea and other items unique to England that will weather the journey. Steamships have changed the import/export business by making the trip much faster.”
“Beranger, what a grand idea! My mind is spinning with possibilities.”
“I thought we’d call her the Emma, the Five Sisters, or perhaps the American Duchess,” the duke said, a wide grin on his face. “Whatever you want. And then as our fleet grows and dominates sea trade, we’ll use all the names you’d like.” He looked at his sister. “The Lady Audrey? How does that sound?”
The staff looked surprised. Fruit-and-cheese platters were now set on the table, and the wineglasses were being refilled.
A small smile appeared on Lady Audrey’s face.
“Please share some of your seafaring stories, Beranger,” the duchess said. “I didn’t know you loved the sea so much.”
“There’s too much to tell,” Beranger responded. “That topic is better saved for the sitting room, or we’ll never get away from this table.”
“What about a shipwreck?” Mr. Winters threw out. “Did you ever see one?”
Tristen swallowed a groan at the man’s tactlessness.
“No, thank God,” Beranger said. “But the Destiny came close a few times. Storms can be treacherous. Gale-force winds don’t have much meaning until you live through them. The boatswain aboard the Destiny, Nelson Wadlly, turned out to be a good friend, watching over me in my youth and making sure others treated me fairly. He had a brother who’d sailed aboard the HMS Driver, a wooden paddle sloop of the Royal Navy credited with the first global circumnavigation by a steamship. Unfortunately, she came to a bad end when she wrecked on Mayaguana Island.”
“Where’s that?” Lady Audrey asked.
“Most easterly island of the Bahamas, in the West Indies. Just saying those names gives me an itch to climb hand over hand to the crow’s nest while enjoying the sting of salty air on my face.”
He laughed, seeming like he felt much better. Tristen thought perhaps the food had fortified him.
“Was everyone all right?” Emma asked, concern in her voice.
Beranger shrugged. “Like most times, Wadlly didn’t have all the information, but the telling made for a good story. Wadlly’s brother lived, and that was all that had
mattered to him.”
“Your desire to become a shipping magnate now makes more sense,” Mr. Winters offered. “I may ask to sign on myself.” He laughed, his eyes alight.
Good. You need a job, Tristen thought unkindly.
“What grand plans you have, Duke.” The dowager smiled coyly at her stepson. “I don’t mean to spoil your good news, but I heard something distressing today and wondered if the information had reached your ears as well. I know you’ve been asking about my dear departed son’s death. Well, one of the villagers has come forward to report that Thomas Aldridge”—she leaned forward and looked at Charlotte—“was seen in the woodlands, close to where Gavin was found after he’d perished.”
Charlotte’s smile froze.
“I hope I didn’t distress you with such alarming news. The constable says it was reported that he couldn’t have been poaching, because he didn’t have a rifle with him.”
Blinking, Charlotte wiped her mouth with her napkin.
The dowager went on, “Had you heard that, Miss Aldridge? About your brother? The constable has spoken with him. Has he said where he was on the day my son died?”
“Thomas Aldridge delivers the bread on Tuesdays,” Mr. Winters said, as if anyone there didn’t already know that. “He’s a friendly sort. I’m sure he can’t be involved with anything nefarious. Besides, nothing has been proven. The departed duke fell. Questions answered.”
The dowager was baiting Charlotte. What would the duke do? And if this were true, why hadn’t Charlotte said anything to Tristen?
“No, I haven’t heard that,” Beranger said. His surprised gaze cut to Charlotte and then to Emma.
“Nor I,” Emma added, her brow dipping in concern.
Tristen glanced at Lady Audrey beside him, who had gone as white as a ghost. Did she know something she wasn’t saying?
The young woman lifted her gaze from the cheese on her plate, her hand quivering. “N-nor I,” she said. “From what I know of Mr. Aldridge, he wouldn’t hurt a flea.” She looked for a moment at Charlotte and then glared at her mother. “And why bring that up now in front of his sister? The subject could have waited until you were alone with the duke. How mean-spirited.”
The dowager’s eyes were large. “Not mean at all. And how do you know Mr. Aldridge?”
“He’s been coming to Ashbury for years. I hardly go around with my eyes closed.”
Charlotte blinked several times and reached for her wineglass.
“Who reported that information?” Emma asked.
“The constable. He was here earlier. He has taken the task upon himself, at the duke’s request, to begin investigating anew.”
“That’s right,” Beranger said, finished with the cheese on his plate. “Some of the villagers in Goldenbrook seem to think Gavin’s death was intentional. People aren’t confident that the truth of the matter has been uncovered. It’s best to bring it all up again, let people have their say, and then put the dreadful matter to rest.”
Something was wrong, Tristen realized. Charlotte’s gaze flicked to her plate as she wrestled with something in her mind. Had Thomas been involved with some type of crime? Certainly not murder. Why were Charlotte’s eyes filled with fear?
Lady Audrey delicately cleared her throat. “Brightshire has a new duke and duchess, and I think a ball is in order so everyone can come meet them.” She glanced around the table.
The dowager’s mouth tightened. “A ball?”
“Yes. Since Father’s death, we’ve all gone around with long faces. How does that sound to you, Duke?”
His contemplation turned into a smile. “Emma, what do you think? Would you like that?”
Her gaze traveled between Tristen and Charlotte and then back to her husband. He was touched she’d think of them at a time like this. “Only if everyone can be invited. Gentry and countryfolk alike. And that you keep feeling better . . .”
“My word,” the dowager complained. “What will things come to next? I can hardly wait to see.”
“Fine, then. Saturday after next?” Beranger said. “Does that give you enough time to plan, Lady Audrey? You and my wife, of course.”
Lady Audrey nodded. “It does. But there will be no time to waste.”
A ball with gentry and commoners alike? Tristen wondered how that would play out. The expression on the dowager duchess’s face had him doubtful.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
What a night.” Emma sat at her dressing table, Carmichael having already left the room. The sheer peachy-pink silk nightgown her sisters had given her for a wedding present clung to her curves, making her feel desirable. Beranger’s valet had attended him in the adjoining chamber, and then her husband had joined her as soon as her lady’s maid had gone.
Would she and Beranger keep up with the valet and lady’s maid forever? She hadn’t thought so when they’d married, and then they had arrived at Ashbury. If she and Beranger said they didn’t need them, what would these people do for a living? Wouldn’t they already have gone off to London in search of a job in a factory or office if they’d wanted a different way of life? She had to keep reminding herself that there were more sides to an issue than just hers.
“I can’t abide your stepmother, Beranger. She looks for ways to be inhospitable. Until today, when I learned she’d fired Hyacinth, I’ve tried to be polite. I’ve been respectful and bit my tongue every time I wanted to respond. I’ve ignored her mean comments and turned the other cheek each time she found fault with me or you. That said, I’ll not let her degrade our friends just because they’ve not known the advantages she’s had. I won’t. And I’m so thankful you didn’t as well.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
Working a dab of perfumed cream into her neck, Emma searched out Beranger’s reflection in her mirror. He’d been very quiet after dinner. Was he angry? Was something wrong? When he didn’t respond, she turned on her bench. “Beranger?”
He was sitting very still in a chair by the fireplace, watching the flames.
“Beranger?” she said a little more loudly.
He started, as if just now hearing her. He didn’t turn his head. “Yes? And you were saying?”
Realization dawned. The container dropped from her fingertips and clattered to the glass tabletop. She rushed to his side, dropping to her knees. “You’re no better, are you? You’re dizzy again. Did the vertigo just return, or had it never really gone?”
She watched the rhythmic pulsing along his neck. “Beranger, tell me, please.” She scooted around in front of him so he wouldn’t have to turn his head. The chalky appearance around his mouth had returned.
She took his arm, and without needing any words between them, he allowed her to lead him to the bed. Once again, she pulled back the counterpane and helped him into the sheets. Less than an hour ago at dinner, when he’d been sharing his plans, he’d been fine. And now . . .
When he lay back, a whoosh of relief passed his lips. “Finally,” he said. “This does feel good.”
“Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner? And why on earth did you get up in the first place? I want to be able to trust you, my love, but I can’t if you don’t tell me the truth. How would you feel if the tables were turned?”
He tried to reach up to her face, but the effort must have been too much, because he let his hand fall back to his side. “I wouldn’t like it at all,” he said. “The vertigo is back with a vengeance. During dinner the wooziness was somewhat better, but not completely gone. I was so hopeful that that was the end of it.” His gaze left hers and went up to the high ceiling. “Who would have thought I could fly so fast without leaving my back?” His chuckle held no mirth. “It’s alarming.”
Frightened, having been thrown back into this nightmare, she paced the room. “I’ll cable in the morning for a new doctor. To London, and one highly thought of that doesn’t have one foot in the grave, or who knows the Northcotts personally. There is too much prejudice against you still around.” She chanced a quick lo
ok and found his eyes closed and his breathing steady. If that horrible stepmother were responsible, Emma would have her arrested. She just hoped she could figure it out before something worse happened.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
For Charlotte, staying in the beautiful bedroom on the same floor as the duke and duchess was a fairy tale. Five days came and went in the blink of an eye. Much to everyone’s distress, the duke had still not fully recovered. Sometimes he was clearheaded enough to sit up at his desk, eat in the dining room, or even walk around, but often he was reduced to remaining in bed. The periodic vertigo made him cranky, and the longer he had to stay in bed, the more he railed against his weakness. The duchess kept everyone away, still fearful someone was trying to poison him.
But Charlotte knew this visit to the castle would come to an end. The day after their first dinner, Tristen went back to managing the forests and birds. And this morning, Margaret Malone, the kitchen maid, had returned from the bakeshop in tears. She declared she’d work for Ethel Smith no longer. She’d arrived by way of the greengrocer’s cart that brought daily foodstuffs from Brightshire. When she got word of Margaret’s return, Charlotte had packed her bag, and the duchess had called up the carriage with instructions to take her to the bakeshop door.
Charlotte would be home within minutes.
Since the proclamation at dinner that Thomas was under suspicion for the previous duke’s murder, she’d fretted endlessly about her brother. What was happening while she’d been gone? And what was she to do about it? She’d seen Thomas in the forest that day, and clearly someone else had as well. She’d never believe him capable of murdering the duke. And yet she’d also seen Mr. Henderley that day—the day his limping had begun. Didn’t that mean anything? The questions twisted her insides into knots. She’d clear her brother’s name if she could, yet she didn’t want to create trouble for poor Mr. Henderley if he wasn’t involved. She was determined to pin Thomas down and finally get to the bottom of things.
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