A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

  * * *

  Marybeth Wright is the most infuriating woman I have ever met! Felix stood watching the men repair the hole in the dressing room wall, unable to remove the woman from his mind. She could have been killed!

  Felix shook his head in frustration. He had no actual control over Marybeth or her actions as she was not one of his servants or a tenant, and yet he felt that he should have some say in restraining her reckless behavior as she was residing under his roof, even if only for a brief time. He had grown quite fond of her in the short time since she had been at Arkley Hall and he could not countenance the thought of losing her in such a horrific fashion.

  The man could have murdered her in cold blood right inside of my very own walls and I could have done naught to stop him.

  Felix knew that Marybeth had grown up in the forest with no other authority but her grandmother. He also knew that with the recent loss of Abigail Wright, Marybeth would be feeling vulnerable and alone, causing her to act out in ways that were less than sound. For this reason alone, he had not unleashed his wrath upon her for her blatant disobedience.

  Felix was reminded of how he had felt when his father had died, leaving his only son to rule the dukedom. It had been exceedingly difficult for Felix emotionally to overcome the feeling of emptiness his father’s absence had wrought, but his mother had been instrumental in helping him to regain his internal balance. Marybeth had no such person remaining in her life.

  Perhaps we could offer a similar safe haven for her here at Arkley Hall, were we to apprehend the intruder and bring about an end to his reign of fear.

  He found that he liked the idea of having Marybeth around for an extended period of time in spite of the anxiety she had thus far caused him. Her strength and courage were an amazement to him. His admiration of her skills as a healer had grown to encompass more of her attributes as well. She was beautiful to be sure, but what he admired most was her intelligence and spirit. As much as he chastised her for her brazen disregard of her own safety, Felix secretly admired her for it.

  As he stood in the dressing room, he could feel her presence in the next room pulling him toward her as if an invisible string connected them to one another. Her pull was irresistible, and he moved to stand in front of the doorway. He watched her tend to the Dowager Duchess with compassionate ease administering her herbal teas and tonics. He knew that when she had finished helping his mother as best as she was able, she would return home to the forest, leaving his care.

  The thought distressed him somewhat. I must wed Lady Cordelia Weatherton. I do not have the freedom to choose otherwise, as a nobleman of my standing is required to wed a lady of comparable station. If I were free to choose, Marybeth Wright would certainly make for an interesting bride. The county would not know what to do were I to marry the woman they consider to be the witch of the forest. The thought of Marybeth as his duchess caused him to smile. If only such a thing were possible.

  Marybeth caught him looking at her and smiled in return. He was glad that they had found a way to resolve their difference in opinion on the matter of her safety and he hoped that she would respect his wishes on the matter in the future.

  One can only hope.

  Turning back to the men at work on the wall, he considered all of the options available to him in the apprehension of their unwanted visitor. He had considered leaving the holes in the walls and having armed guards in front of them at all times, but with the afternoon’s events this method had proven to be unwise.

  Perhaps posting a guard at Blackleigh Castle could prove to be fruitful.

  Leaving the dressing room, he returned to the hallway and made his way down to the servant’s back stairs, where the other hole was being repaired. The men were first repairing the wooden floor that had fallen through into the tunnel below. They would then repair the wall itself. Fortunately, the wall was made of simple materials such as plaster and paint. It would have been much more time consuming to have replaced a papered wall.

  Mr. Wheatly stood overseeing the repairs with a critical eye, standing guard with his pistol at the ready. Felix was grateful to the older man for his diligence and support during such a difficult time. He doubted anyone would sleep soundly again until the culprit in the walls was apprehended.

  If only we could ascertain his method of entry.

  Stepping forward, he spoke to the butler. “Mr. Wheatly.”

  “Your Grace,” he answered nodding his head in acknowledgment.

  “How would you feel about posting a guard at the opposite end of the tunnel at Blackleigh Castle? Do we have the men to spare?”

  “It would be a tight rotation with guarding the house and the castle, Your Grace, but we could manage it if we utilized all of the footmen and groomsmen.”

  “Let us do so then. If I must hire more men from the estate, then I shall but let us begin with those we know and trust.”

  “I will see to it immediately, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Wheatly.”

  Oliver Singer’s head poked out from the hole in the wall on the opposite side from where they had previously explored. His face was equal parts seriousness and excitement, an odd combination to be sure, but also telling in its intensity. “Your Grace, there is something here which you must see.”

  Chapter 13

  Oliver stepped out from behind the wall, walking around the working men, and motioned for the Duke to follow him the rest of the way down the servants’ stairs. At the bottom he leaned against the wall, pushing here and there in an attempt to discover a secret door. “It must be here somewhere,” he mused running his hands over every surface. Not finding what he sought he requested that the Duke remain where he stood and bounded back up the stairs and into the passageway once more.

  He traveled to the end of the passageway and into a wider space that bent around a corner then led to a door. He opened the door and stepped into the room beyond. It was little more than a broom closet in size, but within its floor lay a trapdoor to the tunnel beneath and a shelf upon the wall acted as a hidden switch causing the wall to move ever so slightly as it released itself from its neighboring wall. “Now push as I pull, Your Grace,” he called through the paneling.

  “Oliver?” the Duke’s voice questioned from the other side.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Oliver confirmed that it was indeed him that spoke and then began pulling on the panel. The wall popped back a small space and then began sliding behind the other wall. The Duke stood on the other side a surprised look on his face.

  “How many times have we walked by this very wall and knew naught of what lie behind it?”

  “A lifetime, Your Grace,” Oliver answered shaking his head in dismay. Turning away from the opening he leaned down and pulled up on the trap door. The dark pit loomed beneath the wood flooring.

  “Is this how he is doing it? It does not explain how he manages to disappear so quickly, and someone would have noticed if the wall at the bottom of the stairs was moving at any sort of regularity.”

  “I cannot answer that, Your Grace, as I have not found any sign of activity other than my own, but I agree with you that someone would have noticed such a thing. Either there are more doors in the walls as concealed as this one or he is one of us. It is the only explanation that I can find, Your Grace.”

  “One of us? Impossible! I trust the men under my employ implicitly. Every man was hand selected for his honorable character or was born under this very roof.”

  “Is there a better explanation, Your Grace?” Oliver hated to argue with the Duke on such a topic, but he could not fathom any other way outside of the man being an actual ghost.

  “No, I do not have one as of yet, but give me time. I refuse to believe that any of my men would betray me.”

  “I sincerely hope that you are right in placing your faith with your men, Your Grace, but we should remain vigilant nevertheless where the comings and goings of the staff are concerned.”

  “The one time that I saw him I did no
t recognize him. I know all of the men under my employ, but he did appear to be wearing some sort of disguise, makeup and the like, to enhance his ghostly appearance. It is possible that such was enough for me not to know him in the instant that I beheld his visage. What I do not understand is what would be the point in carrying on in such a fashion? What is his reasoning for such behavior?”

  “I do not know. It is as if his entire purpose is to cause fear and panic.”

  “Well if that is his purpose he is succeeding.”

  “We will do all we can to put a stop to it, Your Grace.”

  “Very well, but if we do not ascertain who the culprit is and bring an end to this madness, I will be forced to remove Mother from Arkley Hall to safer climes.”

  “It might be best if you did so sooner rather than later, Your Grace. Perhaps the trip to Bath you were planning before all of this began?”

  Oliver knew that if the Dowager Duchess went then Marybeth would be forced to follow and he wanted her as far away from what was happening as possible. As the ghostly hauntings had not begun until she arrived, he suspected that her presence might have been the catalyst for the hauntings. Too many people believed her to be a witch capable of such things for it to be a coincidence.

  “Perhaps that would be best, but that would leave you and Mr. Wheatly in charge of apprehending the culprit alone. I do not wish to place either of you in such a difficult situation.”

  “I assure Your Grace that we are up to the task should you choose to pursue such a course.”

  “Thank you, Oliver. For now, let us place a guard here in this room and see what we might learn of our vanishing nemesis.”

  “I will take the first watch.” Oliver volunteered anxious to see the difficulty dealt with in a timely manner.

  “Very well. I would like a man posted out in the hall at all times as well to ensure that you are not alone. We have no way of knowing how many men might be involved.”

  “We are becoming quite stretched for men, Your Grace,” Mr. Wheatly noted having joined them in the hall at the bottom of the stairs. “With all of the places to guard within the manor house and the men at Blackleigh Castle, I am not certain when we will all sleep, but we will find a way, Your Grace.”

  “With God’s help we will make it through this, gentlemen. Fear not. It will take more than a ghostly apparition to fell Arkley Hall.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Oliver sat in the pitch-black darkness of the hidden room waiting for any sign of the intruder. It was an eerie sensation, sitting in the dark waiting for whom or what he did not know. He was not a superstitious man by nature, but he had to admit as the night drug on that he was beginning to have his doubts. The house creaked and groaned as it settled around him causing shivers to travel up and down his spine.

  The air in the room was stale and made it difficult to draw a regular breath. He vowed that as soon as he was done, he would go outside and breath in the clear crisp morning air to cleanse his lungs. In his opinion there was nothing like fresh morning air to do a body good and invigorate the senses. He and Marybeth had spent many a happy morning running through the forest as children.

  I hope Marybeth is safe and resting peacefully.

  The hours came and went as Oliver fought to stay awake and yet remain calm so as not to let paranoia get the best of him. He stirred restlessly in the room’s only chair, causing the wood to creak. He immediately stilled so as not to alert the intruder of his presence. His muscles cried out to be relieved from their position, but he was not willing to risk moving further. He did not know how much longer he would be able to endure sitting there, but he was determined to go the distance.

  Unable to bear the misery of sitting still a moment longer, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face briskly. Attempting to occupy his mind and take it off of his aches and pains he contemplated everything that had transpired since Marybeth’s arrival.

  Are these hauntings related to her presence? Is someone after her? Or does this have nothing to do with her and is merely a coincidence of time? Is the Duke in danger? I have so many questions and not nearly enough answers.

  Sighing he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to either of them. He thought of the looks he had seen being passed between the Duke and Marybeth. There is something between them whether they realize it or not. The real question is if they will each be brave enough to embrace the possibility of a future together. He knew that it was highly doubtful, as a man of the Duke’s station was bound by certain social strictures. If he is wise, he will pursue her. But will she allow him to catch her?

  Marybeth was a fiercely independent woman in an era where such a thing was scarce indeed, with the exception of the truly wealthy widows of the country. It is doubtful that she would willingly give up her freedom or her home in the forest, but I worry about her being out there all alone. It was one thing when she had her beloved grandmother, but now… He shook his head in concern. It is not good that she might remain alone for the rest of her days. It is not good for anyone, let alone a beautiful young woman of skill such as she. She is capable of helping so many people.

  Oliver determined to speak with her on the matter before her time at Arkley Hall was over. He could not allow her to return to the forest without first speaking his piece. He hoped by then she would have formed enough close connections to want to stay. A wedding would be nice, he thought with a smile.

  The sound of wood scraping against wood drew his attention back to the darkened room. It had sounded as if the noise had come from the door in the wall instead of the trapdoor as he had expected. Footsteps sounded across the floor and Oliver struck the match in his pocket so that he might see who had entered the room. His efforts were cut short by a sharp pain on the side of his head as he was struck with an unseen blunt instrument. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was grabbing onto the man’s pant leg as he fell to the floor.

  Chapter 14

  “Oliver? Oliver!” Marybeth rushed forward, kneeling down beside her friend’s prone form upon the floor. “Oliver!” She cried out his name over and over in an attempt to wake him but met with nothing but silence.

  “Marybeth,” the Duke’s voice gently soothed from behind her placing his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to calm her frantic heart and mind. “He is alive, but he has received a terrible blow to the head. Let us move him to a bed where you might tend to his wounds with relative ease. This is no place for you to offer up your remedies.”

  Marybeth nodded, tears slipping silently down her cheeks as she gazed down at Oliver’s pale, still face. There was a line of blood down the side of his head that had dripped upon the floor, creating a rust colored stain upon the grey wood floorboards. The Duke helped Marybeth to her feet and moved her back away from Oliver so that his men could come in and lift him from the floor. Marybeth followed as the men carried him out of the room and down the hallway.

  “You may put him in my sitting room. I have made a place for him upon the settee,” the head housekeeper, Mrs. Taylor, informed them, holding the door open for them to pass.

  “That is most kind of you, Mrs. Taylor. We will see that you have another place to conduct your business elsewhere in the house during Oliver’s recovery,” the Duke praised her generosity.

  “Do not worry about me, Your Grace. I will do just as well sharing an office with Mr. Wheatly in the meantime,” Mrs. Taylor reassured him. When the Duke look to Mr. Wheatly for confirmation, the butler nodded his assent.

  “Very well,” Felix allowed, then followed Oliver into the sitting room.

  Upon entering the room, Marybeth knelt down beside Oliver and took his hand in hers. “Hold on, Oliver. I am here,” she whispered in encouragement. “I will do all in my power to heal you, but you must help me by fighting back. Please, Oliver, return to me. Do not leave me to face this world alone. You are the only person I have rem
aining who loves me and whom I love in return.”

  The Duke stiffened beside her but said nothing. Marybeth was not certain what she had said to cause him to react in such a way, but she did not have time to analyze it. Oliver’s life was in the balance and she could not waste a single moment on anyone else. She examined the wound on his head and found that the skin had split open, but the bones of the skull remained intact. “Thanks be to God,” she murmured, moving on to examine the rest of his body for any other signs of damage.

  Upon completion of her examination, Marybeth turned to the housekeeper and requested that Mrs. Taylor bring her the needed medical supplies. “I will need to wash the wound and stitch it closed. Please bring me a needle and sturdy thread. I will also need my herbs from the Dowager Duchess’s rooms.” The housekeeper nodded, then scurried away, barking orders to the household maids as she went.

  Marybeth moved across the sitting room and placed a pot of water over the flames burning in the fireplace. “Mr. Wheatly, could you please inform the cook that I am going to need another pot of honey?”