The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  My teeth continued to chatter, and I was too cold and weary to control them, even if I had been able.

  Richard's frown turned to a look of worry. “Vanessa, you're soaked.” He put an arm around me and pulled me closer to him.

  "You'll get wet,” I protested.

  Richard shook his head. “That matters little. I want to keep you warm till we reach home."

  And keep me warm he did.

  He did not scold me any more either, and I was grateful for that.

  When we got back to the castle, Richard insisted on carrying me up the great stairs to my room. He dismissed the maid who brought the pitcher of warm water and with his own hands began to unknot my shawl.

  For some reason I felt embarrassment. “Richard, I can undress myself."

  "Of course you can,” he said. “But you are shivering. And to do so will take much longer. You're already chilled through. I want to get you warm as soon as possible."

  He dropped the shawl to the floor and began on the hooks to my dress. “I am sorry to have been gone so long,” he said. “But it was the anniversary of Mrs. Carmody's marriage, the first since she lost her husband, and she had no way to the churchyard."

  I nodded. “Toby told me."

  Richard had taken off my blue gown, now sadly soaked with mud and rain, and knelt to remove my shoes and stockings. Though the room was chill as ever and my chemise was sopping wet, a warmth began to steal through my body.

  "Richard, please do not be hard on Toby. He tried to stop me."

  Richard smiled. “I'm sure Toby did what he could. At least he didn't give you the stallion."

  "No. I tried, but he said he had his orders."

  Richard looked up. “You wanted to ride the stallion?"

  "Of course. He's a beautiful animal, and he was restless today."

  Richard nodded absently. “He fidgets when he hasn't been out.” He took the cloth and warm water and began to wipe my face. “I'm sorry, Vanessa. This whole thing is my fault."

  Astonishment made my mouth fall open. “Your fault?"

  "Of course. I should not have left you to your own devices. You're used to an active life. Being shut up must be galling to you."

  I hesitated. Should I tell him what had upset me so, what had driven me to act in’ such an unusual way? “I—I was not bored,” I said. “I was a little upset. The vicar was here. And his sister."

  Richard's expression changed. His eyes, which had been warm and loving, grew cold and cloudy. He got to his feet and stood looking down on me. “What happened? What did they say?"

  I kept my tone calm. “Miss Varish believes that you should have the stallion put down, and when I told her that I disagreed, she did not like it."

  "Was that all?"

  "Yes,” I said. In that split second I decided not to tell him about the complaints to the magistrate, or to let on that I knew anything about the incident in the hay loft.

  His expression grew less guarded. “I'm afraid Miss Varish is going to be disappointed. I've no intention of destroying a beautiful animal to please the likes of her."

  "I should hope not.” I moved closer to him. “Richard?"

  His eyes grew warm again. “Yes, my dear?"

  My heart was pounding, but I made myself ask the question. “Do you really love me?"

  His eyes looked deep into mine. “Yes, Nessie, I do. And I mean to prove it. Right now."

  "N-now?” It was not the cold or the wet that made the word come out strangely. I was having trouble believing that the moment I had been waiting for had at last arrived.

  Richard's fingers went to the ribbons on my chemise, and then I realized what an awful wreck I must look. “Oh, Richard. You can't!"

  His mouth fell open. And if I had been less distraught I might have laughed.

  "What?"

  "Look at me. My hair is all muddy. I'm a mess. I wanted to be pretty and—"

  Richard burst into laughter, and in a moment had had whisked off my chemise and bundled me under the covers.

  "Nessie,” he said, removing his own clothes, “you are the most beautiful woman in the world."

  From my nest of pillows, I watched him undress, and I did indeed feel beautiful. “You—you are a very handsome man,” I ventured.

  He laughed again. Oh, it was good to hear his laughter, clean and fresh. “I believe, wife, that you are a trifle biased."

  "Perhaps,” I agreed. “But just a trifle."

  Then he was in the bed beside me, his body warm against mine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Afterwards, quite warm again, I stretched deliciously and smiled. Safe against the heat of Richard's body, with his arm around me, the things I had heard earlier were meaningless. How could I believe anything against him? My husband loved me. I knew it in the very depths of my being.

  In my happiness, I recalled the child, Richard's child, and what I had promised her. “Oh, dear!"

  "What is it, love?"

  His lips were warm against my brow, his words of love burning in my heart as my body still felt the heat of our passion. I did not want to spoil our glorious time together, and so I hesitated, but I could not in good conscience, put the task off any longer. “I told Sarah you and I would spend some time with her today. You are her father, and she should see more of you."

  His whole body tensed, and though I lay just as near him, I felt a chasm opening between us.

  "Nessie,” he said, “do as you please about the child. I leave her entirely in your hands. Just understand, I don't wish to be involved."

  I could not leave it at that. “But Richard, she's your child. How can you do this to her?"

  His eyes had gone cold again. “Do what? I see that she has everything she needs."

  I did not like to contradict him, but I saw that I must. “No, you do not. She needs her father's love."

  He frowned. “I cannot give her that."

  "Richard! After what your mother did to you, how can you be so cruel to Sarah? To your own child."

  Richard sighed. “All right, Vanessa. I did not want to do it, but I see that I shall have to tell you the truth. Sarah is not mine."

  I could not immediately take this in. “Not yours?"

  "That's right. Caroline told me so herself."

  "Then who is her father?"

  "Caroline would not tell me.” His eyes burned with pain. “She would not tell me his name, but she was quite sure the child was not mine."

  "And that is why you stopped going to see Sarah? Why you ceased to act like her father?"

  "Yes."

  My heart ached for his pain. And for Sarah's. “Oh, Richard. You must not do this awful thing. Think! What if Caroline lied about this? Think what damage you'll be doing to your own child."

  His frown deepened. “Why should she lie about such a thing?"

  He did not know Caroline as well as I thought. “She lied about many things,” I pointed out. “She lied whenever it suited her purpose."

  "But if the child is not mine—"

  "So what if she is not yours?” I persisted. I had to make him understand. “What harm is done by loving an orphan, a foundling? In the child's eyes you are her father. How can she understand why her father does not love her?"

  "You must make her understand,” he said firmly. “For I cannot love her."

  I could not believe that. I kissed his ear before I whispered in it. “We shall have many children, you and I, but in God's name and for His Son's sake, we must love the one that has already been entrusted to our care."

  We spoke no more then, of Sarah or anything else, but once again explored the joyous union God had ordained for husband and wife.

  Later, we rose and began to dress. I seemed to have suffered no ill effects from my fall and my exposure to the elements. Indeed, for the first time since I'd come to Greyden Castle, I felt warm and serene. And of course, I was feeling very happy to at last be Richard's wife in every way.

  I stole an admiring look at his body as h
e bent to retrieve his shirt. Suddenly he drew in a sharp breath, as though something pained him. When he straightened, I saw that he walked with a limp.

  I hurried to his side. “Richard, you have injured yourself. Oh, my dear, you did it helping me."

  Richard smiled and touched my cheek. “No, Nessie. It has nothing to do with you. It's an old injury."

  I thought of Roland's story. “How—how did you do it?"

  His hesitation was almost imperceptible, but it was there. “I fell,” he said. “When I was a boy. My leg acts up now and then."

  "Where did you fall from?"

  "The stable loft."

  He did not go on. I badly wanted to hear his version of the story, but I dared not press him for it. He would not like my having discussed such matters with Roland—or anyone else.

  I felt again a stab of disloyalty. If only my husband would confide in me. Then I would not need to gather information from his family and the servants.

  I reached up to give him a kiss. “Richard, why did you not tell me about Penrose?"

  At least he did not try to evade the question. He looked directly into my eyes. “I suppose someone has told you that Rosie is really his mother."

  "Yes, the poor boy."

  One of Richard's eyebrows shot up. “Poor boy! I did not suppose you had much sympathy for him."

  "True, I did not. But with his mother as she is—Richard, can we get Rosamund some new gowns?"

  Richard looked shocked. “Gowns?"

  "Yes, dear. I was talking to Penrose earlier, and to Roland and your mother. They all agreed that it might be helpful to Rosamund to get her out of mourning."

  Richard shook his head. “They all agreed, did they? Nessie, you are a miracle worker.” He sighed. “It sounds like a fine idea, but I'm afraid it's only that. Rosie has worn black these eighteen years. How can we get her to change now?"

  "I do not know,” I said truthfully. “But Penrose said he would help."

  Richard smiled. “Then perhaps you will succeed. He has a lot of influence with her. At any rate, it's worth the effort. Only do not agitate her."

  "Of course not.” I could not resist stretching up to kiss him again before I went to the armoire for a clean chemise. “And Richard—"

  He looked faintly amused. “Already you are learning wifely habits."

  I did not understand. “I am? What habits?"

  "You have discovered the best time to ask for favors."

  As the implications of this washed over me, I felt myself flush scarlet. “Oh, dear, I did not mean to—"

  His laughter rang out again. How I loved the sound of it, “Nessie, my darling. What a gem you are. You may ask me anything you like at any time."

  Emboldened by his words, I slipped again into his arms. “Then will you think about what I said about Sarah?"

  Wonder of wonders, he did not push me away. The warmth of his arms still enfolded me.

  "Yes,” he whispered against my hair. “I will think about it. But Nessie, I can make no promises."

  "I understand. But just think."

  Roland must be mistaken, I decided as I donned my clean chemise and gown. Richard was too warm and loving a man to have tried to kill his brother. But why hadn't he told me the story himself?

  "Nessie,” Richard said as he did up my hooks, “would you really like to ride the stallion?"

  "Oh, yes! Oh, Richard! I should love it!"

  He hesitated. “I was thinking—but only if you really want to—no, it's too dangerous."

  "Richard. What?"

  "When you said you wished to ride “Mercury, I did think that your doing so might quiet the talk."

  I saw immediately what he was about. “Of course. If I ride him, people will see what a gentle animal he really is."

  "That was my thought. But—"

  I hurried into his arms. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!"

  He smiled. “All right, you have convinced me. But you must promise me one thing."

  "Yes, of course."

  "First, we will go riding together. I'll show you the countryside. The landmarks. Places to avoid. And later, when you are accustomed to finding your way, you may ride out alone."

  "Oh, yes. That will be marvelous.” I kissed him once more and turned toward the door. “I must go to Sarah, my dearest. I promised her."

  He nodded. I thought he almost smiled. At least he did not frown. “Since it has stopped raining,” he said, “I'm going out to check the horses. I want to be sure the mare has suffered no ill effects."

  I found Sarah in the nursery, staring at the fire. She did not speak to me or acknowledge my presence in any way.

  Creighton frowned. “She's been like that these many hours, Your Grace. Won't move. Won't talk."

  "Sarah?"

  The child turned accusing eyes on me. “You didn't send for me. You lied."

  "Here now—” Creighton began.

  "It's all right,” I interjected. “Sarah is right to be upset. I broke my promise to her."

  Creighton drew in a sharp breath, and Sarah's eyes widened. “Why?” Sarah asked. “Why did you do that?"

  I drew up a chair so I could face her on her level. “I didn't mean to,” I explained. “I went for a ride and I got lost. On the moor."

  Her small face paled. “My mama hated the moor. She said it was the godawfulest country."

  "I thought it rather beautiful,” I said softly. “But I didn't watch where I was going, and so I got lost. Then, when I was trying to find my way, a storm came. The horse bolted and threw me."

  The child climbed down from her chair and surveyed me solemnly. “Did you get hurt?"

  "Just a little. I got the wind knocked out of me."

  She nodded. “Then may I still sit in your lap?"

  "Of course."

  She climbed up and settled herself. “Did the horse run away, Nessie?"

  "No, dear. Your father came along right then and brought me home."

  Her lower lip came out to register her displeasure. “You didn't send for me."

  "No, Sarah, I didn't. I was wet clear to the skin. I had to get washed and dried off, to change my clothes. And—” I could feel the flush rising to my cheeks—"I was very tired so I took a nap. But as soon as I could I came to see you. To explain what happened. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?"

  "Yes.” She put her little arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. “Will I get to see my father now, Nessie? Please?"

  Her eyes were downcast, and I knew from her expression that she expected another disappointment. Suddenly I couldn't bear it. Richard must learn to love her. I would do anything to make that happen. “Yes,” I said. “Get your cloak. We're going to the stable."

  Creighton shook her head, but she said nothing, and within minutes Sarah stood ready.

  "Now,” I said as we moved down the hall, “you must be good."

  "Yes,” Sarah replied. “Then my father will love me.” She looked up at me with eyes full of tears. “I must have been very bad. That's why—"

  "No, Sarah.” I could not let the child go on like that. “You are not bad."

  She shook her head. “I am. I know I am."

  "How can you know such a thing?"

  "My mama said so. She said I was a bad bad girl."

  My heart skipped a beat. Oh, the things Caroline had to answer for. Perhaps Rosamund wasn't so far off in wishing her to burn in eternal fire. “When was this?” I asked.

  "When I found her book."

  "Her book?"

  Sarah nodded. “She wrote in it. And she kept it hid."

  My mind raced. Caroline writing in a book. Why hadn't I remembered that Caroline always kept a diary? If only I could find it. Perhaps it would tell me something about Sarah's father.

  "I just wanted to see if it smelled pretty like her,” Sarah told me. “But she said I was a bad bad girl."

  "You were not a bad girl,” I said firmly, remembering the day Caroline had found me in her scent bottles. “You were just curiou
s."

  She thought about this as we descended the great stairs. “Nessie, what is curious?"

  I smiled. “It means wanting to learn new things. All children are curious."

  "And it's not bad?"

  "Not at all,” I said. “Sarah—” I chose my words carefully. “Do you know where your mama kept her book?"

  Sarah shook her head. “No, Nessie. That day I saw it she was in the funny room. At the top of the stairs. Where it's so dark. I hid up there to surprise her.” Her face puckered. “She scolded me and told me I was bad. I didn't mean to be bad."

  "I know, dear.” We had reached the bottom of the stairs. “But come, let us forget all that for now. Let's go see the horses."

  "And my father."

  "And your father,” I repeated. How strong the bond of love must have been before Caroline's hateful words destroyed it. Why, I wondered again, should Caroline tell her husband such a hateful thing? Even if it were true, and something—some feeling in me—insisted that it was not, what had she to gain by telling him such a thing?

  I could come to no firm conclusion. There were possibilities, of course. Perhaps she was jealous of the child and sought to bring Richard's attention back to her. That was certainly possible. Or she might just have wanted to hurt him, and knowing his love for Sarah, she knew also where to deal him the most painful blow.

  The second possibility seemed far more likely to me. Caroline did nothing that did not benefit her. That much I could be sure of.

  By this time we were following the path to the stables. “I like the sunshine,” Sarah said with a little smile. “It's warm and bright."

  The stable door was open, and we went in, Sarah's small hand trustingly in mine. Please God, I begged. Don't let him hurt her more.

  "There's the pretty horse,” Sarah said. “And there's my father."

  Richard turned. His face took on that closed expression, but he did not frown.

  "Good day. Father,” Sarah said. “Nessie brought me to see the horses."

  Richard's look informed me quite clearly that he had divined my intent. But all he said was “So I see."

  Sarah pulled me toward the stallion. “Look, Nessie, isn't he pretty?"

  "Yes, Sarah."

  "Can I pet him?"

  "Of course.” I bent to lift her and then paused. Perhaps ... I straightened and put a hand to my back. “I seem to have a crick here. From the fall I suppose."