His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

Castlebury growled. "You'll pardon me, Reggie, but your father is a devil if ever I saw one. He had best not harm any of them, or I will call him out myself."

  "Won't do any good. He doesn't care what anyone else thinks of his honor. He'd just ignore you. This is good news, actually. Even though he is coercing her, he is negotiating in his own way. And although he will lie, he will not break his promises. So he will have made some sort of agreement with her."

  "That is the damnedest code of honor I have ever heard of," said Bibury.

  Reggie took another drink of ale. "But it is his code. Think like he does, Bibury. So then, what will he have promised her? He wants to get Chloe out of my life. Chloe wants her sisters. So he will make that exchange, and likely sweeten the deal with a reasonable way for her to take care of them."

  "Set her up? Why the devil do that?"

  "To make sure she stays out of my life. And it will make him feel magnanimous, in a way, justify to himself what he is doing." Reggie grabbed up a large chunk of bread and slathered it with butter, which he swallowed almost whole, and washed down with ale. "Well, gentlemen, Miss Hawarth, I believe I shall rest an hour or so. Then I'll hit the road again."

  "Rest for the night, Lord Reginald," Miss Hawarth pleaded. "I cannot see what you can accomplish in the darkness."

  "I sleep little, Miss Hawarth. It is not in my nature, and there is a bright moon. But I think I have unraveled how he has got past us, and I mean to head him off."

  "How's that, Reggie?" asked St. James.

  Reggie studied his companions, none of whom looked up to more riding for the night. "I thought it strange, when he left town, he took three grooms with him. But there is a reason for everything he does. He simply does not bother to impart his reasons to others. We have been looking for a coach that exchanged teams in the usual fashion, but the duke knew we would do that."

  Castlebury sat back and stroked at his chin. "I don't see how he could have got very far without fresh teams, Reggie."

  "He couldn't. So he disguised it. His grooms went ahead of him and hired teams which they took to pre-arranged locations. We should be asking whether any persons have hired teams without having coaches."

  "The devil you say! Oh, pardon me, Miss Hawarth." Castlebury reddened.

  "Hardly a time for coyness, Lord Castlebury. Then what must we do now, Lord Reginald?"

  Reggie sat back down to the table. "Let us think it through. He left with Miss Englefield just before cock's crow, in his coach, but that does not mean he did not change vehicles."

  Castlebury leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "If one of the grooms hired another coach, he could have met the duke, switched coaches, and sent the ducal coach toward Oxford. That would be the one I chased. Then it is likely he did not go north."

  Reggie nodded back. It made sense. "But don't rule it out. He would expect us to jump to that conclusion, and might go that direction simply because we would not look there."

  "Then how shall we ever untangle this mess?" asked Bibury, shaking his head as if he meant to concede defeat.

  Reggie didn't. "We'll go back over the routes we took today, but this time go a day's worth farther, and note any side roads where a hidden exchange might be made. But I think he will not willingly take a poor road. It would be too slow, and too easy for a horseman to catch up to him. So the main roads, my lads. Rest for the night, and get an early start."

  But he couldn't help but wonder if the clue to it all lay in his father's journal that was tucked in his saddlebag. While Castlebury and Bibury slept away, snoring lightly, Reggie sat in the winged chair in the little room, and by the dim light of a brace of candles, squinted at the pages of the journal.

  Starting at the last entry, he paged back slowly, skimming as thoroughly as he dared over each page.

  He found another poem, an ode to a golden haired lady lovingly tending her roses, by the man who watched her from a hilltop and wished for that tenderness for himself. He read further, feeling the sadness and loss. He noted the date. His mother's birthday.

  There was a hilltop near his mother's estate on the Avon. Had the duke gone there, spied on her in secret? Was the cold Duke of Marmount secretly in love with the woman he had cast aside, never speaking her name again for sixteen years?

  He turned the page, still going from back to front. Soon frustration began to mount, and Reggie flipped the pages rapidly.

  What the deuce was the duke doing? He was most certainly headed toward a specific place, but where?

  Reggie reminded himself to think like the duke.

  The duke was a very careful, logical man who constantly took in information and stored it for future use. He was also a man who used the resources he had, and wasted little.

  And the Duke of Marmount owned a great deal of property. Would he use a property already in his possession to sequester Chloe and her sisters? Why purchase or lease something when he already had far more than he himself could use?

  Featherstone? No, too obvious, and Reggie went there often.

  Reggie fanned the pages again. A list caught his eye. The duke was always making lists. Reggie turned back to the page.

  An inventory of properties. Several pages of them. The entailed ducal properties. The Marquisate that by courtesy belonged to Robert. Featherstone. Leverton. Leverton was far to the north, and the duke wasn't headed in that direction.

  Marstens. Reggie straightened and held the journal closer to the flame. Elizabeth Marstens' hall. The aunt his father had loved, a woman of kindness Reggie barely remembered, the one after whom the duke had named his only daughter. A fitting place to hide the woman who had usurped his baby daughter's birthday.

  He snapped the journal closed. "Castlebury, wake up," he called, shaking the man's shoulder.

  "Hmmmmf?" Castlebury groaned.

  "I've found it. He's going to Marstens Hall."

  Castlebury frowned at Reggie as Reggie threw on his coat and retied his dangling cravat.

  "Where's that?" he asked.

  That was the trouble. "In West Sussex somewhere. I'm sure I can find it. In case I'm wrong, continue with the plan, and we'll leave Miss Hawarth here at The Bear to relay messages."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Wherever Marstens Hall is. There's a full moon, and it's a beautiful night for riding."

  Chapter Seventeen

  The ruts in the dirt road bounced the coach, throwing Chloe against the side, and the duke jumped from his seat to catch her. She threw back a frown and righted herself, but clung to the corner of the squabs for support, one hand clung to the sill of the coach window. She coughed at the dust.

  "Your pardon, Miss Englefield," said the duke, hanging on, himself. "Your discomfort will be ended shortly."

  More likely, her discomfort was just beginning. She could imagine the cottage he had promised-peeling walls and leaking thatch, a loft hanging above a central room and rope ladder for access. The chimney would leak, and fill the house with smoke from the swallow's nests that had been left by the previous careless inhabitants. And the apples would all be rotten, too, she knew it.

  Why had she not realized it? His promises came so easily to him because they were empty.

  Her body ached from the jostling, and the hours upon hours of sitting. Even this stone-faced duke stood stiffly whenever they stopped to change horses, and the way he stretched his body reminded her of an old man in great pain from rheumatic joints. It gave her perverse pleasure to know he had to suffer in order to make her suffer. But if he thought to destroy her, she would prove him wrong. Life had taught her more than how to turn a hem. She would survive, and keep her sisters safe, too.

  They came upon a village that looked like any other in the South Downs, a scattering of half-timbered and buildings with their thatched and tiled roofs, surrounded by green fields and squared off by hedgerows and narrow little lanes sunk down so deep, it was almost like driving through a cavern. An inn of freshly whitewashed s stood at the center, across from a
small church with a well-kept churchyard. A woman in a shawl stopped in her journey to watch the coach as it passed.

  The coach tilted in a long rut, then finally righted again, and at last came to a stop in front of a and timber manor house at the far edge of the village. The silent duke stepped out and held out his hand for her. She had become accustomed to his silences and all the thoughts he did not deign to share.

  She snickered to herself, thinking of all the thoughts he shared unbidden, whether she wanted to hear them or not. Then she realized there had been none of those since the night before.

  "Where are we?" she asked, allowing him to help her down.

  "Marstens Hall," he responded.

  She smirked. As if that told her anything.

  "It is yours, now, although as it once belonged to a favorite aunt of mine, I expect you will take good care of it."

  This towering place? It was huge! "Oh no, Your Grace, I cannot accept it."

  "It was to be for my daughter Elizabeth, but now it has no purpose, so you might as well have it. I am not willing to part with anything dearer."

  "But it is much too large. I cannot possibly support it."

  "You will not need to support it. It has never failed to produce a reasonable living."

  From a window above, she heard a high-pitched shriek.

  "It's the duke! Hurry! Look! He's brought Chloe!"

  The shrieking garbled and dimmed, then before she reached the door, it burst open and two young girls in white dresses dashed out, their yellow-blonde curls bouncing.

  Madeline! Allison! They rushed headlong into her, arms wide, then thrown about her. Tears streamed down her cheeks and flowed onto their golden curls as she nuzzled their heads. Sobs choked her throat, so that she could not even manage a greeting. It was real. They were really here, and safe.

  "Oh, Chloe, you have grown so pretty!" said Madeline. "He said so, but you really are."

  She glanced at the duke, who stood aside, glowering.

  "Let me see you both," she replied, holding them back for a moment. "No I think it is the two of you have grown so lovely. And growing up too, I vow. Madeline, you are still a wee bit taller, I see. And you, my beautiful Allison, still remind me of a lovely porcelain doll. My, how you have grown!"

  "But you are truly beautiful," said Allison, smiling shyly.

  Chloe drew her into another hug. "We have so much to say, let us get on with it."

  Then Allison, her blue eyes shining, turned to the duke. "I knew you could do it, Your Grace," she said. She stood up on tiptoes, and planted a kiss to his cheek.

  Madeline grinned brashly and kissed his other cheek as Chloe's eyes widened. The duke blushed a brilliant red and for a brief moment his jaw went slack.

  "Is he not wonderful, Chloe?" said Madeline, beaming. "After all this time, to bring us together again? And he says we may not part until we are finally all wed."

  "Yes. I am sure you feel that way." But she caught the duke's subtly anxious gaze, as if he awaited a telling blow. In a few words, she could destroy their idolization of him. Did he dare hope she would not? Why did he care what two young girls thought of him, when he cared not a tuppence about anyone else?

  Perhaps it was true instead that he cared far too much. Chloe bit her lower lip and tried to smile at the same time, reminding herself what she had promised to herself and to the absent Reggie.

  Giggling, the girls linked arms with both Chloe and the duke, all but dragging them into the house.

  "Come and see our house, Chloe," said Madeline, prancing like an excited pony. "It's wonderful. I have my own chamber, and Allison has hers, and you have a really big one. But we sleep in the same room anyway, as we are not accustomed to sleeping alone. And there are rooms for everything. It is not as big as father's castle, of course, but it hardly matters as we were not allowed the use of it."

  "It is much in need of a woman's touch, " the duke replied. "If you find anything lacking, you may apply to me."

  "Did you not say the house is mine, Your Grace?" she asked.

  "I did."

  "In that event, I shall not find it necessary to apply to you to manage my own property."

  He slid a sideways glare at her. "Then I shall be going. It is time you renew your acquaintance with your sisters."

  "Are you not staying the night?" Allison asked.

  "Certainly not, Miss Allison. It would be improper. My coachman will arrange a room at the inn."

  "Not even supper?" Madeline wailed.

  "You have not seen your sister in several years, Miss Cottingham. It is proper that you should spend this time with her. No arguing, now. I shall not have it."

  "Perhaps supper, Your Grace?" Chloe asked, then wondered why she had. She certainly did not want to spend another moment with this curmudgeon.

  The duke gave her a surprised frown.

  "Clearly, it would mean so much to them."

  He sighed. "Very well, then, Miss Englefield. If it so pleases you. I'll bid you good day, then, until supper."

  Chloe watched the duke as he pivoted in that startlingly abrupt manner he had, and strode across the great hall and out the door. Beside her stood her new butler, Weems, who she expected to be more or less a man of all work such as Cargill had been. She asked about the evening meal.

  "Cook prepares a simple fare, ma'am,” said Weems, “but dare I say you will find it tasty. I shall ask her to add a bit to it, for you would not wish to appear a poor hostess to your benefactor."

  Benefactor! The man thought she was a mistress being set aside! She took a deep breath to remind herself of her composure. "Very well, Weems, then be sure Cook knows the Duke of Marmount is to sup at our table tonight. Now, girls, I really must see my chamber."

  It would not be so terribly much longer before she could be shed of her nemesis. She changed her clothes to a simple gown she found laid out for her. Then that must mean someone here was performing the duties of a maid. She had not had a maid of her own in two years.

  The girls rushed in. Madeline plopped down in a plump chair in Chloe's sitting room. "I have decided I shall become a duchess, Chloe. Would that not be grand? I shall marry the duke's older son, and Allison may have the younger. Only, I should not like for anything to happen to the duke, so I do not mind being very old when I become the duchess."

  "I suspect the duke has other plans for his sons," Chloe replied, surmising it would not be good to mention Reggie just yet.

  "Oh." Madeline sighed. "Well, then, I shall find another duke's son to marry, I suppose."

  "Oh, you are such a goose," Allison said. "She thinks of nothing but who she will marry, Chloe."

  "And what do you think of?" Madeline retorted. "Being a spinster?"

  "Well, I should rather not marry than to have someone who did not love me. I shall marry only for love, Chloe. He need not have a title or wealth."

  "I can as easily love a rich man as a poor one, I vow," said Madeline. "Who are you going to marry, Chloe?"

  "I have not given it great consideration," Chloe lied.

  "Madeline said you are going to be a spinster like Aunt Daphne. Are you, Chloe?"

  Chloe hid her sadness behind lowered eyelids. She knew now she would not marry if she could not have Reggie. And she had ruined that because she could not believe in him. "I should not be terribly unhappy if I did not wed," she said. "But I would always prefer to choose a man with a kind heart over a pretty face or great wealth."

  "Well, that is not being in love. Have you ever been in love, Chloe?"

  Chloe looked across her chamber to the little red book resting on the bureau. "Yes."

  "You have?" cried both girls at once.

  "Oh, come tell us all about it, Chloe," Madeline pleaded, pulling on Chloe's arm. "Was he so very handsome?"

  "And nice? Was he nice, Chloe? Is it all so sad, now that it is over?"

  "What makes you think it is over?"

  "If it were not," Allison said, "then you would be married, and the duke
would not have had to take us from Uncle."

  Clearly, the duke had not told them anything of his plans for his sons. Or for Chloe. "Well, perhaps you are right. But I cannot imagine how the duke got you away from him."

  "He was wonderful," Madeline said, pressing her hands together.

  "He offered to call the man out," Allison said. "Well, I think that is what he said. Madeline had a bruise on her cheek from where Uncle Cottingham hit her with his fist, and His Grace was very angry. Then he told Uncle something we did not hear, and Uncle looked very frightened. Then Uncle told the duke he had one hour to get us and everything we thought we could take with us, before he shut the gate behind us. And I did not care at all, Chloe, as long as we got free of him."

  "We have a bit of mama's jewelry, and the miniature of her and papa,” said Madeline. “Allison got our china dolls, and Miss Appleton grabbed whatever she might of our clothing and books. But the duke has had some things made up for us, so it does not matter. I think I should like to marry him, if only he were not so old."

  "Silly. He has a wife. Even if she doesn't like him," said Allison.

  "Well, that is quite enough, girls," Chloe said, and stood. "We must go down to supper, for the duke will be coming shortly, and we do not wish for his ears to burn."

  "If the duchess dies, you could marry the duke, Chloe," said Madeline.

  "That is not at all well done of you, Madeline," said Allison. "You should not wish anyone dead."

  "I did not wish her dead, even if she is so silly as to not love him."

  "Enough," said Chloe, starting down the stairs. "Our company has arrived, and you must attempt to be civilized."

  Through clenched teeth, she greeted the duke when he returned, noting as she had before that he was uncommonly handsome for a cold, hard statue. But now she was seeing something different. He did not hide that sad loneliness nearly as well as he thought.

  Supper was the simple, pleasant pottage Weems had promised. As they ate, she watched the girls banter and tease, Madeline in her exuberant way, and Allison in quiet shyness. Something about the stone duke softened as he basked in their adoration.