The Dream of a Duchess

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Once Isabella was beyond the parlor, the slim hallway wrapped again to the main hall. Pressing her ear to the door at the end, Isabella listened until she was sure no servants were about. She slowly opened the door, momentarily confused when not the hallway but the back of a tapestry appeared before her. She rolled her eyes as she imagined where she was along the hall. Her bedchamber’s door was almost directly across from this particular tapestry. Peeking around the edge of the decorative wall hanging, Isabella waited a moment for a footman to disappear down the stairs before she hurried across the hall and into her bedchamber.

  Only to find one of the maids staring at her from the other side of the bed.

  “There you are!” Thompson exclaimed, her face displaying a look of relief. A bucket of coal dangled from one hand.

  Isabella blinked. “Good morning,” she managed, wondering how long she had been missed.

  “We’ve been so worried, my lady. You’re usually up so early—”

  “I was up even earlier than usual today, in fact,” Isabella interrupted she she hurried to the dressing room. “At three o’clock in the morning, in fact.”

  The maid let out a gasp. “What happened?”

  “Enyo had a bit of difficulty with her twins, but the duke pulled the second foal,” Isabella explained. She felt a bit of satisfaction at seeing the maid’s eyes widen. “I felt horrid waking him up, of course, but I simply couldn’t do it by myself. Then, I was such a mess, I had to take a bath. Fell asleep in there, I was so exhausted.” She doffed the nightshirt and quickly pulled on her chemise and corset. “Could you help?” she asked as she turned her back for the maid to tighten the corset ties.

  “Of course, my lady,” Thompson said as she pulled the strings. “I suppose the duke will still be abed then, too.”

  About to claim he was wide awake and dressed, Isabella realized she couldn’t. “Oh, I’ve no idea. Are you sure he hasn’t gone back to London?” she asked, thinking a diversion tactic might be necessary just then.

  This seemed to surprise the maid before she returned to making the bed. “Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t know, my lady.”

  Isabella pulled on a riding habit and regarded the maid for a moment. The young woman seemed rather sad as she went about her work. “Thompson, what’s wrong?” Isabella asked as she buttoned up the front of the habit’s skirt.

  The maid gave a slight shrug. “It’s just... we was hoping you and him...” She stopped and shook her head. “Forgive me, my lady.”

  Isabella stilled her movements, the bodice of the habit still unbuttoned. “What?”

  Thompson dipped her head. “Cook fancies herself a matchmaker. Mrs. Cooper thinks you and the duke should marry, seeing as how he needs an heir and you love his horses so much.”

  Returning her attention to the buttons, Isabella allowed a grin of embarrassment. “Does she now?” The thought that she and the duke had been a topic of conversation amongst the servants was a bit of a surprise. “Well, you can let cook know the duke has made me an offer of sorts.”

  Her eyes widening, Thompson waited with baited breath until Isabella added, “He would like me to continue as his châtelaine here at Huntinghurst.” She didn’t include the reason why, of course—that Craythorne was dead and no longer a threat, or that she was one-and-twenty and able to marry should she receive an offer.

  Isabella wasn’t sure how she expected the servant to react, but the maid’s expression of disappointment wasn’t one of the possibilities. “What’s wrong?” Isabella asked as she stepped forward.

  Thompson merely shook her head and took a step back. She curtsied before saying, “Have a good day, my lady.”

  Isabella watched as the maid took her leave of the bedchamber, wondering if she had made a mistake in accepting the duke’s offer to stay at Huntinghurst.

  But if she hadn’t, where would she go? London? It would be some time before her brother was settled in the townhouse her father occupied whilst attending Parliament. There were no stables there. Merely a mews in the back that served all the townhouses on the street. She rather doubted she would be allowed to spend her time there.

  What would I do all day if I couldn’t work with horses?

  What did other daughters of the aristocracy do to pass the time?

  Well, they probably painted tables, or created beautiful embroideries with their nimble fingers, or decorated hats and bonnets with silk flowers. Pursuits she had never pursued because, well, because she wasn’t particularly gifted in the arts, she was all thumbs when it came to sewing needles, and where ever would she find silk flowers this far from London?

  If it hadn’t been for the Huntinghurst stables and a dozen or more horses in various stages of training, she would have gone stark raving mad. A candidate for Bedlam, indeed.

  Once she had her unruly curls brushed out and secured with a few pins atop her head, she made her way to the breakfast parlor.

  Chapter 37

  A Reminder of a Promise

  A few minutes later

  Peters gingerly placed a newly ironed copy of the Sussex Weekly Advertiser next to the duke’s place at the breakfast parlor table and cringed. As the area’s only newspaper, it filled his master’s requirement that there be one for him to read whilst eating his breakfast. As a publication that was openly opposed to the privileges enjoyed by the aristocracy, its editorial content could be offensive to the duke.

  “I appreciate your concern, Peters,” Octavius said as he moved to take his place at the end of the oval table. “But don’t fash yourself. I’m only interested in the news articles.”

  The butler gave a bow. “Very good, Your Grace.” He waved to a nearby footman, who immediately saw to the delivery of a pot of coffee and a plate of toast. “Cook is seeing to your eggs and ham. Will there be anything else?”

  Octavius dared a glance out the room’s only window, remembering too late it’s south-facing view didn’t include the stables. A few horses could be seen grazing in the pasture beyond the grounds of the house, though. “Any news about our new twins this morning?”

  His eyes widening at hearing the question, Peters almost asked how the duke already knew about Enyo’s foals. One of the scullery maids had spread the news during the servants’ breakfast, saying she learned of it from Master George when she was gathering eggs in the hen house that morning.

  Octavius noted the butler’s surprise, rather pleased to know he could discombobulate the man on occasion, perhaps more than Isabella had managed to do on a daily basis her first year-and-a-half at Huntinghurst. He arched an eyebrow. “I had to pull the filly. Which reminds me. See to it the maids knows I used the tub in the mistress’ bathing chamber. I didn’t wish to rouse a footman to arrange a shower bath at three o’clock in the morning.” This last was said in the direction of the footman who stood at attention next to the sideboard.

  Even before the butler could respond, the footman nodded and took his leave of the breakfast parlor by way of the butler’s pantry, apparently off to find a housemaid.

  “The additions to the stables were mentioned at breakfast this morning, Your Grace. It seems all is well, according to Master George. Congratulations.”

  “Well that’s a relief to hear,” Isabella said as she breezed into the room. The duke set down his coffee and stood up, acknowledging her curtsy with a slight bow. “I’ll wait until after breakfast to check on them,” she added as she hurried up to his side and kissed him on the cheek. “Good morning, Hunt.”

  For the first time in a very long time, Octavius was sure color stained his cheeks. Although she had kissed him on the cheek on the occasion of his arrivals to Huntinghurst, she had never done so with a servant present. “Good morning,” Octavius replied, waiting until she took her usual place at the table—Peters held her chair since the footman hadn’t yet returned—before quickly reseating himself. For in the few seconds since her arrival, Octavius was suddenly aware of several things at once.

  Of how his cock reacted to her a
rrival, stiffening as if it remembered all too well how she had held it earlier that morning.

  Of how she really needed a new riding habit, for the one she wore was entirely too snug and displayed the hourglass shape of her torso.

  Of how she didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to be in his company despite the fact that she had been completely naked only the hour before. Naked and sitting atop him—astride—only a few hours before that. And she was still wearing the necklace he had given her, the charm resting just inside the hollow of her throat and just above the edge of her riding habit’s neckline.

  “I wish to apologize again for having awakened you when I did. I knew I couldn’t pull the filly,” she said as a footman appeared with plates of eggs and ham.

  “Apology accepted,” Octavius replied. “Saving Enyo was my main concern, of course,” he added, although he didn’t include a hint of the annoyance he had felt at having been disturbed. His troubled sleep would have only grown worse had she not awakened him. And given how soundly he had slept until nearly ten, he knew having her to hold onto had been the reason.

  Isabella leaned a bit to one side as the footman set down her plate. “Will you have an opportunity to visit the stables before you leave for London?” she asked as she stirred sugar and milk into her coffee. Although he had assured her only a half-hour earlier that he would, she was at a loss for a topic of conservation she could mention with the servants present. “I do hope one of these foals will be the racer you need for the St. Leger in a few years.”

  Octavius straightened in his carver and regarded her for a moment. He turned his attention to the butler and then the footman. “Leave us,” he said, his manner rather severe just then.

  Both servants bowed and took their leave. Octavius waited a full ten seconds before he turned his full attention on Isabella. “About... about this morning... ”

  A frisson shot through Isabella, his comment requiring she think about what had happened in the dark hours of early morning. Of what he had said. Of what she had promised. “I won’t speak of it with anyone,” Isabella said with a shake of her head. “I promised I would not.”

  Not exactly what he expected to hear—he had intended to ask if she made it back to her bedchamber without being seen—Octavius allowed a nod, an odd sense of disappointment settling over him. Did I want her to be discovered leaving my apartments? he wondered suddenly. He had slept so soundly with her pressed against him, he wanted nothing more than to have her next to him every night.

  Probably for the rest of his life.

  He sighed then, remembering the conversation to which she referred. Remembered his quandary. Remembered what he had done despite his promises to himself that he would never bed Isabella. His need to hold onto her—to hold onto something to quell the nightmares—had still led to behavior wholly inappropriate for a man of his stature. Of his station.

  She had been his ward. Was now his châtelaine.

  She might one day be his wife, but he didn’t want her to have to be his wife.

  What would Craythorne have done if he learned what had happened?

  Pistols at dawn, no doubt. Or a fist to the face, and another to his ribs, and another to his groin. I deserve that, he thought with a sigh.

  What would Norwick do if he learned what had happened?

  Octavius resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The earl would probably pat him on the back and congratulate him. Buy him a drink and speak of a generous dowry. Set a wedding date.

  Damn the Earl of Norwick!

  The man probably hadn’t yet told his wife about Isabella! Clarinda probably still believed her cousin was dead.

  At least I had sense enough to leave her virtue intact, he thought, despite having ruined her in every other way. Octavius squeezed his eyes shut for that moment when he remembered Craythorne was dead.

  And then he remembered Isabella’s reaction—or lack thereof—to the news that the earl had died. Did she know Craythorne wasn’t her true father? Had Norwick somehow informed her? Written to her or passed the information along by way of his cousin, Constance?

  He was about to ask Isabella when he noticed how she was regarding him, her eyes wide and her lower lip trembling. “What has you so troubled if not last night?” she asked in a whisper.

  Octavius sighed. “You,” he finally replied.

  Isabella winced. “But, why?”

  He shook his head. “Not here. Ride with me this morning, and we shall talk where no one can hear our conversation,” he murmured, sure Peters had his ear pressed against the butler pantry’s door.

  Probably gloating because he thought I was berating Isabella for her inappropriate attention to my horses.

  And yet nothing could be further from the truth.

  “Hancock needs some exercise,” Isabella replied. “I can see to the newborns later today.”

  It was the duke’s turn to wince. “Whatever do you think you’ll see to with those two?”

  “Why, put a lead on them, of course. Walk them about a bit. Maybe even take them from their mother’s sight for a moment or two. I’ll have you know I do not coddle your horses,” she stated.

  “Obviously,” he replied, rather impressed she intended to get a lead around their necks given they weren’t even a day old.

  “What will you name them?” she asked then.

  The duke seemed to ponder the question for some time, taking a bite of his breakfast before he finally said, “Eris for the filly, certainly. As for the colt...” He finally gave a shake of his head. “If I remember my Greek mythology, Enyo was only known to have had a daughter.”

  “What about Deimos?” Isabella suggested with an arched eyebrow.

  Octavius seemed to consider the name for a time. “Let me think on that for a time,” he murmured.

  Isabella gave a nod. “I’ll fill in the pedigree chart for Eris later today,” she murmured as she finished her breakfast. She held her coffee cup in both hands a moment before she said, “Please, do not be concerned that I seem... ambivalent about my father’s death. I may mourn him, but it won’t be right now. Not when there are newborn foals to celebrate.”

  The relief Octavius felt at hearing her words had him giving her a nod. He leaned over and kissed the side of her head, one hand resting on her cheek for just a moment. “One less concern, then,” he said in a whisper.

  Isabella wondered at his words, but decided not to ask what else seemed to have him so troubled. Surely a night spent in her company meant little to him—he no doubt had a mistress in London. He was probably used to having a woman... how had the ladies of the evening at The Elegant Courtesan put it?

  A woman to warm his bed.

  Yes, that was it. But if being pleasured to within an inch of her life was the cost of providing the warmth, well, it was a price she was more than willing to pay.

  Chapter 38

  A Ride to the Folly

  A half-hour later

  The invigorating ride through the part of the duke’s lands Isabella had never visited left her nearly breathless. Riding through a small forest required she follow Octavius rather than stay abreast of his mount. Although Hancock put up with it for most of the trip, he insisted on catching up to Poseidon and running neck-and-neck when he had half-a-chance.

  Once they reached a clearing with a marble folly in the middle of a small rise, Isabella halted Hancock and stared in awe. “I’ve never been here before,” she murmured.

  “I should hope not,” Octavius replied, rather liking how she stared at the circular structure in wonder. A series of columns held up the domed roof, and although there weren’t any walls, there was a series of stone benches at the base. Around the perimeter of its round floor, a series of colorful rhododendrons made it appear as if the structure had simply been willed into existence by a Greek god. On a hot summer day, the folly would be perfect for a picnic.

  Or an assignation.

  “Why do you say that?” Isabella wondered before she dismounted.

&
nbsp; The duke was quick to follow her lead, grasping Poseidon’s reins so he could hobble the horse. He arched a brow when Isabella simply dropped hers, apparently trusting her horse to remain nearby. “We’re miles from Huntinghurst and even farther from the nearest village,” he explained as he extended one of his arms and pointed to a church steeple barely visible on the horizon. “Just beyond that are Chichester’s lands,” he said, referring to the Duke of Chichester. He led her down the hill a bit until an opening in the trees to the north revealed another vista. “On a really clear day, you can make out Midhurst.”

  Isabella’s gaze swept over the horizon, her brows furrowing after a time. “Where is Boxgrove?”

  The duke turned around and pointed due south. “About ten miles that way.” The trees prevented them from seeing anything of the small village, but Isabella stared in that direction for a moment.

  “I didn’t realize Connie had to come so far to visit,” she said in awe.

  “She doesn’t. Huntinghurst is about four miles from here. But still, it’s not a quick trip for her to pay a call on you,” Octavius commented. After a moment, he offered his arm. “Come. We’ll be more comfortable in the folly.”

  Isabella placed a hand on his arm, wondering what he intended. The man’s behavior was so different from his past visits, she didn’t know what to expect.

  Once they were under the folly’s dome, he turned around, and Isabella followed his line of sight. Through a clearing in the trees to the west, the rolling hills below them displayed farm fields and forests, pastures and a village. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  Octavius watched her as she surveyed his lands below. Torn by what he wanted to do and knowing he shouldn’t, he allowed her the time to ask questions as she pointed at landmarks along the horizon.

  “This folly. Did you have it built? Or—?”

  “My grandfather did. For his duchess,” he replied in a quiet voice.