The Duke's Challenge

by Fenella J Miller

‘They’re scrubbing out the kitchen because it was full of….’

  ‘Oh pray, don’t tell me! I’ve no desire to know what awful things reside in there.’

  Beth grinned. ‘Can we go down to the maze? You can see it from your window if you look out and then we can wave to you.’

  ‘As I’m in bed that’s of little help. But go – I’m sure it is safe. Please tell Annie to come and speak to me on your way out to the garden.’

  She swung her legs to the floor for the second time that day. Her head remained on her shoulders and her legs didn’t tremble. She stood, holding on to an oak corner post to steady herself. Should she risk a small walk around the room? She would dearly like to see the maze; she recalled her mother had mentioned it once.

  The journey to the window was slow but completed without mishap. She collapsed gratefully on the wooden window seat and rested her face against the leaded panes. Yes, there it was, but where were the smooth lawns and trimmed and cultivated flowerbeds? Before her was a veritable meadow - long golden grass flecked with late poppies and cornflowers stretched in all directions. The yew maze was discernible but so dense she wondered how the children managed to negotiate it.

  The stone mullion was cool beneath her fingertips and she was glad she had on her thick wrapper. She heard heavy footsteps approaching and smiled. At last; Annie was coming up to answer her questions. It didn’t occur to her to question why her maid servant was not using the servant’s passage.

  The knock on the door was loud, startling her. ‘Come in.’

  The bed chamber door swung open and a man, in his shirt sleeves and stockings, burst in. Her mouth rounded in shock. His eyes narrowed in appreciation.

  ‘I beg your pardon for intruding, Miss Carstairs, but I need to talk to you.’

  She shrunk back into the embrasure, her hands clenched in her lap. He looked so big, so tough and so very angry. Only then did she notice the vicious scars that ran from right side of his temple, down across the corner of his eye to his mouth. He was a soldier, no wonder he appeared formidable.

  ‘Excuse me… your grace, but I must ask you to leave my room, this instant.’

  His mouth curled with contempt. These words had an all too familiar ring. ‘I shall do as you bid. But speak to you I shall and sooner, rather than later.’

  She watched him straighten his shoulders and turn. He swayed and for a moment she thought he would fall, but he regained control of his limbs and left the chamber as abruptly as he had entered. She felt strangely stimulated by the unexpected encounter. She scrambled to her feet and walked across to the bell rope by the mantelshelf.

  She tugged it hard. There was a rattle, a cloud of plaster and dust, and it came free from the ceiling leaving a gaping hole in its place. Coughing and spluttering, she stepped away from the debris.

  ‘Good lord, miss, whatever next?’ Annie bustled in, her round features creased with concern.

  ‘I am unhurt but I now have a large hole in my ceiling.’ She grinned. ‘I have just received a visit from the duke. I know, don’t poker up, Annie, I sent him out immediately.’

  ‘I should hope so too. Whatever was Lord Thurston thinking of to visit you here?’

  ‘I don’t believe he was thinking at all, I believe he was a trifle bosky. Imagine coming to see me in his shirt sleeves and stockings!’

  ‘And you should not be out of bed, remember what Dr Andrews said?’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘I have no recollection of any doctor saying anything. However, I intend to get up, with or without your assistance.’

  ‘If you insist, Miss Carstairs. You sit down on the bed whilst I fetch your garments. Is there anything particular you wish to wear?’

  There was not a great deal of choice in her limited wardrobe. ‘I should like to wear my green afternoon dress. The one with the long sleeves and high neck line.’ She had no intention of exposing her bosom to the duke twice in one day.

  It took longer than usual for Charlotte to be dressed to her satisfaction. ‘I think that will suffice, Annie, thank you. It’s too painful to have my hair up. I shall have to leave it in a braid down my back, like Beth.’ She stood up, surprised to find her legs unsteady. Furtively, she gripped the bed post, it would never do to betray her weakness or her maid might insist that she accompanied her downstairs.

  ‘The children are outside in the garden and I’m going to join them, but first I shall sit down for a while, and enjoy the view from the window. I’m sure you have duties to perform elsewhere, Annie. Beth was telling me about the kitchen.’

  ‘Indeed I do, miss. The house is a disgrace. I must go down right away and find someone to repair the ceiling. You cannot sleep in this room until it is done.’

  Charlotte shivered. ‘Rats?’

  Annie nodded. ‘What we need here are a couple of cats and a terrier or two, they would soon rid the place of vermin.’

  Charlotte waited until Annie vanished through the servant’s door. Then stood up, shook out her skirts, checked her appearance for the final time and left the comparative safety of her chamber to seek an audience with Lord Thurston.

  Chapter Three

  Charlotte paused; the passage stretched in both directions the sunlight highlighting the cobwebs that festooned the ceilings and walls. She smiled as she realised all she had to do was follow Lord Thurston’s footprints in the dust, for they were clearly discernible on the floor. She didn’t attempt to look through the grimy windows; she could guess what scenes of neglect would meet her eye.

  The long corridor became lighter as she approached the gallery that overlooked the entrance hall. She glanced down not surprised to see the hem of her gown was already blackened. Her mouth curled ruefully; she doubted the duke would notice, in his inebriated state. She admired the ornately carved banisters, noticing the heraldic animals and flowers but, like the rest of the house, they were sadly in need of a good polish.

  The entrance hall was deserted - no sign of the butler or any footmen. She stopped, unsure which of the many closed doors was the one she sought. Following the stocking prints down here was impossible, there were too many other marks obscuring them.

  ‘Can I help you, Miss Carstairs?’ The voice came from behind her and Charlotte exclaimed in shock.

  ‘Good heavens! You startled me.’ She glared at the elderly man in faded black tailcoat. ‘I presume you are the butler?’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ He bowed. ‘I am Meltham, at your service.’

  ‘In which room shall I discover Lord Thurston? I wish to speak to him urgently.’ She saw the shocked expression on the butler’s face. ‘Lord Thurston had the temerity to visit me in my chambers. I agreed to come down directly and speak to him in more suitable surroundings.’ This was a half-truth but it served.

  Meltham relaxed. ‘In that case, Miss Carstairs, I shall announce you.’ He frowned. ‘I must inform you, miss, that his grace is not quite himself this afternoon.’

  ‘If you are trying to tell me in a roundabout way that he is in his cups then I am well aware of that, I can assure you.’

  ‘I shall remain in the vicinity, Miss Carstairs, in case you should have need of me.’ She understood his message.

  ‘Thank you. That’s kind of you.’

  The butler led her across the dark empty space which even the glass, set into the high vaulted ceiling, failed to illuminate. For these panes were so obscured by dirt they failed to let in sufficient sunlight. Charlotte fixed her eyes ahead, resolutely ignoring the signs of decay all around her.

  The butler halted in front of dark panelled doors, almost indistinguishable in a wall of the same material. He knocked, then paused, waiting to hear the reply.

  ‘Come in, damn you, Meltham.’

  Charlotte stood behind him, her fingers clenched into fists and her pulse racing.

  ‘Are you quite sure you wish to see his grace? Perhaps it would be better to leave it until another time, Miss Carstairs?’

  ‘No, announce me, please. I shall see him.’ Her vo
ice did not reflect her nervousness.

  The doors were opened and the butler stepped aside. A wave of alcoholic fumes, and the stench of unwashed humanity, engulfed her and for an instant she recoiled. Forcing down her distaste she tried to see past Meltham into the gloom beyond.

  ‘Miss Carstairs wishes to speak to you, your grace, are you receiving visitors this afternoon?’

  There was a pause, as if he was considering his response. Then a deep baritone replied. ‘Then send her in, man, send her in.’

  The room was dark, the shutters closed, blocking out the autumn sunlight and a huge fire burned brightly in the cavernous fireplace making the room not only foul smelling but uncomfortably hot. She took a few tentative steps forward but was still unable to see her quarry. Where was he? Slowly her eyes adjusted and a slight movement from the depths of a battered leather armchair, facing the fire, attracted her attention.

  She moved further into the room. Yes – this was he! Lord Thurston had not bothered to stand up to greet her and this omission annoyed her. He sprawled, glass in hand, his face hidden by the wings of the chair. This was outrageous! How dare he treat her so uncivilly? First he barged into her bedchamber now he remained seated in her presence. The man was a disgrace to his title. Grandfather must be turning in his grave.

  Fuelled by her righteous indignation at his unmannerly behaviour, she sailed across the room to halt a few feet from him. ‘Lord Thurston, you are no gentleman.’

  His harsh laugh made her regret her rash decision to enter his domain. ‘I do not profess to be one. I am as you see me; either accept, or depart, the choice is yours.’

  She was tempted to retreat, leaving him to his brandy and self-pity, but this matter must be settled. She was fighting for the survival of her family. ‘May I be seated, Lord Thurston?’ Her voice dripped scorn. He waved a hand in the direction of a second leather chair placed far too close to his. Charlotte swallowed her fear and took the indicated seat. A smell of stale feet rose to greet her and she gagged; for an awful moment she thought she would cast up her accounts.

  She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness engulfed her. Cold perspiration prickled her forehead and desperately she clutched her handkerchief to her mouth. To her astonishment she was lifted and carried to the locked French doors. She heard him release the catches and she was outside, and fresh clean air filled her lungs.

  ‘Hold still, here is a bench. I shall place you on it.’ The tenderness in his voice sent a different kind of tremor down her spine. ‘There, you can open your eyes now, Miss Carstairs, and breathe freely without fear of inhaling my stench.’

  She opened her eyes and carefully avoided looking in his direction whilst she drew in a lungful of sweet air. ‘I must apologise for my indisposition, Lord Thurston. I am obviously not as fully recovered as I had hoped.’

  ‘It is I who must apologise.’ His voice was sincere, all traces of roughness gone. She risked a glance and her involuntary smile surprised them both.

  ‘Good heavens, my lord, you are in no state to have been carrying me. You are swaying like a reed in the wind. Please seat yourself before it is I who must assist you.’

  He folded his length onto the far end the stone bench, the undamaged side of his face towards her.

  ‘Lord Thurston, my maid tells me that you wish us to leave here?’ When he didn’t answer she half turned to face him. He was staring at his feet. ‘This has to be our home now; we have nowhere else to go. You are our only living relative and however remote the connection it is your duty to provide for us.’

  Still she received no answer. She watched him flex his toes, clearly visible through the holes in his stockings, and her temper flared. ‘For heaven’s sake, what ails you? My father died from his wounds, you are lucky, you have your life. You must put aside your self-pity and take charge of your responsibilities.’

  She saw his shoulders stiffen and the muscles in his neck contract, but he didn’t answer or look her way. Unwisely she decided to continue her attack. ‘Why should so many others have to suffer because you have been disfigured? Have you no compassion? Your tenants and villagers are starving because of your neglect, they…’ Her words ended on a squeak at his arm shot out and his hand clamped, vice-like, around her arm.

  Finally he turned. ‘Enough! You forget yourself, Miss Carstairs, it is I who am master here.’ His slate grey eyes bored into her, daring her to reply.

  She dropped her head, defeated by his rage. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord. I spoke out of turn. I had no right to criticise you.’ The band around her arm was removed and she heard him stand up. Dare she risk a glance? Or would she be impaled by that dagger stare again?

  She looked up and to her astonishment he was smiling, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. She smiled back and when he held out his hand she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. He released his hold once she was upright.

  ‘Well, that was invigorating! You’re the first person to have the courage to tell me what I already know.’

  ‘My lord, if you know you are… you are neglecting your duties, why do you do so?’

  He shook his head and was forced to brace himself against the wall as he swayed dangerously. ‘I lost the only thing I cared for when this happened.’ He ran strong fingers down his scar. ‘It’s not my fault the estate is in decay. I found it this way when I arrived. Your precious grandfather let it go.’ Having recovered his equilibrium he straightened. ‘I merely exist here. I am a tenant at Thurston Hall as much as anyone else.’

  Her jaw dropped. She had never heard such fustian. ‘Lord Thurston….’ she hesitated, unwilling to antagonise him a second time. ‘Your grace, may I speak freely?’

  He half bowed, his expression guarded, his tone chilly. ‘Pray continue, Miss Carstairs. I cannot wait to hear what else you have to tell me.’

  ‘If you wish to— she paused - perhaps, ‘wallow’ was not a good choice. She wracked her brain for a more suitable word. ‘If you wish to remain in your chambers… repining on your fate then so be it, but that’s no reason why someone else should not run the estate for you. I presume that there are still sufficient funds to do this?’

  He shrugged. ‘I have no idea how matters stand. I never bothered to enquire. But please feel free to interfere as much as you wish, my dear; if you can persuade the lawyers to speak to you, find the funds to run the estate, then go ahead, you have my full permission to do so.’

  ‘You are jesting, my lord! How can I run the estate? I have not yet reached my majority and even when I do, women have no rights under the law.’

  His smile was not friendly. ‘Exactly! However I shall have a document drawn up giving you permission to spend funds and order things as you wish.’

  ‘Let me understand you, my lord. You’re willing to allow us to stay here; you’re not going to send us away?’

  ‘Ah- yes! But, my dear, Miss Carstairs, there is a proviso. You and those brats can remain at Thurston Hall only if you can show demonstrable improvements to the estate at the end of a specified time.’

  ‘But that’s impossible. It’s an outrageous suggestion - how can I act as your bailiff?’

  ‘That is my stipulation, however. I shall give you… let me see… two months from today. If you fail to improve the estate in any significant way then you shall all leave here, never to return. Is that clear?’

  She glared at the hateful man staring down at her. ‘You have given me no alternative. I accept your challenge. But my two months cannot start until the necessary documents have been drawn up by the lawyers.’

  He nodded. ‘Very well. I’ll do that much, after that the matter shall rest entirely on your shoulders. Do not think to come to me every five minutes for assistance.’

  She leapt to her feet, her anger giving her the courage she required to answer him. ‘You are despicable. As I have said before, you are a disgrace to your name. But, do not worry, I shall be more than happy to allow you to wallow in your filth and drink yourself to death whilst
I am the one to save Thurston from ruin.’

  She saw his fingers turn into fists and wondered, for a moment, if he would strike her but she stood her ground. He did not answer her taunts. Then unexpectedly his shoulders slumped and he retreated back into his lair and there was a click as he locked the doors behind him.

  Her anger dissipated but so did her confidence. With a sigh of despair she slumped back on to the stone bench. They were both insane - he to offer her such a challenge and she to accept it. But at least she had gained them two months respite and a lot could happen in that time.

  She considered the irascible duke. Perhaps he was not all bad - after all he had taken care of her twice in the past few days. He just had to be shown his injuries were superficial, that he was the same man on the inside as he had always been. Her lips parted and an interesting heat suffused her limbs. In spite of his scars he was still a fine looking man. He stood well over six feet in his stockings and, as Harry had said, his shoulders were broad. That his arms were strong she could vouch for herself. How could he have given up so completely? What was it he had said? That he had lost the only thing he cared for—that had to mean a woman had rejected him. She could understand this, for after all, grief at losing the man she loved, had eventually killed her own mother.

  She strolled along the terrace, making sure she didn’t trip on the broken edges of the flagstones. She went to the far edge of the paved expanse and stared up at the massive edifice. She was delighted to note most of the many dozen windows were intact - a good clean with vinegar and paper should soon get them pristine again.

  The roof, where she stood, appeared sound; it had no sagging gutters and none of the orange peg-tiles were missing. Well, at least she would not have to deal with a leaks as well as a vermin infested interior.

  It took her a further fifteen minutes to find her way to what was effectively the rear of the house, although this was where carriages drove up and where guests and residents alike entered the ancient building. The front - from where she had just come - faced the park and had a grand staircase leading down to what she supposed had once been an ornamental lake. Its surface was now so weed covered this was indistinguishable from the grass that grew all around it.