by Erica Ridley
Yet he had no choice but to stand there and listen.
To his surprise, the heartfelt speeches indicated that the town did not revere his grandfather as an exemplar of excellence. They simply revered him, oddities and all.
Apparently, in addition to the absurd idea of establishing a village dedicated to celebrating Christmastide year-round, Grandfather had had thousands of other eccentric notions. Plans that the townspeople had found creative ways to indefinitely postpone.
Preparing a hot air balloon launch pad for when dirigibles became de rigueur.
Requiring the kitchen to dye all foodstuffs the colors of the flag to show support of Britain’s efforts against Napoleon.
Installing water tunnels to turn the castle into a circus, complete with tightrope walkers above a pit of crocodiles.
Good lord. Turning Cressmouth into Christmas was perhaps the sanest of all his grandfather’s mad schemes.
“Was he in his right mind?” Benjamin asked the older woman to his left in wonder.
“He was a jolly prankster,” she replied with damp eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised if his will is full of more of the same.”
A prankster. Iron encased Benjamin’s heart. If he had been summoned all the way to the northernmost peak of England a few days before Parliament was set to start anew, only because his grandfather found it amusing to manipulate emotions even after his death—
“And now for the reading of the will,” announced the solicitor.
Benjamin listened in growing trepidation as what seemed like every person in the room was named before him. His stomach tightened. If he had come all this way, only to learn that his grandfather had buried himself with the locket as a final insult—
“—and to my grandson, Benjamin Ward, Duke of Silkridge, Earl of…”
Benjamin’s head snapped up.
The solicitor cleared his throat. “‘Be changed or be cursed. This is your last chance.’”
“Oh, for the love of…” Benjamin ground his teeth.
Of course, Grandfather would choose melodrama in favor of plain English. Prankster indeed.
It was all he could do not to yell, skip to the part where my mother’s heirloom returns to me.
The townsfolk wouldn’t understand. He doubted they knew the locket existed or would care even if they did. It was of value to no living person besides Benjamin, who was tired of waiting. He had suffered more than enough Christmas and Cressmouth for the rest of his life. As soon as the locket was in his hand, he would leave this town and never look back.
The solicitor continued, “‘You must complete the renovations on my unfinished aviary.’”
“Complete the what on his what?” Benjamin spluttered in disbelief. “He isn’t granting me a bequest. He’s asking for a favor. Is that even legal?”
He should not have expected better, and yet he was still bitterly disappointed.
“—I do not grant Silkridge the privilege of populating the aviary with an appropriate collection of birds—”
“Thank God,” Benjamin muttered.
“—but in order for restorations to be considered complete, Silkridge must break a ceremonial bottle of champagne upon its threshold before witnesses—”
“It’s not a ship.” Benjamin gaped through the crowd at the solicitor in disbelief. “Will the aviary be sailing off to explore new worlds? What kind of daft restorations are these?”
“—and stock the aviary with its first symbolic bird, which must be a—”
“Dodo?” Benjamin guessed. “Raptor? African swallow?”
“—partridge.”
Benjamin blinked. He was to break a bottle of wine upon the helm of a landlocked aviary in order to present all and sundry with their first ceremonial… partridge? His teeth clenched.
Of course he was.
“The aviary must open within a month of this reading,” the solicitor concluded. “Silkridge must remain on premises until that date, or else forfeit forever the gold locket currently held in trust.”
“Are you bamming me?” Benjamin’s blood heated. “I don’t have a month before the new session of Parliament. I have less than a fortnight.”
The elderly woman patted his arm. “Where there is a will, there’s a way.”
“That is not what that phrase means,” he muttered. Where Grandfather was concerned, there was rarely a way.
Muscles tight with anger, Benjamin made his way toward the dais. Grandfather had betrayed him not once but twice, by withholding the locket from its rightful owner first in life and now also in death.
He had obviously taken pleasure in crafting his ridiculous challenge. Benjamin clenched his fists. He hated that his grandfather was making him dance to strings for something that should already be his.
A grandfather was meant to love his grandchild. Not taunt him with the memory of his dead mother.
“Where is it?” he demanded as he stalked to the dais.
The solicitor lowered the papers. “Where is what?”
“The locket,” Benjamin growled. “Before I lift a finger, I must verify it still exists and that my grandfather isn’t toying with me.”
“Mr. Marlowe would never toy with his grandson,” chided a kindly voice behind him.
If only that were true.
Chapter 5
After stalking out of the reading of the will, Benjamin did not stay to share refreshments with the rest of the townsfolk. His appetite had been spoiled, and he certainly didn’t feel like sharing stories about his grandfather.
Nor could he return to his cold, impersonal chamber. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with the guest quarters. They had clearly been recently renovated and were spotlessly clean. But a bedchamber was all it was.
If he was going to be stuck here for the next few days, he was going to need an office… Or at the very least, a writing desk and stationery. He must send word to London that he had suffered a brief delay but would still arrive well before Parliament opened to continue policy discussions with his committees.
And then he would do whatever it took to make the aviary halfway presentable and shove a partridge inside so that he could retrieve the locket and be on his way. By tomorrow, if possible.
It all depended on the current state of the aviary project.
He caught sight of the lead housekeeper. Perfect. No one would know the castle better.
“May I be of service, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I hope so.” He tried his best to mask his impatience with his grandfather’s machinations. “Is there an empty study I could use or a desk I might borrow?”
“The counting house,” she replied without hesitation. “It was your grandfather’s primary study. I am confident you will find all you need there.”
Of course. Mr. Fawkes had clerked in the counting house since before Benjamin was born. After seeing the state of his health yesterday, Benjamin had assumed Mr. Fawkes had retired along with Grandfather.
No matter. Even if the room had been untouched for some time, the housekeeper was right. It should contain everything Benjamin might need. At least for such a brief stay.
The counting house might be a small chamber atop the south tower, but in some ways, it was the heart of the castle. That was where all the accounting operations took place. The resident clerks ensured every detail was carefully logged in meticulous journals of accounts. Mr. Fawkes and his books boasted an encyclopedic knowledge of every transaction the castle had ever incurred. The room would be empty, but still be well-stocked with supplies.
Benjamin strode to the south tower and wound his way up to the top of the turret. To his surprise, every wall sconce he passed contained a lit candle.
The pale yellow light did nothing to warm the icy tower. Instead, they cast spidery shadows across the gray stone walls, the dark patterns scurrying and leaping in syncopation with each foot fall on the stairs.
Benjamin had always hated the counting house. Too distant, too dark. Too cold. The claustrophobi
c stairwell and the cramped little rooms made tales of princesses locked in towers seem more like Gothic horror than fairy stories. He could not wait to leave it all behind.
When he reached the top, he shoved open the slender oak door.
His pulse skipped. He was not alone. The queen was in the counting house counting all its money.
Or plotting how to rid the castle of an unwanted duke.
Noelle glanced up from whatever correspondence she’d been writing and froze, plume in hand. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” he countered brilliantly. She had always managed to wipe all intelligent words from his mind.
At first, he did not notice her lack of response because he was too busy drinking in every aspect of her person.
The gold-rimmed spectacles were perched on the tip of her pert nose. Her coif, a loose twist. Half a dozen soft tendrils fell against her slender neck or kissed the side of her cheeks. Even scowling at him, she was a vision. His heart thumped.
How he wanted to brush those soft tendrils from her face with the pad of his thumb and lower his mouth to—
“I work here,” she said, her voice remarkably even for a woman who likely wished to stab him with the quill in her hand.
He had never apologized for leaving. To do so, he would have to explain emotions he preferred to bury. Like why he could not bear another attachment… and another loss. The fissures she created in the shields around his heart were a liability.
He had not wished to hurt her by leaving. But it had been kinder to leave when all they’d shared was a single kiss. Prolonging the inevitable would have been much crueler. For both of them.
This time, Benjamin would keep his distance.
“If you worked for my grandfather, why are you still here?” He glanced about the otherwise empty room. Being one of Grandfather’s secretaries sounded like torture.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She glanced up from her correspondence. “Mr. Marlowe didn’t sack me. He died.”
“Shouldn’t whoever is in charge of the counting house be going through the journals and finalizing documents?”
He realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
“You work here,” he said before she could beat him to it. “You took Fuzzy Wig’s place.”
“That’s right.” She bit her lip. “He helped me during the transition. His mind is sharper than his hearing.”
Benjamin nodded. “I don’t doubt it.”
A new silence fell, different than before. Worse, he realized. Noelle was no longer expecting him to apologize for the past. She assumed he wasn’t going to.
He wished he could. That there was anything at all that could excuse his absence. From the first, he had enjoyed her company far more than he should.
By the time he’d learned she was an orphan far below his class, it no longer mattered. They were already inseparable. Too inseparable. Their friendship would have challenged Society more than enough. Their single stolen kiss had been so dramatically outside his control that it had sent him reeling. Retreat was the only safe path for them both.
Gingerly, he stepped into the counting house and seated himself behind the great mahogany desk that had once belonged to his grandfather.
The only items in the room were his large desk, her small desk, a bookshelf, and a pitiful fire spitting orange behind the grate. They were alone.
Very, very alone.
He cleared his throat. “Should you summon a maid?”
She raised her brows. “To watch over me sitting in my chair at my desk as I perform the duties of my post, as I’ve done alone every day for the past four years?”
Fair enough. Yet they could not continue like this.
He tried again. “Should I summon a maid?”
“You’re not going to kiss me, much less compromise me,” she said flatly. “Should you working at your desk whilst I work at mine raise any eyebrows, I preemptively decline any resulting marriage proposal. I would prefer to remain a spinster.”
That was clear enough.
Benjamin broke her gaze in order to rummage through drawers and pigeonholes for supplies. He found ink and wax. But peace of mind was nowhere to be found.
Being forced to face the woman he had hurt was hell. Especially because he could not make things better or change the past. He wouldn’t if he could. Leaving had been the right choice. And going back in time to erase their stolen kiss… Even he could not bring himself to do that.
Before he dipped his quill in ink, he slid her another glance from the corner of his eye. Something was different. Something important. It wasn’t her looks; she would be beautiful no matter what she wore. His gut clenched. It was what was missing.
Her smile.
He had never seen her without it for this long. It was one of the first things that had attracted him to her. One of the many reasons he had not wished to disappoint her with a goodbye. Even this morning, she had been in good humor, laughing with her friends.
Granted, he could not count himself amongst that number, but the chilliness emanating from her corner of the room was even frostier than the weather outside.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
“Something happened,” she agreed. “You didn’t stay for the remainder of the reading?”
“I couldn’t.” He would not explain the spiral of anger and frustration his grandfather’s final game had caused. Even now, he could not be certain that dancing to the old man’s tune would result in anything at all. Yet he had to try. “What other tricks did Grandfather leave behind?”
Her expression was grim. “His will instructed me to remain on as clerk and personal advisor to you during your aviary preparations.”
“You’re my personal advisor,” he repeated. What the devil was Grandfather about this time?
She appeared as thrilled as Benjamin was about this new development, which was not at all. “Only for a month, until you open the aviary or leave.”
“In exchange for what?” he asked suspiciously
“In exchange for nothing.” She shrugged. “Those are simply his wishes.”
He stared at her. “But you don’t have to follow them. Not if there’s no bequest hanging in the balance.”
“There is a bequest. He has provided me with a generous dowry. It simply is not contingent on any particular constraints. I choose to follow his wishes.”
Even if it means time spent with you went unspoken.
Benjamin did not ask why her bequest had come freely and his had not. Grandfather was capricious in many ways, but with Benjamin he had always been consistent.
“It won’t be a month,” he promised her. “My presence is required in the House of Lords within a fortnight. This won’t take long. I’ll hire as many workers as it takes to complete the aviary as quickly as possible. First I will need to make inquiries into what’s been done, what’s still needed, and where one might find materials and labor nearby.”
She laid the letter she had been writing atop similar such documents, tapped them into a neat rectangle, and extended the stack toward Benjamin.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She did not respond.
He reached across the desk to accept the stack. His eyes widened in surprise as he riffled quickly through the pages. “This is a detailed summary of the original plans, all completed construction, all pending restorations, workers’ names, directions, and salaries… and the location of the outbuilding containing all necessary material.”
“Yes.” She set down her quill. “Everything you need should be in those documents.”
She’d gathered all that information in the space of hours? For him? He gaped at her. “How did you… Why did you…”
“It’s not a favor,” she reminded him. “I’m your clerk and personal advisor until you open the aviary or leave, whichever comes first.”
He managed not to wince at the implied rebuke. “Are you going to be here in the countin
g house every day?”
She arched a brow. “Performing my assigned duties and respecting a dying man’s final wishes?”
“A simple ‘yes’ would do,” he muttered. Of course she would be here.
He was stuck, but so was she. Even if Benjamin managed to find some other study to work in, Noelle would feel honor-bound to present herself each day as his clerk and personal advisor. There was no way out. They would be staring across these desks at each other until further notice.
He flipped through her documentation again, slower this time. It was good work. Clean and comprehensive. She had shaved entire days from the challenge just by offering him such a wealth of information. He slid a sidelong glance her way.
She had not known what might be in the will any more than he or anyone else had, which meant she’d had such numbers at her fingertips all along. She didn’t just work here. She appeared to be a phenomenal clerk. No doubt she had made an equally impressive personal advisor to his grandfather.
“Is there anything else I should know about?” he asked.
“I took the liberty of moving your assigned guest quarters to a different bedchamber,” she said without looking up from whatever journal she was perusing now.
Given her cool feelings toward him, Benjamin could only assume this meant he had been sent to the mews to sleep with the horses. Whatever surprise she had in store for him, at least it would only be temporary.
He dipped his pen in ink. The wise course of action would be to focus on the aviary, not on Noelle.
He dashed off a summons along with an offer of increased wages to each of the names on the list. He would gladly pay double to be done with this farce.
According to Noelle’s notes, the aviary required little more than window washers and workers to trim the shrubs. His spirits lightened. The project would not require a fortnight after all. He could be gone in just a few days.
At the thought, his gaze immediately returned to Noelle. Beautiful brown eyes squinted behind thin spectacles. Plump pink lips pursed to one side as she concentrated on whatever she read. Her slender fingers tucked one of her many errant tendrils behind her ear. His pulse beat faster.
