A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

  I wasn’t the master or mistress of mine, however. Lionel would have to do better than me.

  Somewhere in the house one of the grandfather clocks chimed. Time to meet with the duke and stare at him as he requested updates on the linens and baby care.

  Staring at him wasn’t a terrible task. It was quite easy, particularly when he wore his uniform—scarlet regimentals and white sashes wrapping about him like a present. I didn’t remember liking soldiers, but the ones visiting Demerara weren’t as kind or as thoughtful as the duke. He made sure Jemina and I ate, and he kept his men courteous to us, addressing us as ma’am, none of the slurs I’d heard Markham or Hamlin’s old servants utter.

  I leaned in close to my baby, watching his chest rise. “Being a servant in our old home is easier than I thought. Must be because you are so easy to love. You think your mother can make it through the week here?”

  Lionel arched his hand and swooped the tiny digit like an eagle to nest in his puckered lips.

  That had to be a sign of confidence.

  I stroked his forehead. “Brilliant boy.”

  Yes, thumb-sucking was something all babies did, but Lionel did it with such elegance. I took it as a symbol of good luck.

  I tiptoed from the nursery and shut the door, refusing to dwell on whether today would be my dismissal.

  Fine. I dwelled.

  Guilt, self-incrimination, and Jemina were my closest friends. I lifted my chin and focused on the good. I was grateful to be near Lionel. My boy was fed, clean, and happily thumb-sucking.

  The beautiful burgundy tapestry looked resplendent beneath my slipper. It only needed a beating to remove the dirt left by Markham’s servants. I listened to my heels bopping against the thick rug. I hit my hands with the rhythm and tapped to the beat of conga drums.

  I reached the stairs, my fingers slipping on the fresh polish of the rail. It was slick and ready for sliding.

  I paused.

  No one was coming.

  The duke had all his men outside with his drills.

  Feeling freer than I had in a long time, I held my thumbs up, just so, to figure out where I’d land if I hiked up my skirt, climbed upon the sleek wood, and swooshed down like at Papa’s big house. Nothing like flying with the sultry sea air cooling my face.

  For four years in Hamlin, I’d thought of doing this, but the house was never this quiet. If someone caught me, how would I seem dignified to the servants? I’d heard their whispers—Jordan’s Demeraran wife, so unusual, so exotic, so sullen, so tragic.

  That wasn’t me.

  I once was funny, a little headstrong, and I had a lot of heart. I wanted to be me again. As a servant who could be terminated for much bigger things, what was one slide down the stairs?

  My palm anchoring to the rail, I wondered if my fingers retained the memory of how to hold on and keep my balance to fly. What did the rebel in me have to lose?

  A knee bent; a leg went up.

  I heard a noise, a creak from above, and slammed my foot on the tread. What was it? The attic? I held my breath.

  No more sounds overhead. No more movement.

  Everything became quiet, like before.

  But now, I was wary and weighed down in caution.

  “You should do it, you know,” Jemina said. She stood at the lower second level, leaning on the acorn-carved post, the baluster of the rail. Her arms were stacked with linens that she tossed as she leaned on the newel post. “No one who’d tattle is in the house, no one but us.”

  Did that mean she hadn’t heard the noises in the attic?

  Jemina’s impish smile grew as she brushed a curl from her eyes. Her voice is loud, louder than before. “I’m not going to say anything. I won’t even remember, on purpose.”

  No one was in the house. No one would tell.

  Picking up my light gray skirt, I backed up to the rail again. I was tempted by the thrill—the rushing air as I slid, the pounding of my heart telling me I was alive.

  The creaking sounded again.

  Reminded of my place, I released my skirt. The jaconet muslin flounced to my ankles. The way the air fled the twilled fabric—it judged me, too, saying, Not now, no.

  “The stairs to the third level are far too steep. It would be unwise,” I said in a proper tone with crisp English syllables, then descended the treads.

  Standing next to Jemina, I leaned over the rail and looked down at the empty hall. The encampment had gone. The slightly warmer weather let them do more outside. The soldiers seemed to enjoy actual beds to tents. The cannon, however, remained.

  “The marble gods should be happy that the soldiers have left the hall.”

  “What?” Jemina kicked at a pile of dirty sheets. “What gods?”

  I pointed to the statues below. Colin said they were three Roman soldiers with spears and bucklers, but I knew their true identities. “There are Agassou and his helpers.”

  Jemina looked over the rail, then back at me. With her freckles and red hair, the girl could have had Irish or Spanish roots, so she may not know what I meant.

  She shrugged. “The tallest one, his spear with the sharp point, looks particularly painful. It’s best you changed your mind.”

  If sculpted of ebony granite, not the whitest marble, the three would definitely be Agassou, made to protect Hamlin. But since nothing had gone right here, maybe it was just marble. “We are high up.”

  My vision swirled and looped, and I clasped the baluster to keep my balance. The night they dragged me away, my skin had gone cold, then boiling hot, tingling like ants biting my arms. Then I saw something coming at me and Lionel. I scooped up my son and ran as fast as I could.

  Had I tried to slide down the rail? With Lionel?

  No. Even addled, I couldn’t imagine endangering him.

  Jemina put a hand on my shoulder. “What is it? You’ve paled as if in fright.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts? That those you’ve disappointed might haunt you?”

  She put her warm, lavender-smelling palms to my cheeks. “No. My nightmares aren’t coming for me, so yours can’t be coming for you.”

  I hugged my friend. “Yes. Nothing’s coming that we can’t handle.”

  “Tell your soul you’re safe, Patience. Repeating that helps me.” Jemina offered a bigger smile.

  She might believe that. It might even be true for her, but I wasn’t safe. If the duke knew the truth of Colin’s death, he’d take Lionel from me forever.

  Pulse slowing, I pulled free, bent, and helped pick up the laundry she’d dropped.

  When we’d folded the fresh sheets, Jemina set them down with her other bundles. “Patience, you should’ve taken the risk, but I suppose you are too refined.”

  “That, and I’m not the lithe girl who came to England.”

  “You’re beautiful, my dear. And you should be bold and unafraid. Things are like vapors, before you know it, everything is lost. In the next moment, all is good again.”

  I put my fingertips to Jemina’s cheeks and looked deeply into her brown eyes. “When you learn everything of your past, choose to be this you, this lovely girl who is good inside and out.”

  She hooked her arm with mine. “This is our third day cleaning at this level. One doesn’t realize how massive of a house this is.” She closed an open bedchamber door. “West wing, east wing. We’ll get it done.”

  “At least all of Hamlin is being used. For years, I was in this house with servants and little company, a few business associates of my husband came to visit, but they never stayed. It’s good to see Hamlin teeming with life.”

  “Ummm.” Jemina’s head was down, and she counted her fingers while pointing. “Six. There should be six piles of sheets.”

  “Well, you left one by the stairs.”

  “I counted that one. There should be five here. One, two, three, four. Only four. That makes a total of five, not six.”

  In the time I’d known Jemina, I’d seen her become flustered, her cheeks turning fiery li
ke her hair when she thought she’d lost another memory.

  Distraction. That’s what Lady Shrewsbury did.

  I took my friend by the hand and turned her around and around, then stopped at the stairs. “These steps leading down to the first level are not as steep. These would be the ones to slide down if we were bold and daring.”

  Jemina put her hands to her forehead and breathed in and out. “Yes, it seems that way.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I must be mistaken.” Jemina tapped a few of the baluster supports, the strong mahogany posts holding up the rail. “Five bundles, not six. No one steals dirty sheets.”

  True, but my cherubim friend made a point of noting things. It was as if she’d decided never to forget anything else. So, I believed that something was missing—that one of the duke’s men might have taken it for mischief or target practice.

  I scooped up a pile. “Let’s get these to the pump room.”

  Jemina looked left and then right, then leaned close to my ear. “We’ll have cleaned all the bedchambers today. So far, I’ve found nothing suspicious. What about you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing was in the nursery. Not a thing on the third level to show Markham’s guilt. We need to check the drawing room and parlors below, but I think the man was too smart to leave anything pointing to his guilt. What if Markham locked me away just because he hated me or he thought me reckless with Lionel? Couldn’t both be true?”

  “Now, don’t you start blaming yourself. Markham had a reason other than his distrust of you. We’ll find what it is. We’ll get the proof, and we’ll prove it’s Markham who’s a danger to the baby, not you.”

  When I found a way to hire a boat to take me and Lionel back to Demerara, would Jemina want to go? I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her unprotected. I caught her hand. “I know everything will work out, and I’ll take care of you always as you’ve cared for me.”

  “Female bonding always seems like a conspiracy.”

  The complaint came from a weighty baritone voice.

  Glancing down, I saw the duke standing in the nook next to the marble gods. His bright scarlet regimentals contrasted the white marble like the striated petals of a lily.

  Now the thought of the duke and beautiful flowers would stick in my head. I rubbed my temples. “Did you come from the catacombs?”

  He pushed closed the secret door in the niche. It had been made to look like the wall with the same color paint and molding. “Yes. I need to see what else my nanny has spied down there.”

  I bristled. The man knew how to goad me, yet his sunny smile, full and wide, dimmed my pique. “How long have you been standing there spying, sir?”

  He leaned on his crutch. “Enough to know plotting.”

  Jemina’s eyes went wide.

  “He’s joking, Mrs. St. Maur. He doesn’t realize how much we need our employment and how unsettling his teasing is.”

  I’d made my voice lofty and airy, and it seemed to do the two things I most wanted. My friend’s stance relaxed, and the duke’s countenance changed. It held a repentant dimpled frown.

  “Sorry,” he said in a softer tone. “So, what have you two done while my troops drilled? Gossip?”

  “Bedsheets, Your Grace,” I said. “We still have more to do. But you, you appear from nowhere. Perhaps you’re the conspirator trying to steal bedsheets or wanting to scare us like a ghost.”

  “No thefts from me. That’s stealing from Lionel Jordan. It shan’t be done.” He thumbed his chin. “So you’ve heard the rumors of apparitions walking the property. You’re quite safe. I’ll protect you.”

  Straightening from his hunched position, he chuckled, his laughter rich.

  My pulse raced as I studied the man, the soldier.

  His jacket hugged his body and tucked neatly into light gray breeches. Nice and snug about his muscular figure. Today, he wore a burgundy sash about his hips, contrasting the white satin one that I’d become used to seeing.

  So coordinated, so orderly. Perfection, even if it was probably rule-based.

  “Do I pass inspection, Mrs. LaCroy?”

  My face fevered, but I offered a stiff nod. How long had I been staring?

  “More cleaning,” Jemina said, and darted into a near bedchamber.

  “Inspections are difficult things to pass, Mrs. LaCroy.”

  “I’m . . .” I rubbed at my hot cheeks. But then I glanced back at the man I couldn’t deny admiring. “You pass, but why did you enter by the catacomb? I could’ve studied you much better if you’d entered by the front doors. What a sight for the Duke of Repington to arrive under the grand chandelier.”

  I glanced at the wrought iron and crystals and noticed his men had raised it without the glass housing and candles. “Of course, I’d have to have a great deal of notice for the chandelier to be lit in your honor.”

  His laughter was infectious. It pulled chuckles from me.

  “Such an honest answer.”

  He pushed to the first stair tread as if he waited for me to descend. “I hadn’t expected you to admit it. You keep surprising me.”

  “Some days feel more liberating than others, sir. Perhaps widowhood coupled with your indecision on the length of my employment have given me a more care-for-none attitude.”

  “More unexpected candor on top of an offer for a hero’s welcome, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

  Balancing on his crutch, he slapped his lower thigh, the one I knew was missing. He wore boots, both boots.

  “Mrs. LaCroy, you know from your skulking of the underbelly of Hamlin, the catacombs have a gentle slope. That’s a much less taxing way to enter Hamlin when I have this on.” He hit that leg again, and it made a click, clack sound. “I tire more with this Potts’s artificial limb. One of the reasons I choose not to wear it.”

  Blinking at this admission, I set down my sheets and came down the stairs as if all was normal, like I hadn’t examined my employer from head to toe and that he hadn’t volunteered a private truth.

  There was a rhythm in my head, sweet and danceable, matching the uptick in my pulse. “Did you have a good morning, Your Grace, drilling for imagined raids of the castle?”

  “Imagined?” His brow cocked. “Napoleon has not surrendered. If he wants Russia, his eyes very well could be set on England. Hamlin will be prepared. My staff and my ward shall be protected.”

  I stood near him and wished I had one of my fancy silks, one with Mechlin lace on the sleeves, something that made me look dainty and as fragile as I felt. Then a man like the duke would understand how I cherished words like protection and security.

  “If you say so, Your Grace. I do feel safer.”

  He turned and walked under the chandelier. The tiny sound of clicking surrounded him.

  I followed. The scent of snow, maybe a few bush clippings, fresh and herbaceous, hung on him. It felt honest and true.

  “Safe with me, LaCroy? It’s good to know you trust me.” As he spun to face me, his jaw had tensed. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

  We stood together, two people in each other’s confidence beneath an unlit chandelier. It didn’t seem odd or humorous. The moment held a touch of normalcy, something I could grow used to, if he wasn’t my temporary employer and I wasn’t masquerading as a nanny.

  “Well, madam?”

  “With my position hanging in the balance, trust is not a word that fits us, but I do take comfort in your preparedness. And I appreciate that you’ve made your men camp in bedrooms, but they need to leave the cannons and muddy boots outdoors.”

  “These are serious drills, ma’am. Tomorrow at two, meet me again in the drawing room, we’ll discuss more changes to my ward’s schedule.”

  That would make a whole week without being terminated. “Yes, sir.”

  He adjusted his hat, a half-moon shako. “I’m going to review the troops from the rear balcony. You and Mrs. St. Maur could come watch me . . . my troops.”

  The invitation was fraught with that strange ten
sion that made it harder to breathe. “We have work to do that can be accomplished more efficiently in a quiet house.”

  “Then, perhaps, we’ll have to add some time in your schedule for a review. Keep avoiding conspiracies, Mrs. LaCroy. The drawing room at two tomorrow.”

  He smiled a knee-weakening smile, then headed down the rear hall whistling my lullaby. The tiny clicking of his stump disappeared.

  His voice was strong, not quiet like Colin’s. Maybe that’s why I liked hearing it.

  I turned toward the stairs to help Jemina. Should I let her know we were promised another day’s employment and protection against Napoleon?

  What more could a girl want?

  I didn’t hear the duke’s voice anymore, and I wondered if he dismissed nannies while singing.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE DRAWING ROOM

  I sauntered into the drawing room at ten minutes to two. The duke and his men had finished in here earlier.

  My nerves for this meeting should have lessened after seeing the way Repington and his soldiers gobbled up my bread for dinner and my rolls for breakfast. They loved coconut bread, the gooey sweet texture beneath a hearty crust.

  But this drawing room was Colin’s. He was always so distant after spending any time in here. I hadn’t been allowed inside when he resided at Hamlin, only when he left.

  The last time I saw him go into the drawing room, he argued with a man and Markham. He scolded me for entering, even though it was to bring him and his guests tea.

  “Ma’am.”

  I jumped, my heart pounding like I’d been caught rifling through the desk. With a hand to my racing heart, I curtsied to the duke’s friend.

  “Lord Gantry.”

  His jacket was well tailored on his thin frame, but civilian and simpler—no braiding, no sash. He whipped off his hat, a normal top hat, not the duke’s shako.

  “Mrs. LaCroy, you and Mrs. St. Maur are doing an excellent job of whipping Hamlin into shape.”

  Gripping my white apron, I curtsied again. “Thank you, Lord Gantry.”

  The tall man stripped off his gloves, then called to a soldier.