Duchess

by Nicolette Andrews

  When I arrived at Tomas’ townhouse, he was standing outside, waiting to greet me. He wore a dark black doublet with gold checks and slashes of gold in the sleeves. He descended the steps and helped me from the carriage. He held my hand as he led me up the steps.

  “Your grace, what an honor it is to have you in my home.” He pressed one hand in the small of my back as he showed me into the receiving room.

  His servants, two men and an older woman, were waiting when we entered. The woman took my overcoat, and the first man held a tray with a goblet of wine. The second man held open the door to the parlor.

  “The honor is mine,” I replied as I took the wine. I took a sip. It was a good vintage. “This is a fine wine. How did you manage to get something so luxurious during times such as these?”

  He smiled and held his pointer finger to his lips. “I have my ways, your grace.” He motioned for me to enter the parlor before him.

  Inside the parlor, a party of ten sat about the room. There were a few minor lords along with their wives. I knew them by sight but had never been introduced. At the center was Prince Garrison; he was speaking with a few of the lords in low tones. I heard just snatches of the conversation; words like war and Neaux floated around the room. He saw me enter and paused for a moment to regard me. I smiled at him as he and the other men rose when I entered the room.

  “Your grace.” Prince Garrison stepped forward to acknowledge me. I was surprised he had come forward. When we met in the Hall of Entertainment, he had seemed indifferent at best.

  “Your Highness, I did not expect to see your royal person here.”

  He waved away my comment. “I heard you and Her Majesty have had a falling out. I wanted to tell you that my brother’s wife and I disagree on many things.” He spoke the word wife like a curse.

  It seems the prince and I have something in common. “Thank you, Your Highness, you are kind to be concerned.” I held my tongue. I would rather have those here make their own conclusions about the relationship between Idella and me. It may serve to bring those that were her enemies forward. If I knew something about her, I might be able to convince her to set me free. It was a fleeting thought. Idella was much more experienced in playing this game of intrigue.

  “I neglected to say this upon our last meeting, but I will say now, Artor was a good man, and his death was a great loss to our kingdom.”

  The prince’s words touched me. “Thank you.” I lowered my lashes to hide the tears that had gathered along them. Don’t let them see your weakness. They will use it against you.

  Prince Garrison wandered back to his companions, and Tomas led me to a couch in the corner of the room. He sat me beside two women who had no male companions. They introduced themselves as Lady Lillian of House Tantorell and Lady Welton. We talked for some time, and I discovered that both women had lost their husbands in the war. I was surprised at first until I saw Tomas smirking at me from across the room, and I realized he had invited these women for some purpose of his own. I smiled back at him and continued talking with the two women. We talked of a number of things, everything from flower arrangements to child-rearing.

  “How do you know one another?” I asked them.

  Lady Welton giggled. “We are sisters. Before we married, we were from House Florett. I suppose we are like cousins, Duchess.”

  I smiled and took a sip of my wine. They are House Florett? Artor had one sister who made it to adulthood, his older brother had died when they were children, and two younger brothers and a sister had passed in infancy. These two must have been from a different branch of the family, one I had not met before.

  “Are you in service here at the palace?” I probed further. Why are they here? What game is Tomas playing at putting me with two widows who were maidens from my husband’s house?

  “Her Majesty found us both places at the palace after our husbands died. I am her lady-in-waiting, and my sister, Lady Welton, is Princess Florian’s lady-in-waiting,” Lady Tantorell explained.

  “What a small world, indeed. Of course, Her Majesty was a maiden Florett as well. Were you three close as sisters when you were children?”

  Lady Welton giggled, but it was Lady Tantorell who replied, “We met a time or two as children, but we never knew her until we were grown. Our grandfather was her grandfather’s brother; we are distantly related. Our father bears the Florett name, and he holds an estate in Grey Harbor.”

  “My husband spoke of that place often. I hear it is beautiful,” I said to flatter, wondering what else these creatures of Idella’s might reveal.

  “Oh, it is!” Lady Welton gushed. She gave me a long account of their growing up at Grey Harbor. It seemed they had nothing to speak of but themselves, at length. I let my mind wander, and occasionally my eyes flickered over to Tomas. Are these two Her Majesty’s pets as well? I could only suspect they were. Does she make a habit of collecting war widows to bend to her will? If I could split them apart, I might be able to question them about the queen’s movements, but it did not seem these two had many thoughts in their heads at all. It might be a wasted effort.

  Tomas’ servant announced dinner was being served in the dining room, and we all filed out. Tomas caught up with me as I was entering. He touched me lightly on the elbow.

  “I would be honored if you would sit beside me, your grace,” he purred in my ear.

  I pulled my elbow away from his grip. I am not a whore! “You are gracious to offer.”

  Tomas sat at the head of the table, and I was seated to his right. To the left, Prince Garrison sat. I was seated next to an aging lord who was dozing before the first course arrived. When the first course of a thin fish soup was served, I was glad for the distraction, but my appetite had seemed to escape me. I thought to come here and speak with Tomas and convince him to give me more information, but it seemed Idella’s eyes were everywhere. The ladies seemed kind enough, but I did not doubt they would report my every movement to Idella. I took a few sips of my soup for show before pushing it away.

  “Is the soup not to your grace’s liking?” Tomas asked.

  “Forgive me.” I touched his arm. I can get information with harmless flirting; surely I do not need to sleep with him. “I have the stomach the size of an acorn, and I can eat only small bites at a time.”

  He rested his hand over mine. My stomach fluttered, and I began to doubt myself. He gave me a hungry look. “Oh, I would hate for you to fill up too soon.” He ate his soup, and I busied myself talking with the dozing lord, who roused himself to eat. He had a mustache that draped over his mouth and glistened with broth caught in it.

  The second course was a fish dish with lemon and peppercorns. The fish was cooked perfectly and flaked apart beneath a fork, but I mostly pushed it around my plate. I felt Tomas’s eyes on me, though he made no more comments as to my appetite. I feel as I did the night of my wedding. I pushed the thought aside; I would not do as the queen bid. She could keep me here working for her, but I would not become a concubine. There were three more courses, ending with a dessert that was made of pastries, a fluffy cream and a fruit compote.

  When dinner was finished, Tomas invited his guests to retire in the drawing room. The servants led them out, and the guests were making contented sounds. I went to follow them when Tomas grabbed my wrist.

  “I hope you are enjoying the evening.” He rubbed my hand with his thumb. His touch was featherlight.

  I shifted away and smiled. “You are a gracious host.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” He smiled again, and his gaze lingered along the line of my bust. My breath quickened. A man may reveal much over a pillow. Idella’s words echoed in my ear. You will find out the information for me.

  I brushed his sleeve just for an instant. I just need to get him alone and ask him a few questions. I will lead him along, and once I get the information, I will leave. “I’d love to have the chance to look around your home. Perhaps a servant can give me a tour?”

  “Your grace, I
would be honored to show you about my humble abode.”

  I smiled past the racing of my heart. He took me by the hand and led me out the back of the room opposite from where the guests had left. Out in the foyer, he linked arms with me. He showed me around the rooms, from the parlor to the library. We stopped in his study, where he had papers scattered about on a desk. I eyed them, wondering what I might uncover in those correspondences.

  “You have a beautiful home,” I commented. His fireplace was large, with carvings of trees and vines. The desk was oak with a lacquered finish. He may have been born to a merchant, but he lacked none of the opulence the nobility enjoyed.

  “Your grace is very kind to say so.” He was watching me still with that hungry gaze. It made me uncomfortable. I turned to look at his bookshelves. His collection is not nearly as impressive as Artor’s.

  I looked up again, and he was standing beside me, perhaps a hand’s breadth away. Firelight fell on his features, and the tilt of his lips was playful and damnably enticing. He was a handsome man and bold with his touches when we were in public. I had been lying to myself to think that I could flirt and not have him pursue me for more.

  “You are a very beautiful woman, Damara.” He reached out to touch my face, tracing the back of his hand along my cheek.

  My breath hitched. Too close. This is dangerous.

  “You presume much to speak my given name, sir.” I took a step back, and my thighs hit the desk. I grabbed onto the edge of the desk, and he steadied me from falling with a hand around my waist.

  “Careful,” he whispered.

  Of falling or be careful of you? I wondered.

  “Sir, you are touching me.”

  “I would do more than touch you, if you allowed me, your grace.” He purred your grace like a caress. I realized that was how he always said it; over and over he had called me your grace. I thought he was mocking me, but I realized it was his own form of seduction.

  I swallowed past a lump in my throat—the threat and promise in his voice was a dangerous and heady temptation. How long has it been since I felt a man’s touch, had someone tell me I am beautiful? Even before Artor passed, he had been warring for the king for almost a year, perhaps more. What secrets would you whisper to me between the sheets?

  He leaned in. I turned my head to avoid his kiss.

  “Those women, they are both from House Florett.”

  He laughed. “So you found out. I’m pleased you realized so quickly.”

  “You invited them here on purpose; why?”

  “They are the queen’s pets, as are you. I thought you would like to see who else is spying for Her Majesty.”

  My heart jumped into my throat. He knows! What else does he know about me?

  “Do not fear; your secret is safe with me.”

  “At what price?” I asked.

  He had not pulled away, and I stared at his lips so close to me. I could smell him, his sweat and the hint of pine. He was handsome, I could not deny that, but I was just barely out of my black mourning clothes. If I let him seduce me, I am no better than a whore for the queen.

  “Not everyone has a price. Have you not considered that I might want you just for the pleasure of your company?” They were sweet words meant to seduce, but I wanted to believe them, badly.

  I scoffed, and he kissed me. I knew I should have fought him off. Instead I thought about the ache Artor’s death had left in me, the need to be touched, to be loved. His lips brushed mine, soft and probing. I was hesitant at first, my body stiff in his embrace, and then he parted my lips with his tongue, and I melted. My arms went around his neck, and I clung to him, my fingers running through his long hair.

  “Come with me to my chamber,” he said in a husky whisper.

  I was panting for breath, and my head was screaming no. All my protests had flown from my mind, however.

  “Yes,” I whispered back.

  Chapter Eight

  The palace boasted one of the world’s greatest libraries. It was there I searched for more information about the Order of the Oak. It was in part a way to escape Tomas and his knowing looks, and the way people avoided me in the halls of the palace. The queen had openly shunned me. I had few friends and it seemed more enemies than I could count. How does she think I will find anything when she makes me a social pariah? I leafed through a tomb about religious sects. The book itself was ancient, the pages yellowed with age and brittle. I turned the pages gingerly, careful not to tear them. The text was ponderous, and I found my mind wandering.

  Why am I wasting time here? I should look for Hilliard and demand he explain his actions during the battle of Redfield. I should be questioning Tomas about what he knows, not running away from him because I lay with him. Hilliard had disappeared without a trace, and I was too ashamed that I lay with Tomas to face him. All that was left to me were the books.

  I brought out the necklace my husband had hidden in the fireplace and rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. I touched the oak and followed the branches where they met the circle on the exterior. What am I to make of this?

  “Remember the old oak tree. There I will be,” I murmured to myself.

  “Do you enjoy poetry, milady?” A scribe had approached without me realizing it. He held a tower of books in front of him, likely to tumble over.

  I stood up to help him. “I suppose I do. You know that limerick?”

  “Your grace is kind,” he said as I took half the stack from him. “I remember that line from a poem by Artor Oakhem. It’s in a collection of his from the thirteenth century, I believe.”

  I stilled for a moment. This cannot be a coincidence. “Do you have a copy here, by chance?”

  The scribe nodded his head. The hair on top of his head was snow white, as was the hair coming from his ears. His face was creased with lines, and he had a copious amount of skin hanging from his neck, which jiggled as he nodded. “I believe so. Let me find it for you.”

  I followed him as he put the stack of books he was carrying down. I piled my own on top of them. He led me back into the furthest reaches of the library. The torches here were not lit, and the only light came from thin windows along the walls. “We keep the older works back here to avoid damage from the sun. They are very old,” he explained as we trotted back further. There was a door at the end of the shelves. The scribe removed a ring of keys and unlocked the door. The door creaked in protest as he opened it.

  Inside, it was dark, with a cold wind blowing from below. I shivered with anticipation. The scribe retrieved a torch from a few rows back and led me down a stairwell into the storage area. There was a short series of uneven steps, which ended in a small room lined with shelves. The scribe put the torch in a sconce along the wall. It cast long shadows, which only added to the haunted look of the room. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust. He stopped beside a shelf that was made of large oak timbers and built into the wall. The books here looked as if they had not been touched since Sir Oakhem’s time. The scribe ran his hands along the spines of the crumbling books until he found the right one. He removed it from the shelf and blew on it to rid it of dust.

  He wiped some stuck-on dirt with his sleeve before handing it to me. “Here you are.”

  I took it and stared down at the cover. It had started to rot away, and it appeared some creature had nibbled at the pages, but the design on the cover was hard to ignore. It at one time had been a deep navy blue like House Raleban’s colors. In the center was an encircled oak tree.

  “Do you know this symbol?” I asked the scribe.

  He looked down at it and frowned. “I do not, my lady, but I have a book on old symbols. Maybe it was Sir Oakhem’s family sigil.”

  “It reminds me of the royal family’s sigil,” I mused.

  “That it does. Let me find you the book of symbols.”

  I thanked him and took the book back to the desk where I had been reading. I cracked open the spine and felt the binding rip as I did so. I half expected to find a note
from my Artor tucked between its pages. There was no such note, but I found the poem in which the inscription from the pocket watch had come.

  I spy you by morning light. O what a radiant sight.

  I long for your caress. In your arms forever I will rest.

  Remember the old oak tree. There I will be.

  Meet me there, my maiden fair.

  And together forever more shall we be.

  The scribe returned with a few more tomes for me to look through. “May I ask what you are looking for, your grace?” The scribe spied the open book with its crumbling pages, then looked back to me.

  “Nothing in particular, my husband often said these words to me, and he gave me this necklace on the night of our wedding.” I showed the scribe the necklace I wore about my neck.

  He nodded his head but did not react further. “Well, I shall leave you to your studies.” He hobbled away, and I spent several hours searching through old books, looking for the symbol. I found nothing in the Greatest Houses of Danhadine History or Scions of the Twelve Great Houses. I looked for the name Oakhem but found nothing in the lists of any great houses.

  Who was this Artor Oakhem, and why did my Artor have a line from his poem inscribed in the locket?