As if on cue, she spotted him staggering out of his seat and nodding courteously at Duke Clinton. The debutantes were tired of speaking to him without getting positive responses, so they let him be without flocking around him as usual. Even Lady Lydia was no longer in sight.
“Turn around, Cornelia. Don’t make him see you watching him.”
It was already too late. Her inner voice didn’t warn her early enough. Duke Durham’s eyes darted to the end of the hall whence she curiously watched him, and a smile dotted his face. He began to walk towards her too.
By the time he was close enough, Cornelia had already noticed how sweaty and anxious she was. Beads of sweat formed over her forehead as eyes trailed the movement of the duke until he stopped a foot from her. “You are here,” he said.
“Aye, Your Grace.” Cornelia curtseyed. She also frowned, confused. His eyes stared intensely and happily at her.
“Perhaps you should escort me to my room, maid,” he finally gulped, and the strong smell of wine washed over her.
She instinctively let him wrap his arm around her neck as he staggered towards her. She had never seen him drunk, nor had she seen him out of control. Once he got close to have his body against hers, he sniffed in her hair and stuck his head close to her ear. “You are beautiful, Cornelia Kolb,” she heard him whisper. “And you are mine. Mine!”
She helped him up the stairs with color flushing through her cheeks. She ought to be gratified, really, but she was terrified and embarrassed at the same time.
Everyone in the hall had seen the duke drunkenly come to her instead of accepting the flock of wealthy women that wanted him.
Chapter 6
Memories
Durham wasn’t sure why he had done it. He could see her, confused and quietly wishing that he wouldn’t come close to her, but he had. He had moved his heavy legs, desiring to be in her arms, to have her so close he could at least put the terrible night behind him.
As she helped him up the stairs and further into his room, he glanced at her, wondering why it had taken him so long to notice how beautiful she was. Cornelia had naturally brown hair that gleamed with light from the torches in the passageway. She had deep brown eyes that were small and beautiful. Then her lips–there was something about how thin and plump they looked that made him wish they were his to claim for the rest of his life.
“Here, Your Grace. It is just a few steps from the bed.”
They were already in his room? He glanced frantically around him, noticing how blurry his vision had become. Perhaps he had taken too much; he couldn’t even stand on his feet himself without staggering sideways.
Finally, Cornelia helped him unto the bed, flipping his hand over her head while he took another good look at her. Why did he tell her how beautiful she was earlier? Why can’t he stop thinking about her?
“Your Grace?”
She was panting heavily, inching close to him to help him out of his tux. Once she was done with that, she loosened the top buttons of his shirt and kneeled to help him out of his shoes too. He fell unto his back, staring weirdly at the roof above him. He was finding it to think straight with her around.
“Perhaps I should head downstairs to get Martha,” he heard her say, eventually. “She can get some maids up here to wash you up.”
“I—I have no intention to be washed, Cornelia,” he grunted, struggling to sit up. After trying and failing to do that, he grunted under his breath and resorted to pushing himself to the middle of the bed. Cornelia was quickly beside him, helping him under the blankets.
It was still difficult, getting her smell from his senses, or stopping the thoughts of her affecting him. While he watched her tuck the blankets in and begin to walk away from him, he felt his heart sinking into loneliness and sadness. “Cornelia…” he managed to whisper.
She paused in the middle of the room and slowly twirled around to stare at him. “Stay,” he pleaded. “You are of no use downstairs, anyway.” On second thought, he realized his other statement might be a bit disrespectful. “Please stay,” he added.
She didn’t move for a while, her eyes settling on his form on the bed. Eventually, he watched as she stepped towards the door, pushed it close and walked back. He patted the spot on the bed beside him, trying not to make her uncomfortable with the sudden persuasion to keep her close.
Surprisingly, she nodded mutely and sat beside him. He stretched his hand from underneath the blanket to hold her tiny palm. “Do you feel lonely sometimes?” he whispered. He had always wanted to ask what with her being the only Kolb in the manor since he had imprisoned her father.
She figured the reason behind his question on her own. “Yes,” she whispered. “I miss seeing him in the garden. He loves the flowers so much.”
“And do you hate me?” Durham whispered. He wanted to know that too.
She turned to stare for long at him and finally shook her head. “No, Your Grace,” she whispered. “I have tried to. I have tried to hate Father too for bringing this upon himself, but I couldn’t.”
“What do you feel then, if not hatred? Contempt? Indifference?”
He had often thought about what others thought about him, but he had never cared enough to ask. With Cornelia, it was different. He wanted to know what her feeling was for him, or if his presence affected her as much as hers did him.
“Your Grace,” Cornelia only whispered, staring at their attached hands. He reached out with his other hand and pulled her chin up to stare at him. “What do you feel, Cornelia Kolb?” he asked.
She bit her lips anxiously while he watched her impatiently. It was as if her response could finally make everything bearable for him…as if he needed to hear it know the shape the rest of his life could take.
“I don’t know, Your Grace,” he finally heard her whisper. “I am supposed to hate you, but I don’t. Although my wits warn me away from you, I find it hard to control how attracted I am to you. I am but a mere maid. I shouldn’t have the recourse to find you attractive or irresistible.”
She was rambling many words at the same time, and it was gradually becoming difficult for him to keep track of what was happening around him. He felt weak and lightheaded. At the same time, various emotions coursed through his body, and he wasn’t sure which was real and which wasn’t.
Curse the wine!
Eventually, he felt his hand slipping away from Cornelia’s while she inched closer to caress his jet hair. She had said something that pleased him, and he had responded with words to express his pleasure, although he wasn’t sure what it was anymore. Briefly, the memory of a time when he went to bed every night, pleased and gratified, flashed through his mind. It was a very long time ago…a long time ago when everything about being a Garnett was fulfilling for him.
“You had a brother, Your Grace?” he heard Cornelia ask as his eyes slowly flipped close.
He had spoken about that memory out loud?
“Your Grace?”
“Yes,” he managed to respond, smiling in his sleep. “It—it has been so long I thought or spoke about him with anyone.”
Cornelia paused with her fingers, patting his hair. He assumed she had inched close to him and caressed him unconsciously while he slowly drifted off to sleep.
“What happened to him, Your Grace?” he heard her ask, eventually.
Happened? He remembered that a lot had happened. Memories of the forgotten past swept over him at the same time that he finally gave in to the sleep that plagued him.
He was back to the lively fourteen-year-old he once was.
***
“Master David, you come back here right now and have your breakfast!”
It was Martha, she had stomped right after him after he escaped from her grasp and ran down the hallway towards the master bedroom. He was still wearing his sleeping robe, and although she had begged him to wash before he ate, he had insisted he wasn’t going to step out of his bedroom until the food was brought to him.
Martha, oblivious o
f his ploy to tease her the rest of the day–he liked doing that to her all the time, had asked the maids to do as he pleased. Once a large tray of shrimps, vegetables, and bread was brought to him though, he had suddenly jumped out of his bed, running down the hall and giggling at the top of his voice as she yelled behind him.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before she caught up with him, but unlike her, he had his young, strong, and speedy legs to depend on. He was inside the master bedroom before he knew it and wasn’t disappointed to find it empty. Despite that it was just eight in the morning, his father, the Duke of Durham would either be at the colliery or would be in the hall downstairs, attending to guests and state issues.
Maybe you could meet him there before he leaves!
He thought about it only once before skidding out of the master bedroom again. He almost ran into an unsuspecting maid who only glared at him confusedly until Martha’s voice echoed through the walls again.
“Master David Garnett!” she yelled.
He winked at the maid who now knew he was being chased and swept out of her way before she thought of holding him down. Once again, his fast legs created a good distance between them as he made his way down the stairs to the hall. On second thought, just to confuse whoever was trailing after him, he ran out through the exit doors and very quickly made his way around the compound of the manor to find the little window that could get him back into the same passageway he had just left.
“You find me that way!” he grinned to himself.
Checking around the passageway to see that no one had found him yet, he confidently made his way to the large wooden doors that led into the hallway.
“You stupid lad! You have ruined everything with your callousness!”
His hand paused at the doorknob. He could hear the duke’s strong voice reverberating from behind the door and with curiosity, he stared through the keyhole instead.
The duke was on his feet, and he was pacing the large hall furiously. Whoever he was yelling at, David couldn’t see them, but he was certain they kept their lips shut, probably terrified of the duke as he whirled around and began to spit at them again. “You had but only one task,” he growled. “Get the coal on a train. Get it to the duchy, and head right back. Instead, you whored around like the irritating prig that you are.”
The duchess, his mother, was suddenly in view and David frowned, wondering if she was the one he was deeply enraged by. She, however, proved this assumption wrong, as she only stepped beside the duke, holding his hands to calm him down. “He is young, Your Grace,” David heard her whisper in an almost inaudible tone. “He has no knowledge of what his actions could wreak between the duchies.”
“Young?” the duke asked, shaking his head while staring straight ahead. “He is no young lad; he is only arrogant, irresponsible, and useless. He wouldn’t even acknowledge….”
“Father, enough!”
David blinked. He should have known! His brother stepped into the middle of the hall, inching close to the duke with an intense frown on his face. “I don’t have to do everything you want,” he spat. “I don’t think I should be your pet either. Mother, tell him; tell him I will be a better and fiercer duke than he would ever be!”
Instead of being placated, David watched as the rage in his father’s eyes grew fiercer. He lunged forward but suddenly had the duchess in between him and his son. “Just let him be!” she said, in tears. “I will get him to come around, Your Grace. I will.”
“There wouldn’t be any need to.” David heard his brother grunt behind her. “I will leave…he has got no one else but me to fill in his place, and I will be back when he is dead.”
The duchess gaped at this and turned to step towards him, but he swung out of her way, heading towards the steps that lead to the floor above them–probably heading straight to his room.
David swept his gaze back to the duke and duchess, hoping to see what their reactions were but hands suddenly gripped his collar, pulling him away from the doors.
The maids had finally found him.
“You will have your bath and eat your breakfast, Your Grace!” Martha was in the middle of the hallway with her eyes glaring firmly at him.
In a way, he was compelled to yell at her as he had seen his brother yell at their father, but he couldn’t. Martha was like a mother to him. All the maids were.
“Okay,” he muttered stubbornly under his breath.
The maids that had pulled him from the door let him go while Martha shook her head and stepped towards him. “How about I read to you while you eat, Your Grace?” she suggested.
His eyes lit up with delight. He nodded, reaching for her hand as she made her way up the stairs back to his room.
For a second, he glanced over his shoulder at the wooden doors, wondering what that was about.
He knew his father was a difficult man, but he had never seen him so enraged before, and at his son, the heir to the Durham duchy.
***
He woke up with a slight headache and groaned as the light from the windows shone brightly into his eyes.
Martha stepped toward him from nowhere, passing him a glass of water. He took it from her quietly, staring strangely into her hazel eyes and noticing for the first time how time had been quite kind to her.
Although there were more wrinkles beneath her eyes, in between her cheeks and over her neck, her pale white skin glowed with beauty. The typical smile on her face was almost gone, but he could still see the cheerfulness somewhere in her eyes.
“What time is it, Martha?” he asked. And where is Cornelia?
“Afternoon, Your Grace,” Martha responded, walking around the bed to open more windows.
He winced at the light. And did she just say afternoon? “What—what about the guests?” he asked.
“All gone,” Martha whispered and turned attentively to him. “Duke Clinton said to write to him if there were ever more dinner parties to attend.”
“And Lady Clinton?”
Martha paused as if she was considering the best way to respond to the question. “She stayed a few hours till morning and also left…with the dowager duchess.”
That was strange. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the light-headedness that briefly swept through him. At least he should be glad his mother wasn’t the one beside his bed, probably ranting at him for behaving rudely towards the debutantes. He just couldn’t stand them, despite how much he tried.
“Did the dowager duchess speak of where she was going with her, or when she would be back?” he asked, opening his eyes.
Martha shook her head in response, and he nodded, slowly inching out of bed and making a mental note to write to Lydia before the end of the day. She had confessed her love to him, albeit awkwardly. His response wasn’t totally gentlemanly, neither did it show that he cared about her feelings.
On second thought, instead of stepping completely out of bed, he sat with his back to Martha and heaved a long sigh, also considering the past he had thought of before drifting off to sleep. He had had a strange dream of the long-forgotten past too, and he wondered why.
“Martha?” he whispered after a while.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
She hadn’t stepped a foot from where she stood, and he glanced over his shoulder at her with a sad smile. “A lot has changed since I often troubled you over taking my bath and eating breakfast, hasn’t it?” he asked.
She frowned at him at first, and he imagined the memories sweeping through her mind before her eyes lit up with recognition and a bit of nostalgia. “Aye,” she whispered. “A lot has changed.”
“Do you sometimes think about him?” he also asked.
He had expected a second frown, and she didn’t disappoint him. Once again, her eyes lit up with the memories. “Not since the dowager duchess asked everyone in the manor to never speak about him,” she whispered.
He wondered why his mother had done that sometimes though and had often concluded that perhaps, the memory
of his brother saddened her, despite how he had stepped in to make her happy and proud.
Thinking about the little he had achieved with running the manor and the duchy in the two years he had become the duke though, he realized that perhaps he hadn’t impressed her much. “Martha,” he whispered absentmindedly again.
She seemed to be worried about him. She stepped forward with a curious stare while he thought about the best way to ask her. “Do you think he would do better if he were here? Maybe he would have found himself a pretty bride and make sure those who spread rumors about him were hung and tied to a stick to rot?”
Martha shook her head, sauntering towards the bed as he spoke. “No, no, Your Grace,” she whispered.
“Say it,” he commanded. “Say he would have done better.”
“No, I won’t,” Martha insisted. “You have been a better duke than him and your father combined.”
Martha stopped in her tracks and clasped her lips shut as if in regret as he fixed his gaze on her. He waited, hoping she was going to say more. Finally, she heaved a sigh and wrapped her arms around her body anxiously. “Perhaps everyone doesn’t say it, Your Grace, but I would if you would permit me.”
“What is it?” he asked, turning fully to look at her.
“You hardly treat anyone with contempt or arrogance, and although it might not make those with your status hold you at high esteem, it has made every single subject and maid respect you.”
“But they do not fear me…. Kolb, the gardener, spreads lies he knows nothing about.”
“People do not need to fear if they can respect and follow with obedience, Your Grace,” Martha whispered. “And Kolb may just have been framed.”
“Framed? The stable boy and Thomas from the barn claimed to have gotten stories from him to tell everyone in the duchy.”
“But no one has seen both boys since the night they were questioned, Your Grace. It has been almost a month, and maybe they fled before anyone thought to question them again.”
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