An American Duchess

by Caroline Fyffe

  Charlotte didn’t take offense. She knew his tactics. He’d try to put her off, change the subject—but this time she wouldn’t be distracted. He couldn’t dodge her now that she had him trapped in the loft. She eyed his strong jaw covered in dark stubble. Thick, dark hair hung over his forehead, matted with dried perspiration after his afternoon of chopping wood. He needed a bath. When she went in, she’d warm some water. Since their mother had died when he was small, Thomas was quite competent at taking care of himself. All he’d known was the pathetic substitute for love from Aunt Ethel and the love Charlotte and his cousins showered on him. But, being the only boy, he was the king of the household. And a handsome devil too. Someday he’d steal away a young woman’s heart and be off to make his own destiny. He’d told Charlotte many times that he wasn’t staying in the bakeshop forever.

  “I saw the duke on the knoll with someone who had a coat just like yours,” she said. “And then later, when I was leaving the forest, you were skulking away. I can’t help you if you don’t admit what you were doing.”

  “You’re wrong. You’ve mixed up your days.” Squatting, he put his hand slowly into the pigeon coop, and the frightened bird backed away. Thomas looked up at her, and his eyes darkened.

  She returned his scrutiny, unwilling to go inside until one of two things happened. One, he told her the truth, or two, Aunt Ethel came looking. This was the one place they could talk without fear of being overheard.

  “I told you somebody has come forward and pointed a finger. If they knew I’d seen you as well, things could be very bad. Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t need any help,” he replied. “I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t me. I was fishing that day and—”

  She gripped his arm, wanting him to know the seriousness of the situation. This time he could be in real trouble. Something he couldn’t talk his way out of. “I’ve been trying to speak with you about this since I’ve come home from Ashbury, but you seem to always escape out the door the minute I’m free. We’ll have this out now, Thomas. Why were you in the forestlands? You know that’s not allowed.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? I wasn’t anywhere near—” He stood, hunching, unable to straighten his six-two frame because of the low barn roof as he stared at her. “And even if I was, who says they can keep all the wildlife for themselves when they already have so much? Tell me that? I’ve never heard anything so stupid in my life.”

  “Thomas, who is they? Why are you so angry?”

  “The Duke of Brightshire—and all the lords over the lands! They have no right.”

  “They have every right. The law has been the same for hundreds of years. You can’t change that yourself. By entering the land, you’re breaking the law.”

  “You were poaching mushrooms. How many mushrooms does the castle need? Tell me that?”

  The open loft door let in a breeze, which cooled her temper.

  Thomas stuck his head out and sucked in a large lungful of air. The chasm between the aristocracy and the countryfolk couldn’t be crossed—just like Tristen had said. And yet Thomas was suffering. Perhaps he’d just realized all the limits his life in Brightshire held for him.

  “I saw you with my own eyes,” she said to the back of his neck as he gazed out at the darkened town. “You didn’t have your rifle, so I know you weren’t hunting. Did you see the duke that day? Was that you and him up on the hill?”

  Thomas leaned back inside, angrily seating himself on a wooden box. When had he turned into this full-grown, good-looking young man? His arms were thick with developed muscles, his legs strong.

  “You mean, did I kill him? No!”

  “What will you say when the constable questions you again? Because he will, you know. It’s only a matter of time.” Thomas looked so defiant, her heart trembled with fear.

  “I don’t know.”

  It was said so softly she hardly heard his response. She’d just begun to believe he was telling the truth—that by some miracle she’d made a mistake. Hadn’t seen him at all. But now this.

  “Tell me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Tell me. You can’t keep something so important to yourself.”

  “I was there, but I won’t admit that to anyone else but you. If they ask, I was at the river fishing.”

  “You have no one to vouch for that. Somehow, they’ll trap you and make the circumstances seem like you’re lying. You’ll hang, Thomas, and there won’t be any way for us to stop them. This is serious. I need to make you understand.” Did she dare mention seeing Mr. Henderley too? Maybe Thomas was in the woods with the gamekeeper, and they were doing something totally different than speaking with the duke. Why was Thomas being so difficult? Why wouldn’t he trust her? She didn’t want to drag Mr. Henderley into this if she didn’t absolutely have to.

  Below, the barn door squeaked open. Charlotte and Thomas froze.

  “Charlotte? Thomas?”

  Verity.

  “Are you up in the loft?”

  Verity had a fear of heights and rarely climbed the ladder.

  Charlotte came forward and peeked over the edge to see Verity looking very small as she stared up. The argument with Aunt Ethel today had taken its toll on her as well. “Yes, we are. I’m sorry to have been gone for so long. Is everything all right inside?”

  “It’s almost seven, and Mama is becoming restless. She’s mumbling about you neglecting the night baking. I’m frightened. You both best come in so there’s not another fight.”

  “We’ll be right there. Go inside and get ready for bed, and we’ll follow in one minute so she won’t know you came out to warn us.” Charlotte smiled, wanting to put Verity at ease. “Everything will be fine. Go on now, and thank you.”

  Without another word the barn door squeaked again, and silence surrounded them.

  Charlotte stared at her brother, whose expression was stony. She’d get no more out of him tonight. And yet he’d just admitted he’d been in the forest.

  What would happen to Thomas if the constable could prove it? Rather than settling her fears, as she’d hoped, this conversation had only increased them.

  She reached out and squeezed his hand, letting him know that she loved him no matter what. “I’m off,” she said. “I’ll heat some water for your bath.” She started for the ladder. “Don’t be long.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Oh, man boy, raised in shadows was,

  Returns now from across the sea,

  Thinks all is good, but does not know,

  Recompense is owed to me.

  Beranger, your pain I’ll see,

  And my revenge will be complete . . .

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Finally feeling steady on his feet, Beranger strode down the hallway in search of his wife. Six days had passed since he’d been forced to his bed, and he didn’t want to recall the maddening hours of contemplation he’d endured. He’d felt like a fool waiting for the spinning to stop. As long as he remained perfectly still, it was bearable. But as soon as he moved, even the tiniest bit, his world exploded with vertigo. The experience reminded him of his boyhood in the woods, gripping the thick rope he and his friends had attached to the large oak. Phoebe had been relentless, winding him up tight until he was far above the ground and then giving him a mighty push. Once released, he’d untwist at great speed. The only difference was then the twirling had been fun. Now the vertigo made him feel fifty years older than his age.

  And if that weren’t enough, the search for Emma’s letter had been fruitless. All it had accomplished was to alert everyone to the crime. All the servants were walking on eggshells, expecting to be accused. Creating such suspicion was unconscionable, but there hadn’t been a choice. He’d even called them all together and then searched their rooms. If the missing object had been anything else but Emma’s letter, he’d have waited to see if some other way of finding it would turn up. Emma was in utter despair, and he didn’t feel much better. But now th
at he was on his feet, he vowed to get to the bottom of things.

  “Your Grace.” Pencely met him in the hallway after he’d come down the stairs. “You’re up and about.”

  “I am. And I don’t want to talk about when I was not. I’m better. I don’t know what was wrong, but now that I’ve improved, I’d like to forget the whole incident,” he said as they continued walking. When they reached the great hall, open to the gallery upstairs, he stopped and looked around. His agitated feelings softened. “It’s difficult to believe I’m back at Ashbury. I never intended to be,” he said, glancing into the butler’s face. “I was content in America. But now that I’m here, I realize I missed Ashbury and Brightshire, even England.”

  “We’re all delighted to have you back. Ashbury lost its heart when you went away.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, about losing its heart. A home as grand as this should always feel loved. Thank you for saying that.”

  “It’s true.”

  He glanced about. “I’m waiting for a cable from Lord Harry, if not for the man himself. I had thought he’d have been back by yesterday. Any news of him?”

  Pencely shook his head. “Is there trouble?”

  “No. Far from it. You heard when I announced at the dinner that Ashbury Castle will be going into shipping if all goes as I hope. Well, it did. Lord Harry will be bringing the papers for me to sign. The process happened faster than I ever dreamed. A positive cash flow will be something new for this place, at least in a very long time.”

  “Another reason the staff is thankful you’re back. And with a business education from America.”

  “I was self-taught.”

  “Understood. But we’ve all seen the writing on the wall for some time, and especially so when your brother was spending faster than ten dukes before him combined. The staff has been worried about their jobs. Now they’ll breathe a little easier. The fortune you made is no secret.”

  “Good. And a fortune is being made in imports and exports. We may as well get in on the game. If the venture takes off, Emma and I have decided to give our employees a chance to invest in the shipping line, as a way to put their money to work. I don’t know many of the staff yet, Pencely. Maybe you can help me out.”

  Allen Copley, the young, fair-haired footman, came into the room and passed through, giving Beranger and Pencely a respectful nod.

  The butler’s face clouded. “That’s very generous of you, Your Grace. I don’t know what—”

  “Nothing yet. It’s all still speculation. I won’t allow anyone to invest until I’m sure it’s a sound venture, and that might take a year or two. While we get that venture rolling, I wonder, do some of the staff hanker for a different way of life? Would they prefer to move to London and obtain factory jobs or the like?”

  “Hanker?”

  “Sorry, my Western influences are showing. Long for, or pine for. Desire to leave Ashbury.”

  “I see. I couldn’t say for sure. Perhaps that’s something I can look into for you. I believe most regard working at Ashbury a privilege, Your Grace. As do I.”

  “Thank you. Please do. There are some changes we can make here to help them, if that’s their desire. Hire a tutor so they can further their education on their off hours, or Lord Harry could make inquiries for them with his contacts in London—help them find work. I would never want any of the staff to remain just because they had no other option. Tell them that. Collect ideas. Both Emma and I are adamant that positive changes will be made here under our tenure.”

  “Very good. I will do that directly.”

  He nodded his approval. “Did you happen to see which way my wife went? Now that I’ve been up and around, even if only in our rooms, she’s relaxed her vigil over me. It’s been a relief. I’m not one to be pampered and babysat.”

  “I believe she was on her way to the stable to talk to her horse, at least that was what I overheard her say. I haven’t seen her since.”

  “I’m off, then. Let me know if Lord Harry arrives.”

  With swift strides, Beranger headed toward the stable wing, telling himself the niggling worry he felt just now was stupid. He nodded at maids as he passed, and as he rounded a corner he realized he was rushing. Emma was fine, all was well. This was their home now. He couldn’t be frightened for her every time she was out of his sight. That was foolish. But—something had made him sick. He’d never admitted it to her because, one, he didn’t know anything for sure, and two, no reason to alarm her more than she already was. But the feeling was there. Inside. Demanding his attention. And he best not ignore the instinct that had kept him alive this long.

  Ahead, Lady Audrey stood at the window, gazing out. In her hand was a piece of paper. When she heard his footsteps, she turned, and it fluttered to the ground. Before she could bend, he swiped the note up for her.

  “Here you are,” he said as he handed it back. Several words in her distinct writing jumped out. Can’t wait to see you . . . Did the dowager know she had a secret alliance? Surely she wouldn’t be pleased.

  “Thank you,” his sister murmured, stuffing the note into a book she held, and avoiding his gaze. “You’re feeling better, I see.”

  There was no warmth in her tone. He couldn’t figure her out.

  “I am.”

  “Then I won’t keep you.”

  That was plain enough. “Yes, good day,” he said and left her by the window and her musings. He took a staircase down to the servants’ level, knowing a shortcut. Growing up in the shadows did have some advantages.

  He stopped at the laundry room and looked inside, where several laundresses went through mounds of linen each day, sorting, washing, ironing. There, at one of the ironing boards, was a face he recognized, glistening with sweat. Phoebe. He hurried in.

  “Mrs. Lewis! What a surprise. You never mentioned you worked at Ashbury.” A bruise on her face brought him up short. The mark was new since he’d seen her in the livery stable.

  She gave a dip of her head and set the hot iron she was using back on the stove. The room was stifling. “Your Grace,” she replied, lowering her eyes. “It wasn’t something I’d want you to know. With seven children, my wages help to make ends meet. I haven’t worked here long.”

  In the dark livery, he hadn’t gotten a good look at her—and perhaps that was the reason she’d stayed in the shadows. And why Leo wouldn’t keep their horses. Now he noticed her brittle hair, the mark on her face that could be nothing except a bruise, the fact that she didn’t look healthy but had sallow skin. So Leo hasn’t changed a bit.

  A feeling inside pushed at his lungs. Guilt? Responsibility? What? He didn’t like to think of her, a girl who’d loved the outdoors, working in this hot room all day long. “Do you like it?” Stupid question. Who could? The mark on her face had thrown him off. He hoped it hadn’t been made by her husband’s hand.

  “It’s work. And only half time. I’m not complaining.”

  They were drawing looks from the three other women. “No, I don’t think you would.” He glanced over his shoulder, angry at himself for feeling uneasy. Perhaps something could be done to this room to improve the working conditions. His stepmother had spent untold amounts of money beautifying upstairs when some of the money should have been spent down here. He’d take the subject up with Emma, and perhaps together they could think of ways to improve conditions.

  Phoebe raised her gaze to his, and memories came rushing back. “What brings you down this way, Your Grace? Only servants haunt these halls.”

  “Well, I used to haunt them all the time, and I know this way to the stables is quicker. I’m looking for my wife and was told she went to see her horse.”

  “The one she brought from America? That cost a pretty penny.”

  Her tone was off-putting. He guessed he could understand why. The amount could feed her family for a year. That must not be lost on Phoebe or any of the staff. Yet it saddened him if she thought money was all he cared about now. He and Phoebe had been the best of fr
iends when they were about six or seven, and even pledged their undying love.

  He almost said that Emma was an heiress in her own right, to justify the money spent, but stopped himself. He didn’t owe this woman, or anyone else, any explanations about anything. Still, he felt as if her poor luck rested on his shoulders. “Yes, she’s very fond of Dusty. She didn’t want to leave him behind.”

  Phoebe cut her gaze away to the large vats of hot water and the other three laundresses who had stopped working when he’d entered. He smiled, and they curtsied.

  “No. If she had a heart, she’d not leave him behind. That might break his heart—and hers.”

  “Phoebe—Mrs. Lewis.” He tried to smile, but the gesture didn’t feel right on his face. “I’d like to help you and your family,” he said quietly, surprised at the words as they came out of his mouth.

  “My husband wouldn’t like that,” she said. She slowly raised her arm and with reddened, rough hands, touched the bruised mark on her face. “He has as much pride as the next man, I’m afraid.”

  Beranger nodded. “I understand. I . . . well, I suppose I’d best be on my way.”

  As he continued on toward the stables, he thought about what he’d said to Mr. Pencely, about how happy he was to be back at Ashbury. It was true. But it was also true that, for the first time since his return, he felt inexplicably sad.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Emma hurried down the opulent staircase of Ashbury, feeling helpless. Lord Harry was still absent. She’d feel better once he arrived. She met Pencely in the great hall downstairs.

  “The mail, Your Grace,” he said, holding out a silver tray that contained a letter. How strangely things are done around here. I’ll never get used to being treated like a queen. I don’t like it in the least.

  “Thank you.” Joy exploded inside when she lifted the envelope. A letter from Katie! Finally, some news from home.

  “The duke was here asking for you. I told him I thought you’d gone to the stable. I hope I wasn’t wrong. Did you find him?”