“We are. Well, at least we were for a while. The letter she received is long and has captured her attention.” A none-too-honest smile appeared. “But I understand completely, and I think she’s just finished.”
Pencely stepped into the room. “Your Grace, you have two visitors waiting for you in the east drawing room. Should I show them in, or shall you go to them?”
Beranger stood. “Who?”
Pencely’s face grew red. “A Mr. Hill and a Mr. Brackston for the duchess.”
Emma surged to her feet. “Trevor! KT!”
Before Beranger had comprehended his wife’s outburst, she ran out of the room and was gone. He rose quickly, feeling a moment of vertigo, but he pushed through it and strode past a confused-looking Pencely, who had turned and was following Emma as well. He arrived in the drawing room in time to see Emma, and her yards of fabric, vault into the waiting arms of a man wearing cowboy boots and holding a tan Stetson, a cry of joy emanating from her lips.
Trevor Hill and his fellow cowboy, both longtime employees of the Five Sisters Ranch, stood just inside the massive doorway looking rumpled and tired, but as wide-eyed as Beranger would have guessed they’d be as they took in the sights around them for the first time.
“Oh my goodness,” Emma gasped, now back on her feet after giving KT an enthusiastic hug as well. “I’m so happy to see you both! Am I dreaming? If yes, please don’t wake me up.”
Beranger hadn’t seen such pure joy on her face since their wedding back in Eden. She fairly shook with excitement, her gaze drinking in each man, then coming to find him. As bad as it sounded, he felt hurt and a little put out.
“Look, Beranger, look who’s here. Can you believe it? I’m so happy I could cry. Why didn’t someone write and tell me to expect you?” She touched each on the arm and then let her hand fall away. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Both Trevor and KT wore clean chambray work shirts and new denim trousers that looked like they hadn’t seen an hour in the saddle. Their boots, clean and polished, looked strange on the elegant Moroccan rug. The men were like postcard versions of a cowboy, rather than grimy working ranch hands.
Pencely stood silent against the wall, taking in the sight of the Westerners. The footman Sleshinger appeared, his eyes wide. Beranger figured there were enough books about the West to have educated some of the staff, but seeing a real cowboy in the flesh would be a treat to most.
“Your sisters thought we should arrive without notice. That by now you’d be in need of a surprise,” Trevor said, his gaze still moving around the room. He gave her an apologetic look. “I couldn’t believe when we pulled up outside, Emma, but this is, well, er—I don’t know what to say.”
Emma laughed, and Beranger recognized the sound as true and pure, causing yet another stone to drop in his belly. She’d been putting on a good show until now, pretending to be happy at Ashbury—but the arrival of her friends caught her out. She’d clearly been miserable with homesickness all along.
The dowager duchess must have heard Emma’s screeched greeting, because she appeared from wherever she’d been. Lady Audrey stood at her side.
Emma swept her arm out. “Isn’t Ashbury grander than you ever imagined? Did you see the ancient swords hanging on the wall? And the proud suits of armor, England’s past come to life? Also the Northcott coat of arms?” She turned to him. “Beranger, come say hello.”
He nodded and stepped forward, pleased and surprised to see the men he’d gotten to know during his stay in Eden. He put out his hand first to Trevor.
Trevor enthusiastically shoved his palm into Beranger’s, a wide smile on his face. “Good to see you! I had my doubts when crossing that ocean whether we’d actually get here. That water got rough a time or two and, well—”
“We thought we were headed to Davy Jones’s locker,” KT finished for him. “Tossing our breakfast and supper day and night. Think I lost five pounds. It wasn’t a pretty sight, Beranger.”
The dowager’s sharp intake of breath made everyone turn and stare.
KT put out a hand, embarrassed now that he’d seen the other women. “I apologize for my colorful speech, ma’am and miss. Trevor and me are just mighty happy to be on dry ground. If the good Lord had wanted men to cross the sea, he’d have given ’em gills. Therefore, once I get home to Colorado, I don’t believe you’ll ever see me again—unless you make the trip to Eden yourself.”
Emma, still in a bubble of euphoria, laughed and then hugged the man. “KT, you always make me laugh. I don’t believe your colorful words made the dowager gasp, but the way you addressed Beranger. Everyone around here calls him Your Grace, or Duke, even Brightshire or Brig.”
She was still laughing and missed the look of confusion, and possible irritation, that passed between the ranch hands. Beranger grew warm under the collar. When he was in Eden, they’d been equals and friends—and now they were supposed to call him Your Grace? He understood their reluctance, but not one other person here would. Not his relatives or the servants. How many boats was he willing to rock? He and Emma were already doing many things differently. Was accepting the title fair if his only intention was to change the way his people had been doing things for centuries? Not at all.
But KT and Trevor weren’t his people. Yet as ordinary, untitled men, if they didn’t call him Your Grace, they would seem, to the British, uppity and arrogant. For a moment, he desperately wished he didn’t have to be a duke. Why couldn’t he just be plain, simple Beranger?
Shame for feeling anything but proud of his family’s history made him pull back his shoulders. He was the Duke of Brightshire, and he’d better begin to act in a manner befitting the station.
“I’m sorry if you’re not used to our titles here,” he said sincerely. “But that’s the way things are done in England. If you’re uncomfortable with Your Grace, just say ‘hey you.’ I promise to call you both Your Grace when we’re back in Eden.” He’d meant to interject a little humor, but he was the only one who laughed.
“Whatever you say,” Trevor answered, conspicuously leaving off any means of address.
Emma must have felt the tension, because she reached out and took Trevor’s arm. Introductions were made while the men, almost speechless, gazed around in wonder. “Now, sit down and I’ll ring for something good to hold you over until teatime in two hours. Dinner is served at eight, and I know just how much you both eat. What would you like now—pie, cake, or something more substantial? You can have anything you want, just say.” Her smile lit up the room. “I presume you came from Portsmouth?”
KT nodded. “Took a train and then hired a coach. Glad we speak the same language—or Trevor and me would’a been in a world a’ hurt, bein’ we don’t speak any other tongue.”
“You hardly speak English,” the dowager duchess said from a few feet away.
“What?” KT asked, confused. “That’s what I’m—”
“Never mind her,” Beranger said, smiling at his stepmother and lifting an eyebrow in warning. Life was too short to always have to be on guard over every word. “Now tell us what has brought you all the way to England? It must be important.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Emma feasted her eyes on Trevor and KT as they all settled into seats. Their kind and unassuming ways were so refreshing compared to the dowager duchess and Lady Audrey. They reminded her of Charlotte and Tristen, and the staff below. When they’d first arrived, she’d thought she felt a stiffness from Beranger, but she hoped she’d been wrong. The castle was large enough for one hundred friends to visit, let alone two.
Trevor nodded, his boyish face bringing her immense pleasure. “We’ve come by request of Blake and your sisters. To see what kind of livestock you have. Cattle and sheep. See the castle.” His face pinked, and he cut his gaze from Emma to the footman who had arrived with a tray of pastries, as well as a teapot and cups and saucers. He set it down in front of Emma, and she began to pour.
“Of course we can show you cattle and sheep,
and any other animal you’re interested in,” Beranger said from beside her on the sofa. “But in truth, I don’t think that’s why you’re here.”
“Maybe for breeding purposes,” Emma interjected, feeling defensive. “A new line to cross.” Why did Beranger seem so uncharitable?
Beranger smiled indulgently. “You came to check on Emma, at the behest of her sisters, and make sure she’s happy and well. There can be no other reason. And I guess I really can’t fault you. I would do the same. How long are you planning to stay?”
Emma turned back to her husband. “If Trevor says they came for ranching information, they have. He wouldn’t lie.” Keenly aware of how much enjoyment the dowager derived from any tension between her and Beranger, she wished her husband would voice his opinions later, after the woman got bored and left.
“Truth is, we are interested in your livestock. But Beranger”—Trevor snapped his mouth closed for a moment, his face turning red—“your husband,” he went on, addressing Emma tenderly, “is right as rain. We miss you at the ranch and around town. With the fall roundup completed, me and KT had time to travel. In our lives, we’ve only been as far as Colorado and New Mexico. Time had come for us to see some of the world besides our own mountains and pastures. Hope you don’t mind, Your Grace.”
Trevor emphasized the title, but not in a nasty way. He just wasn’t used to saying it yet. Feeling mulish for snapping at Beranger, Emma reached out and took his large, warm hand and caressed it with her own. He really was wise beyond his years. He looked so handsome, defending his place as her husband and her love, and his ability to keep her safe and happy. She felt loved and appreciated by him, but also by her sisters and friends back home. She was the luckiest woman alive.
When Beranger caught her look, his eyes warmed. “Not at all. The happiness your presence brings my wife delights me. In the future, I should make sure one or another of her friends or sisters are here at all times. She has enough of them to go around. I hope you’ll stay as long as you like. Get to know the country. Travel, even. Unless you’re needed at the ranch, you’re welcome to make Ashbury your new home.”
Unable to stifle her reaction, Emma buried her head in his chest, overwhelmed with happiness. She knew her mother-in-law was most likely repulsed at her display of affection, but she didn’t care. Some rules were meant to be broken, and this was one of them.
The men ate and drank, seemingly unaffected by the dowager’s skeptical inspection, as if they were goldfish in a bowl of water. Lady Audrey had relaxed and taken a chair close to their visitors, answering a question here or there put her way. Perhaps she and Lady Audrey would end up being friends after all. All they’d needed was a little time together—and an icebreaker like the ranch hands. Emma promised herself she’d make a point of seeking her out more often.
“Now, please put us out of our misery, Emma,” KT said, brushing scone crumbs from his mouth with his fingertips.
Trevor frowned and pointed to KT’s napkin.
No matter what, she’d not ask her friends to address her as Your Grace. Beranger had been born to the title, but she had not. Trevor and KT most likely wouldn’t be here that long. She didn’t want to cause ill feelings between them. She was still relishing the fact they’d ventured across the wide-open sea for her.
KT smiled his endearing smile, making Lady Audrey blush, then raised an eyebrow at the mess in his lap. “Please excuse my poor manners,” he said. “I was born in a barn—God’s truth. Amongst the calves and chickens, but I’ll work on doin’ better. Be a gentleman while I’m here. Anyway, everyone in Eden is dying to know what your father wrote to you. Amazing how your sisters’ letters sorta reflected how they turned out—in a loose sort of way, how they were born seems to have influenced their growing up. We’ve been taking bets in the bunkhouse. I say you, being the middle sister and never causing a ruckus, didn’t cause your mama any grief at your birth. And that John himself delivered you, not at home but somewhere in a town shop, since you like fashion, or maybe even at a church social.”
Now that KT had filled his belly, he was all smiles. Two years younger than Trevor at twenty-seven, he could be a flirt when he wanted but mostly kept to himself, unless he knew you well. A red bandanna tied around his neck enhanced his cowboy flair. His thick black hair, darker than Trevor’s walnut-colored locks, had a hat crease on his forehead that ran just above his ears all the way to the back of his head. She wondered what the staff thought of his clothes.
The younger footman, Allen Copley, had joined Sleshinger and Pencely against the wall, to stand at attention and listen. She’d bet some of the other servants might be listening from the other side of the door.
“Trevor thinks, since you were born the end of August, when the weather can run hot, maybe that year there’d been a drought and John and the town were concerned over the river running dry. He’d been out checking with his wife in the wagon and she went into labor and couldn’t make it home. Some say a long birth, some say short, some say outside, and some say at home. While others say . . .”
“Heaven’s saints alive, KT! Just let her tell us before we all die of old age!” Trevor interrupted, his face a cloud of embarrassment. He was closer to the dowager and could hear all the little distressing sounds the older woman had made, one right after the other, over the indelicate topic.
“I guess you’re right. She won’t want to know what Tank said.”
Trevor sliced his hand along his neck in a cutting motion. “KT!”
“What?” Emma asked, her eyes bright. “What did Tank say?”
KT’s face turned red. “You’ll have ta ask him yourself if you want to know.”
Trevor rolled his eyes.
Emma dreaded this moment. Beranger squeezed her hand, giving her courage. “I don’t know what the letter said. It was lost before I had a chance to read the contents.” Her eyes stung painfully, and she couldn’t meet their gazes. She felt wretched, so irresponsible.
“It was taken from our room,” Beranger quickly explained to their blank stares. The news had seemed to render them speechless. “She’d been waiting for a special moment to partake.”
Both KT and Trevor sat straight, all the humor and light extinguished from their eyes.
“Gone?” Trevor repeated in disbelief. “Stolen?” With narrowed eyes he glared at the staff against the wall. “John Brinkman was a good man, the best. I loved your father like my own,” he said to Emma. “This troubles me more than you could know. Have you told your sisters?”
She shook her head, unable to get any words past the emotion clogging her throat. Telling anyone in Eden was the last thing on earth she wanted to do. She couldn’t imagine the moment. There had to be a way to find the letter. There was no other option.
Trevor glanced at KT, who returned his stalwart expression. The two seemed to transform right before her eyes from her friendly ranch hands to battle-hardened warriors.
A rueful smile appeared on Trevor’s face. “Then I guess we showed up at the right time after all.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Unable to control her fear for her brother, and Aunt Ethel be darned, Charlotte darted through the kitchen and out the back door the moment the constable left with Thomas at his side. She needed some time alone, to think, to plan. Would she be able to find the knoll where the duke had died so she could look for clues, or was that a hopeless possibility?
“What’s wrong with you?” Aunt Ethel screeched to her retreating back.
Ignoring the question, Charlotte darted into the barn, frightening the poultry into fits and scattering the bunnies to the back of the hutch. Sherry spun in her stall, sticking her head into the corner. Grasping the ladder, Charlotte ascended into the loft and threw herself onto the hay.
The flutter of wings sounded as the first sob passed her lips. She froze, realizing that Tristen was there, with Romeo on his finger.
Embarrassed, she gulped down a breath to steady her emotions. She didn’t dare look up, but she
heard movement. Was he coming closer? Why hadn’t she guessed he might also be out here today? He came and went without bothering her aunt, spending an hour or two training the pigeon.
“Charlotte, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
He touched her shoulder, and she heard him sit in the hay beside her.
“Has your aunt hurt you in some way?”
Oh, Aunt Ethel would love to catch her like this with Tristen. No matter how innocent a situation, she always liked to think the worst.
Corralling her emotions, she sat up and wiped the tears that had spilled to her cheeks.
His gaze slowly perused her, but in a good way, a caring way, and she knew he was looking to see if she’d been abused. His attention and concern made her feel cherished, not an object of desire. He reached forward and brushed away a tear with his thumb. “Has this something to do with Mr. Winters?”
Mr. Winters? She hadn’t even thought of him since she left the castle.
“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
He couldn’t help. Nobody could. And when he found out what she intended to do, implicating his beloved uncle, he’d never speak to her again, let alone comfort her in the barn. She shook her head. “I can’t.”
To her surprise, he moved so close his leg brushed her skirt. The sight caught her attention, and she couldn’t look away. Why had her heart and attention been on Mr. Winters? It was as if her eyes had been opened and she saw Tristen now for the first time. He was so kind, so caring with her. He didn’t need to flirt, because there was never any doubt that his intentions were honorable.
“Tell me,” he said again, his voice strong, determined. “You’re not alone in your troubles. I don’t like the anguish in your eyes.”
Decision warred inside her. Should she tell him? Having someone to confide in would feel so good.
“It’s just that Thomas wasn’t the only . . .” Shocked she’d almost mentioned his uncle, she snapped her mouth closed and took a breath. “What I really meant is the constable has taken Thomas down to his office for questioning. I fear Kerrigan will pin the duke’s death on him. That Thomas will be blamed and then hanged.”
An American Duchess Page 24
