A Damsel for the Mysterious Duke

by Bridget Barton

  Georgina was not due to see Emerson again until they set off in a few days’ time for Cornwall. She hoped that he was not suffering in any way, not heartily regretting his actions or finding himself awake night after night as his mind produced alternative little pieces of theatre for him as hers was doing.

  They had a task to perform, and it was one of the greatest importance. If there was any awkwardness between them, Georgina could not help wondering if it would in some way affect their inquiries. If they were awkward with one another, then surely Fleur and Jeremy would feel awkward also. And then if the whole party was awkward, would that not create a great awkwardness at Wighton Hall? She felt certain it would not lead to a frank exchange between herself and Beatrice, at any rate.

  And, in the end, she knew that the careful questioning of Beatrice Ellington would be her own responsibility. It had not been discussed, and yet she knew it. She was the granddaughter of Elizabeth Jeffries, the one who had, as far as the Earl of Wighton was concerned, been so determined to speak with his aunt.

  The Duke himself could not possibly request an audience with the old lady; it was just not appropriate. As far as that family was concerned, the Duke’s only connection to them was through Georgina herself.

  As she sipped the scalding hot tea and stared out of the large windows into the uncommonly grey summer morning, Georgina felt the weight of responsibility settle around her shoulders. And it was not a sudden responsibility, but one that had been more than ten years in the making. To let Emerson down would be to let the young Sammy White down. Whatever she thought of his kiss now ought not to matter.

  She would have to let it go; for the time being, she was certain of it. She could not do what must be done with such a thing hanging over her head. Instead, she would have to forget it for a while, put it to the back of the bookshelf as it were. But she would need Emerson to do the same.

  And so it was that Georgina decided to write him a brief but friendly note. She would mention nothing of the kiss but be enthusiastic about her excitement for the next few days and what answers they might bring. She would add in a few practical sentences about the volume of their luggage and that sort of thing to lend it even more normality.

  Hastily, she put her teacup back down on the tray and determined to write the letter immediately. Just as she was rising to her feet, the door to the morning room opened inwards, and there stood Mirabelle Allencourt.

  “Good morning, Aunt Belle,” Georgina said and lowered herself onto the couch again.

  “Am I interrupting, my dear?” the old lady said and gave no hint of waiting for an answer as she closed the door behind her and hastened to the couch opposite her great-niece.

  “No, not at all. Would you like some tea? I can race to the breakfast room and collect another cup and saucer,” Georgina said brightly, all the while feeling that she had been entirely found out.

  She had known all along that Mirabelle Allencourt was nobody’s fool and would very quickly perceive the trip to Cornwall to be anything other than an innocent acceptance of an invitation. The moment had come to tackle the thing head-on, just as she had decided she would.

  “No, I have already had more tea than I can stand this morning, Georgina,” she said, raising one of her palms out in front of her to keep Georgina in her seat as she slowly lowered herself into her own. “No, no more tea.”

  “I see,” Georgina said, not knowing what else to say.

  “So, your little mission takes you to Cornwall, does it not?” Mirabelle Allencourt was going to get straight to the point.

  “So it would seem, Aunt Belle.”

  “And the sudden Duke is in on it all, I gather.”

  “The sudden Duke?” Georgina said feeling curious and nervous all at once; whatever could her aunt have meant by that?

  “Yes, I often refer to him in my own head as the sudden Duke. Sometimes it is the sickly Duke.”

  “But why?”

  “I think you know very well why, my dear.” Despite the fact that the elderly lady was squinting at her thoughtfully, still, there was nothing of her sister’s meanness in Mirabelle’s face.

  Her face was round and lined and her eyes still kindly, even when they were at their most shrewd. Georgina did not fear her great aunt at all, she simply feared the ever-widening knowledge of her old friend’s uncertain origins. As much as he had claimed he wanted now to move only forwards and never back, Georgina did not want to give another ounce of information away about him.

  “I can see from your face that you do,” Mirabelle went on when Georgina remained silent. “You see, I have always thought it a little strange, the long-running illness that had kept the heir apparent away from home for so many years. Not the illness itself, you understand, but the idea that nobody knew of the existence of the boy before he was returned home and proclaimed to be healthy.”

  “And so, you called him the sudden Duke or the sickly Duke,” Georgina said quietly, her mouth dry.

  “But only quietly to myself, my dear. It is not something I discuss at tea with Maud Aston,” Mirabelle said and laughed brightly. “And it has to be said that I am a particularly inquisitive old lady with a lot of time on my hands. The rest of the county accepted the entire situation a decade ago and with ease. So much so, my dear, that it is all long forgotten.”

  “But you have not forgotten it.”

  “No, but that is just the sort of person I am.”

  “But might there not be other ladies of advancing years with time on their hands who think as you do?”

  “I have no doubt of it, but I do not think that your young man should fear them. After all, old ladies are, quite literally, a dying breed, are they not? We are none of us set to live forever, are we?”

  “Aunt Belle!” Georgina said, not at all keen to discuss the demise of an aunt she had come to think so highly of.

  “Oh, do not be so delicate, Georgina, it does not suit you. You do a very good imitation, but delicacy is not really your thing, not deep down.” Once again, Mirabelle narrowed those shrewd eyes. “And, of course, old ladies like me are extraordinarily loyal to Crown and Country. Things like title and estates and bloodlines are things which are bred into us as being most important. And so, you will not find me or any other inquisitive old lady causing your young man any trouble at all.”

  “He is not my young man, Aunt Belle.”

  “If he is not now, then he very soon shall be.” Mirabelle laughed and shook her head. “The poor boy.”

  “So, you know that Beatrice Ellington is still alive?” Georgina said, realizing that she was to a certain degree diverting her aunt from the subject of Emerson Lockhart.

  “I gathered it the moment dear Felix told me that you were all to go and stay with the Earl of Wighton in Cornwall. I am not so foggy as to think that it is Beatrice’s husband who is still the Earl, for the man would be many years older than even I am.” She laughed again, and Georgina felt comforted by it. “But I realize there could be no object in you going at all unless Beatrice herself was still alive.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “You want to question her,” Mirabelle corrected her.

  “I wish I could say more.”

  “You need say nothing, my dear. The very fact that your Duke is going with you and seems to be in on all of this speaks for itself.”

  “Does it?” Georgina said nervously.

  “Fear not, it only speaks for itself to me. It is not something that anybody else would easily discern, so you need not worry about that.”

  “I see.”

  “I can see that you are in a great quandary, my dear. You do not want to hide anything from me since we are now getting along so well, but you do not want to part with the confidence that Emerson Lockhart has placed in you. It is an unenviable position, Georgina, and I do not come here today to make things all the harder for you.”

  “I thank you for your understanding, Aunt Belle,” Georgina said truthfully.

  “And I thi
nk I realize now that the young Duke thinks very much as I do. He is not convinced by the story of his origins either, and I daresay he is seeking to fill that particular gap in his knowledge.”

  “Aunt Belle, I …”

  “Do not say anything. And I will not say anything more on that particular part of the conversation than I have done already. I do not expect you to confirm my suspicions; it is not necessary. There, you have given away no confidence at all, and I am still only very vaguely informed.”

  “I wish I could tell you all of it, but I cannot.”

  “I know, my dear,” Mirabelle began gently. “But I do not intend to ask you to tell me anything at all. You might think that I followed you here today to speak to you in private and to persuade you to tell me all your little secrets, but that was not my intention. I did not come here to seek information, only to give it. Well, not information as such, but rather advice.”

  “And what advice is that?” Georgina said quietly.

  “I realize that Beatrice Ellington is no longer a young woman. She is likely very frail, perhaps even frailer than I am. She might very well appear much as I do, a harmless old dear who is counting the days.” Mirabelle paused for a dramatic effect that was entirely uncharacteristic of her, and Georgina, recognizing it, had to stifle a laugh. “But you must not be taken in by that. Beatrice Ellington is the sort of woman who would lie, cheat, and steal to get whatever she wanted in this world, and I daresay that age has not mellowed her. Her body might be weak, but do not trust her black heart. I cannot quite explain it, cannot put into words how it is that I know this to be true, but Beatrice Ellington is evil, and she always has been. And I think too much of you, my dear, to let you go into that house without that certain knowledge. Do not take anything she says for granted and never, ever turn your back on her. And whatever questions you have for that woman, you just ask them. Do not dance about the thing, and try to be polite, for Beatrice Ellington will simply see that as a weakness, and she will seize upon it. And if she does so, your journey will have been for nothing. Not only will she not give your young man the answers he obviously needs, she will do and say things to lead him in the wrong direction altogether.”

  “But why?”

  “Because she takes delight in such things, my dear. She always has. She looks upon other people in this world as a puppeteer looks upon his puppets. Everyone in her sphere is simply laying in stasis until she reaches out and takes their strings in her hands. And, as far as she is concerned, only she can make them walk or make them dance or make them jump. She truly is the darkest human being I have ever met, and you must keep that to the forefront of your mind in all your dealings with her.”

  “I shall, I promise,” Georgina said, feeling a creeping sensation at the back of her neck that was making her most uneasy.

  She knew, in truth, that she really ought not to be afraid of an elderly lady, even one as harsh as Beatrice very likely was. But the fact that Mirabelle Allencourt was not a woman given to drama, not a person to gild the lily or exaggerate at all, led Georgina to believe that it must surely all be true.

  And, as frail and as old as her grandmother’s closest friend might be, the idea of finally meeting the woman unnerved Georgina more than she could say.

  “You just take care, my dear, and leave all thoughts of romance to one side until it is safe for you to drop your guard and think about such things.

  “Romance? But …” Georgina began to protest, but her aunt was already rising to her feet.

  “Surely you have realized by now that you do not fool me, my lovely girl,” Aunt Belle said as she made her way out of the morning room, a low rumble of laughter rolling in her ageing chest.

  Chapter 23

  If Georgina had never been to Calder Hall, Wighton Hall would have been the grandest place she had ever seen in her life. It was not as big as Calder Hall, but it was still so very vast.

  The hall itself was a single block of three stories, with none of the additional wings that Calder Hall enjoyed. But that single block was so large, with so many windows. And it was built of the most appealing stone, almost pale peach in colour. Georgina had never seen stone that colour before, and it made Wighton Hall even more striking to look at.

  Across one side of the front face of the building grew the thickest, darkest green ivy. Although it appeared to ramble beautifully, she could see that it had been neatly clipped around the large windows on all floors. She quickly assessed that a great deal of effort had gone into the appearance of natural ease.

  There was a stone canopy over the entrance, held up by pillars just as at Calder Hall. However, this was a much smaller affair despite being very grand and ornate.

  As they had driven down the long driveway to Wighton Hall, the hall itself had been visible throughout. The land was curiously flat for Cornwall, and the grounds of Wighton had a distinct lack of trees.

  There were trees at the outer edges, of course, but there was none of the sheltered winding approach and sudden appearance of the hall over the brow of the hill as there had been at Calder.

  There was something perhaps a little too neat about Wighton Hall and its grounds. The lawns were immaculate and symmetrical, and any little shrubs that grew around them were entirely equidistant.

  Either the gardener was a most particular man, or the master was.

  Whichever was the case, Georgina was not entirely sure she liked the effect. Her own home, and that of the Allencourt family, both displayed a certain natural quality with their winding pathways and displays of wildflowers.

  Even Calder Hall had peaks and valleys and a vast woodland that stretched out for miles in all directions. There was something altogether too orderly about Wighton Hall, something which made it very much less appealing, its grandness and stunning building notwithstanding.

  “This is a fine place indeed,” Emerson whispered into her ear as the carriage finally drew up at the front of Wighton Hall. “It is very tidy, though, is it not?”

  Georgina was amazed that Emerson could still be impressed by such things, given that he was the master of all he surveyed at Calder, so large and fine an estate that there could not be one in all of Cornwall or Devonshire to match it. But perhaps that was simply the product of not truly believing himself to be the master in his own home.

  “A little too tidy for my taste, I think,” she replied and laughed. “Although coming from a small estate like Ashdown Manor, I am not in a position to judge.”

  “I think I would prefer Ashdown,” Emerson said and then straightened up as a very smart-looking middle-aged man marched towards them.

  He was undoubtedly Oscar Montgomery, the Earl of Wighton, burst forth from his home and ready to meet them.

  “I trust you had a good journey, Your Grace?” Lord Wighton said a little uncertainly as he looked from Emerson to Jeremy and back again.

  Georgina almost laughed, immediately realizing that the poor man had no idea which of the two men he ought to be addressing first. They were both dressed very well and quite sensibly for their journey, and there was little to choose between them. They were both young, both extraordinarily handsome, and both very bright looking men.

  “It was a very easy journey indeed, Lord Wighton,” Emerson said hastily to put their host out of his misery. “But I think fine weather always makes the difference, does it not?”

  The Earl seemed to visibly relax as he moved to stand in front of the man he now knew was the Duke of Calder.

  “What a very great honour it is to meet you, Your Grace,” he said and bowed deeply.

  “And I am very pleased to meet you, my dear fellow. And please allow me to say how very kind of you to extend my friends and me such a warm invitation,” Emerson spoke genuinely and also bowed deeply. “May I introduce you to the rest of my party?”

  “Certainly, Your Grace. Certainly.” The Earl of Wighton was enthusiastic in the style of a man who was undoubtedly a sycophant.

  Whilst Georgina did not take an immedi
ate dislike to him, she did not think that she would particularly warm to him either. She much preferred people to be at their ease and to be who they were on the inside instead of who they were on the outside, and she quickly judged Lord Wighton to fall into the latter category.

  No doubt he would tell the tale for many years to come of how the Duke of Calder had sought him out most particularly, as keen as mustard to spend a few days at the wonderful Wighton Hall with so fine a host.

  “This is my dear friend, Miss Georgina Jeffries. I mentioned her in my letter.” Emerson smiled and nodded towards Georgina.

  “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Jeffries, and I am certain that my aunt will be pleased to meet you. I understand that your own grandmother passed, and I should like to extend my deepest condolences.” He seemed to fit an awful lot into one sentence, and Georgina was relieved when he finally put it all to an end with another deep bow.