An American Duchess

by Caroline Fyffe

  “I’ll not be dictated to by the likes of you, Llewellyn.” Winters looked to Beranger for validation but only got more censure from his cousin.

  “Why don’t you just make things easy and agree, Justin. You’ve put a damper on the good feelings of a moment ago. Give your word. I know how curious you can be at times when you don’t have much to keep yourself busy. Go on, cousin. I’d like to hear your intentions myself.”

  Tristen thought he noticed the duke sway, just the tiniest bit. Was he covering up how he felt?

  Winters forcefully straightened his riding coat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you all, but yes, I give my word I’ll stay clear of Miss Witherspoon’s business. Though I only meant to help.”

  Charlotte spoke up. “Thank you, Mr. Winters. I understood your offer as help.” She lifted one eyebrow at Tristen. “Mr. Llewellyn’s reaction was uncalled for.”

  Tristen took himself back to his chair by the fire to lick his wounds in private. Was her head turned that easily? Had the kiss that had meant so much to him meant nothing to her?

  It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. Even if she did care for him, he was no good for her. Hadn’t he just proven it? He was no good for her when she was a baker’s assistant, and he was no good for her now that she had a pedigree. She deserved the new life she’d have, one where she could have all the beautiful blue dresses she wanted, dine on succulent ten-course dinners every night, and never have a care in the world beyond which gown she’d wear for tea. He was happy for her.

  His gaze strayed unbidden over to Winters, looking so smug as he chatted quietly with Charlotte and Emma. Yes, the man at her side could give her those things, but would he break her heart as well?

  If he did, there was probably not a thing Tristen could do about it anyway.

  The footman helped Charlotte from the carriage in front of Smith’s Bakeshop, a storm of emotions wreaking havoc with her stomach.

  Thomas, please be here.

  Whatever happened, she needed to make him and her cousins understand that she would never abandon them. Whether they were blood kin or not, rich or poor, they’d always be her family. Even Aunt Ethel too.

  Once Charlotte’s feet touched the ground, she turned back to the open door. Emma smiled at her. “Don’t be nervous. I won’t leave until you come out and let me know everything is all right between you and your aunt. If your mother hadn’t wanted you to search out your true family, she’d not have left the letter.” She sent a soothing smile. “Once Mrs. Smith has found a suitable replacement, you’ll return to Ashbury to stay with me. Don’t forget, we have the ball to look forward to in just a week!”

  Bolstered by the duchess’s words and kind offer, Charlotte went inside, greeting Verity with a hug. “Is Thomas around?” she whispered. She wondered if Verity even knew he’d gone with the constable.

  Verity cocked her head and nodded. “Of course. Still out back chopping the wood. Seems rather slow today.”

  Relief flooded her. So Thomas had gone and returned unnoticed. She hoped he’d put the constable’s questions to rest. “Thanks.” She squeezed Verity’s hand. “Now follow me, I have something to share.”

  When Charlotte and Verity entered the kitchen, Aunt Ethel set aside the rolling pin. “Where’ve you been, missy?” she asked sharply, then glanced at the rolled-out dough before her. “This is your job. Gallivanting around, I’d guess.” She began placing biscuit cutters over the dough.

  She’d best just get the news out as fast as she could. If not, she’d lose her courage. “There’s something I’d like to speak with you about, Aunt Ethel.”

  Ethel glanced up. She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you want a raise already, you thankless girl, because if that’s the case, I’ll have ta send ya packin’. You’ve only been on the payroll one day!”

  Charlotte came a few more steps into the room where she’d spent most her life. The small place felt stifling. “No, I don’t want a raise.”

  “What, then? I can’t read your mind.”

  “I ran into Mathilda in the woods today. She had some interesting things to say.” She watched the woman she’d considered her aunt very closely. “She told me who my mother was and where her people are. My name is Charlotte Witherspoon, and I hail from Essex.”

  Ethel blinked. Certainly, by her reaction, this was news to her. Behind her, Verity gave a small gasp.

  “I’m the granddaughter of a baronet named Sir Luther Hastings. My father was a sea captain who died at sea.”

  Aunt Ethel’s face transformed into a mocking grin. “My lady,” she said sardonically and then curtsied, even while holding a dough-covered star.

  “I’m sorry if this is distasteful for you. I’ve come to let you know I’ll be leaving to look for my family, but not until you can find a proper replacement. I had hoped you might be a little happy for me, but I can see that is not the case.”

  “You always were a big talker. And now I know why. No, you’ll not stay here. I’ve gotten used to your absence. Collect your things and go. Verity and I will get by. We still have Thomas. We’ve learned to make do without you.”

  That hurt. “No. I won’t do that. I’m not leaving until you hire someone else.”

  The butter-and-lard man stuck his head in the back door. “Hello in there,” he sang out happily. “Who’s bringing me the containers?” He glanced expectantly at Charlotte.

  Aunt Ethel smiled while holding her gaze. “If your daughter is still looking for work, Laurence, send her my way.”

  His smile faded. Over the years he’d seen the way Aunt Ethel had treated Charlotte. “Why?” His imploring gaze reached out to Charlotte, as if he’d been the cause of the trouble between them. He’d always been a nice man, and kind to her. A port in a storm. But paying jobs, in respectable businesses, were difficult to come by for girls and young women. Sandra would do well here, if she could put up with the abuse.

  Charlotte nodded to him. “That’s right, Mr. Butter,” she said, using the name he’d been given by the children. “I’ll be leaving soon. If Sandra is interested, she can have my job. I’ll be happy to train her.”

  A smile spread across his face. “You’re sure?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “Then I’ll tell her today, Ethel, Charlotte. She’ll come by as soon as I finish my rounds.”

  “It’s Miss Charlotte now,” Ethel said with a sneer and went for the containers. “Oh, and you can tell the duchess I won’t be coming to that ball she’s throwing. And neither will any of my relations.”

  Laurence’s eyes brightened. “I got an invitation too! We’ll be there.”

  To think she was no longer part of the bakeshop that had been everything to her only a short time ago felt odd. Frightening and yet strangely uplifting.

  Turning, she caught sight of Verity’s bittersweet smile, but in her eyes was great happiness, and Charlotte supposed it was for her—for her new life, and what was to come.

  But what was that, exactly?

  For a moment, she felt a pang, wishing she could share her uncertainty with Tristen, hear his advice. And yet she’d been taken aback by how resentful he’d seemed—at her change of fortune? Or simply at Mr. Winters’s resumed attentions? The memory of Tristen’s kiss in the loft mixed with the feeling of Mr. Winters’s touch on her palm, and she didn’t know what to think or whom she wanted. How could she, when her entire identity had changed in a day?

  The future, although exciting, felt uncharted. Charlotte would simply have to do her best, for that was all she could do.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Holy smoke, KT, would you stop that hummin’. You’re giving me a headache. I can’t think straight with you going on and on.” Trevor shot his friend a dirty look and continued along the gallery. Emma had housed them in adjoining rooms just down from her and Beranger’s suite.

  “I can’t get used to all this,” KT responded. “It’s darn hard to imagine being a duke or duchess. I feel like I’m living in th
e queen’s palace, not Beranger and Emma’s house.” He scratched his hatless head and stopped to gaze over the balustrade to the floor far below.

  Trevor, still striding down the hall, looked over his shoulder and backtracked when he noticed his comrade was no longer by his side. Leaning on their forearms, they watched the preparty preparations below.

  “Tomorrow’s the big celebration and we vowed to ourselves we’d find John’s letter before then,” KT complained. “It’s been a week since our arrival, and we haven’t found a clue. Our watching the staff has brought us nada.”

  “Except gaining a few pounds from hanging around the kitchen.”

  KT nodded. “I hate to say it, but I’m discouraged.”

  “I know how you feel,” Trevor agreed. “We haven’t been looking in the right places. No one would leave that letter in their room for fear of being found out. We gotta use our think boxes. Dig deeper. Emma doesn’t say so, but it’s weighing heavy on her mind. Her sisters will be plenty upset when they hear.”

  Two floors down, the footmen hustled this way and that, carrying flower arrangements, extra chairs, and who knew what else. Trevor preferred a spur-of-the-moment shindig with a campfire and a bottle of whiskey, not crystal punch bowls and tables of dainty food that looked too pretty to eat. That kitchen had been running full steam ahead since Wednesday. It was a wonder to see.

  “Think boxes, huh?” KT responded as below them Lady Audrey came into view unaware she was being watched from above. Her mother appeared at her side, and they talked for a few minutes and then ambled off. “If you were Lady Audrey, and you pilfered your new sister-in-law’s letter, where would you stash it?”

  “Pilfered?”

  “Yeah, I’m expanding my vocabulary—or at least tryin’.”

  Trevor chuckled. “First off, Lady Audrey is too pretty to do such a thing. But, for the sake of the argument, let’s keep riding down the path you’re blazing . . .”

  “Fine, so tell me, where’s the last place you’d expect for Lady Audrey to hide a letter?”

  “I don’t know,” Trevor said thoughtfully. “In the forest? Or the town? But they’re too far away for a quick deposit.” He turned and stared at KT.

  “What’re you thinkin’?”

  “I’ve never heard her talk about riding, or liking animals in particular.”

  KT gave an exaggerated head nod. “Let’s go.”

  Fifteen minutes later, and after several wrong turns, Trevor stood at the stable entrance. Fifty stalls lay before him, twenty-five on each side. “You take the left and I’ll take the right.”

  KT looked dubious. “What’ll we say if someone wants to know what we’re doing?”

  “That we’re thinking of building a stable like this when we return to Eden and want to check out the structure.” He lifted a shoulder. “I know it’s weak, but everyone thinks we’re loony anyway. Our looking in every stall will just confirm their suspicions. But be careful. These skittish horses aren’t our quiet cow ponies. Don’t get kicked in the head.”

  With a nod, KT opened the first stall door and clucked to move the gelding back. The two men worked quickly and systematically, running their hands along the top boards and checking around the water and feed buckets hung on the wall. They didn’t mess with the bedding, because it would have been changed several times since the letter had gone missing.

  An hour later, covered in grime and sweat, they stood together at the other end of the corridor, still empty-handed. The stable hands working hadn’t said a thing but gave them strange looks whenever they walked by.

  “Damnation, Trevor. I thought we were onto something. I don’t want to give up, but by now John’s letter must be long gone. And that’s a pure shame, because Emma’ll never get over losing it.” KT swiped his shirtsleeve across his sweaty brow.

  With their shoulders slouched in defeat, they started back when Trevor pulled up. “What’s that sound?”

  “Birds?”

  They turned together and ascended the short stairwell and came upon the large pigeon cage. Birds fluttered away, and others tipped their heads and peered at the cowboys through beady black eyes.

  KT sneezed, grimacing at the cacophony of noise and feathers. “I never did like birds.” He turned to leave.

  Trevor caught his arm. “Since we’re here, let’s make a fast search, then we’ll get back to the castle.”

  The row of small, dusty carrying cages on a low shelf looked as if they hadn’t been touched in years. Trevor went down the line, lifting each. At the end, he exclaimed, “Looky here. I wonder what these are.” He picked up not one letter, but a stack of small envelopes. “It’s not the letter from John, but what?” Without worrying about propriety, he slipped a finger under one flap and pulled out the card inside. He read aloud,

  The Duke and Duchess of Brightshire

  request the honor of your presence at a ball given in celebration of all the inhabitants of the region.

  Saturday, the fifteenth of October, at seven o’clock in the evening.

  Trevor jerked his gaze to KT. “What’s this about?” He turned the envelopes over and thumbed through. “Lord this and Countess that.” He quickly went through the fifteen envelopes. “The invitations to the ball.”

  KT frowned. “Not all of ’em. The stack I saw was much taller than that. But there’s no common folk named on any of these envelopes. Seems like they’re only the ones to the fine folks around here. All the lords and titled people. Someone didn’t want Emma’s first event to be a success. Who would do such a thing?”

  “The dowager duchess,” they said in unison.

  Trevor’s expression grew hostile. “What can we do? The party’s tomorrow. These manors and estates must be scattered all over the place, and we have no idea where they are. Even if we split up, we’d never reach ’em all in time.”

  “We could if we each took five,” KT responded, making a fist.

  “Your division is off. There’s only two of us, not three. You need to go back to school.”

  “We’ll round up that young man, Llewellyn. He should know where the estates are, and his uncle could help—being he’s lived here all his life. Any other house staff might be missed if we involve them. We need to get to Llewellyn fast—and keep Emma in the dark. She’d be crushed if she found this out.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  With maps in hand, Tristen looked uncertainly at the cowboys atop the tall thoroughbreds tacked up with English saddles. Trevor’s gray mare wore a Pelham bit with double reins, KT’s black gelding a snaffle with a single rein. Dressed in their Western clothes and cowboy hats, they were an odd-looking sight.

  The wide-eyed horses pranced nervously beneath their unfamiliar riders. Not wanting to alert the duchess or the duke to the problem at hand, Tristen had agreed that distributing the fifteen undelivered invitations surreptitiously was up to them.

  Feeling doubtful, Tristen held the reins of his own horse, which he’d yet to mount. “So you understand where you’re going and who you’ll deliver the invitations to at each place?”

  Trevor and KT both nodded. Their horses, unaccustomed to the long length of their riders’ stirrups or the way their weight was distributed in their saddles, pulled at their reins and swished their tails, feeling something wasn’t quite right.

  “Don’t you worry about us,” Trevor answered an uncertain smile on his face. “We’ll stay aboard, but we can’t guarantee the reception we’ll get when we arrive. If these people are anything like the dowager duchess, we may get run off their land before we get a chance to open our mouths. And if we are given the chance, will they even listen—and attend? We’re not givin’ ’em much time.”

  “That all depends on how persuasive you are, my friends.” For the sake of the new duchess, he hoped they were honey tongued and persistent.

  KT’s gelding half reared and then shook his head when his front feet were back in the gravel. He laid a steadying hand on the horse’s crest. “Whoa, now, big fella. I
don’t like this any more than you do. I’d feel better atop Dusty, even if he is as old as sin. At least then my neck might not get broke.” He reached down and felt the saddle. “I feel like I’m sitting on a tortilla.”

  I hope I don’t get these men hurt. They’d opted not to use the familiar quarter horse in case Emma went to the stable and found Dusty gone.

  Trevor glared. “You’ll do fine, KT, quit your fussin’. Once you get out and warmed up, the two of ya will move like a well-oiled combine.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s right after I land on my head. My gosh, it’s a long way down. Good ol’ Eden is feeling like a long-lost memory. I hope I make it home alive.”

  Tristen mounted. “We’re wasting time. Your maps?”

  Both men held up the hand-drawn maps.

  “Good luck, gentlemen. I’ll see you back here in a few hours. May our effort meet with success. And please, try to be careful. The duke and the duchess will have my hide if something happens to you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Emma stood in the center of the ballroom, amazed at all the people who had arrived to welcome Beranger home as the Duke of Brightshire. And to meet the new duchess from America. Most of those present were visiting the castle for the very first time. The entire staff had done a splendid job decorating the large ballroom, and the kitchen help had outdone themselves with tables of food that looked as beautiful as the morsels tasted. The dowager looked as gorgeous as ever, and Lady Audrey was all smiles.

  Emma found the fact that Lady Audrey was often spotted swirling very close to the group of common folk from Brightshire quite strange. From the way the dowager had protested a ball that included commoners, Emma would have thought both Lady Audrey and her mother would stay close to the gentry, giving the others the cold shoulder. But that wasn’t the case with Lady Audrey. More than three times, Emma had seen her smiling toward a group of Brightshire citizens standing in one corner with their punch glasses in hand. Amazing!