by Kit Morgan
“Of course. Enjoy the rest of your tour.” With a parting nod, he returned to his chair and his book.
“Shall we?” Aldrich steered her out of the room. As soon as he closed the door behind them, he felt her stiffen. “Is something wrong?”
“No, I’m … oh, never mind.”
“Is it something I can help with?”
She sighed. “It’s just that I hate being told one thing, then finding out …”
“I understand,” he said, cutting her off. “But I’m sure Duncan will sort it out. He’s a good man, Miss Phelps. You needn’t worry.”
“I can’t help it. I came all this way and it’s something I’ve dreamed of doing for a long time.”
His eyebrows shot up. “How long?”
“Years.”
He patted her hand. “I see, but not to worry. Come, let’s see the fencing room.” He led her down another hall and up two flights of stairs.
“Whew, you get a warm-up just getting there,” she said with a laugh.
“Warm up?”
“You know, get the blood flowing before a workout?”
“Oh, yes, I suppose.” He smiled. She was delightful. But if becoming a tutor was a dream come true for her, she’d certainly come from a lower station than his. She wasn’t a good match for him to begin with – he’d already told himself that much.
Yet he couldn’t stop his fascination for her from growing. He wanted to ask her about America, how she lived, why she was so outspoken. Were all American women like her – the ones from her class at least? He doubted anyone from the American aristocracy (such as it was) spoke like her, or even the gentry. Did that make her a peasant? It was possible …
“Do you fence?” she asked when they reached the room.
“Yes, though it’s been a while.” He opened the door and ushered her inside. “Here we are.”
She glanced around in wonderment. “Wow.” She went to the display of sabres and foils and touched one.
“Careful – they’re sharp.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’re swords, of course they are. But don’t they fence with the kind that isn’t?”
“In early training, yes. These are for advanced swordsmen.”
She smiled. “Have you fenced with these?”
“Of course.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can you show me?”
He arched an eyebrow. But what could it hurt? “Very well.” He went to the display, picked up a sabre and looked at her again. She was grinning now, eyes full of curiosity and wonder. To her this must all be new.
Aldrich fought against a frown. She was so intriguing, yet so wrong for him. Pity. He sighed and, motioning her back for safety’s sake, began to show her a few simple moves. If only he could cut away his fascination for her as easily.
Chapter Ten
Several days later, Aldrich and Duncan met in the duke’s study after dinner to discuss business. “I think the way you’re handling your estate should make you a profit in no time,” Duncan said. “I’m glad you’re finally doing something with that bottomland.”
“I know. Thank you for your advice.”
“Speaking of advice …” Duncan swirled the brandy in his glass. “Might I give you some concerning Miss Phelps?”
Aldrich sighed heavily. “Don’t worry, I’ll not entangle myself.”
“Entangle?” Duncan said in surprise. “Is that what they call it these days?”
“We’ve only just met, my friend,” Aldrich reminded him.
“And yet there is an attraction.”
Aldrich stood, went to a sideboard and poured himself another brandy. “It’s nothing.”
“Is it?”
Aldrich faced him. “Might I inquire as to your interest in the matter?”
Duncan shrugged. “I have no particular interest. I do have observations.”
Aldrich scoffed and took a sip of brandy. It burned his throat, filled his senses, warmed his belly – and loosened his tongue enough to ask, “What observations?”
“Fishing the first day, for instance. Walks, riding in the afternoons, talking longer than needed whilst passing in the hall …”
Aldrich smiled. “You should have seen her and Emsworth by the stream, trying their best not to fall in. I thought several times that Emsworth would take a tumble …”
“Don’t change the subject, friend. We’re not talking about Emsworth, we’re talking about you.”
“I thought we were talking about Miss Phelps.”
“Her as well.”
“Did you have a chance to speak with her about her position?” Aldrich asked.
“I did. We’ve figured things out.”
He was changing the subject again, he knew, but it helped keep the guilt at bay. He’d told himself he wouldn’t spend any more time with her, yet he’d invited her riding yesterday afternoon and she’d accepted. It was a joy to watch her ride a horse for the first time, and he had to admit he wanted to get to know her better. But if Duncan noticed his attraction, had he noticed anything else?
Aldrich crossed the room and retook his seat. “So tell me, friend, what other observations have you concerning her?” He sounded irritated but didn’t care.
“Only that the attraction is mutual.”
Another scoff. “I’m not blind, you know.”
“No, but you’re also not the smartest when it comes to women,” Duncan pointed out with a smile. “If you were, you’d have married long ago.”
“Who?”
“I can think of several prospects, none of which matter now. What does is that you’re not getting any younger, and you’re thinking about it.” Duncan set his brandy on the small table between them and leaned forward. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Aldrich drained his glass. “You’re seeing things.”
“I’m seeing what’s there.”
Aldrich rose from his chair, snatched his and Duncan’s glasses off the table and went to refill them. He’d decided not to ask Duncan how much he knew about Miss Phelps the day before, hoping it might curb his growing attraction. But now this … “The thought of a wife holds some appeal, I’ll grant. But Miss Phelps …” He poured a small amount into each glass. “She’s hardly one to take to London during the season.”
“I’ll grant she’s rough, but so was I when I first took over this estate. And Cozette … well …”
Aldrich laughed as he returned to his seat and handed Duncan his glass. “Your wife is a beautiful little savage – untamed, unspoiled, unboring. You’re a lucky man to have such a woman.”
“Exactly my point. You don’t criticize my choice of a wife; you admire her. Miss Phelps may not be cut from the same cloth, but she’s as unconventional a woman as my Cozette. What say you, Aldrich?”
Aldrich stared at him in shock. Was he suggesting what he thought he was? “Miss Phelps? Are you bloody mad? She’s … well, she’s …”
“Untamed, unspoiled, unboring?”
“I didn’t say that – and don’t put words in my mouth, Sayer. I’ll only spit them back.”
Duncan laughed. “You’ll do no such thing because you know I’m right. You want something different, Aldrich, I know you do. Ever since you were introduced to my wife, you began searching.”
Aldrich took a swig of brandy. “How would you know? You never go to London anymore.”
“There’s enough gossip about to reach even Stantham Hall. Remember, a lot of that tongue-wagging is about my wife. If other rumors are tossed in, they come to me as well.”
Aldrich sighed again and rested his glass on his knee. “I do want to marry.”
“Is that the brandy talking?” Duncan asked in all seriousness.
“If it is, in vino veritas.” No sense hiding at this point – Duncan always managed to wheedle the truth out of him. “There’s something strange about that woman.”
Duncan leaned forward. “How so?”
“I don’t know. It goes beyond being rough about the edges, but I can�
��t put my finger on it. It’s like she’s from a foreign land.”
Duncan smiled and quickly took a sip of brandy. “She is from a foreign land …”
“I don’t mean America,” Aldrich interrupted. “I mean as if she’s from Ceylon or Japan or the Russian steppes, like she sees everything with a different eye. She’ll be going along and suddenly say things that I can’t even comprehend. I don’t know where she gets it.”
“Perhaps you should find out.”
“And how am I to do that?”
“Simple. Spend more time with her.”
Aldrich rolled his eyes. “You’re the most infuriating sort of matchmaker, Sayer. Why not have me escort her to a ball?”
“Excellent idea.”
“What?! Are you out of your bloody mind?”
Duncan smiled slyly.
Aldrich was about to take another sip of his brandy, but stopped. “What have you done?” he asked warily.
“Not I. Cozette decided she wants to have a house party.”
Aldrich groaned. “Oh, bollocks.”
Duncan sat back in his chair. “Don’t worry, I’ll not allow her to be armed this time.”
Aldrich smirked. “Though the last time was entertaining.”
“That was long ago,” Duncan reminded him.
“Yet the ton still talks about it.”
“Let them. The party is in seven days. I’m charging you with getting Miss Phelps ready for it.”
“Me? What am I, a nursemaid?”
“No, an instructor,” Duncan said sternly. “Miss Phelps tutors my wife. You are to tutor Miss Phelps.”
Aldrich stood. “Great Scott, you are out of your mind.”
“What’s the matter? Afraid you can’t do it?”
“Not at all. Of course I can.”
“Good, I’m glad you agree.”
“I didn’t say I would!”
“But you like her,” Duncan said simply.
Aldrich snapped his mouth shut. He did like her – and the thought of poor Miss Phelps dealing with some of the ton made his chest tighten. They’d destroy her. “Fine, I’ll do it.”
“Good man. This is a job for a knight, you know. I need a fine warrior to protect my wife’s tutor.”
Aldrich shook his head in resignation. True, he came from a long line of soldiers sworn to protect the nobility, but as an instructor in decorum to Miss Phelps?
Duncan raised his glass. “To Her Grace’s house party.”
Aldrich slowly raised his own. “May we survive it.” They clinked glasses, and he hoped he wouldn’t regret this. He desperately needed another brandy – or several.
“Do I what?” Tory asked in surprise.
“Dance,” Sir Aldrich said with a smile. “Kippers?”
She looked at the silver serving tray, full of oily-looking fish split and butterflied head to tail. She could handle trout and tilapia, but she wasn’t sure about this. “No, I don’t think so.” She picked up a pair of tongs and served herself some bacon instead.
He watched her as he put several kippers on his plate. “The duchess serves some of the best jam in the county. Do try some.”
Tory took some eggs and a piece of toast, went to the table and sat, waiting for him to join her. “Where are Their Graces?”
Aldrich laughed. “Gone for a morning ride, I suspect. Hunting, most likely.”
“Hunting? What is there to hunt around here?”
“Quail, pheasant, perhaps a wild boar.”
“A boar!”
“Yes, of course. They make a fine feast.”
“Well … so I’ve heard, but I’ve never thought to hunt one. It’s much easier to get meat at the supermarket.”
“Super … market?”
She scrunched up her face in surprise. “Now, I know you have them over here.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Tory laughed. “Well, you’ve learned something new. Let’s go to the garden after breakfast, shall we?”
He smiled broadly. “I’d much prefer we go to the ballroom.”
“This place has a ballroom?” she asked as she buttered her toast, then nodded. “Oh, of course it would, wouldn’t it?” She glanced around before whispering, “By the way, what’s with the lack of electricity in this place? There’s not a light switch in sight.”
Aldrich’s face went blank. “I beg your pardon?”
She closed her eyes in frustration – this again? Didn’t these people know when to quit? “The duchess isn’t here. I don’t see why you keep up the act.”
“Act?”
“Yeah, your act – your ‘I’m an English gentleman from way back when’ act.”
His head slowly tilted to one side as his brow knit. “Miss Phelps, whatever are you talking about?”
“That!” she pointed at him. “Like you stepped out of a history book or something. It’s the 21st century! Join the party.”
He stared at her, stunned. “You are a very strange woman, do you know?”
“I’ve been called worse,” she muttered, thinking of Benny. She’d been here nearly a week and wondered what shape the house was in. She really should call to see what he’d been up to, but she hadn’t seen a telephone any more than she’d seen a light switch and her things had been taken away. Heaven forbid she whip out her cell phone and disrupt the duchess’s fantasy. Maybe she could get a ride into the nearest town and find a pay phone. “So where were you keeping yourself yesterday?”
“Here and there. I escorted the duke on his rounds. It can take several days to visit all of his tenants. We’ll resume tomorrow.”
“Oh yes, I forgot. Landlord and all that. Keeps him busy.”
“How are lessons with the duchess?” he asked, taking a bite of fish.
“Great. Strange, though.”
“What is?”
“The way her mind stops, like it can’t remember how to make her mouth work. I’ve never heard of that before.”
“She was mute for years, I understand. Since she was a little girl.”
“Yes, she said she was four when she lost the ability to speak. Some sort of trauma.”
“Did she share with you what it was?”
“Not yet.” Tory saw his eyes flash – maybe he knew. But she wouldn’t ask. No, it was better for the duchess to tell Tory herself. “So what about this ballroom?”
He cut into a sausage. “The duchess will be having a house party in six days’ time.”
“A house party? What’s that?”
He stopped slicing, looking bemused. “Don’t tell me they don’t have house parties in America?”
She laughed. “Well, they do, but not the kind someone like you would attend.” Not the kind she preferred to attend either – just a mob of people getting drunk or stoned or looking for mindless hookups.
He arched an eyebrow, which only increased her amusement, then resumed his slicing. “This particular house party will last several days. Guests will arrive as early as Thursday and leave the following Monday. It’s a small affair, but there will be people from London attending. It should be a grand weekend, what with the carnival in the village besides. There’s always one this time of year.”
“Really? Sounds like fun.” She attacked her eggs.
He watched her eat a moment and smiled. “You’re not afraid to be yourself, are you?”
She stopped chewing and swallowed. “What do you mean?”
He stabbed a couple pieces of sausage onto his fork. “You wear no social pretenses. You are what one sees.”
“We have a saying in America – ‘what you see is what you get’.”
He mulled that over as he chewed and swallowed. “I like it.” He cut another sausage. “Do you dance?”
“You already asked me that,” she pointed out, reaching for the small crystal bowl of jam. “This looks yummy.”
“Indeed it is. The duchess’s jam.”
“Is there anything this woman doesn’t do?” She put a healthy doll
op on her toast and began to spread it. “Oh, and yes, I can dance. You?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you ask?” She took a healthy bite.
He smiled. “There is always a dance at a house party. How is your waltz?”
Tory froze. Oh, that kind of dance. For a moment, she’d forgotten which century the duchess chose to live in – and that flossing or the Running Man wouldn’t fit it. “Um, a bit rusty …”
He smiled. “Then we must endeavor to get in some practice.”
“Duncan, how can you be sure?” his wife asked as he took her in his arms. They were in the library and he had her all to himself for a few moments.
“She’s not left the estate,” he answered. “Thus, she should be none the wiser. Now kiss me.”
Cozette put her finger against his lips. “She is not … stupid. She is going to figure it out.”
Duncan closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “My dear, sweet wife, even if she does figure out when she is, she’ll be no worse off than you or I when we found out.”
“But we found out in our own time. And you fainted.”
He glared at her. “I thought we agreed never to bring that up.”
“In public,” she countered.
He fell into his favorite chair, pulling her onto his lap. She giggled and smacked his arm. He traced her jaw with his finger. “Is she really helping you?”
“Yes. Lany says the …” She licked her lips. “… materials he gave her will help me speak better.”
“I hope so. Because if by some cruel twist of fate this doesn’t work, I at least want you to get some benefit.”
She smiled as she put her arms about his neck. “I love you.”
He smiled back. “I know.” He kissed her, long and slow.
Twenty years before, Duncan had been a simple pig farmer outside the little town of Clear Creek in Oregon Territory. Then he and his brother Colin were falsely accused of cattle rustling and thrown into prison, turning their world upside down. It got flipped again when he was freed (his stepbrothers were the real rustlers) again when he found he was the heir to the duchy of Stantham, and yet again when he was told he had to marry to inherit the duchy. The only eligible woman near Clear Creek was Cozette, the (supposedly) mute daughter of a French fur trapper.
