by Matilda Hart
“Take your joy however you can get it, my dear.” Aloud, she said, “I had a good time this weekend. It was good to be here. Please tell John thanks for me as well. Ryde,” she added, turning to him, “come and visit us some time. We’re not quite as fashionable as the duke, but we pass muster.”
The both laughed together, and all trooped out to see her off. Back indoors, Ryde took Lottie by the elbow and led her into the study. Shutting the door behind them, he pulled her close and kissed her hungrily.
“I have been dying to get you alone for a kiss, my sweet,” he said, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.
“We cannot...it is broad daylight…” Lottie strove to find the words to express her fears.
“I will never let harm come to you,” he vowed, and pulled her close again to kiss her once more. The feel of his body against hers set her off, and Lottie grew hot with need. She could feel her skin flushing as he sucked on her tongue, and explored her mouth. Finally, she pulled away.
“This cannot happen,” she protested. “We must stop!”
“Let us go for a walk, then,” he suggested. “Some fresh air will do us both good.”
“Let me get my wrap and a hat,” she said, and hurried away to armor herself against him.
When she returned downstairs, he was nowhere to be seen. She walked out through the drawing room doors and saw him admiring the sculptures in the garden. A statue of Cupid graced the center of the garden, his quiver full of arrows, his bow strung with one ready to be discharged.
“I think he may have struck another victim,” Ryde commented in a low voice.
Lottie blushed but made no comment.
“I dreamed of you last night,” he continued, still looking at the statue. “We were making love, and when you screamed my name, I did not need to kiss you into silence.”
“And why was that?” she asked, against her better judgment.
“Because you were already mine.”
She moved away, and he followed her. They stopped at another piece, this one Poseidon. He stood in a fountain, his arms outstretched, his trident raised aloft.
“When do you return home?” she asked, maintaining a safe distance between them.
“At the weekend I return to London,” he said. “I have not been home to my family seat for almost a year.”
“Your mother must miss you,” she said, strolling to the next feature in the garden.
“Will you miss me when I am gone, my sweet?” he asked. He seemed determined to keep the conversation personal.
Although she knew she would, she said instead, “I could ask the same of you.”
“And my answer would be yes,” he replied instantly. “I wish that you could visit me in my townhouse in London,” he added. “But propriety dictates that you may only visit with your husband or a female relative in tow. And I would want you alone, so that I could ravish you again and again.”
“Barry, you must stop this!” she exclaimed, blushing hotly. “It is not safe!”
“You did not answer my question,” he reminded her. “Will you miss me when I am gone?”
She looked at him and nodded, afraid that if she said the words, they would set in motion something she couldn’t control. And right now, she needed to feel in control.
“I think I shall visit my mother for lunch,” she announced. “I know that if I do not appear soon, she will be furious.”
“I’ll inform Bates,” he said, “while you get ready. But don’t think you can always run away from me, my sweet.” He smiled wickedly, and she laughed.
A trip to her mother would while away a few hours, and she could see her father before she had to return home. The distance would also help to restore her equilibrium. Soon she was settling herself in the gig and on her way. She watched as Ryde grew smaller in size till he disappeared from view. She admitted to herself that having had that one taste of him, she was not ready to let go, and she would miss him terribly when he left. Gathering her thoughts, she prepared herself mentally for a visit with her parents. It had been over three months since she had lived with them and much had changed in her. She hoped she still had it in her to endure their foolishness.
Chapter 8 -- Barrington
Not being able to spend a moment with the woman he was coming to care for was driving Ryde slowly mad. He had endured an afternoon of aimless wandering while she went off to visit her parents, a quiet dinner where any conversation was about the duke’s meeting with the warring parties on the morrow, and his fears that things would end badly. And after dinner, no one was in the mood to play whist or piano, and each went up his and her respective rooms and retired for the evening.
He wanted Lottie. It was that simple. Once had not been nearly enough. he needed to feel her under his hands, his mouth, his body. he needed to consume her, to take her. He should have known that she was different from any of his former lovers. They had slaked his thirst, and he had let them go without a qualm. But Lottie made him want to hold on and never let go. Happily for his peace of mind, his cousin had not claimed his husbandly due last evening. Ryde knew he would not have been able to bear it.
Once the duke left, he sat in the study and wrote to his man in London, instructing him to prepare the house for his return, and to invite his friends over for dinner on the following weekend. He needed to keep himself occupied, if he was to survive being without Lottie. Perhaps he should not limit himself to her, he thought as he sealed the letter and summoned Bates. He dismissed the thought almost as soon as he had it. He could no longer stand even the thought of anyone but her.
“I should like this sent out by this afternoon’s post, thank you, Bates,” he said.
On a whim, he wrote to his mother, promising to return home for a week at the end of October. He gave her news of Snowley and his new bride, and of Regina, of whom his mother was very fond. He included notes to his younger sisters, and handed those letters off to Bates as well.
A cry from the front had him walking briskly out to see what all the commotion was about. Bates hurried out and as Ryde reached the front door, he came back in, clearly shaken.
“Bates? What has happened?”
For a moment the butler could not speak. Ryde became alarmed. Had there been an accident? Has something happened to Lottie? To John?
“Why man, what’s gone wrong?” He didn’t like the apoplectic look of Bates’ expression. He had never seen Bates unmanned before, but he seemed close to it now.
“It is the Duke, my lord,” Bates finally managed to say. “He has been shot!”
“Where is the Duchess?” Ryde asked immediately. “Is she still at her parents’ home?”
“Yes, my lord. They have secured her.”
“And where is His Grace?” he asked next.
“At the Bird and Bottle, where the meeting was being held, my lord.”
“I will ride out at once,” Ryde said. “Have them saddle my horse. I’ll be down shortly.”
Changing into riding gear, Ryde hurried out and was off, leaving instructions for them to secure the house, and to keep watch for him. He got to the village in under a half hour, and rushed into the inn to find his cousin. There was a large crowd assembled, including the magistrate, and two burly men were holding a third man prisoner. Ryde assumed he was the shooter. He would want to talk to him later, if he needed to, but first, he needed to see his cousin.
“Where’s the doctor?” he asked. “I am the duke’s cousin.”
“This way, sir,” someone said, and Ryde followed a woman to the back of the inn where he found his cousin laid out on a couch, a gaping wound in his chest. His face clearly showed the shock of the attack, and the pain of it.
“Is he alive?” he wanted to know. He could not see how he could be, from the size of the wound. Whoever had shot him clearly wanted him dead.
A tall, gaunt man appeared and walked over to shake his hand.
“I am Dr. Carson,” he introduced himself, “and I am sorry to have to tell you, sir, t
hat His Grace is dead.”
Ryde felt his chest expand. This could not be happening. Inhaling deeply to calm himself, he asked,
“What happened?”
“The bullet was not meant for His Grace,” the doctor said. “His Grace was standing in for the man who was the real target.”
Ryde’s heart stopped beating for a moment. “Nigel Hawthorne?”
“I’m afraid so. That is why we have secured his home. No one may enter or leave unless we say so.”
“Why?” Ryde seemed to have run out of words, and to have forgotten the basic rules of conversation.
“The weavers consider him to be the largest stumbling block in the way of true negotiations between themselves and the millers. He has been against any measure that would allow them to keep making a living, and he has refused to acknowledge that the mills are making too large a profit from the process, profit which could be shared with the weavers.”
“So my cousin is dead because of mistaken identity?”
“I’m afraid so, my lord.”
“I will pay to have his body taken home at once,” Ryde said. “And I will undertake to escort the Duchess back as well. Can he be moved now?”
When the doctor agreed, Ryde arranged to have the duke’s body transported immediately to the manor house. He said he would get back to them regarding the coffin, as he knew the duke had specific instructions regarding how to dispose of his body upon his death. He turned away sharply, unable to look at his cousin’s gaping wound a moment more.
The next hurdle would be telling Lottie. He rode to her house, and as he walked up the path to the front door, it opened and she stood there.
“Ryde? What’s wrong? Why have you come?”
“There’s been an accident,” he began.
When he hesitated, she said, “Come indoors and tell me,” she invited him, taking his arm and leading him inside.
He stood numbly while she closed the door, and when she ushered him into the front parlor, he waited until she turned to face him before speaking again.
“Perhaps you should sit down, Lottie,” he began again, and waited until she did. “John has been shot.”
He wished he knew some other way to say it, but she needed to know, and he needed to take her back home.
“What? Where? Why?” He watched her face bloom in confusion and worry. “Where is he now?”
“He’s being taken home now,” Ryde said.
He decided that he would wait until she was home before telling her the rest. She may not have been in love with his cousin, but she had not disliked him, either. No one had really disliked John. And it would be hard on her, no matter her feelings for him.
“What is it you aren’t telling me, Ryde?”
Her sharply intuitive voice broke into his musings. “Why do you think there’s more?” he hedged.
“Well, for one thing, you are here. Why? Shouldn’t you be with John?”
“He is in good hands, Lottie. I wouldn’t have left him otherwise,” he assured her. “But as he could not escort you home himself, it falls to me to do that. And you really must come with me now,” he added, for good measure. “I will wait until you wish your parents farewell.”
She looked suspiciously at him, but rose and left the room. A few minutes later, he heard voices approaching, and turned to see Mrs. Hawthorne with Lottie. the woman approached, her face distressed.
“I am so very sorry to hear of what has happened, Your Lordship. If there’s anything I can do…”
“There is nothing, thank you, Mrs. Hawthorne,” Ryde said, cutting her off. To Lottie, he said, “We really must be going. We need to be home when he arrives.”
They said their goodbyes, and he helped her into the gig, while he himself mounted his horse. Ryde was glad they were not traveling together, as he did not know how he would have managed to hold a normal conversation with her. He was still trying to come to terms with the new reality, and it suddenly dawned on him that part of that reality was that he was now the Duke of Snowley. His dream had come true...but at too great a cost. He was not sure how he felt about that. How would he tell his Lottie that her husband had been killed by mistake by an assassin who had mistaken him for her father? And how would he deal with her father now, knowing that he had been the inadvertent cause of his cousin’s untimely demise?
They arrived back before the duke’s body, and he called Bates aside to tell him the grim news. Watching the man’s ashen face, Ryde understood at once the depth of trust and respect, and perhaps even love, that the butler had for his cousin. They had been together since John’s own father’s death twenty years ago.
“Please summon the servants, Bates. I will inform the household at that time.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Bates replied, and the address made Ryde’s blood run cold.
Returning to the study, where Lottie had retired upon their arrival, he said,
“There is one more thing you should know, my dear. I thought it best to wait until you were back here before I told you.”
Lottie looked at him expectantly. “What is it, Barry?”
His heart broke. She was free to speak his name intimately, but for a whole year she was not free to be openly with him, as she would be in mourning for the husband she did not as yet know she no longer had.
“I told you it was an accident,” he began, clearing his throat. “It was. The person who shot him did not mean to do so.”
“How did it happen?” she asked, as he still hesitated.
“He was sent to shoot the man who seemed to be negotiating for the mills.”
He watched as comprehension bloomed in her eyes. “Someone was sent to kill my father?”
“Yes.” He waited for her to make the rest of the connections in her mind.
“He’s dead, isn’t he, Barry? John is dead, isn’t he?”
Ryde remained silent a moment longer, and then he answered simply, “Yes.”
She looked up at him, her face a mask of distress, of fear. “What shall I do?” she asked.
“Nothing, for the moment. I’m meeting with the servants in a few minutes. You will need to be with me. I’ll have a letter sent off to John’s solicitors as they will need to know how to enact the clauses of his will. And I shall be here to help you with the funeral arrangements.”
She nodded numbly, and he went to her at last. “I am so sorry, my dear,” he said, and took her trembling hand in his own. “I shall be here until you have no further need of me,” he promised.
Bates knocked and came in. “The servants are assembled, Your Grace,” he said, his face drawn.
“Thank you Bates. Her Grace and I will be out shortly.”
He waited until the man withdrew before drawing her into his arms, and holding her tightly to his chest. he could feel her trembling with reaction, and he steadied her. When she calmed, he withdrew and looked her over.
“You will be all right,” he said. “I promise. Let us go and tell the servants.”
Bates had gathered them in the front hallway by the stairs, and Ryde went to stand before them, Lottie at his side.
“There has been an terrible accident. It is with a very heavy heart that I must inform you all of the passing of your master, the Duke of Snowley.”
There was an audible gasp, and Ryde looked each man and woman in the eye as he continued.
“I know that he was well-loved by you all, and I commiserate with you in this time of grieving. There will be no changes to the routines of the house. Her Grace will need all the support and assistance that you can give her during this difficult time.” He paused and looked around once more before ending. “The duke’s body will arrive soon. Please prepare the parlor. There is much to do.”
Turning to Lottie, he said, “Perhaps you should go up and rest now, my dear. I’ll have your maid bring you up some tea.”
“And what about you?” she asked, looking at him.
“I shall be fine,” he said. “But there are things that I must
do. I shall come to check on you later.”
After she left him, he went back to the study and wrote a letter to his cousin’s solicitors. He also wrote messages to all those who would need to be informed of the Duke’s passing, who might wish to come for the funeral. The next house party would be a sad occasion, he thought as he finished his correspondence. He was not looking forward to it...
Epilogue
“Ah, the little one is awake,” Regina said, advancing into the bedroom where Lottie sat in a rocking chair with a baby at her breast.
