Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1)
Page 7
“Is it far to Ravenworth Castle?” Kassidy wanted to know.
Maude pursed her lips and said in a ponderous voice, “For you, it could turn out to be a journey without end.”
“What do you mean?”
The old woman shrugged. “I mean nothing. But have a care. You cannot just walk up to a duke and present him with a child.”
Kassidy’s eyes blazed with a determined light. “Oh, can I not? We shall just see about that. He may be a man of great wealth and power, but I will make him do right by this child.”
8
Kassidy had spent four uncomfortable days in an overcrowded public conveyance. She was angry when she stepped down from the coach in the village of Ravenworth. She had very little money, and it would take most of that to pay the wet nurse and for food and lodging. She only hoped she would have enough for the coach fare home.
With Mrs. Gibbins at her side, Kassidy crossed the street and headed toward the Blue Feather Posting Inn, with the intention of finding a room so she could tidy up before setting off for the castle.
She looked up at the imposing fortress that dominated the small village, and for the first time, she felt fear lurking at the edge of her mind. But she must not give way to that fear, or she could not fulfill Abigail’s wish. Her strongest emotion, grief, she would give in to later. She must call on all her strength to get her through the next few hours without weeping for Abigail.
Looking at the steep incline that led to the castle, she considered for the first time that the duke might not be at home. Then her journey would have been in vain. Her gaze moved to the battlement of the castle, and she saw with relief that his flag was flying, proclaiming he was in residence.
A horrifying thought struck her. Suppose the reason the duke had wanted his identity kept a secret was that he already had a wife. What if he had tricked Abigail into believing he had married her when he really hadn’t? Would he even want to acknowledge the baby?
How could she place Abigail’s baby in the hands of such a monster?
Raile moved the length of his study, considering how much there was to be done to the castle to make it livable. And there were numerous other responsibilities that went with the dukedom, but had been neglected for many years. At times he wished the title and lands had fallen to Hugh, so he would be free of the burden.
He sat down at the heavy oak desk, his gaze moving along the dusty bookshelves. The neglect had even extended to this room. Old and valuable books would have to be rebound, or they would crumble to dust. It might even be too late to save some of them.
When the rap came at the door, he glanced up at Ambrose with annoyance. He had given instructions that he was not to be disturbed.
“Begging your pardon, your grace,” Ambrose said apologetically, “but there is a young woman at the front door demanding to see you. I told her you were not receiving today, but she insists that she will not leave until she speaks with you.”
“Did she give her name?”
“No, your grace, she refused.”
“Did she give any indication what she wanted?” he asked, irritably.
“No, your grace. She would not say. But she did ask if you were married or had any children.”
“I suppose it’s another villager wanting a position,” Raile signed in exasperation. “Have Mrs. Fitzwilliams tend to the woman.”
“I would not have brought the matter to your grace’s attention, but she seems to be a lady. She’s accompanied by a servant, and an infant, I believe.”
Raile thought of the paperwork that needed his attention. Since attempting to restore the castle, his days were filled with one crisis after another. If it wasn’t the gardener complaining about blight killing the grass, or the housekeeper insisting she did not have enough help, it was Hugh and his mother. And if that wasn’t enough, the workmen were awaiting their instructions so they could begin their day.
With resignation, he nodded to Ambrose. “I’ll see her. But make it clear that I have very little time to spend with her.”
With growing trepidation, Kassidy glanced about the imposing great hall with its high, ornate gesso ceilings. The room was enriched with colored glass and mullioned windows. Arras of gold and silk decorated the oak-paneled walls.
At one time the castle must have been magnificent, but now it seemed to be suffering from neglect. There was a musty smell that pervaded the air. The carvings on the woodwork were chipped, and the once valuable silk tapestries were in tatters. It was a pity such a lovely old castle had been allowed to fall into ruin, she thought.
In her mind the condition of the room represented the man she now hated. He seemed to care neither for people nor possessions.
The butler returned and motioned for Kassidy to accompany him. “His grace has kindly agreed to see you. But you must understand that he is a busy man.”
Kassidy took the baby from the wet nurse and instructed the woman to wait for her. Then she stiffly followed the butler out of the great hall, across a worn Turkish carpet, and down an arched hallway.
What would she say to the duke when she confronted him?
Her footsteps lagged when the butler paused before a thick oak door.
“Go right in. His grace is expecting you.”
With the baby clutched to her like a shield, Kassidy advanced with the fervor of a charging warrior.
She stopped short as a burst of sunlight streamed into the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows, blinding her for a moment. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw her enemy sitting at a massive oak desk, watching her progress with bored indifference.
Kassidy felt her anger increase with each step that brought her nearer to the man she loathed. She had not expected the duke to be so dark since the baby was so fair. His dark eyes were like needles, boring into her. A cynical twist to his mouth told her he scoffed at life. She was further enraged when he did not show her the courtesy of rising when she entered the room, but merely nodded to the chair in front of his desk.
“Madame, I am told you insisted on seeing me.” He glanced at the mantel clock as if to show his impatience. “I have little time, so if you could state your reason for being here, it would be appreciated.”
“It’s ‘miss,’ not ‘madame.’” Her voice had come out low, and trembled with the conflicting emotions she was feeling. “I am unmarried.”
He glanced at the baby. “Excuse my mistake, Miss ... ?”
“Miss Maragon.”
He was reflective for a moment. “Some years ago, I met Lord Henry Maragon. Is he a relative of yours?”
Kassidy glared at him. Why had he not mentioned that he also knew Abigail Maragon? The devil was even more devious than she had expected. “Yes,” she said defiantly. “Henry is my brother.”
“I see,” Raile answered, still mystified.
“Do you? I doubt it.”
He frowned at her biting tone. “Then perhaps you should enlighten me.”
Totally bewildered, Raile assessed her carefully. She was young, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. It was difficult to tell much about her because her hair was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed straw bonnet that also hid most of her forehead. She was thin, and her gown was outdated, and he could see it had been mended on the sleeves.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am,” Kassidy challenged.
He looked into her magnificent green eyes, and some vague memory stirred to life. In the recesses of his mind he remembered eyes like hers, but he could not remember when they might have met. There was an air of pride about her, but he also detected defiance. When he looked deeply into those eyes, he sensed an anger that he did not understand.
“You say you are Lord Maragon’s sister. How may I be of service to you, Miss Maragon?”
His liquid brown eyes were mesmerizing. Kassidy could see how Abigail had been attracted to this man with his broad shoulders and his dark good looks. But he wasn’t going to deceive her as he had Abigail—she knew his true character.
He towered above her. “I don’t know what you are about, Miss Maragon—if that is truly your name—but I assure you that you cannot pass off your . . . indiscretions on me. We both know I never fathered a child by you.”
She gasped and stepped back a pace. Was he mad? Oh, he was black-hearted.
“I can assure you that I am not duped by your tactics. This child is yours, and I place her in your keeping. You have not even asked about the pain and suffering it took to give her birth.”
The duke was shocked. “Miss Maragon, I don’t think we should be discussing these matters.” He moved around the desk to stand beside her. “Perhaps it would be best if you leave now. Then we shall both forget this has ever happened. Go home to the young gentleman who got you with child and beseech him to make you his wife.”
He had spoken softly, but there was a hardness in his voice.
“Oh, you are clever, your grace. I can see that I must force you to accept your responsibility.”
In a movement that surprised him, she thrust the child into his arms and rushed toward the door. “I have brought a woman who is willing to stay on as wet nurse until you can find someone to replace her.”
Her footsteps were hurried, but she paused at the door, trying to choke back tears. “She ... is only five days old. I didn’t name her because I thought you might want to choose her name. She’s ... a good baby and hardly ever cries. Please take care of her.”
Raile was speechless.
He started to go after the woman, but at that moment, the baby let out a loud cry, stopping him in his tracks. He had never held a baby in his arms, and he stared at the child helplessly, fearing he would drop it.
Blinded by tears, Kassidy fled before she gave in to the urge to snatch the baby from the duke’s arms. When she reached the great hall, she paused for only a moment before the wet nurse and dropped some coins in her hand. “Please take care of the baby,” she said, and turned quickly to the door.
“Leave at once,” she told the driver, as she climbed into the hired coach and slammed the door. Her heart was thundering inside her. She was afraid the duke would send someone after her.
As the coach lurched forward with a jerk, Kassidy looked back at the castle. After a while, she lost some of her apprehension. Apparently the duke did not intend to pursue her.
With a loud sob, Kassidy buried her face in her hands. She had never expected it to be so painful to leave the baby. But she had kept her promise, and that was all she could do.
In giving up the child, she felt as if she had severed her last link with her beloved sister.
She lay her head against the seat and sobbed out her misery. She cried for Abigail, she cried for the baby, and she cried for herself.
9
When Ambrose came rushing into the library, he stared at the crying infant in the duke’s arms and blurted out: “Your grace, I saw the young lady run out—has she left her baby with you?”
“It appears so, Ambrose,” Raile said dryly. “I believe that she is crazed.”
“Her coach has already departed. Shall I have Atkins fetch her back, your grace?”
“By the time he saddles a horse, she will have disappeared. She said she brought a wet nurse,” Raile said in distress as the baby’s howls became louder.
“There is a woman waiting in the great hall, your grace.”
Raile thrust the still crying infant into the startled butler’s arms. “Give this child to her and bring her to me at once.”
While Raile waited for the wet nurse to appear, he moved to the window and pulled the heavy drapery aside. He relived the incident with Miss Maragon, hoping to make some sense of it. Why had she accused him of being her baby’s father when they both knew that wasn’t so? He could easily prove he had been out of the country when the child was conceived. His eyes darkened. The girl played a dangerous game if she thought to pass off her brat as his.
The door opened, and a tiny birdlike woman moved forward slowly. She held the baby tenderly, and Raile was relieved to see the child had quieted.
He gave the woman a searching glance and motioned for her to be seated. “May I know your name?” he asked, sitting on the edge of his desk, knowing the movement was intimidating. He would have his answers from this woman.
Her eyes darted about the room nervously, and she had a hard time meeting Raile’s gaze. “My name’s Heloise Gibbins, your grace.”
“Tell me what you know of Miss Maragon.”
Now the woman did meet his eyes. Heloise was still of an age to appreciate a handsome man. She found herself giddy and lighthearted when the duke looked at her.
“I have just lately become acquainted with Miss Maragon, your grace. I was only employed to look after the baby until you could find someone to replace me.”
“Tell me all you know about her,” he insisted. “And, I’ll know if you are not speaking the truth.”
“I truly know little of her, your grace. I was asked by the midwife in our village if I would consider making a journey of some distance with a woman and a newborn infant. Since my sister was willing to stay with my three children until I returned, and I needed the wages, I agreed to come. I must say Miss Maragon hardly spoke, and I often saw tears in her eyes. I didn’t know what to think of her.”
“Where did you meet her? At the Maragon country estate?”
“No, your grace. I met her in the village of Tibury, when we boarded the coach that brought us to Ravenworth. I can’t tell you much more than that.”
Raile drew in an impatient breath. “Are you being deliberately vague?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, no. I know only what the people in the village knew, because the woman kept to herself. That is after her husband deserted her— or we thought he was her husband, but perhaps he wasn’t.”
“Do you know who the man was?”
“No, your grace. And as to the woman, I only saw her once at a distance, when she was heavy with child. Then I never saw her again until four days ago.”
“Are you certain you’re telling me everything you know, Mrs. Gibbins?”
“I swear I am, your grace. Except... on the journey here, the woman would only hold the baby when I was too weary. It was as though she didn’t want to be near the child. Do you not think that odd?”
Raile stood up. “I will allow you and the baby to remain here until such time as the truth is uncovered.” He moved to the bell cord. When Ambrose appeared, Raile instructed him to turn the wet nurse and the baby over to Mrs. Fitzwilliams.
An intriguing challenge had opened up before him, and Raile was determined to untangle the mystery of Miss Maragon and her child.
That evening when Raile made his way toward the formal sitting room, his path was momentarily blocked by Lavinia’s maid, Meg Dower. The maid was clubfooted and had difficulty walking. She dipped an awkward curtsy when she saw Raile and disappeared in the shadows near the window.
Raile had always found something distasteful about Meg Dower. The woman was devoted to Lavinia and had been with her since before her marriage to Raile’s father. Raile did not trust her. Meg never looked directly at anyone, and on occasion, Raile had seen a cunning light in her eyes. It was well known that the maid was Lavinia’s ears and eyes and would lurk around corners, spying for her mistress.
Raile entered the sitting room, where he found Hugh and Lavinia waiting for him. He didn’t relish spending another evening with his stepmother and half brother. But they were his only family and his cross to bear, he thought.
“Good evening, brother,” Hugh said lazily. “I was beginning to think we wo
uld have to dine without you tonight.”
Hugh’s blond hair and blue eyes were a startling contrast to Raile’s dark coloring. While Raile wore sober black, Hugh was dressed in the dandy fashion. He was decked out in tight blue pantaloons with a French-cut matching jacket. His cravat was elaborately tied, his hair cut in the Grecian style.
Raile flipped up the tail of his coat and sat down. “Since we have to live together, we should attempt to be amiable,” he stated.
Lavinia approached her stepson with a provocative smile on her lips. “Raile,” she said in a silky smooth voice, “we don’t have to live under the same roof. It’s been months since I’ve been to London because the house your father left me is depressingly small, and in an unfashionable part of town. Why don’t you allow me to occupy your London house, so I can enjoy the Season? You know I detest the country.”
“I told you, Lavinia, my London house is being renovated. You wouldn’t find it pleasant with workmen invading your privacy for the next two months.”
“There’s the town house on Percy Street that came to you through your uncle,” she reminded him.
“Knowing I would never want to live there, I instructed my solicitor to sell Uncle William’s London house, Lavinia. I have already pensioned off his servants, and the new owners will take occupancy next week.”
Her eyes hardened. “I don’t see why you spend money on this musty old castle, when it could be better spent on new carriages and horses. I am mortified to ride around in that old coach that was your grandfather’s. And just look at this gown—it’s positively ready for the rag heap.”
As usual, Lavinia was exaggerating. Raile glanced at the pink satin gown that was adorned with sparkling jewels. Just last week he had paid the bill for several new gowns, including that one.
“You must have patience, Lavinia,” he told her. “When the repairs are completed, you shall have your new coach.”
“You have money for the coach now,” she said in an accusing voice. “Why do you make me wait? I am well aware that your mother left you a considerable fortune. Your father would have expected you to take care of me and your brother.”