A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  Felix hated tearing apart his father’s expression of love, but it had to be done. He was careful not to destroy any of the actual wood and had promised his mother that he would return it just as his father had built it. Theirs had been an unconventional noble family and his father’s work was a testament to that. Now it fell to Felix to ensure the safety of what remained.

  When the first board came loose it revealed a space between the wooden wall and the original stone structure of the house, a space large enough for a person of slender build to walk through. Taking a candlestick from the vanity, Felix peered into the darkness, but found nothing. He looked down at the dust covered floor expecting to see footprints, but there were none.

  “How can that be?” Marybeth asked in disbelief. “Where are the footprints? There must be footprints somewhere. I did not imagine seeing those eyes. I know someone was there.”

  “I believe you, but I am not at all certain what actually transpired here.”

  “Is it this way all through the house? With the passageways, I mean?”

  “I am not certain, but I fear the only way to ascertain the answer to that is to remove another section of the wall from elsewhere in the house. Perhaps in one of the other areas where our ghostly guest absconded.”

  “Oh, Felix, will that not ruin your beautiful home?”

  “Yes, it will in part, but your and Mother’s safety matters above all else. Walls can be mended.”

  Marybeth stood and studied his face for a moment. Feeling her gaze upon him he turned to meet her eyes. “You are a good man, and quite frankly not at all what I expected,” she admitted.

  “I feel the same about you.” He smiled down into her eyes fondly. “’Tis good, is it, not to meet someone of like mind?”

  “Yes, it is,” she murmured, blushing ever so slightly.

  Felix resisted the urge to reach out and caress the lovely pink hue of her cheeks. He turned to replace the board back into the wall and then faced her once more. “Shall we?” he asked lifting his tool in invitation to join him in removing segments of the wall elsewhere.

  “If we must, we must.” She nodded her head, then followed him out of the door toward her bedchamber where the ghost had last disappeared.

  Felix stood and examined the walls thoughtfully. Where to begin? He turned to Marybeth and asked, “Did you happen to see what direction the man went when he left your bedchamber?”

  Marybeth shook her head. “I was too frightened.”

  “Understandable, under the circumstances.” Running his hands over the wall, he began to knock at intervals, listening to see if the sound changed from one place to another.

  “Your Grace, will you be tearing apart the paper and plaster? Shall I have men standing by ready to replace the damaged wall?” the butler, Mr. Wheatly enquired, eyeing the Duke and his tools with trepidation.

  “That would be best,” the Duke agreed.

  “Would it not be better to use the opening in the dressing room and walk the length of the wall?” Marybeth asked as trepidatious as the butler.

  Felix smiled. The notion of damaging the house was causing both of them a great deal of anxiety. “The space between the walls is too small for a man of my build to pass through, and I will not ask anyone else to place themselves in that kind of danger.”

  “I could do it,” Marybeth offered.

  “Absolutely not,” Felix shook his head in refusal. “I will not risk your life to spare my walls. You do not know what or whom you will find in there, and I would not be able to get to you if you came across trouble.”

  “What if I could convince a smaller man, Your Grace?” Mr. Wheatly offered. “An armed man perhaps?”

  “I do not wish to risk anyone’s safety.”

  “Please, Your Grace.”

  Felix sighed. “Very well, but they must be armed.”

  “With a knife or a pistol, Your Grace?”

  “There is very little room to move about for even a smaller man. I fear a knife is all that could possibly be managed with any kind of ease.”

  “Oliver might be able to fit into the space. He is not as tall or broad as Your Grace,” Marybeth pointed out. “He is quick and nimble.”

  Felix nodded. “Oliver is an excellent choice. He is capable of defending himself were anything to happen.”

  Mr. Wheatly departed for the stables to fetch Oliver, while Felix and Marybeth moved back toward the Dowager Duchess’s dressing room. Felix removed the board once more and peered into the darkness to reassure himself that Oliver would not be walking into a trap at the very start of his explorations. When Oliver arrived, they had everything ready for him to enter the passageway.

  “I implore you, Oliver, to proceed with caution. We do not know what or who lies behind these walls,” Felix warned, as he handed the groomsman a knife. “Do not hesitate to use this in your own defense should the need arise. Do not be a hero and risk your own safety.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Oliver nodded his head in acceptance. “What shall I do if I encounter the intruder?”

  “If you can apprehend him safely then do so, but if you cannot, get out of there as quickly as you can.”

  * * *

  Oliver nodded at the Duke before disappearing behind the wall with the knife in one hand and a candle to illuminate the way in the other. It was a tight fit. He was not at all sure that he would make it very far, but he knew for everyone’s safety that he must go as far as he could. Easing his way between the two walls, he first looked to see if there was any sign of how the intruder had used the Dowager Duchess’s portrait to spy on Marybeth.

  He felt around on the inside of the wall and found two of the knotholes were at the right height. He pressed on them, but they did not move. He pulled on them, but they did not budge. Thinking for a moment he decided to twist one with his knife and it fell off into his hand. He stepped out to show the Duke what he had found.

  “That explains the wall, but what about the portrait?” the Duke asked, eyeing the hole in the wall. He picked up the portrait and held it up to the candlelight. Though there were not any holes in the painting, the canvas was thin enough to see the flame through the other side. “So that is how the intruder did it!”

  “The dirty scoundrel,” Oliver exclaimed as he shook his head.

  “Do you feel ready to go on?” The Duke asked frowning with concern.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Oliver agreed. Returning to the passageway. He moved though the opening, holding the candle out in front of him. The passage was long and dark with cobwebs that tangled in his hair. He prayed that the crawling sensation on his skin were not spiders but his imagination at play.

  Clutching the knife in his hand more firmly, he moved as stealthily as the small space would allow. He wished to apprehend the man who had dared to scare Marybeth. He was angry and felt the need to exact punishment upon the scoundrel. He knew the Duke would rather have been the one to enter the passageway and seek out justice on Marybeth’s behalf, but for the first time in his life, Oliver was glad to be a smaller man than the Duke.

  The passageway went on a long time before it came to a narrow set of stairs. Oliver had never seen such a narrow staircase and wondered if it coincided with the servant’s staircase at the back of the house or if it stood alone attached to the stone interior structure of the walls. He attempted to climb down the stairs sideways but found that his boots proved to be a hindrance. Unable to bend over to remove them in the small space he did his best to maneuver out of them but failed.

  Sighing, he stood thinking what to do for a moment. Standing on the tips of his toes, he tried again to descend the staircase. He did not like the unstable nature of his decent but managed to reach the bottom unscathed. When he placed his foot on the floor at the bottom of the stairs the floor gave way and Oliver found himself being plunged downward into darkness. He landed hard on the packed earthen ground beneath, debris from the floor above all around him.

  The candle fell to the earth beside him sputt
ering, but by some miracle managed to remain lit. Groaning, Oliver sat up and took the candle in hand. He lifted it up above his head and looked about him for any sign as to where he might be. It was certainly not any room within the manor house that he was familiar with. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of dirt. He moved forward attempting to find a door, but instead discovered that it was not a room that he was in, but a tunnel in the ground beneath the house.

  He looked up hoping to climb back out the way he had entered but found it to be impossible without the assistance of someone above. He considered yelling for help but doubted anyone would hear him, and he did not wish to advertise to the intruder that he was there if the sound of the fall had not already given him away. Instead, Oliver resigned himself to discovering where the tunnel led. There must be an entrance somewhere. Having lost his knife in the fall, he set off armed with nothing but a candle.

  Chapter 9

  “Oliver!?” Marybeth called down the length of the dark passageway. She was worried. Oliver had been gone quite a long time and was not responding to any of their calls or taps upon the wall. “Something has happened, Felix. I just know it.”

  “Perhaps I should go in after him, Your Grace?” Mr. Wheatly offered. As a man of slight build, he would have fit into the space, but his advanced years would not have served to be in his favor.

  “No, Mr. Wheatly. I will not send you into a situation when we have no way of ascertaining the outcome.” Felix stood frowning, staring into the darkness as if he could will their friend to return by sheer determination of spirit. “If he does not return soon, I will begin tearing apart every wall in this house until we find him.”

  “Let me go in after him,” Marybeth pleaded.

  “No, it is too dangerous. If anyone can make it in and out of such a place, it is Oliver.”

  “But what if he has been harmed?” Marybeth rung her hands anxiously in fear. “We cannot just leave him in there.”

  “As I said, I have no intentions of leaving young Oliver anywhere of the sort. He will return to us.”

  Marybeth studied his face and saw that he meant what he said. She had no doubt that he would tear his own house asunder before allowing anything to befall a single one of the people under his care. His devotion to his people was one of the things she admired most about him. She waited, anxiously pacing back and forth, tending to the Dowager Duchess as needed, then returning to fret and worry over the gaping hole in the wall.

  She strained to hear any sign that Oliver was alive and well but heard nothing. The Dowager Duchess called for the Duke and he left the dressing room to tend to her. Marybeth stood for a moment in indecision then grabbed a candle and slipped into the dark passageway. She knew that the Duke would be angered by her disobedience, but she could not stand and wait for another moment.

  Marybeth felt her way down the passage attempting to get as far as she could before the Duke realized that she had defied him. The space was filled with cobwebs and smelled of musty old wood. The air was stale and dusty causing her to cough. When the Duke yelled her name, she nearly jumped out of her shoes.

  “Marybeth! Come out of there this instant,” the Duke ordered, his voice filled with anger and concern in nearly equal measure. Marybeth considered not answering. “Marybeth, answer me or I will rip through this wall until I find you.”

  “Felix, I am well. I simply could not wait another moment. I am sorry that I have disobeyed your orders, but I am accustomed to making my own decisions unhindered by anyone, least of all a nobleman. I will return once I have ascertained what has befallen Oliver,” she called back to him unrepentant.

  “Marybeth, I forbid you to take another step!”

  “There is naught you can do about it, but to wait,” she reminded him.

  “Marybeth,” his voice growled in warning.

  “No,” she adamantly refused and continued on.

  Marybeth knew there would be repercussions to her actions, but she was not one of the Duke’s servants that he could order about at will. She was a healer, and he needed her, she on the other hand did not need him. Behind her she could hear the Duke rebuking her for her reckless actions, but she ignored him. She traveled until she could no longer hear his voice, paused to steel herself for whatever might lie ahead, then went on.

  Eventually, she came to the top of a set of very narrow stairs. Using her free hand, she hitched up her skirts as best she could given the tight space and took a tentative step forward. Even with the candle’s light she could still only see a short distance in front of her. She very nearly slipped and fell but managed to make it to the bottom step. Reaching out with her foot she expected to touch the floor, but instead felt only air. Lowering the candle, she discovered a gaping hole where the floor should have been.

  “Oliver!” She called down into the pit praying that he would answer back, but nothing came. “Oliver!” She called again her voice sounding frantic. Panic arose within her and she began to breath more quickly. She lowered the candle as low as she could possibly bend in the cramped space but was unable to see the bottom. “Oliver!”

  A banging sound rang out near her head and she jumped nearly falling into the hole. The sound came again and again and again until finally the Duke’s head could be seen through a new hole in the wall. He looked angry, but also relieved to have found her safe and sound. “Marybeth Wright…” he began but she cut him off.

  “There is a hole in the floor and no way past it. I fear Oliver has fallen down into the dark pit below and I cannot get an answer no matter how loud I call his name.”

  “It was your voice that led me to where you were,” the Duke informed her. “Can you see any sign of Oliver at all?”

  “No, but this hole looks as if it just happened. The splintered wood has not had time to grey with age. Oliver must be down there.”

  “Stand back and I will create a hole in the wall large enough for me to climb down into the pit,” he instructed Marybeth. Turning his face away from the opening, he spoke to the butler. “Mr. Wheatly, could you be so kind as to bring me a length of sturdy rope and a lantern?”

  “Right away, Your Grace,” Mr. Wheatly answered, and then Marybeth heard footsteps rushing in the opposite direction.

  The Duke began hacking away at the wall once more and made a place large enough for him to step through. He leaned over peering down into the hole in the floor. “Oliver!” he yelled, but no answer came. He turned his head to look at Marybeth. “Are you unharmed?”

  “Yes. As I said, I am well.”

  “You may not be once I am done with you,” he warned shaking his head in disbelief. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking that I did not wish to lose my dearest friend in all the world.”

  The Duke sighed. “I suppose I cannot argue with that. I too would have followed him if I could have done so. It appears I will be doing so now into that dark pit below our feet.”

  “I am going with you,” Marybeth informed him in a no-nonsense tone of voice. She was not about to bear any form of argument on the subject.

  “No, you will not.”

  “Either you allow me to go with you or I will jump into that pit right now and you will have no other choice.”

  “That would be very foolish.”

  “I care not,” she shook her head, then met his eyes in earnest. She had meant every word and from his place in the hall, he was in no position to stop her.

  “You are the most infuriating female I have ever had the pleasure to meet.” His eyes snapped with anger as they glared their message of disapproval into hers.

  “Of that, I am sure.”

  Her admittance caused him to gape at her, his mouth slightly open. “You readily admit to being difficult?”

  “Yes, of course. There is no sense in denying the obvious, is there?”

  “None at all,” he answered shaking his head in amazement. “You, Marybeth, are full of surprises, and yet somehow I have the feeling that this is only the be
ginning with you.”

  “Perhaps,” she nodded. Had she not been so worried about Oliver she would have smiled. She enjoyed challenging the Duke. It gave her a sense of freedom to rebel against his orders. She had had the epitome of freedom in the forest, a freedom she sorely missed and longed to return to at the earliest opportunity. She enjoyed the company of the Dowager Duchess and her son, but she missed the tranquil peace of the forest.

  For a brief moment, the idea of leaving the Duke saddened her, but she knew that nothing could come of it and so she pushed her feelings aside. She studied the features of his face drawn in concern for her wellbeing, and yet even in his anger and fear she still found a glint of admiration for her in his eyes. The thought occurred to her that with the Duke might lie something more than a solitary existence.