by Aston, Alexa
Dilly brought Ashlyn a mug of hot tea, her eyes wide at seeing her mistress up and about.
“Have water brought for a bath,” she instructed the maid.
Ashlyn drank the tea, the liquid warming her. Soon, servants brought buckets of heated water and she sank into the tub. Dilly washed Ashlyn’s hair and scrubbed her thoroughly. For the first time in two weeks, she felt almost human. Inside, though, a vast emptiness lingered. She supposed it would always be with her. A darkness that would never catch the light. Gregory had been her light. Her reason for living. Daniel would never be able to understand that. He’d never laid eyes upon his son. Never known the joy of hearing Gregory speak his first words or seeing that first smile.
It hit her that with Daniel now holding the title, he would want other children. Ashlyn couldn’t bear the thought of another boy replacing Gregory. How could she birth another child? Give her heart away as she had before? Yet she would not be able to deny her husband his rights over her body. The thought of lying with him again turned her stomach.
She pushed the thought aside. One thing at a time.
She found Cousin Mark in the small dining room, still at breakfast, a newspaper spread in front of him. If he was surprised to finally see her up and about, he hid it well.
“Good morning, Lady Dunwood. It’s good to see you.”
Taking a seat, she said, “I want you to know I appreciate you being here. For taking care of everything when I was indisposed.”
“You’ve suffered a great loss, my lady. It’s understandable that it will take time for you to recover.”
Ashlyn never would but she didn’t correct him. He’d been very helpful and there was no need to hurt him.
He rose and retrieved a stack of letters from a nearby table and said, “These have come for you if you’re ready to read them.”
The thought of reading through condolences left her with a sour stomach but it needed to be done.
“Thank you. I’ll read through and answer them today.”
Cousin Mark looked at her with concern. “Take your time. There’s no rush.”
“No. I want to. It will give me something to do.”
She pushed an egg about her plate and finally gave up, taking the letters with her to what had been the Countess of Dunwood’s correspondence room. It was where letters were answered and menus planned. Though the room was now hers, Ashlyn felt like an imposter sitting at the desk.
Each page essentially said the same thing. The writers conveyed their sorrow for her loss. She tired of the same trite phrases written again and again and dreaded the thought of answering each one in a similar manner.
The final letter caught her attention because it looked worn, as if it had traveled a great distance. She opened it and before reading the contents, looked to the bottom of the page. It was signed by a Lieutenant-Colonel Baker. She knew the name from Daniel’s letters. Baker was his commanding officer, a man Daniel had written of frequently.
With dread, her eyes rose to the top of the page.
Dear Mrs. Clarke –
It is with great sorrow that I write to you of the passing of your husband, Lieutenant Daniel Clarke. Lieutenant Clarke had been under my command these past two years and I found him to be a thoughtful, dedicated officer. He will be sorely missed among his men and fellow officers.
He was not lost in battle but grew weak from dysentery, a disease that runs rampant among our troops. I’ve arranged for Lieutenant Clarke’s body to be returned to England so that he may be buried among his family members.
My deepest sympathies go to you and your son, Mrs. Clarke.
Sincerely,
Lt. Col. Reid Baker
The letter fell from her hand.
Chapter One
Gillingham—February 1811
Colonel Reid Baker was finally going home to England after nearly a decade as an officer in the king’s army—all thanks to his childhood friends, Danforth Grayson and Burke Nicholson.
Gray left the Peninsular Wars first, selling his commission to act as guardian to his orphaned nieces and nephew. When his sickly nephew died, Gray became the Earl of Crampton, wedding Lady Charlotte Nott, the children’s governess. Burke had followed Gray home a year later, returning with his right eye missing. He’d taken up a new role as a spy for the War Department, bringing a ring of high-placed government traitors to justice and marrying his fellow spy, Lady Gemma Covington, in the process.
It was hard to imagine his two closest friends as husbands, much less ones who were lucky enough to make love matches. Gray had always been a loner who’d been struck hard by the losses of his men in battle. Thanks to Charlotte, Gray’s emotional wounds had healed, and the couple had one son, as well as custody of Gray’s two nieces. Burke, a third son and notorious womanizer who’d refused to enter the church, had joined Reid and Gray as army officers after they’d left university, thirsting for adventure. In gratitude for Burke exposing the circle of traitors, the crown awarded the extraordinary spy an earldom, and Gemma would give birth to their first child in June.
These men, the brothers of his heart, now lived on their country estates in Kent, close to Reid’s family home, Gillingham. Urgent letters from Burke and Gray finally convinced Reid he needed to come back to England. The pair had visited the Duke of Gilford at his wife’s insistence, and they revealed to Reid he must end his war career and take up his responsibilities to his family because Gilford was now bedridden and had one foot in the grave.
As a marquess and heir apparent to a dukedom, Reid had no need to go to war in the first place. Few men of his rank did. Yet from the time he was young, he’d felt an immense sense of patriotism and the desire to make a difference in the world. When Bonaparte sucked England into his bloody wars, Reid relished the idea of helping defeat the enemy. A natural leader, he needed to fix problems and produce results. His intelligence and confidence had led to him rising to rank of colonel in the decade he served his country.
A part of him, though, had simply wanted to escape. His father had wed again when Reid was eighteen, having been a widower for fifteen years. The new duchess was only a year older than Reid himself and she quickly produced two boys for the duke. By entering the army, he gave his father time to enjoy his second family without a reminder of the first one. And if Reid succumbed in battle, Gilford still had an heir and a spare.
His father rarely wrote to him, only a few times a year, and none during the past two years. The duchess had flooded Reid with letters for the better part of a year, imploring him to return, but he’d ignored them, too caught up in his war duties. He answered tersely, telling Dalinda that he would be home when Bonaparte met defeat and not before. She’d finally quit pestering him.
Then he received lengthy letters from both Gray and Burke, who’d gone to visit his father at Dalinda’s insistence. The Duke of Gilford had been as a father to both boys and the pair had spent several holidays at Gillingham throughout their school and university years. Both described the duke’s faltering health and how Reid was needed at home to manage all the properties and finances. Gray, in particular, urged Reid to hurry if he wanted to see his father alive.
That had spurred him into action. He was already weary of war and ready for the green of England again, not having realized he was homesick after almost ten years abroad. He’d done more than his duty to king and country and now needed to see to his own family. If his father were as critically ill as the others said, then the estate and holdings would have been neglected. Reid’s responsibilities now were to his family. He quickly sold out and caught the first ship home.
He saw the village of Gillbrook appear on the horizon from his spot atop the mail coach, which had proven to be the fastest way to reach Kent once his ship landed on the southern coast of England. His heart beat a bit faster, knowing how close he was to seeing where he’d grown up and eager to know his half-brothers, who were ten and twelve.
Within ten minutes, they’d arrived at Gillbrook. Reid was
the lone passenger who disembarked, carrying only his satchel. It contained a spare uniform and a few odds and ends, including his razor and comb. After he alighted, the driver wished him well and took off, keeping to his schedule. Reid’s gaze swept across the familiar buildings. Though the hamlet looked prosperous, with neatly painted buildings and wares on display in shop windows, he saw not a soul walking the streets or emerging from any store or abode. Considering it was a quarter past ten in the morning, surprise filled him as he wondered where everyone might be.
Pushing the mystery aside, he decided to walk to Gillingham, which was a mere two miles from Gillbrook. It felt good to stretch his legs, though he tugged his cloak about him as a cold winter wind cut through him. He set a brisk pace and arrived home shortly before eleven. As he reached the front door, he realized he had no key and hadn’t for years. Playing visitor, he rapped loudly on the door, wondering if he’d even know any of the staff. Surely, Mr. Bellows, the longtime Gilford butler, and Mrs. Paul, the housekeeper, would still be employed. He chuckled, thinking of the aptly named Mrs. Cook, their cook, who’d married Cook, the head gardener. They should also be at Gillingham.
When no one answered, Reid impatiently tried the door and found it unlocked. No footman appeared as he came through the foyer and wandered up the stairs. The drawing room was empty, as were two small parlors and the library. He made his way to his father’s bedchamber and also found no one there. If the duke was so ill, wouldn’t he be in bed? Reid hoped Dalinda hadn’t convinced Gray and Burke to write falsehoods in order to get Reid home. Knowing his friends, he didn’t feel that possible.
He dropped his satchel in his old room and came back downstairs, his stomach rumbling. Going to the kitchen, he saw several servants rushing about as Mrs. Cook issued orders. An incredible amount of food had been prepared and was being placed upon trays. Had he stumbled upon a party?
Reid managed to keep a footman from plowing into him, holding the man about the shoulders and then sliding past him. He went straight to the cook.
“Mrs. Cook, what is going on?”
The kitchen went silent. He felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him.
The Gillingham cook clapped her hands. “Go on! Get about your work!” she demanded, and the staff hustled to do her bidding. She turned back to him, giving him a warm smile, as she bobbed a curtsey.
“It’s nice to see you after all this time, Your Grace.”
Her words struck Reid as a bullet to the heart. There would be only one reason for Mrs. Cook to address him as she had.
The Duke of Gilford was dead.
“My father . . .” he began and then swallowed hard.
Sympathy filled her eyes. “Gone, Your Grace. Two days ago. Everyone in the household and a large portion of Gillbrook is at the funeral now. If you hurry, you might be able to see the burial, then the mourners will come back here.”
“Thank you.”
Though he still had the dust of the road covering him, Reid hurried from the house. The chapel lay half a mile away, with the graveyard in between. He took off running and only paused when he spied a large group gathered around a gravesite. Slowing to a walk, he joined the mourners at the rear before making his way along the edges until he reached the front, seeing both Gray and Burke there, along with whom he supposed were their wives.
Reverend Jackson acknowledged Reid with a brief nod as he continued reading from the twenty-third Psalm, a favorite of the duke’s. No one else noted his presence, their heads bowed in prayer, except for two boys standing on both sides of his stepmother. Dalinda looked as beautiful as ever in her widow’s weeds, dark brown hair framing her pale skin. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her grief obvious.
Her two sons eyed Reid suspiciously. Neither seemed to grieve in the least. He frowned at them but both stared back defiantly, as if daring him to call them out. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him. Dalinda had always struck him as a bit scattered. She wouldn’t be much of a disciplinarian. If his father had been too ill to deal with his sons, their mother probably ignored any misbehavior.
That would have to change.
The clergyman had gone into a prayer following his reading and now brought it to a close. Those gathered raised their heads and he sensed the shock run through the crowd as they noted his presence. By now, though, Reid’s focus was on his father’s pine coffin. It was hard to believe the man who’d always appeared larger than life had come to an end, his remains residing in the coffin. He took a step forward and placed his palm on its surface, his throat thick with unshed tears.
After a moment, he looked to Reverend Jackson and nodded. The clergyman thanked those present for their attendance and invited everyone back to Gillingham for refreshments.
Reid turned away, his eyes downcast as his hand remained on the casket. He sensed the crowd moving away.
“Goodbye, Father,” he said softly and stepped away.
He saw only his stepmother and half-brothers had stayed behind. The boys openly glared at him now as Dalinda came toward him.
He took her hands. “I’m sorry for your loss, Dalinda.”
She sniffed and more tears cascaded down her cheeks. “He was such a good man. I will miss him very much.”
“We all will.” Reid paused. “I assume these are my half-brothers.” He looked at the pair. “I haven’t seen you since you were in the nursery.”
“We haven’t been in the nursery in years,” Arthur, the older one said snidely. “And we haven’t missed you at all.”
“No, we haven’t,” echoed Harry, the younger one.
He waited a moment, seeing if their mother would correct them, but she kept silent.
“It seems I will be responsible for more than running Gillingham,” he said curtly. “I suppose part of my tasks will be teaching you two some manners.”
Arthur sneered at him as Dalinda said, “Oh, Reid, they are so upset now over their father’s death. There’s no need to discipline them now.”
“I disagree. Good manners are never held to a certain time or place but should always be in evidence. Grief over a parent’s death is no excuse for ill behavior.”
“Why did you have to come back?” Harry demanded. “We were fine without you. Nobody wants you here.”
Reid knelt in order to be eye-level with them. “The duke was my father, too. I spent over twenty years with him before I went to war. I am very sad at his passing—and I’m saddened that my half-brothers are so disrespectful, right at his gravesite.”
“You can’t tell us what to do,” Arthur said stubbornly, his chin jutting out.
He rose and glared down at them. “Actually, Arthur, I can,” he said abruptly. “I am the new Duke of Gilford—and what I say is the law around here. Wipe the sneers off your faces. If you can’t look sad, then put a bland expression on your faces. Each of you take one of your mother’s arms and we shall return to the house. Many people there wish to offer all of us their condolences. Accept their words graciously and thank them.
“Is that understood?”
His strident tone conveyed his immense displeasure with them. Both boys cowed. But they did step to their mother’s sides and helped her back to the house without a word. She started to speak but his look cut her off. He would need to talk with her at length later regarding discipline.
Once they arrived back at the house, Reid separated from them. He made sure to circulate throughout the drawing room, speaking to everyone briefly and thanking each for their attendance. He received condolences from the town mayor down to the footmen who waited upon the group.
One woman whom he wasn’t acquainted with introduced herself. She emitted a sense of tremendous confidence, though she was almost a foot shorter than he was. Her lively, amethyst eyes were the most unusual he’d ever encountered and only added to her great beauty. Reid felt drawn to her in a way he couldn’t describe.
“I am Lady Dunwood, Your Grace. New to the neighborhood these past three years but very sad to see your father go. The duke w
as a kind, gracious man. He will be sorely missed for his wit and humility.”
“Thank you, Lady Dunwood. Father will always be the best man I know, no matter how many more gentlemen I encounter during my lifetime.”
He knew of no Lord Dunwood in the area but realized he’d been away nearly ten years. Before he could ask her about her family and where she lived, the local doctor and his wife interrupted and he spoke with them. By the time he finished accepting their condolences, Lady Dunwood had disappeared from his elbow. He searched the room and determined she was gone.
He finally had time to speak to his friends. Both Burke and Gray gave him strong handshakes and bear hugs, and he turned to be introduced to their wives.
“Though we’ve never met, I feel as if I already know you both,” Reid told them. “Your husbands have written glowingly about you.”
“Are you certain they wrote the letters themselves, Your Grace? Gemma and I might have dictated what they were to write so you would have a delightful impression of us. I’m Charlotte, by the way.” She offered Reid her hand and he kissed it, already taken with Gray’s countess.
“Burke’s handwriting leaves much to be desired,” the other wife said. “I’m Gemma and very pleased to meet you, Your Grace.”
He kissed her hand and proclaimed, “No, none of that. You are Gemma and Charlotte and I am Reid. I am also the man who knows more about these two scoundrels than they ever could remember. If you want to know who your husbands truly are, I am more than happy to be at your service and reveal their pasts.”
“Oh, I knew I would like you,” Charlotte proclaimed, sliding her arm through his.
“Get your own Miss Nott,” Gray proclaimed, pulling his wife back to his side and laughing good-naturedly.
Reid knew Gray called Charlotte by her governess name at times. He could see by the glow in their eyes that the couple was deeply in love. The same held for Burke, whose arm had slid around his wife’s waist. The look that passed between them almost knocked the breath from Reid, so potent with love—and desire.
