The Untold Tale of the Winter Duchess: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Emma Linfield

  Sebastian breathed in the vapors as the heat from his hand warmed the liqueur, and stared into the embers in the fireplace. Nick is right. I am lonely. But how will I ever find time to meet a suitable young lady, let alone get away long enough to court her?

  Chapter 5

  Again, Lillian rode through the night. As the morning dawned, it brought with it a thick mist. The gelding found a forest track that wound upward on a steep slope, over the top, then ended abruptly in a meadow. The grass grew tall, and a soft whicker from a sorrel mare announced that the meadow was occupied. It was also fenced, but the gelding gathered himself and jumped the wooden rails as neatly as if he had approached it running.

  The horses greeted each other, then the gelding ambled over to a three-sided shed. It was clear that a portion of the shed was left open for the mare to shelter there. At one end was a fully enclosed feed room. Mice had been at the grain, but there was a stack of grain sacks at one end of it. Even so, it was clear that the shed was not visited often.

  Outside, the mist began to turn into a light drizzle of rain. The horses crowded into the stall area. The mare stuck her head in the open door of the tiny granary and snuffled at Lillian expectantly.

  Lillian laughed. The message was completely clear. “Feed me now,” it said.

  Since her own belly was completely hollow, Lillian had sympathy for the mare. It was fairly clear that the old girl had been put out to pasture. Her muzzle had gone gray, and she moved stiffly.

  Lillian poured a small measure of cracked grain at each end of the long narrow trough that ran across the back wall. Feeling too weary to remove Hector’s tack, Lillian slipped the bit out of his mouth so he could eat comfortably. The horses snuffed at the feed, then settled in amiably to eat together. She hung the sodden cloak on a peg just inside the door of the granary, and closed the door so the horses would not wander in. She curled up on the sacks, using one of them for cover. In spite of her gnawing hunger, she fell asleep almost immediately.

  She awoke abruptly. Sunlight streamed through a dirty window she had not previously noticed. The light was partially blocked by the silhouettes of two curly heads. Abruptly they disappeared. Hallucinating. Hunger. I’ve stopped feeling it, now I’m imagining things.

  Distantly, she could hear childish voices calling out. Angels. I’m hearing angels. Suddenly, the two curly heads appeared above her again, accompanied by an older, masculine face. “Well, boys, I think you’ve found the owner of the strange horse. We won’t have to back track him to look for a rider.”

  Lillian tried to sit up, finding it strangely difficult. “Dizzy,” she said.

  “No wonder, by the look of you. Are you lost? When did you last eat?”

  “Lost? Yes. Ate last. . .” When had she eaten last? Luncheon, before . . . “Two days ago, I think. Before . . .”

  A flask was held before her lips. She hesitated. “It is only tea. The sugar and milk will help. Just a little now.”

  She sipped. The tea was cold and a little bitter in spite of the sugar and milk. But it tasted wonderful after two days of fasting and drinking whatever water Hector could find. “Thank you,” she said, after two more sips.

  “I’ve got a jam tart,” said one of the young voices.

  A crumbling pastry was settled into her hand. It was sticky, and a bit linty from the contact with someone’s pocket, but it tasted like ambrosia. “Is this heaven?” she asked.

  Three voices laughed. “No, I’m afraid not,” said the older masculine voice. “Just the horse shed in the upper meadow. I’m glad we traveled up here today. Another day or two and I’m afraid all we would have found might have been your bones. There now, take it easy. You’ve clearly done some hard traveling.”

  Hard traveling. Yes, she had done that. Lillian tried to pull her thoughts together. The gentleman was continuing to speak. “I’m Sebastian Hughes, Duke of Parkforton. These two miscreants are my younger brothers, Nicholas and Luke.”

  “I’m Lillian,” she hesitated, then went on, “Doyle. I... was a governess.”

  “What happened?”

  “My employer fell on hard times. At the last, the children were taken to a relative’s home . . . no, no, I will not tell you his name. He has suffered shame enough. My tale does not need to be added to it. The creditors were entering the front door as I fled out the back. Poor man. I do not think he was as fortunate.” Lillian was rather proud of her impromptu tale. Enough houses had fallen to poverty in the last year to give it verisimilitude.

  “Dear me!” the gentleman said mildly. “Well, we cannot leave you in old Bessie’s stable, although she seems inclined to happily share it with your steed. Can you walk?”

  “I think so.” Lillian tried to sit up, but the world spun about her. “Dizzy.”

  “Indeed, I am not surprised. Well, I shall take you up in front of me on my horse. Luke, Nick, run on ahead and tell Evans to ready a guest room, and to let the housekeeper know we have found a lady who has been lost in the wood.”

  He then gave Lillian a hand up from her makeshift pallet and steadied her politely. “Can you walk, m’lady?” he asked.

  “You give me too much credit, Your Grace. I am but a humble governess who has lost her way.” Lillian caught her balance by placing one hand against the wall.

  “Easy does it, Miss Doyle. Give the tea and tart a chance to go to work. Allow me to lend you an arm.” The Duke held out his arm, as if he were inviting her to tread the boards at a cotillion.

  “Pray forgive me, Your Grace. I am not usually so missish.”

  “Lack of food will do that. My horse is just outside. My groom will see to your mount. He looks as if he could use a bit of feeding up, as well, although I suspect he is in better shape than you are.”

  “Since I have yet to learn how to dine on hay, I suspect so.” Did I just say that? I sounded so ungrateful. Oh, dear, I think I did.

  The Duke laughed. “Nor has anyone else. Now then, my horse is a steady fellow, but he is not much used to petticoats. I’ll give you the reins in case he decides to bolt.” So saying, he handed her the reins, then made a step of his hands so that she could get on. The Duke’s horse was not much taller than Hector, but dizzy and weak as she was, she appreciated the assistance.

  Once Lillian was safely ensconced on the saddle bow, the Duke of Parkforton swung himself up behind her. He reached around her to take the reins, his strong arms forming a protective balustrade to keep her from falling, allowing his cloak to drape about them both. At first, she sat up straight, trying to be proper, but fatigue and hunger won out after a few minutes. She slumped against him, glad of the strong support.

  She felt safe. Sheltered in a cloak that smelled of horses, hounds and light masculine musk, while leaning against an athletic chest, she was warm for the first time since she fled. Her stomach seemed to have accepted the tea and crumbled pastry. The horse walked with a gentle rhythm. Lulled by comfort, she fell asleep.

  Chapter 6

  Sebastian felt the subtle change in the stranger’s weight as she fell asleep in his arms. She must be truly exhausted to allow herself to be this vulnerable in the presence of an unknown man. Or maybe I am just that mild mannered and unthreatening.

  There was an ugly hitch in her breathing and a hectic red patch high on both cheeks, the telltale sign of fever. Sebastian was glad he had sent the boys on ahead. They would have Dr. Gavril in from the village at once. He should know if she had anything communicable. It was more likely, though, that she had caught a chill sleeping rough for who knew how long.

  There were long scratches on her cheeks, as if she had ridden hard through a wooded area and the branches had scraped her face. Her hand, where it clutched his cloak to hold it about her, was slender and well made even though it was currently as grubby as one of his brothers’ after they had made forts down by the creek. The nails were chipped and broken, but showed signs of having been well-kept before her misadventure.

  Her story didn’t seem quite right, but s
tranger things had happened. Her reticence indicated a degree of loyalty not likely to be found had there been some sort of presumption on the part of her employer. Nor did she flinch or cower away from help offered.

  Quite the mystery, this little stranger. She was certainly hungry and thirsty enough to drain his flask of cold tea and to accept a sticky, lint covered tart that he would scarcely have dared touch. But she didn’t have the gaunt look of one who had starved for a long time. Perhaps the hard times had fallen quickly? It was difficult to say. She might tell them more once she awoke and had a couple of decent meals inside her.

  Mrs. Blanchard, the housekeeper, met them at the door, along with Evans, a bevy of maids, and a gaggle of gaping footmen. She quickly marshaled the crowd into an orderly assemblage that whisked the unconscious stranger up to the guest room. One of the long-legged footmen took off for the village while the maids twittered away after the pair of footmen who carried the girl inside.

  After that, there was nothing more for Sebastian to do but wait. And answer his brothers’ questions.

  “Will she be able to come down to dinner?”

  “Did you find out her name?”

  “Why is a governess in old Bessie’s pasture?”

  “Slow down, slow down. No, she can’t come down to dinner tonight. She is clearly unwell. I’ve sent for Dr. Gavril to see to her. If you’d been listening, she told us that her name is Lillian Doyle. As for what she was doing in Bessie’s pasture, it is likely that she rode down from the heights. She was clearly quite lost.”

  Sebastian forestalled further questions. “Enough. It is time for you to do your sums. If you are diligent and do them well, I will read from The Arabian Nights Entertainment.”

  Pacified with the promised treat, the boys cheerfully returned to the schoolroom to work on their sums. Leaving Tom Gardener, one of their favorite footmen, to keep an eye on them, Sebastian went downstairs to his study to meet with the physician.

  “She’ll do well enough, I think,” the old fellow said. “Naught wrong that I can see that a couple of days of good soup and tea won’t cure. She’s caught a bit of a cold, but she hasn’t the signs of a consumptive. So you needn’t fear for your household.”

  “That is good to know. With my brothers here, I would not want an outbreak of anything.”

  “Quite so. Nor should any other brothers, fathers or mothers. To be safe, keep her close a day or two. She’ll feel sick enough to not mind the quiet, I believe.”

  Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. Plague was not rampant in London this year, but the fear of it was always a single breath away. “I’ll look in on her a bit later after the housekeeper and maids have her put to rights. If you’ll stop in the exchequer’s office, he will give you your fee and a little something for the village poor box.”

  “I thank you for your generosity, as always,” the physician replied. “You are a true scion of your father, and show well the guiding hand of your mother.”

  “How I miss them!”

  “To be sure you do, Your Grace, but through your good offices they live on. Now I must take my leave of you. Others await my services.”

  Sebastian knew that the old fellow could go on in this vein for several more minutes, given the chance, so he merely bowed, implicitly giving the good physician leave to go.

  With these matters tended to, he opened up the estate ledger and busied himself with a few sums of his own while his brothers were hopefully occupied. Sometime later, he began to find it difficult to see the figures on a bill of lading, and noticed that the sun was shining through the lowest quadrant of the windows. Evening had arrived while he had been absorbed in the accounts.

  Sebastian realized that he had left his brothers in the care of Tom Gardener probably much longer than was advisable. He hastily sanded the last entry, blew on the ink to dry it, and quickly closed the ledger. Who knew what mischief the wily pair had gotten up to while he was occupied?

  Chapter 7

  Lillian roused enough to respond to the serving maid who was seeking to help her into a clean nightgown, then to answer questions put to her by the physician. The gruff fellow asked no personal questions, merely poked, prodded, peered down her throat. Harrumphed once or twice, and departed.

  The maid left for a few minutes, then returned with a steaming bowl of chicken soup, lavishly seasoned with garlic. “The physician says you are to eat this all up, and no nonsense. There’s some tea for after. You are to rest now, and he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The garlic flavor in the soup was strong, but the broth made a pleasant warmth in her middle. Cuddled in the warm bed, she let herself drift into sleep.

  She awoke to the sound of childish voices. “Do you think she’ll sleep forever?”

  “Nah. She isn’t a fairy tale princess. She has to wake up sometime.”

  “Do you think she’ll be our mother?”

  “How could she be that, silly? Seb explained it all to us. Even if he married her, she’d be our sister-in-law.”

  “A sister wouldn’t be so bad.”

  “Anyway, he isn’t likely to do so. She’s a commoner. Dukes don’t marry commoners.”

  “Seems silly to me. That Count that came to visit got one of the maids turned off. Said that she wasn’t polite to him. But it looked to me like she was being really polite. She said, ‘Please, please’…and all kinds of silly stuff like that.’”

  “You gudgeon! Were you watching at the peep-hole again?”

  There was the sound of boyish giggling. “I might have been.”

  “Don’t you know anything? She was saying ‘please’ to somethin’ she should not have been doing.”

  “Well, it sounded like she liked it. But I guess she didn’t like it all that much when Mrs. Blanchard caught them at it. Anyways, I didn’t care all that much for that maid. She was always pinching our cheek and telling us how handsome we were, and how we’d grow up to be special.”

  “Grown-ups say and do some pretty silly things.”

  There was silence for a little while, then one of the voices piped up, “Do you think we should read to her? I heard the cook tell one of the kitchen maids that she used to read to her father after he had a stroke. She said she thought it was a comfort to him.”

  “Oh, look! Her eyelids moved.”

  Lillian opened her eyes to find two youthful faces peering down at her. They looked so much alike that at first, she thought she was seeing double. But then she realized that one of them had eyes that were a darker blue than the other, and had darker hair.

  “Hello, I’m Nicholas,” said the boy with the dark blue eyes.

  “And I’m Luke,” added the boy with the summer sky blue eyes.

  “Hello,” she replied. “I’m Lillian. Where am I?”

  “You are in the guest room. And this is Parkforton Castle,” Nicholas explained.

  “You must have been lost,” Luke clarified.

  “I was,” Lillian said. “Lost, hungry and scared. Have you ever been scared?”

  “Once,” Luke said. “I got locked in the cellar by accident. Nick found me, but he couldn’t get the door open. So Sebastian found out.”

  “Were you supposed to be in the cellar?” Lillian tried to push herself up higher on the pillows.

  “Well…” Nicholas drew the word out.

  “There were fresh-picked apples,” Luke elucidated. “They taste best when they are crispy and new. We wanted some before the cook got to them and made them all up into pies.”

  “Don’t you like pies?”

  “Of course!” Nicholas reached out and gave her a hand with sitting up. “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Luke plumped up the pillows, and between them the boys managed to help Lillian into a comfortable sitting position. “But we just wanted one each. Seb says they weren’t the eating kind of apples and that they would give us a tummy ache. What kind of apples aren’t the eating kind?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Lillian responded. “but I’m certa
in someone on the estate would be able to tell you. Perhaps the gardener or farmer who looks after the fruit trees.”

  “He just yells at us,” Luke pouted. “He thinks Seb doesn’t know. But Seb scolded us for upsetting him, so Seb does know. But I don’t think he cares.”

  “Of course he cares,” Nicholas stoutly defended their older brother. “But he said he didn’t want us to grow up to be the kind of peer who thinks the world belongs to him just because he has the right kind of mother and father.”

  “That sounds like . . . wait. Who is Seb?”