The Duke's Daughter

by Sasha Cottman

  The cart slowed to a halt out the front of the lodge and McPherson jumped down. He let out a strong whistle, at which a stout, middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway. She waved at him.

  ‘About time, McPherson, I was beginning to think ye’d gone to the tavern and forgotten about me,’ she said, wiping her hands on the apron tied around her rotund waist.

  ‘Ah my lass, how could I ever forget one as bonnie as you?’ McPherson replied.

  He kissed the woman on the cheek, and she playfully batted his wandering fingers away.

  ‘Away wi ye, ye saucy devil,’ she laughed.

  Avery climbed down from the cart. He gave a respectful nod to Mrs McPherson before helping with the baskets. He placed them on the front step of the lodge.

  ‘I shall bring these inside in a moment. I just want to have a look around before I go in and see my wife,’ Avery said.

  The long-married couple shared a knowing grin. Of course, once he was inside, they fully expected Mr Fox not to be leaving the lodge again any time soon.

  McPherson led Toby over to a low water trough and allowed the animal to slake its thirst.

  He pursed his lips. If only they knew.

  Avery stood for a few minutes, watching as McPherson talked to the horse. He finally, slowly, began to lead Toby toward the stable. Not for the first time Avery considered how much more slowly things moved in this part of the world. In the army he would have been bellowing for the man to hurry up and finish the task.

  He picked up a wicker basket and headed toward the front door of the hunting lodge. At least he could move the unpacking part along with a little more haste.

  Then he would confront Lucy.

  Inside was exactly how he had envisaged a hunting lodge would look like. Big wooden benches, a solid stone floor and furs. Lots and lots of furs.

  They covered most of the floor and the low couches, which were built in a semicircle around a huge fireplace. He imagined many people all lying on the furs in front of the warm fireplace, sharing hunting tales.

  On the walls several large stag heads were hung, their unseeing eyes gazing into nothingness.

  He spied a door to his right, guessing correctly it was the kitchen. One by one he brought the supply baskets into the kitchen. When he had the final one next to the pantry shelf, he began to unpack. From the amount of food, it appeared Lucy intended to stay indefinitely at the Key.

  His own plan consisted of talking to Lucy and confronting her as to what sort of game she thought she was playing. His patience for the machinations of others extended only so far.

  If his growing suspicions were proven wrong, Avery would take a room in the nearby village tavern for the night and in the morning find his own way to Edinburgh.

  ‘Mrs McPherson, I think I might need to put a few more blankets on the bed,’ Lucy said as she entered the kitchen.

  When she saw Avery, she stopped. A look of immense relief flooded her face.

  She sucked in a deep, audible breath and he watched as she began to furiously wring her hands. He curled his toes up in his boots, desperate to maintain his cool, emotionless mask.

  Good.

  He was certain Lucy had done everything she could to lure him to the lodge, but from her manner of behaviour it was obvious she had not been certain of her plan’s success.

  ‘Avery?’ she murmured.

  He considered his reply, fearing to say anything that would sound harsh. The tremble in her voice had not escaped his notice. Things between them stood on a knife’s edge.

  He bent down and picked up a bottle of Cabernet Franc, nodding his approval. The Duke of Strathmore knew his wine.

  ‘This will go well with the Stilton cheese we brought up in the cart,’ he said, pointing to the small basket with a damp cloth covering the top. He looked around and did a quick count of the baskets.

  ‘I must have left one outside; I won’t be a moment.’

  Lucy heard the door of the lodge close behind Avery and stood staring at the baskets.

  He had come. Her husband had actually followed her up the valley to the Key. When her mother promised to do all she could to help, Lucy had to admit she thought the idea of luring Avery to her father’s hunting lodge was a reach too far.

  Yet here he was, in the flesh, carrying the last of the baskets into the kitchen. Whistling.

  ‘Wouldn’t want to have left this one outside, it has the pickled pork in it. The wolves would be knocking each other over to get to it,’ he said.

  She took the basket, forcing herself to clamp her lips. Wolves hadn’t been in this part of Scotland for over a hundred years but emotionally she was walking on eggshells, desperate not to say anything which would cause a row and give him cause to leave.

  As she unpacked the last of the food, Lucy stole a glance at Avery, only now realising how tense she had been all morning since leaving the castle at dawn. If he hadn’t come, she would have been crushed. The final acceptance of her failure to capture his heart would have been too great a loss to bear.

  And now that he is here, what am I to do?

  Before leaving the castle she had busied herself with the task of packing and repacking her bag. Once at the hunting lodge, she had stood staring at the pass through the Key. Listening for the sound of hooves. Waiting. Praying.

  Avery clapped his hands together. The baskets were empty and stacked neatly inside one another under a nearby bench.

  ‘Now what?’ he asked.

  ‘Would you like to see the cellar?’ she replied.

  Avery chuckled softly.

  ‘Is that so you can keep me distracted while the McPhersons take Toby and the cart and leave us stranded here alone?’

  She felt a hot fire race up her neck, settling to burn brightly on her face.

  Damn.

  ‘I had no choice,’ she stammered.

  ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures? I must congratulate you on the excellent execution of your plan, but again I must ask. What now?’

  Lucy shifted uncomfortably on her feet. Most of her plan had consisted of getting Avery to the hunting lodge. She had not thought much beyond that crucial detail.

  ‘I just thought it would be nice for you to see the Key before you left the mountain. Who knows if you will ever be back this way again,’ she replied.

  Avery blinked slowly, but said nothing. Stubborn man, he was going to make her yield something of herself before he budged an inch.

  Lucy straightened her back and took a deep breath.

  ‘All right. I thought perhaps if you and I had some time alone we could at least re-establish our friendship. See if we could once again find some common ground.’

  He pursed his lips and began to turn away. She was losing him. Forcing her heavy feet to move forward, she came to Avery’s side. As she neared him, the scent of his cologne drew her closer. A slight raise of his eyebrows nearly brought her undone.

  He was implacable in his obvious resolve to make her bend to his will.

  ‘I had to try,’ she whispered.

  ‘Very well, then. Let’s see what we can salvage from this disaster,’ he replied.

  The whoosh of relief that escaped her lips took them both by surprise. Avery took hold of Lucy’s hand.

  ‘How many days until McPherson returns?’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Three it is, then,’ Avery replied.

  ‘Do you know how to cook?’ Lucy asked.

  From the moment she had sent the McPhersons back down the valley, she had been wondering how on earth they were going to survive. She hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do in the kitchen. Her culinary skills consisted of opening the occasional stolen bottle of wine from her father’s cellar and begging for oatcakes from the family cook.

  Another part of my badly cobbled-together plan.

  She wondered if her mother had thought of that not so insignificant detail when she sat Lucy down the previous evening. The duchess was normally a woman who left little to chance.
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br />   ‘Bonaparte, for all his faults, had a very pertinent saying. An army marches on its stomach. Believe me, one of the first things a young soldier learns when he joins up is to hunt and cook. We didn’t exactly sit down to a four-course dinner served by chefs regularly in the army,’ Avery replied.

  Lucy frowned. Why did he feel the need to remind her that she was nothing more than a spoilt chit?

  ‘I wasn’t casting aspersions on you, Lucy, forgive me if that’s the impression I gave. I know my way around an oven and pan, so rest assured we won’t starve. There is enough food here to feed the two of us for probably a week. A little more if that lake has any fish in it,’ he replied.

  Lucy silently thanked her mother. Lady Caroline had obviously seen the preparation of food as an opportunity to force Lucy and Avery to work together. She prayed her mother’s foresight would hold her in good stead over the next few days.

  ‘The lake has plenty of fish. Papa had it stocked a few years ago with brown trout. I have caught several good-sized ones,’ Lucy replied.

  Avery brushed the back of his hand gently up Lucy’s arm. An unexpected act of reassurance which made her shiver.

  ‘Excellent, then we shall be fine. I see Mrs McPherson had the presence of mind to leave a pot of coffee brewing,’ he replied.

  With coffee in hand, Lucy gave Avery the requisite tour of the lodge and surrounds. They spent a pleasant hour or so walking around the lake and discussing the rock formations which formed the high walls of the Key. They talked about fish and rocks and, of course, the Scottish weather.

  Anything but the possibility of what would come out of their time here.

  ‘It’s quite sheltered here,’ Lucy remarked.

  Avery nodded. ‘Yes, I expect it could be a pleasant area in summer if you were to come up here and spend some time.’

  She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze. A sad foreboding continued to concentrate her mind. Was Avery here because he had no other option? She doubted he had the funds to make his way to Edinburgh, let alone London. If she offered him money would he take it and leave?

  The ever-present mountain mist turned into a light rain. Not heavy enough to make one dash for cover, but still sufficient to ensure a chill if one was foolish enough to remain outside.

  ‘We had better head back to the lodge; the weather in this part of the mountain can turn for the worse quickly,’ Lucy said.

  Back inside the lodge, Avery picked up his travel bag. There was only one other door which ran off the main room. He poked his head inside.

  A huge four-poster bed took up most of the room. Dark green-and-grey plaid curtains were held back with gold tasselled ties at each quarter. The Strathmore family crest of a rearing horse over three stars and under a crown was carved into both the bedhead and foot. The trappings of wealth and power left no doubt as to who slept in this particular bed.

  ‘If you like I shall sleep above the stables. I think it best,’ he said.

  Lucy appeared at his shoulder.

  ‘No, you take the bed, I shall sleep out here in front of the fireplace. It’s where most of the family and guests usually sleep when we come to stay. The furs are soft and comfortable. Besides, I don’t want to sleep in the lodge alone,’ she replied.

  ‘I couldn’t take the bed.’

  ‘I insist. I do tend to wake a little during the night and I don’t want to disturb you. Besides, it’s warmer out here. You will need to sleep with the door open if you want to keep the chill from the air.’

  She feared sharing a bed with Avery again. The temptation to touch him as he slept was too much. The last time she had kissed him, he had stirred and nearly woken. He already mistrusted her motives for getting him to come to the Key; the last thing she needed was for him to think she was toying with him while he slept.

  ‘If you’ll agree to helping with the task of preparing meals, then we have a deal,’ Avery replied.

  ‘Done.’

  Lucy took a seat at the long wooden table in the kitchen. There was no elegant dining room at the lodge; it had been built as a private, cosy family retreat. Everyone ate in the kitchen or in the main room in front of the fire.

  Avery served up several plates with cheese, bread and Mrs McPherson’s precious pickled pork. Lucy brought up a jar from the nearby cellar and placed it in the middle of the table.

  ‘You cannot eat Mrs McPherson’s pickled pork without her special spicy chutney, it just isn’t done,’ she said.

  He laughed. The stiff, formal rules of the ton did not apply in this place.

  While Avery cut some slices from the very generously sized piece of pork, Lucy opened one of the bottles of wine.

  ‘A nice Chardonnay from Burgundy for the midday meal. I find I can’t handle a strong red until later in the evening, and then only a sip or two. Truth be told, I am more of a whisky drinker,’ she said, pouring them both a glass.

  The smile Avery gave her as he took the glass had her blinking hard.

  ‘To you, Lucy; may your life always be filled with the gods’ nectar.’

  He raised his glass.

  She sipped the wine. It was cool and crisp, with just the right amount of sweetness. A sharp contrast to the bitterness she had tasted when Avery told her he was leaving for good.

  ‘Sit, sit; eat,’ he said.

  They sat on opposite sides of the table, savouring the freshly baked bread and lightly waxed cheese. The companionable silence would be a pleasant memory for them both to keep. She watched him slice the cheese thinly, thanking him when he offered her several elegantly cut pieces.

  Finally, when she was beginning to struggle with a nearly full stomach, Lucy decided it was time to take the first step. If they were to ever reach out to one another, they had to start sharing details of their lives.

  Her own life was similar to that of most girls in London’s upper society. She had done little of note. Her husband, meanwhile, had a world of experience on which to draw.

  ‘Avery?’

  ‘Hmmm.’

  ‘Will you tell me about your time at Waterloo? I’ve heard others speak of it, but I have never actually met someone who was there on the battlefield.’

  He put down his wine and stared at the wooden table. An uncomfortable silence filled the room.

  Stupid girl, why did you have to go and ask him that?

  A thousand other topics of interest could have been broached, but her curious nature had once more got the better of her.

  Lucy watched as his lips silently moved. Over a short period a variety of emotions crossed his face, one quickly replacing the other.

  She downed the last of her wine and started to rise from the table, angry with herself.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should never have been so thoughtless as to ask such a thing.’

  Avery reached out and urged her to sit back down. He took a deep breath.

  ‘It had rained the whole night before the battle, so we were sitting in mud by dawn. I remember that for a June morning it was unusually cold. The sound of coughing punctuated most conversations between the other men. An hour or so after daylight, we moved to a disused sand quarry across the road from the Germans. The 95th were ordered to protect Wellington’s right flank.’

  He thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out his pocket watch. As she had seen him do most mornings upon rising, he began to turn it slowly over in his fingers.

  ‘The battle started late morning and raged for most of the day. We fired when we were ordered to and waited in between. And so it went on. At one point there was a lot of yelling and cursing from several of the more senior officers. The battle was beginning to turn against us.

  ‘After that, Major Barrett decided we needed to move our position closer to the action. The Prussians arrived late that afternoon to reinforce us and that’s finally when the allies under Wellington started to get the upper hand. From what I understand, by nine that night it was all over.’

  Lucy reached out and tentatively took hold of Av
ery’s left hand.

  ‘Were you there when the French surrendered? Did you see Napoleon?’

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. She felt the connection between them break.

  David and Alex were right; I always push too far. I never know when to let things be.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

  He looked up at her. ‘Don’t be. I wasn’t at the surrender. By the time the retreat of the French had become a rout, the 95th were out on the battlefield, fighting at close range. Wellington no longer needed us to protect him and we were sent to mop up the last pockets of resistance.’

  Lucy’s fingers ran over the soft leather glove Avery wore to cover his disfigured hand. He took hold of her fingers.

  ‘So what happened?’ she ventured.

  Avery puffed out his cheeks and then let all the air out in a sudden gush.

  ‘I got careless. I thought the battle was over. Most French soldiers I encountered were already wounded or looking for a way off the battlefield. What I didn’t count on was the former owner of this deciding he needed one last English soldier to add to his kill.’

  He held up the pocket watch before setting it down on the table a foot or so away from him.

  ‘To this day I don’t know why I picked it up. I saw it on the ground next to a fallen French soldier. I was tired and didn’t check him too closely. I just assumed he was dead. The gold back plate of the watch caught the late afternoon sun and I saw it glinting in the grass. I picked it up and as I did, all hell broke loose.’

  He stopped talking and his grip on her hand tightened. Their gazes met and Lucy immediately understood Avery’s silent plea. She nodded. She would take Avery’s secret to the grave. After all she had put him through, she owed him that much at least.

  ‘He lunged at me with his knife. We fell into a deadly struggle. I won’t go into the full details; suffice to say I had the bayonet from my rifle in my hand. I did what I had to do to survive. It was him or me.’

  Lucy closed her eyes as they filled with tears. She knew enough not to press him further. He had killed a man at close quarters, what else needed to be said?

  Avery swallowed hard.

  ‘The last thing I remember with any great clarity was a searing pain in my left hand and stomach. Then I remember falling. When I recovered consciousness it was dark. All I could hear were the groans of other men as they lay dying around me. The stench of canon smoke still hung thick in the air.’