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

by Emma Linfield

  “Shall I call Martha Louisa? She’s abed, but I don’t doubt she would help set you to rights.”

  “No, no . . .there is no need. I’ll just wash my face and brush the soot out of my hair, and put on a fresh cap.”

  “At least let me get some ointment for that burn on your forehead, Miss Doyle. That’s going to pain you something fierce come the morrow.”

  “I would be most grateful,” Lillian replied. “Then if you could help me clean up the room. There is no need to alarm Martha Louisa in the morning. She will have her hands full laying out the boys’ clothing so that Mr. Gardener can get them into their Sunday best.”

  “I’ll be glad to, Miss Doyle.” With that, the footman left the doorway, then returned with a box of ointment.

  It was goose grease laced with herbs, by the smell of it. Lillian gingerly washed her face, patted it dry and applied the ointment to the patches of burned skin. She sighed over the appearance of her hair. The only remedy would be simply to cut the other side to match the burned part. She rummaged in her work basket for the pair of scissors Sebastian had given her, and quickly cut away the long locks so that they matched the burned side in length. After a couple of passes with a damp comb, all of the blackened hair was gone, and the damp tresses began to curl attractively around her face.

  “I shall set a new trend,” she told her mirror.

  “You might at that,” Stableman commented as he mopped up the last of the spilled water. “It looks right fetching. Now, should I ring for some breakfast, or would you like to lie back down a while”

  “I think I’ll lie down a little.” Lillian yawned, surprised to discover that she suddenly felt very sleepy.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll come to check on the fire in a little while. But let me set this screen around it.” The young footman gazed at her for a moment, concern plain on his face. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Martha Louisa?”

  “Quite sure. I trust you, Mr. Stableman. I’ll just curl up in my bed and draw the curtains.”

  “Very well, Miss Doyle. Try to get some rest. It will be morning soon.”

  Lillian climbed into bed, and drew the heavy hangings closed. She carefully lay down, turning so that the injured patch on her forehead would not touch the pillow. It throbbed with pain, now that the excitement was over, but the nervous feeling that had plagued her all evening had passed leaving her limp with exhaustion. She did not hear Stableman come in to check the fire, nor did she see when he surreptitiously parted the curtain to check on her.

  After a time, she began to dream. She was holding the little slow worm again, but it turned and looked at her, flicking out its broad flat tongue. In her dream, it opened its mouth to reveal monstrous fangs. The head grew and the mouth opened revealing a gullet filled with fire. “Murderess!” the creature roared. “You killed him, we know you did!” Then it dissolved into a judge who banged his gavel and intoned, “Hanged by the neck until dead. Take her away.” Somehow the judge had her sister’s face.

  Lillian woke with a start. Pale wintry sunlight streamed through the pane of the window. A low fire burned on the hearth. Mr. Stableman had kept his word about keeping the fire going. The room was not precisely toasty, but it was warm enough that Lillian had no trouble getting out of bed, and fumbling into her clothes.

  What a good thing it was that the staff, even the governess, were expected to wear a cap. Lillian swept her hair into a pretty snood, then topped it with a knitted helmet style cap. It hid the cropped ends of her hair, so only the burn on her forehead gave evidence of her night’s adventures. How did I ever come to set myself alight? Although goodness knows that what I was burning was inflammatory enough. If that is what is being circulated around London, it is a wonder I have not already been exposed.

  Lillian shuddered and shrugged on her woolen spencer and buttoned it up. She moved the hand mirror around for a moment, checking the various parts of her costume. A good winter-weight walking dress, woolen spencer nicely lined with cotton flannel, her hair neatly held in the snood, so there were no need for pins, and finally the jaunty little cap. As ready as I shall be. Now to face the world.

  She squared her shoulders and opened the door. Across the hall in the schoolroom, Martha Louisa was setting the scarred old table with their breakfast things. Sebastian was seated in one of the wingback chairs before the classroom fire, and the boys were sitting quietly on the settee.

  As soon as she exited her room, Sebastian rose and came to greet her. “Lillian! Mr. Stableman said that you had a restless night and nearly set yourself alight trying to start a fire.”

  “Good morning, Your Grace. As you can see, I was not quite successful.”

  “I am glad of that. Come, sit down by the fire. Martha Louisa has our breakfast things set out, and the kitchen will send up our food shortly. It is far too cold today to try to warm that great barn of a dining room.”

  This all seems so normal. Oh, if it could only last forever, how happy I would be.

  Chapter 19

  Sebastian surveyed Lillian’s face as she sat in the wingback chair opposite his before the schoolroom’s little fireplace. Although she smiled pleasantly at him, and gave a light answer to his greeting, she looked worn to a thread. Something is troubling her. I wonder if I can persuade her to tell me so that I can help lift the burden.

  Nick broke their awkward silence by bursting out, “The gardener says that he is ever so grateful that we found the slow worm. He put her in the potting shed where she can wake up in the spring and eat the slugs that like to crawl around in there. He says that when her babies are big, he’ll see if they will live in the greenhouses.”

  “He says they don’t like to be pets,” Luke added excitedly, “but that they won’t be pets exactly. They’ll just be doing what they normally do, but in a place where we might see them often.”

  “Slow worms are exceptionally curious creatures. Do you think we can do a natural history observation of them?”

  Lillian smiled at the boys, but Sebastian saw the slight shudder she could not quite suppress. “I am sure we can do something of the sort in the spring. We would not want to disturb her now.”

  “Is there something amiss? Did the slow worm frighten you?” Sebastian asked, concern coloring his voice.

  “No, no. It is not the slow worm’s fault. I had a bad dream after I set my cap alight trying to start the fire.”

  “Oh, tell us, please,” Luke begged. “Dreams are so fascinating. Mrs. Buskins says that you can tell the future from them.”

  “I hope this dream will not come true or predict anything,” Lillian said. “I dreamed that the slow worm grew quite huge, belched out a gout of flame and then tried to eat me.”

  “That’s a scary dream,” Nick commented. “Did you attack it?”

  “No, I woke up because Mr. Stableman had come to check on the fire. It seems he is afraid to leave me alone with it now.”

  “Small wonder,” Sebastian endorsed Stableman’s decision heartily, even though ordinarily he would not have approved of a serving man in a female staff member’s room. “We . . .”

  Just then Tom Gardener came in with a steaming carafe of tea, followed by two kitchen maids bearing covered baskets of breakfast food. “Heard that you tried to burn the castle down,” the lanky footman said heartily. “Gave old Stableman quite a fright, you did.”

  Lillian buried her face in her hands. “I shall never live this down.”

  “We all care about you,” Sebastian said gently. “When I think how nearly we came to losing you . . . it is not to be borne.” He stood and went to Lillian’s chair. “Let me see how badly you were burned.”

  Lillian held very still while he gently removed her cap, revealing the shorn hair around her face and the full extent of the burn. There was a deep, ugly looking patch near the scalp above her left eyebrow, and a trail of reddened flesh down her left temple. It was clear that her hair had been burned off on that side and that she had cut the other so tha
t they would match.

  “You did a good job cleaning it up,” Martha Louisa commented, coming over so that she, too, could see the extent of the damage. “But if you needs something again, you be sure to have the footman wake me. It don’ matter how tired I am.”

  “I put some of your salve on it,” Lillian said defensively. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “That be good healin’ salve, but if we can get the ointment made from Alkanet it is better for burns. I’ll see to it after breakfast. Are you sure you should go to church today, Miss Doyle? You looks kinda peakedy.”

  “I would never insult a lady’s appearance,” Sebastian added, “but you do look tired. I can see to the boys if you would like to go lie back down.”

  “I will be fine. I would not miss today’s service for anything. Since it is the last before Christmas, the parson, the village school master, and the wonderful lady who teaches dame school have come up with something special for the season.”

  “A surprise?” Sebastian asked.

  “Perhaps. Although not much of one, since more than half the village are in on it.”

  “I shall look forward to it then. If you are up to it, I will be more than glad to have you at my side for services.”

  “Are you sure that is wise?” Lillian asked.

  “I am sure that it is the best way to gently introduce my feelings for you,” Sebastian said gently. “I do not think I need hide them from the dear friends who are in this room. Martha Louisa, Tom Gardener and John Stableman have become almost as near as family these last few months.”

  Tom Gardener suddenly found something to keep him busy at the far end of the rough, old table. Martha Louisa smiled gently. “Well, I thought as much. Would it be too forward for a trusted friend and family retainer to ask your intentions, Your Grace? It might be indelicate to inquire, but I’ve never been one to put much store on ceremony.”

  “I had planned to court Miss Doyle a bit more slowly, but this near miss with possible death has made me rethink this plan. I would like to be in a position to better protect her.” Sebastian crouched beside Lillian’s chair, and took both her hands in his. “I am asking in front of witnesses because I want there to be no mistake about my feelings or my intentions. Miss Doyle, Lillian, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  Lillian’s fingers tightened on his, and her face went white. “Oh, Sebastian. Do you truly think it wise? Our stations are very different in life.”

  “Hang our stations! Lillian, I am head over heels in love with you. I should have asked last night, instead of just asking for permission to take you out walking.”

  “Would an engagement keep me from singeing my hair? I believe that in some circles, it is a fashionable treatment.”

  “No, it would not. But it might mean that I would be in a bedchamber close enough to yours to mend your fire, thus keeping you from harm.”

  “Oh, dear!” Lillian started to bury her face in her hands, but flinched away when her finger touched the raw spot on her forehead. “This is all very sudden. I’m not at all sure I am thinking clearly enough to give an answer right now.”

  “Please, Miss Doyle,” Nick pleaded. “We need a big sister, and we like you ever so much better than anyone else who has come to teach us.”

  “Yes, please, Miss Doyle,” Luke chimed in, “We don’t miss having a mother near so much now that you are here.”

  “Please, dear Lillian?” Sebastian wheedled, looking very much like his younger brothers.

  Lillian laid her fingers against his cheek. Her fingers felt cold as ice, and they trembled a little. “You are all so very dear to me, especially you, Sebastian. But I fear to do this in haste and create a situation that we might regret later.”

  Sebastian took the cold little hand between both of his, and held it against his face to warm it. “I cannot think how I could possibly regret it,” he said.

  “All humans are flawed, Your Grace. I am no exception. Let us get to know one another a little better. I give you leave to pay court to me, and I will gladly share time with you. Ask me again after Twelfth Night, and let us see how the world stands then. It is much easier to change your mind before marriage than after.”

  “You speak as one who knows,” Sebastian said, feeling a cold worry begin to knot his gut. “Is there a reason why you cannot wed?”

  “No, none at all. But I have seen acquaintances who rushed into matrimony to escape poverty or a life of drudgery. Too many of them simply exchanged one type of bondage for another.”

  When Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, she laid the soft fingers of the other hand across his lips. The gesture felt so shockingly intimate that he immediately fell silent. “No, no. Hear me out,” Lillian went on. “Nothing could please my heart more than to stay here forever. Yes, as your wife, if that is your wish, but in any way that I can. This last month has been like coming home to the family I always wanted. But this is only the first flush of happiness. We have not quarreled. I am an employee. Will you like me as well when . . . .” She stopped and searched for words that would fit the situation.

  “Lillian, I know you to be pure of heart, kind of thought, gentle of deed. I could sift through the ton forever and not find your like. But if it is your wish, I will ask again on Twelfth Night. Although, proposing to you on the night governed by the Lord of Misrule could be chancy business,” he said, teasingly.

  “A very fitting night, indeed, to lay aside convention.”

  Sebastian brought her fingers to his lips and gently kissed them. “Although I would post the banns now and be married by Candlemas, I will abide by your wishes. But I am happy not to make this a secret courtship, however many eyebrows might be raised. Trust me upon this, come Twelfth Night, I will, indeed, ask you again. And I hope your answer will be yes.”

  “Hurray! Hurray! Hip, hip, hurray!” the boys broke into cheers and galloped around the breakfast table, nearly oversetting an urn of milk. Sebastian hardly noticed, as he cradled the right side of Lillian’s face, gently stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb. It was all he could do not to snatch her up and whisk her away to his bed chamber right then, and be damned to breakfast, church services and to whatever anyone might say.

  But that might frighten her away. He would be patient. Perhaps whatever was troubling her would be resolved by Twelfth Night, and her answer would be yes.

  Chapter 20

  Parkforton Chapel was a long, low stone building. It was heated with a Roman hypocaust and the building reflected the careful but streamlined construction often found in old Roman buildings, so there was no telling how old it was. The original building had been added to, of course. Graceful arched windows were inserted on both sides of the main room. The casement coverings were glazed with carefully wrought stained glass and lead panes depicting the deeds of a local saint. Lillian could not recall his name at the moment, but he might have been a Franciscan, because many of the beautiful pictures included scenes where he was feeding the birds, tending an animal or teaching children.

  Sebastian led his household to the Parkforton family pew. He entered the family box from the outside aisle, moving across to sit next to the center aisle. The two boys slid in next, then Lillian, Martha Louisa, the schoolroom footmen, Sebastian’s valet, the housekeeper, and the cook. The rest of the staff filled the two rows of pews behind the family pew.

  No greenery decorated the chapel. That would come later. But it smelled of lemon balm, cedar oil, and bees wax. The rushes on the stone floor were fresh and clean. One after another, villagers filed in, many with the rustling of freshly starched linens.

  The parson took his place at the pulpit, beaming out at the well-filled room. Nick tugged at Sebastian’s arm and said something to him. Sebastian opened the pew entrance at the center aisle and let the two boys out.

  “One thousand, eight hundred and sixteen years ago,” the parson pronounced, his well-trained voice reaching every corner of the chapel without seeming forced, “Our Lo
rd gave us a special gift. It was the most precious gift that he could give the world. Today, our school children will reenact that wonderful day as I read the story from King James’s excellent English translation of the Holy Bible. Their passion play is their gift to all of us.”

  With that, he opened a ponderous volume that took up all of the top of the pulpit’s lectern, and began to read, “And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. . .”

  As he read, Luke, dressed in a tunic and white sheet draped as a toga entered from the side door, stood with his hands on his hips, shook his finger at the audience, and then pointed into his palm. At the appropriate verse, Nick came in, leading the fat old pony from the family stables. A rosy-cheeked village girl sat side-saddle on the pony’s back. They approached the pulpit, and the pastor, having donned an incredible hat, enacted the rude inn keeper who turned them away, telling them to go sleep in the stable.