“Oh no, no, no!” the Duke interjected, in a falsely-jovial voice. “It’s not clear that anything is wrong with me, but I am getting older every day. The physician was merely offering me some practical advice.”
“I see.” Nicholas said. He was unsure whether to take the Duke at his word. Did the physician say more that Father is keeping from me now? But if so, why tell me anything at all? “Well, let us hope that there will be plenty of time before that becomes necessary.”
“Yes, of course.” The Duke replied, and then added, “And Nicholas, please don’t tell your mother about this. She has more than enough to worry about with Isobel’s debut fast approaching, I do not wish to concern her with this, especially since it is most likely nothing.”
“Of course, Father,” Nicholas replied. “I won’t mention a word of it to Mother.”
In truth, Nicholas agreed that it would benefit no one to tell the Duchess that her husband had been unwell, but he wondered whether it was true that there was no cause for concern. I suppose that if there truly were reason to be concerned, it would be more obvious. It is true that Father has seemed more tired recently, but surely that is normal for a man of his age?
* * *
The following day, the Duke of Huxley did not come down to breakfast with his family. His valet reported that the Duke had a headache and would take his morning meal in bed, but that he was adamant that his family need not worry about his condition.
Nicholas looked around the table to his mother and sister. The Duchess showed no sign of concern at this announcement, and merely said, “Thank you, Evans, that will be all.”
The Duke’s valet recognized the dismissal and left the dining room. Nicholas’ sister, Isobel looked somewhat more concerned than their mother. She said nothing, but caught Nicholas’ eye for the briefest moment. Has father talked to Izzy about his health as well?
Nicholas allowed his mind to wander throughout the meal. The Duchess spoke enthusiastically about the preparations for Isobel’s debut. Isobel responded to her mother, somewhat less enthusiastically, but she was able to maintain the conversation, allowing Nicholas to disengage.
Nicholas read the newspaper, flipping idly through the pages, taking nothing in. He thought mostly of his father’s health, wondering what his headache this morning might mean. Perhaps it means nothing. More than likely it is nothing more than an ordinary headache.
As they always did on such occasions, his thoughts eventually turned to Miss Baxter. The Duke had been concerned about Nicholas making a good marriage, but he had never been as stern as the Duchess about social graces. Would he approve of a match with a carpenter’s daughter?
* * *
Later that day, Nicholas and Isobel were both in the library, while the Duchess met in her study with the housekeeper, and the Duke remained in his bedchamber.
“Mother is planning to have a new bookcase made that will block the passageway entrance.” Isobel said, in a perfectly matter-of-fact tone.
“How do you know about that?” Nicholas asked, nonplussed.
“The bookcase?” Isobel asked, “You know Mother talks of nothing but the preparations for my debut these days. That includes all of the new furniture she has commissioned.”
Nicholas continued to look at his sister, stunned. After a moment he spoke again. “Not the bookcase, Izzy. How do you know about the passageway?”
“Oh, I found it ages ago!” she replied, “I believe I was nine years old at the time? You must recall that I was a most incorrigible child, and my governess despaired of me. When she stepped out of the library in exasperation one day, I decided I would prefer to be absent when she returned, so I set out to find a passageway entrance.”
“But…” Nicholas stammered, “But how did you even know to look for a passageway?”
“Well, from the servants, of course!” she said, looking at her brother as though he were an utter fool. “They use them all the time to go about their business without getting in our way.”
“The servants told you about these passages?” Nicholas asked.
“Of course not, Nick. But they’re hardly a secret. They talk of them to one another all the time, and I pay attention.” She smiled, and looking pleased with herself, added, “that’s how I always know everything that happens here. My maid tells me a few things that mean very little on their own, and then I overhear other things, and by piecing them together, I’m able to learn all kinds of things!”
“What kinds of things?” Nicholas demanded. I shall be the Duke of Huxley someday, the master of this estate, what sorts of things happen here that are unknown to me?
“Well, for example, I know that Father has been suffering from headaches for several months now, not just today.” Isobel replied.
“Did Father tell you about that?” Nicholas asked, though he was sure he had not.
“Of course not, Nick.” Isobel sounded both exasperated and amused. “Thompson mentioned to me once that she hoped the Duke would be feeling well soon, and when I questioned her about it, she insisted that she meant nothing by it, only that he had seemed tired.”
“And from that you surmised that he has been suffering from headaches for months?” Nicholas was skeptical of this. Thompson was Isobel’s lady’s maid. How could one comment, made in between tending to Isobel’s gowns and dressing her hair, have been so informative?
“No, Nick, you are failing to understand my point.” Isobel said, with the air of an adult explaining something elementary to a very young child.
“Thompson made a simple comment that told me almost nothing. Her reluctance to elaborate on that comment told me much more.” She explained. “After that I paid close attention to Father’s behavior, and I noticed that he did seem to be quite tired, although he never mentioned it. A few weeks later, I overheard his valet telling a scullery maid he fancies that the Duke had ‘yet another headache’, thus suggesting that there was a pattern.”
Nicholas marveled at his sister’s powers of observation. “Well, Izzy,” he said, “I’m quite impressed! I don’t suppose you’ve overheard anything that would help to treat these headaches?”
“Ah, now I’m glad you asked!” she said with a smile, “because it just so happens that I have. And that is why I asked you about the bookcase.”
“Izzy, you are clearly a master of making connections” Nicholas said, “but I’m afraid I’m not as clever as you are. I fail to see how these things are related in any way.”
“Well, dear brother, that is because I have yet to tell you a critical piece of information,” Isobel said with a chuckle. “This is why it takes time for me to piece this type of information together. If the issue were not time sensitive, perhaps I would let you try to figure it out on your own.”
“Izzy,” said Nicholas, getting frustrated now, “I have no patience for this sort of thing. Please tell me what it is you have yet to disclose.”
“All right, Nick. I shall not tease you any longer.” Isobel replied, in a kinder tone, “Father likely fears that his headaches are a symptom of some greater illness, but it is far more likely that his eyesight is deteriorating with age, causing him to squint, which in turn causes his head to ache.”
“And how do you know this?” Nicholas interrupted.
“The same thing happened to the butler a few years ago.”
“All right, then. This is excellent news!” Nicholas replied, “I still fail to see how it relates to a passageway hidden by a bookcase.”
“In addition to doing less reading, and getting spectacles, Campbell was able to treat his headaches with herbal remedies provided to him by the midwife in town. Father would never seek help from such a person, but she is the wife of an apothecary, and knows what she is about.”
“So, you’d like to meet with her to discuss Father’s case?” Nicholas asked, finally beginning to understand what his sister was proposing.
“Yes.” she replied simply.
“And you shall have to do so in secret, as Mo
ther and Father would not approve.”
“Exactly.”
“But Izzy, sneaking out of the house through a hidden passageway is a huge risk to take!” Nicholas said.
“Well, let us hope that I won’t need to do that. You and I could always go out riding and visit her on our way. But I should still like to have an option, just in case.” She paused for a moment and then continued, “It would also allow for the possibility of sneaking the midwife in to administer treatment if necessary.”
“And you believe that you could convince Father to submit to such treatments?” Nicholas was once again skeptical.
“Oh, I expect that I can convince Father of almost anything!” Isobel said with an impish grin. “You just leave father to me. And perhaps you could speak to your friend, the charming Miss Baxter, about building the bookcase in such a way that it continues to allow entry to the passageway.”
With that, Isobel stood up and bid her brother goodbye. Nicholas remained in the library. He soon became lost in thoughts of all that happened within his household but outside of his view, admiration for his sister’s powers of observation, and fantasies of how he might approach Miss Baxter for her help on this problem.
Chapter 11
Cecilia saddled her family’s old chestnut mare and adjusted the straps to ensure that both horse and rider would be comfortable for the forthcoming journey. In her saddle bag, she placed a stone bottle filled with fresh water, a small leather purse, and two apples—one for her horse, and one for herself.
She stepped up on the stirrup and swung her leg over her mount, settling herself comfortably into the saddle.
“Papa!” she called, and he walked out of the house and into the yard. “I’m off to town, now. I shall be back before supper with the supplies.”
“I’m sorry that I’m not able to go with you, there is simply too much work to be done here!” her father said, approaching her and kissing her on the cheek before she set off down the dirt lane toward town.
Cecilia had a few shillings in her purse, enough to pay the blacksmith for the nails and iron braces they would need to complete the next week’s worth of work. Still, she continued to worry about her family’s financial situation. Father says that we will manage, and I suppose I have no choice but to trust him. Still, I do wish that the forester had been willing to negotiate on the price of lumber.
Cecilia considered this as she trotted down the lane into town. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent of the crisp autumn air. Ordinarily her father or Archie would have travelled with her, but it was simply not possible with the amount of work that needed to be done. Mrs. Williams might have gone with her in the past, but she was no longer able to make the journey on foot, and the family had only one horse.
Cecilia had never made this journey on her own, and likely never would again. She found that she enjoyed the solitude. Unbidden, an image came to her mind of riding along this path with the Marquess of Clive by her side, and she passed a very pleasant quarter of an hour imagining what they might talk about in such a situation.
Of course, gentlemen who stand to inherit dukedoms don’t go riding with carpenter’s daughters. And besides, I have no time for leisurely rides with handsome lords.
* * *
As Cecilia entered the main street she saw a tall, well-dressed gentleman exiting the bookshop. The sun was shining on his auburn hair, and Cecilia’s breath caught in her chest momentarily. Surely it isn’t him. My mind is playing tricks on me—this is some other gentleman with auburn hair, and I only want it to be the Marquess of Clive.
When the man turned in her direction, and she saw that it was indeed the Marquess of Clive, Cecilia felt a flush rising in her cheeks. Just as she was wondering whether she ought to approach him and say hello, her horse stumbled. Cecilia only just managed to keep her balance.
She walked her mare to the side of the lane and dismounted gracefully.
“Hush now, Poppy,” Cecilia said to her mount. She walked around, checking her saddle and bridle, as well as each of the horse’s legs and hooves. After a moment she discovered that Poppy had thrown a shoe. It hung, loose, from her left front hoof, one nail barely holding it in place.
“Oh, Poppy!” Cecilia said in an exasperated voice. “This is the last thing that we need today.”
Poppy neighed softly and shifted on her feet, clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s all right, girl. I’m sorry, I know this is not your fault. We shall get you fixed up in no time.”
Cecilia was reaching into her saddle bag, looking for a small hammer, when she heard a friendly voice behind her.
“Miss Baxter?”
Cecilia spun around and saw The Marquess of Clive, on the back of a handsome chestnut stallion. He dismounted and led his horse to the side of the rode, beside Poppy.
“Are you all right, Miss Baxter?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “Are you in need of assistance?”
“That is very kind, My Lord,” she replied, curtseying as she spoke. “My horse has thrown a shoe, but it is not badly damaged. I shall just need to tighten it before I can continue on my way.”
“Shall I escort you to blacksmith’s shop? I’m quite sure he will be able to help you with your horse’s shoe.”
Cecilia was unable to suppress a small, nervous laugh. Purely by chance, she found herself unchaperoned with the Marquess of Clive. This was a circumstance about which she might have fantasized, but in reality it could damage her reputation beyond repair.
“Thank you, My Lord, that is most kind, but I can repair my horse’s shoe here before continuing on. As it happens, I am on my way to the blacksmith’s shop but not for horseshoes.”
“Ah, of course,” he said, with an air of being quite impressed. “I should have known that you would be able to shoe your own horse, Miss Baxter.”
“I have been riding since I was a very young girl, My Lord, it would be quite an oversight if I had never learned to fix a thrown shoe. It is quite a simple operation when the shoe is still intact, as I’m sure you know.”
“A simple operation,” Lord Clive said, bemused, “of course, it is. For someone such as yourself, I suppose it is no challenge at all.”
“Someone such as myself?” Cecilia responded, unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. In a fit of boldness, she looked the Marquess directly in the eye as she asked this, and was relieved to see that the smile on his lips extended to his eyes as well.
“My apologies, Miss Baxter,” he said, kindly. “I meant no insult. I merely meant that you strike me as a competent and self-sufficient sort of person.”
Cecilia smiled at this. I should like to think of myself in the same way, although Mrs. Williams would certainly object to any description of me as ‘self-sufficient’ in the realm of housekeeping.
“Thank you, My Lord. For someone such as myself,” she paused for the slightest moment here, emphasizing the last four words with a coy smile, “that is a wonderful compliment.”
“Ah,” he said, sounding quite relieved. “I am very glad that you have received my words in the spirit in which they were intended, Miss Baxter. Now, I know that you are quite capable of re-shoeing your horse yourself, but as I am here, might I be of help?”
Cecilia doubted that a Marquess could be of much help in shoeing a horse, but I suppose it would be rather rude to say so.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she said, “perhaps you could hold Poppy’s reins to keep her steady while I examine her hoof more closely?”
As it happened, Poppy seemed to like the Marquess of Clive quite as much as Cecilia did. He held the reins firmly, but without aggression, and kept Poppy calm with his soothing voice while Cecilia worked.
After several minutes, Poppy’s shoe was back in place, and Cecilia was ready to continue on her way. She found that she was reluctant to part ways with the Marquess, but could think of no way to prolong their meeting without being too forward.
She was therefore pleased when the Marquess asked, “Is it
only a trip to the blacksmith’s shop that brings you to town, Miss Baxter? Or do you have other business here as well?”
“Only the blacksmith, My Lord. I need to purchase some supplies for our work on your family’s current order,” she told him, and then feeling a bit reckless, she continued, “I am hoping to negotiate a reduced price for the materials, since we will be placing such a large, and therefore quite expensive, order.”
The Marquess looked confused at these words. “Surely the price we pay for the pieces will cover the cost of the supplies to build them and then some? If not, you really must adjust your pricing, Miss Baxter! I admit that I know very little of your industry, but I would have thought that was obvious!”
The Marquess In Her Bed (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 8
