THE PERKS OF BEING A DUKE

A HISTORICAL REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

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HANNA HAMILTON

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 CONTENTS

A Thank You Gift

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Epilogue
Extended Epilogue
The Commoner Who Stole Ηer Ηeart
Prologue
 Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

Also by Hanna Hamilton

About the Author

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 A THANK YOU GIFT

Thanks a lot for purchasing my book. It really means a lot to me, because this is the best way to show
me your love.
As a Thank You gift I have written a full length novel for you called A True Lady. It’s only available
to people who have downloaded one of my books and you can get your free copy by tapping this link
here.

Once more, thanks a lot for your love and support.

Hanna Hamilton

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 ABOUT THE BOOK

His favorite place was inside her heart…

Forced to flee the atrocities of war, talented seamstress Celeste Singer takes
up work in the service of the Duke of Gwendonmyre, in the hopes of saving
up enough money to pay her parents’ passage from France to England.

Preferring the English countryside to London, Jonathan Harper, Duke of

Gwendonmyre, sees his up-until-then pristine family life turned on its head
when a series of near-fatal accidents start happening around the manor.

As maids go missing, poisonous food finds its way to his table and large
sums of money simply disappear, Jonathan is hard-pressed to find answers.

And it all seems to be connected to the one person he holds new-found

affection for: soft-spoken maid, Celeste Singer…

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 CHAPTER 1

C eleste Singer carefully brushed the blue cashmere wool morning

dress. Mud had caked on the hem. Margery Harper, the Duchess of
Gwyndonmere, was remarkably careless about where she walked
in the gardens and when visiting the village. She was also viciously
scathing if her garments were not pristine when she was ready to wear
them. Celeste dampened a cloth in cold water and carefully removed the
smudges. It would not do to saturate the fine wool because that might cause
it to shrink.

When the garment was properly clean, Celeste rubbed the inseams and the
interior of the bodice with a sachet of rose petals and lavender, a
combination the Duchess had selected from the local apothecary shop. She
then hung the dress in the big wardrobe that stood on the northern wall of
the Duchess’s chamber.

The southern wall had two large casement windows that opened out onto a
balcony. The balcony overlooked Gwyndonmere, the small lake that shared
its name with the estate and the Duke who governed there.

Celeste loved walking in the orchard on her free afternoon. She also
enjoyed attending the Sunday sermon. The little village church was very
much like the one she had attended with her family in France.

She had loved her life in France. Celeste sighed, remembering her little
dress shop. She remembered that last morning, when she and her father had
surveyed the wreckage of her little shop.

Officially, the shop belonged to her father. Papa and Mama had invested
their entire life savings to pay the first month’s rent and her patroness, a
marquess who had liked her needlework, had provided the fabrics for the
first round of orders. Orders that were almost ready when the soldiers came.

The Marquis and Marquess were dead. The village was razed, and all the
shops along the cobbled main street were destroyed, as was Celeste’s dress
making shop. The silk that would have been a wedding dress was trampled
in the mud and muck that was caked on the floor. The dress maker dummy
had a broken sword thrust through it. The cash box hung from its chain, the
lock smashed and the money that had been inside it gone.

All the work she had put into arranging it just so, the shelves Papa had
made, the little frills Mama had helped her add to the edges of the display
shelf, all of it was ruined.

“Whatever shall we do? The shop is destroyed, the fabrics are all ruined.
All your life savings that were supposed to take care of you and Mama, it is
all gone. My patroness was slain in the fighting, there is no way for me to
start over.”
Mr. Singer put his arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “Shhh, shhh, ma
petite. There will be a way, there always is. At least you were not in the shop
when the soldiers came through.” He nodded at the dress maker dummy
with the sword thrust through it. “That could have been you, my daughter.
As it is, you are alive, we are alive, and that means we have hope.”

Hope. It was a fragile thread embedded in a tangle of heavy yarn, with

some burrs thrown in for decoration. Celeste almost smiled at this fanciful
thought, but remembered just in time to keep a properly respectful
expression on her face. The Duchess could return at any time and it would
never do to be caught in a moment of unseemly levity.

Celeste used a soft cloth to polish the little vials of perfume and pots of
color that were arrayed on the vanity. Carefully, she wiped the marble top,
replacing each item exactly as she had found it. As she worked, she was
careful to keep a cloth or handkerchief between her fingers and the surfaces
of the bottles. Not only were the little pots and vials fragile, but the Duchess
used arsenic to lighten her skin to an interesting pallor. The stuff was
insidious, easily seeping into exposed skin. Celeste was sure she absorbed
enough of it when applying paint to the Duchess’s face.

Celeste could hear her mother’s voice in her head, “Do not be taking up
with the ways of the peerage, my daughter. Those as has aspirations to the
peerage and those as are members can afford to let go of reality a little. You
cannot. Your life depends upon keeping a clear head at all times.”

Mama had been their rock as they walked toward the coast, hoping to catch
a boat to the islands and away from the fighting. But Mama had fallen ill
after a particularly cold wet day. They had been offered shelter along with
other refugees at a charity home not far from Calais.
Papa had been able to earn a little money doing odd jobs, but hard cash was
scarce. In the end, they had only been able to scrape together enough for
passage for one person, and that on an old tub of a fishing boat headed to
Scotland.

Mama was too ill to travel alone, and Papa would not leave her. That meant
that only Celeste had boarded the grubby old boat, redolent with fish and
ringing with oddly accented English.

With the dressing table all in order, Celeste turned her attention to her next
task: laying out the Duchess’s dinner gown and fresh underthings. Then she
turned her attention the Duchess’s bath. She had already called down to the
kitchen to have water heating in the big kettles. The youngest under-
footman would be up shortly with the first cannister of hot water to pour
into the wooden sheet-lined bath and to leave a cannister of cold water to
temper the heat.

It was just luck that I arrived at the same time the Duke of Gwyndonmere
was in Edinburgh looking for an abigail for his wife. At least, I hope it was
luck. Some days it is very hard to work for her. But I have asked the steward
to put a little aside for me each week so that I can save to pay their fare.

The Duchess was out riding. By the time she arrived, the water should have
cooled to the perfect temperature for bathing.

It was a little tricky to manage the timing on this, Celeste had learned. Start
bringing the water up too soon and it was tepid by the time the bather
climbed into it. Bring it up too late and a cannister of cold had to be added
to bring the boiling water back down to perfect bath temperature. She had
learned to have the boy bring up at least one cannister of cold water, and
one of hot, just in case.

The water had just reached perfection when the Duchess swept in. “There
you are, Celeste! Are my bath things ready?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Will you have the attar of roses tonight or the lavender
water?”

“Lavender, of course, Celeste. You know I cannot bear the strong scent of
attar of roses.”

Celeste sighed. Last week it had been lavender she could not bear, the week
before it was the scent of honeysuckle. Well, she would simply have to
persevere and try to discover favorite scents.

The Duchess surveyed the clothing that was laid out for her. “No, no, no!”
Her brows drew together until they almost made a straight line across her
forehead, and her face flushed an unattractive mottled red. “How often have
I told you? I never wear velvet at home. It is far too heavy, and it is so cold
today I shall freeze.”

“Will you have the cream woolen, then, Your Grace? It is freshly brushed.”

The Duchess shrugged. “It isn’t the mode, but there won’t be anyone
special at dinner tonight, so I suppose it will do. Now, have you let my bath
get cold with all this standing about yammering?”
Celeste stepped into the bathroom and tested the water. “I think it is at the
perfect temperature, Your Grace. Would you care to test it for yourself?”

“Don’t just stand there! Help me out of my habit. I am fair famished from
riding, and have no wish to set Jonathan’s back up by being late for dinner.
It is so dreary when he sighs at me, then tells the butler that dinner can now
be served.”

Celeste said nothing. Another hard lesson had been that Duchess did not
require a response, and to make one would only invite a tirade. Carefully,
she undid the little pearl buttons on the front of the riding jacket and laid it
aside to check for soil or damage. The little buttons had a maddening way
of working loose from their moorings, and there were no extra ones. If one
was to be lost, the whole garment would have to be scrapped.

Mentally, Celeste shook her head over the wasteful ways of these English
ladies. For the longest time Celeste’s winter coat had wooden buttons that
her father had carved for her, then painted white. When the coat had finally
worn so thin that even her mother had been forced to own that it was
beyond repair, Celeste had carefully removed every one of those buttons
that her dear Papa had made with his gnarled, arthritic hands.

The Duke and Duchess of Gwyndonmere were part of a select set of

English peerage who had been granted lands in Scotland, supplanting the
local Lairds. Unlike many of the holdings given this small subset of
peerage, Gwyndonmere and its nearest neighbor, Mabway, had been
established in the turbulent times between James IV and James V. Tucked
as it was in the mountains a three-day ride uphill from Edinburgh, they had
somehow escaped wave after wave of political turmoil, surviving until the
current year of 1814.

The late Dukes of Gwyndonmere and Mabway had noted that the slow
creep of technology and political changes could threaten the two small
duchies and had arranged a marriage between their children to strengthen
their position. This proved to be especially fortuitous when Margery’s older
brother, Aaron, had succumbed to mumps in early adulthood. The two old
Dukes had congratulated themselves on protecting their children and their
holdings.

No such protections for me. Her father and mother were living in a charity
house near Calais. Papa did whatever carpentry work he could find, and
Mama supplemented his income by working in the charity house and by
writing letters for people. Each month Mr. Ahmlad McAhmladhson helped
her send a draft on the Bank of England to his agent in France. The agent
took the money and a letter to her mother and father and sent a letter from
them back to her. Papa could only figure a little and sign his own name, but
her mother had been a lay teacher at a convent in her youth. She was
sufficiently literate to read the letters from her daughter aloud to her
husband, and to write back about the simple doings of the village.

“It is frightening now,” her mother wrote. “A village not far from here was
burned, and even the little children slain.”

Celeste put the thought out of her mind. She deposited a little of her pay
with Mr. McAhmladhson each week, and an even tinier hoard of coins. She
hoped to rent a cottage on the estate and pay passage for her parents. It was
probably a vain hope, but the news from the continent was terrible. As
difficult as the Duchess could be, life at Gwyndonmere Castle offered her a
degree of security and safety. She wanted to share that with her parents.
“Celeste! I haven’t got all day, girl. Wash my hair first so it will have time
to dry.”

Celeste came out of her musings with a start. She hadn’t meant to leave the
Duchess soaking quite so long. “It will be good for your complexion, Your
Grace,” she soothed. “I will use that lovely New World hair cleaner you
liked so much.”

Celeste massaged the liquid cleaner into the Duchess’s thick, auburn hair.
The stuff stung her fingers, but didn’t seem to affect the Duchess at all.
After the hair cleaner was rinsed out, Celeste massaged the lady’s scalp
with sweet oil scented with lavender.

“Mmm, very nice,” the Duchess had her eyes closed, leaning back in the
swan shaped wooden bathtub as she relaxed into Celeste’s expert
ministrations. “Now I remember why I have kept you on even though you
do not fully understand correct dress. Now, I will have the warmed towel
and you may begin spreading my hair to dry.”

It took nearly two full hours to prepare the Duchess for dinner. By the time
Celeste put the finishing touches on a modish tower of hair, only part of
which belonged to the Duchess, she was beginning to be ravenously hungry.

The Duke tapped at the door. “Get that, would you, Celeste?” The Duchess
turned this way and that in front of the mirror. “Adequate,” she sniffed.
“There you are,” the Duchess sniped at her husband, “I was beginning to
despair of ever making it down to dinner. This wretched girl you have
found for me was dreaming off in the middle of my bath. Such a strange
creature.”

The Duke exchanged a glance with Celeste over the top of his wife’s head.
“You look beautiful as always, my dear. The butler has let me know that
there is chicken pudding for dinner.”

The Duchess placed her hand formally on top of his extended arm.
“Chicken again? I declare I shall begin to cluck. Can we not have a bit of
beef or even pork?”

“I am sorry, Your Grace,” the Duke said, “it is spring. We must preserve the
breeding stock lest there be nothing to make young ones for the fall
butchering.”

The Duchess made a slight moue. “Always with the seasonal practicality,
Your Grace.” She then seemed to remember her abigail. “Clean up the
room, Celeste. I want it to be spotless when I return. Once you are done
with that, you are free for the evening.”

“Will you not want me to help you undress, Your Grace?” Celeste asked.

“I will manage nicely on my own. Now, Jonathan, lead me to that

everlasting chicken.”
Celeste sighed as she picked up the used bath things to take to the
washroom. Did not the Duchess realize what a gem of a husband she had?
Not only was the Duke incredibly handsome, with his dark hair and eyes so
brown they were nearly black, he was kind and gentle. He was careful in his
estate management and well-loved by the tenant farmers and villagers who
made up the population of Gwyndonmere. None of the serving maids
mentioned this head of the house making advances on them, nor did he
seem to have a paramour, although it was common knowledge that he and
the Duchess did not share a bed in any sense of the word.

She got a basket from a cupboard in the hallway, and placed the towels,
bath clothes, and Her Grace’s soiled underthings in it. At least she would
not have to wash them. Her Grace had a dedicated washer woman just for
her own special laundry. It occurred to Celeste that the Duchess was a very
expensive woman to keep.

When the room was spotless and every drape and pillow perfectly placed,
Celeste picked up the laundry basket and headed below stairs to her own
dinner. The upper servants would not dine until the Duke and Duchess had
finished with their repast, but she could at least get the soiled linens
downstairs. Perhaps she could even help the kitchen maids with setting the
servants’ table.

Strictly speaking, as a lady’s maid, she could have chosen to make it known
that such work was beneath her. But she had been raised simply and found
that the time between taking the Duchess’s laundry down and the meal
being served passed much more swiftly if she was busy doing something.

On her way down the servants’ stair, she passed Roderick Warner, who was
just going up. As the Duke’s valet, he outranked most of the other servants,
and had made it clear that Celeste was one of the few servants he found to
be his social equal.

Even though he found them socially inferior, Warner had made advances to
several of the maids. At least two and possibly three of them found his
attentions flattering. Warner was very handsome, in a roguish devil-take-
the-hindmost kind of way. Below-stairs gossip had it that he was an
accomplished lover and that even virgins would receive great pleasure in
his company. For her part, Celeste didn’t like or trust the valet and did her
best to keep away from him.

“Stuck up French tart,” Roderick Warner used a light teasing tone to scoff at
her. “Think you are better than the rest of us because you do for the
Duchess.”

Celeste kept the basket between them, bobbed a curtsy at him. “Not at all,”
she said. “But I need to get these things to the laundress before going to
dine with everyone else. I’m sure you would not deny me my evening
meal.”

“If you would allow me, I would deny you nothing.” Warner purred in a
seductive voice. His eyes were fixed upon her and his mouth quirked into
an enticing smile.

Mr. Hammonds, the butler, stepped to the door of the butlery, just a step or
two beyond the landing where Warner stood. “Celeste,” his well-trained
ponderous basso reverberated up and down the stairwell, “I have need of
your help.”
“Of course.” Celeste bobbed another quick curtsy at Warner. “Please excuse
me, my work calls.” And she slipped on past Warner and into the butlery.
Mr. Hammonds closed the butlery door after her, shutting Warner out of his
domain.

The room was pleasantly cool and quiet compared to the bustle in the
serving halls where dinner preparations were underway. The shelves were
lined with bottles of wine. A lovely old table graced the center of the room,
with a large book open upon it. Entries in the book indicated wines and
other viands withdrawn from the butlery. Celeste rested the basket of
laundry on one hip, and faced the butler. “How may I be of service?”

“Rest your basket a minute on that chair over there and humor an old man
by taking a cup of tea with him.” Mr. Hammonds placed a steaming cup in
front of her. “I have a moment or two before announcing the next course.”

“Thank you, sir.” Celeste sat on one of the straight-backed chairs placed
around the table.

“I’ve a job for you that I think you will like,” Mr. Hammonds said. “The
maid who did the house bouquets has abruptly left, and I need someone to
do the floral arrangements for the public rooms and for the Duke’s study.
I’m sure you’ll have no problem with the bouquets in general, but the
Duke’s requires a special touch. He likes something a bit more masculine,
yet still decorative.”

“I will be glad to try, Mr. Hammonds. Thank you for offering me the
opportunity for so pleasant a task.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss Singer. You have more than earned the privilege
with your work these three months.”

Celeste bowed her head with respect. “I am always glad to be of

assistance.”

“Go along with you,” Mr. Hammonds eyes twinkled even though he spoke
almost severely, “And don’t let me catch you loitering in the halls.”

“No, sir, I will not!” Celeste picked up the laundry basket and hurried away
to complete her errand.

When she reached the upper servants’ dining room, Betty McGuire, one of
the maids, and Martha Sedgwick, the housekeeper, whose room was next to
hers, had just finished arranging the place settings and were beginning to
bring in the food that remained from the courses that had already been
served above stairs. “It smells delicious.” Celeste inhaled deeply as Betty
ladled portions of savory broth into soup bowls while Miss Sedgewick
placed wedges of chicken pudding on each of the plates.

Betty and the newest scullery maid shared a room on the same hall as Miss
Sedgewick and Celeste.

“Don’ it just,” Betty replied. “His Grace allus has cook make enough of
whatever they’s havin’ so’s we can have the same. Not like some of the
great houses where all you get is leavin’s or maybe porridge if they ain’t no
leavin’s.”
“Now Betty,” Martha reproved, “You wanted to learn to talk proper. If you
were talking to Her Grace, how would you have phrased that?”

Betty paused and thought about it for a moment. “I guess I should have said
‘Doesn’t it smell good’.”

“That’s a good start.” Martha smiled her approval. “Now go on.”

“Um…. ‘His Grace al-ways has Cook make enough that we can have
some’?” Betty colored up, and looked at Celeste with a worried expression
on her face.

“It is hard to learn new ways of speaking,” Celeste reassured the girl. “I
remember when I was learning English how Sister Mary, one of the
teachers at the village school, would correct my way of saying things.”

Betty’s eyes got big at that. “Were it… no, that’s not right. Was it hard
learning English?”

“It was very hard. Mama said that if I wanted to be a successful shopkeeper,
I would need to know how to talk to English patrons. That was why she and
Papa saved enough to send me to school.”

“I hear tell,” Betty began, but at a look from Martha carefully corrected
herself, “I have heard that it is scary in France right now.”
“Very scary.” Celeste arranged a salt cellar, several dishes of dried herbs,
and a cruet of vinegar and oil on the table, while Betty returned to the
kitchen for more items for the table.

Sally Ann, the new scullery maid, popped in with a tray of fresh dishes for
the upper servants’ tables. “Did you hear?” she announced in a loud, harsh
whisper, “They found a dead body at the edge of the Lolly Mire.”

“Oh, no!” Martha exclaimed. “Did they say who it was? And why are you
whispering?”

“We ain’t supposed to know about it,” Sally Ann said, in a more normal
voice. “They ain’t said official like who it is just yet. But Cook thinks it’s
the maid who used to do the flowers.”

Celeste’s hand flew up to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

Miss Sedgewick looked surprised. “You knew her?”

Celeste shook her head. “No. But Mr. Hammonds just asked me if I would
do the flowers. He said the maid who was supposed to do them had
disappeared, and had not done them for a couple of days.”

“Well!” Miss Sedgewick declared, “That is enough to give you a turn. The
vases have not been changed out for a day or two, that is for sure. But who
would have thought it was because the young woman had drowned in the
Lolly Mire?”
“Will you still do the flowers?” Betty asked.

“Mr. Hammonds asked me in good faith. And they will need to be done.
How could I refuse?”

“Oh, easily,” said Miss Sedgewick. “As a lady’s maid you are under no
obligation to help with the general housework.”

“My mother would tell me that it is better to be busy than idle, and that if I
can help that I should. Besides, it would grow very dull doing nothing but
waiting on the Duchess. She doesn’t seem to require my services often.”

“Just keep in mind that service to her is your first duty. Since you are not
used to service, do not be afraid to ask questions. Be sure, as well, to let me
or Mr. Hammonds know if your requested duties are in conflict. We will be
glad to adjust anything else.”

“Thank you. I will own that it feels very strange taking over the duties of a
dead woman.”

“How could it not?” Mrs. Sedgewick tweaked a napkin that did not really
need tweaking. “But life or death, or in between, our duties are what keep
the castle in good order.”

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 CHAPTER 2

T he moon rose over Gwyndonmere Lake. Its light made the

classic trail of light across the water’s surface. Night insects
chirped and squeaked, taking advantage of the early spring
evening to do a little courting.

The man traced a finger down the maid’s cheek, for he was doing a little
courting of his own. “What a shame that a pretty thing like you should be
hidden up here in the mountains. You should be in the town, what do the
locals call it? Auld Reekie. No, you should not be in that den of smoke and
miasma. You should be in London, in the finest little apartment.”

The maid, careless of her starched white apron and lace edged cap, leaned
into him. “Coo, I likes the way you talk.”

The man inwardly winced at the coarse, up-country accent and expression.
But he gentled his voice as he undid the pretty little cap.

“Don’t muss me,” the maid said, “I’m on duty tonight. Mr. Hammonds
doesn’t like us to be mussed, even if we are below stairs.”
“Don’t you worry about old Hammonds. I’ll make it all right with him. I
just want to see your pretty hair.” The man stole the pins out of the knot of
hair at the nape of her neck, then ran his fingers through it. “Doesn’t that
feel good? Just let the night breeze run through those locks.”

The maid shivered and leaned a little closer. The man focused his attention
on the slender body that smelled of soap, herbs, and baking cinnamon, and
that trembled with excitement. He loved this part, the beginning of the
game. Get her excited and interested, promise her pretty things. “I’d love to
take you away from all this.” He stroked her side, and felt her shiver like a
racehorse that was ready for a fast sprint. “Just another kiss or two, then I’ll
help you do up your hair. No one will know.”

She obediently turned her face up to his, her body tight against him. It
would have been more fun if she wasn’t wearing one of those hideous
whale-bone corsets, but he could still feel her soft breasts and the shape of
her hips against his side. He kissed her, pulling her in closer. Her mouth
tasted like strawberries. He longed to pull up her skirts, but she wasn’t
ready yet. The game was just beginning.

With a soft groan, he lifted his mouth from hers, looking out across the lake
to let himself calm down.

“I’ll be late!” she gasped. “Oh, dear, my hair. I don’t have a mirror, and
where are my pins?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be your mirror, and I have your pins.” He took a wooden
comb out of his pocket and helped her put her hair back up. “There you are,
proper and prim, with plenty of time to spare.”

He watched with satisfaction as she picked up her skirts and ran back to the
castle, white petticoats flashing from beneath the dark fabric of her uniform.
Soon she would be ready for the next step. He did so love the next step.

But he must be careful. Ordinarily, they would have been in London by

now. In London, there was plenty of sport to be had. Here, where the castle
and the villagers were as close as over-done pease porridge, he would have
to be more discreet. But there were still those as would not be missed. Yes,
there certainly were.

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 CHAPTER 3

I nspector Daniel Ravensgard tapped his stubby pencil on the

worn tavern table. The man seated across from him, known
only as Mr. Smith, was probably a Bow Street Runner, but he
had never shared that information with the Inspector.

“I tracked him to the docks and got lucky with some information from a
sailor,” he was saying. “But that was as far as I got. He was slick. The girls
wuz all orphings, an’ their bodies were found in the rookeries, where you
might expect prostitutes, thieves, and the like. But this here last ‘un had a
brother, who’d talked to her just the night before.”

“And always during the Season?”

“Yes, indeed. Never when Parliament wasn’t in session. Now, I don’t think
it was some gentleman having a bit of fun. Bit above my touch, if that’s the
case. The girls were all robbed, ever’ one, but the blackguard had his way
with them, as well.”
“Well, that is interesting. But why do you think it had anything to do with
Edinburgh?”

“You see, that’s the curious thing. All the houses where the girls were took
was on a particular street, an’ they only happened when a certain gentlemen
was in residence.”

“But you do not think it was the gentleman?”

“I do not. Each and every one seemed to happen when there was a heavy
session in Parliament. The gentleman in question was always in his seat
during the event. I’ve written it all up for you here in this notebook.”

Inspector Ravensgard took the proffered ragged little book. “I’ll keep an
eye out, but with no more information than this, I cannot see how you can
expect to catch the villain, were there even twenty brothers in pursuit.”

“That’s what I told him. I’m surprised I’ve learned as much as I have. I
need to catch the morning coach back to London, I’ve stayed over-long as it
is. But at least this way I’ll have something that I can tell the man when I
return.”

Inspector Ravensgard sipped his small beer as he watched the Bow Street
Runner make his way out of the tavern. All things considered, it was odd
that the man had pursued the matter as far as Edinburgh. The “brother” who
was looking for the murderer must have been known to “Mr. Smith” or
have been highly placed in some office or other. Whatever or whoever,
Danny Ravensgard isn’t losing sleep over it. I’ve got enough going on right
here and in the surrounding countryside, what with French rebels slipping
in and taking refuge, locals trying to dodge taxes, and citizens who are
worried that the mills are going to take their jobs.

Nonetheless, the Inspector tucked the small notebook inside his greatcoat
pocket. Information was information, and you never knew when it might
come in handy or connect up with something else.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 4

J onathan Harper, Duke of Gwyndonmere, listened somberly as

Constable McHenry described the general condition of the
maid found in the Lolly Mire. “The doctor has examined her,”
the constable concluded, “and he suspects foul play.”

Mr. Ahmlad McAhmladhson quirked one furry eyebrow. “I could have told
ye that,” he said, his soft Scottish brogue only slightly softening the clipped
English. “Tis a rare few who willingly go for a swim in the Lolly Mire.”

The constable gave him a cold stare. “And I could have easily made the
prediction that such a one as that would be with child, for it is sheer
desperation that would be needed to drive someone to such a pass. But we
need the doctor’s endorsement before we lay her to rest.”

Mr. McAhmladhson nodded somberly. “Can we put it as death by

misadventure? She was a pleasant lass, going about her duties cheerfully,
even though Gran’ther Tim found her ham handed with the flowers. But she
did have an eye for the lads. Mr. Hammonds thought she had gone off with
one, not intending to come back.”
“Well, she will not be coming back,” Jonathan remarked sourly. “I find it
disturbing that no one missed her for the better part of two days. Since she
was in charge of the floral arrangements, their condition alone should have
suggested there was a problem. Just look at that pot.” He nodded at the
brass tub where a cluster of violets were sere and brown.

Mr. McAhmladhson coughed into his hand. The constable looked gravely
concerned. “The thing is, Your Grace,” Mr. McAhmladhson said, “It is not
the first time she’s been negligent. Mr. Hammonds concluded she’d found a
Protector, and gone off with him. He asked the new abigail if she’d be
interested in taking on the chore. That was right before we identified the
body.”

“Do we have any idea how she came to be out near the Lolly Mire?”
Jonathan inquired gently, turning the conversation back to the inquiry.

“Not for certain, Your Grace,” the constable said. “But the gran’ther in
charge of the gardens thought she might have been after catkins, it being the
season for them.”

“That doesn’t seem negligent.” Jonathan tapped his chair arm thoughtfully
with one, long well-manicured finger. “Let’s keep thinking about it,
gentlemen. This is a very unfortunate happening, and we do not want a
repetition, particularly since we are so close to time for the spring trade fair.
Now, I must go get my wife and take her down to dinner since I have no
desire to endure the Cheltenham tragedy she will enact if I am late.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 5

J onathan Harper held out his arm for his wife, interrupting her
latest tirade as she exhorted her serving maid to greater
heights of domestic competence. Over his petite spouse’s head
he exchanged a commiserating glance with the abigail. The
poor girl had scarcely known where to look, and he would be very sorry if
she left them. She was an absolute gem: bright, funny, and attractive. It
would be a miracle if she remained with them even a year before being
snatched up by a discerning beau. What a strange coincidence that she had
been asked to fill the flower girl’s place.

He had spoken to Margery more than once about the proper treatment of
servants, and that they would give better service if treated like hearing,
feeling, thinking human beings. But she persisted in treating them like
furniture, or worse yet, poorly trained dogs.

Sometimes he wondered why he had gone along with his father’s plan for
this arranged marriage.

Margery was beautiful, and he had not thought that being married to her
would be difficult. Somehow during the courtship and wedding phase of
their existence Jonathan had missed the shrewish temper and the sheer self-
centered attitude. He put Margery’s distempers down to youth and
inexperience at first. Then he had hoped her tantrums and pouts would wear
off in time. Now, he despaired of their relationship ever being any different
from what it was now as he retired each night to a lonely bed. Still, a
bargain was a bargain, and a contract was a contract. He planned to make
the best of it, still clinging to the hope that one day Margery would consent
to fulfill her part of the marital agreement, even though her absence from
his bed precluded any chance of an heir.

“The cook does a lovely job with the chicken pudding, my dear. I’m sure
you will find it quite fine.”

“Oh, he does. But truly Jonathan, I grow weary of chicken, chicken and
more chicken. Surely there is a lamb or a piglet that could be spared?”

Jonathan forbore to mention that both a lamb and a piglet had been
sacrificed in the recent past, or that the staff had been making do with dried
or preserved meats for the month past. The winter had been harsh and they
had been forced to cull the animals down back to a minimum herd in order
to feed them. Even the deer had found the winter difficult, and he had
sledded hay to select deer yards. “I am sorry, Margery. We truly cannot
spare any more of our stock until the spring young ones are born. We have a
surplus of older hens and a rooster or two. Perhaps you would care for
duck?” He did not add that meat of any kind had become exceptionally dear
and that Londoners were likely to be eating far less meat than they were
here in the highlands. Nor did he point out that some of their surplus had
been sold to pay taxes.

Margery pouted prettily. “You make everything so complicated. If we lived

in London, we could easily send out for a joint or a leg or whatever and
only be obliged to order what we could eat up. Is there not a local butcher
from whom we could order?”

“My dear, it simply is not the season. Our local butcher has chickens and
the occasional rabbit.” Poached from our woods, but I’ll not tell her that.
Nor would it mean anything to her that the staff and villages are mostly
subsisting on dried meat and what can be caught in the streams and fields.
“He might also have a bit of fish as the summer catch comes in. Would you
care for some shellfish?”

He watched her with narrowed eyes as she seemed to consider it. “I think
that might be nice. It is said that shellfish are quite stimulating.” She smiled
coquettishly up at him, but the seeming truce would only last for a minute
or two. “When will we be going down to London for the Season?”

Jonathan repressed a sigh. It was all he could do to restrain himself from

reminding her that she was the one who had insisted on separate
bedchambers, or that it was she who had shut the door in his face on their
wedding night. “I am sorry, Margery, but we cannot afford a London Season
this spring. I met with my banker, and our funds simply will not sustain it.”

The visit with his banker had been unpleasant, at best. The memory shook
him, even now, three months later.

“Your Grace,” said Mr. Tom Beedle, the banker who was his personal
contact, “I do not wish to alarm you, but your investments on the Continent
have taken a downturn. While your investments here in Scotland, as well as
the uisge distillery in Ireland, have done very well, they will only be
adequate for your usual upcoming expenses.”
“That does not bode well. What can I do to repair this situation?”

“There is little you can do about the continent. Either the situation will
right itself or it will not. One thing you can do is to go alone or send a
proxy to Parliament for the season. While I would not wish to tell a man
how to run a household, your Duchess is a remarkably expensive woman.”

Jonathan laughed ruefully. “All a man needs to go from riches to rags is to

marry. I have no great desire to attend Parliament and could easily send a
proxy this year. My steward, Mr. McAhmladhson, should be able to suggest
an able person from his staff. But my wife is not likely to be happy with the
news that we are to stay at home for the spring Season.”

“Staying to home would certainly benefit your financial affairs, Your

Grace. While it is not my place to ask, whatever did your Duchess do with
1500 ells of pink silk gauze?”

“Oh, you may ask, Mr. Beedle. She had the ballroom in our manor house
made into a pavilion by draping the ceiling with the stuff. She then hung the
edges of it with strings of glass beads.”

Mr. Beedle peered at his ledger. “Well, that explains the barrel of beads and
silk thread. And what was done with these things after the gala?”

“Either sent to the rubbish bin or the attic, I believe. I did not ask.”
“Just a suggestion, Your Grace, next time, ask. The silk alone could have
been cut up and sold in smaller pieces to support our fighters in France. Or
the fabric could have been sent to Spain to use as mosquito netting.”

Jonathan sighed. The man meant well, but he didn’t live with Margery. Even
the merest suggestion of either sort would have implied a sort of poverty
that his Duchess found abhorrent. Still, that had been a lot of fabric.

What did become of it?

He gave himself a mental shake, and returned to the question of oysters and
vigor. “I’m glad the scheme has your approval. I’ll ask the steward if he can
procure some. Word has it that an iceberg floated in near the harbor, so we
might be able to get some cod on ice instead of pickled herring.”

But Margery was no longer focused on the dinner menu. “What do you
mean we aren’t going to London for the Season?”

“Exactly that, my dear wife. Your expenditures before Christmas coupled

with reversals on some of our investments on the continent have brought us
to the necessity of economizing. However, we can continue to live very
well if we forego the spring London Season.”

“Live!” Margery’s voice took on a dangerously shrill edge. “Do you call
this living? London is my one chance to get away from this moldy old pile!
I demand that we go to London.” Her voice increased in shrillness and
volume with each word.
“Margery! The servants!” Jonathan said gently, touching the hand she
rested on his arm gently by way of remonstrance.

“Bother the servants!” she muttered, but subsided as they entered the dining
room.

As soon as they were seated the butler intoned, “Clarified broth with fresh
green onions.”

This, of course, set Margery off. “Does he have to do that? And why does
my soup have bits of green floating on top?”

“It keeps him in practice.” Jonathan tried to keep the weariness out of his
voice. He refrained from reminding her that she was the one who requested
that the butler announce each dish by name.

By the time they made it to dessert, a dried apple cobbler that was quite
good, he was heartily tired of her voice. No dish, not even the apple pastry
made with cinnamon in the American fashion, had won her approval.
Jonathan was glad to escape to his study while Margery retreated to her
rooms. Once there, he could settle down to a second repast that was far less
formal and no less palatable.

With a snifter of brandy, a slice of cheese, and a wedge of the despised

dried apple cobbler he settled in to read the newspaper. The news did
nothing, however, to settle his stomach so he set the paper aside and
replaced it with a history of Gwyndonmere. He had read it dozens of times
but it soothed his ravaged nerves to read about his ancestor receiving the
original grant, the purchase of the upper pastures from a family that wanted
to escape the highlands.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 6

T he Duchess often spent hours in the afternoon out riding.

Celeste found the time after cleaning up her rooms and
before she returned to move very slowly with nothing to do.
She sought out the housekeeper to see if there were any small chores with
which she could assist.

Martha Sedgewick raised her eyebrows in surprise. “I thought you were to

take on the floral arrangements,” she said.

“I am. But Mr. Hammonds tells me that the head gardener will meet with
me later and help me get started. He has been doing the larger
arrangements, leaving those for the Duke’s study and the rooms for the
maid.”

“Well. If you are to be waiting for Gran’ther Tim you would be waiting a
while. He always does the orangeries before he carries up the flowers, and
today he went to the orchard to see what damage has been done by the late
frosts. Meantime, I could use some help. It is time to change out the winter
linens for the summer ones. I’ve a mind to see to their condition and lay
fresh herbs in the cupboards as we do so.”
“That sounds like an easy enough task,” Celeste commented.

As they went up the stair to the big linen presses where the seasonal fabrics
were kept, they met Mr. Murchadh McOwen, the hound master coming
down the stair.

“Good morning, Mr. McOwen,” Miss Sedgewick said. “I trust all is well?”

“Just taking the young ratters up to the attics, Miss Sedgewick,” the tall
man said. “They’ve done right well.” He held up a bag that wiggled and
thrashed. Two small dogs sat by his foot, their pink tongues lolling out of
little white muzzles and two sets of red ears pricked up with interest.

Miss Sedgewick nodded her approval. “Would it be amiss to give them a

treat?”

“Not at all,” Mr. McOwen replied. “Benny and Brodie did an excellent job
today. I’ll take up another pair from the litter tomorrow. If they do as well,
we should soon have all the vermin flushed out of the castle.”

“Well, now, wouldn’t that be the trick?” the housekeeper commented. “Old
places like this are always full of mice, rats, and snakes.” To Celeste’s
astonishment, the housekeeper pulled a wrapped bundle from her pocket
and extracted two objects that looked like fried dough. She reached down
and presented one of the objects to each small dog in turn. At a hand sign
from the hound master, each dog took a tidbit politely then gulped it down.
“What pretty manners,” Celeste commented. “I’ve seen children who are
less well behaved.”

“Thank you. They are a smart pair, and do me credit.” The hound master
smiled broadly at the compliment.

“May I pet them?” Celeste asked.

“Of course. These little ones are not guard dogs on duty. They will be in
and out of the castle rooms, so they need to be friendly toward people.”

Celeste crouched down, her skirts billowing about her. She presented the
back of her hand to each little dog in turn, then scratched each one behind
the ears.

“You do very well with them, Miss…?” Mr. McOwen let the unspoken
question hang in the air.

“Miss Celeste Singer,” filled in Miss Sedgewick. “She is the Duchess’s new
abigail. Miss Singer, this is Mr. McOwen, the hound master.”

“And she’s come upstairs to help you see to the linens,” Mr. McOwen
observed. “Well, well, wonders never cease. It was no surprise that Betty,
that is Miss McGuire, would lend a hand, but most ladies’ maids won’t
touch the domestic chores.”
“It helps to pass the time,” Celeste put in. “Her Grace is rarely up before
noon, and spends most of the afternoons riding. The hours pass with
surpassing slowness with nothing to do.”

“Carry on then, carry on.” Mr. McOwen waved a hand. “Let me know if
you’ve need of us.” He went on downstairs, carrying his wiggling burden,
the two red and white dogs following closely at his left heel.

Miss Sedgewick led the way up to the big linen presses above the guest
hall. It wasn’t quite as pleasant as Celeste had hoped. The sun had warmed
the stones on that side of the castle, and the hallway was more than a little
stuffy.

To alleviate the gloom and the stale air, Miss Sedgewick threw wide the
drapes on the big windows at the end of the hall, and opened the sashes and
shutters. The windows looked out over a sheer drop that went straight down
to Gwyndon River. An arched bridge to the right of the window connected
the cobbled lane that led from the stables to the riding trail that wound up
the mountain.

A pleasant breeze blew down off the mountains, bringing the scents of
spring ripening into early summer. It also picked up the film of dust on the
floor and wainscoting, making Celeste sneeze.

“I must get Betty and some of the other maids up here right away to clean
the floor,” Miss Sedgewick said. “This will never do. You go ahead and
start shaking out linens.”
Celeste set to work pulling the summer sheets down off the upper shelves,
shaking them out and placing them in a big laundry basket. Even though
they had obviously been put away carefully in the cabinets that were lined
with red juniper wood, there were signs that mice had made their way into
the cupboard over the winter.

Celeste began sorting the sheets that were whole from the ones that had
little mouse nibbles in them. As she did so, she shook the sheets out the
window, scattering the dried bits of herb, mouse droppings and the
occasional mouse carcass out into the moat below.

As she shook one particularly ravaged sheet out the window, she glanced at
the trail on the opposite side of the river just in time to see a woman
dismount and pull her horse behind a willow tree near the sluice that
diverted the water that filled the moat. From the window, the woman
seemed to be doll sized, but Celeste could see that she wore a blue riding
habit and that she had a modish hat with a white ostrich plume perched atop
bright auburn hair. What was the Duchess doing?

Celeste stood still for a moment, gazing out the window. As she watched, a
man rode up and pulled his horse behind the same willow tree. Was it the
Duke? Celeste didn’t know what kind of horse the Duke was riding, but it
didn’t really look like him. Perhaps it was the Duchess’s groom.

In all events, it was none of her affair. The Duchess was a grown woman
and if she chose to have an assignation behind a willow tree, then that was
her choice. If I were married to such a gentleman as the Duke, I would not
be meeting a man behind a willow! I would be at home helping my husband
take care of our holdings. Celeste gave the sheet another shake, giving it a
good snap by way of relieving her feelings. The Duchess had no more sense
than a spring chick. Let her live in one of the crofts or a shanty for a season,
and no doubt it would introduce a little practical commonsense into the
head under the ostrich feather.

Then Celeste bundled the sheet into her arms. What if something happened
to the Duchess? It would be so simple just to ignore what was clearly a
lover’s tryst. But with a murderer about, turning a blind eye might make me
complicit in anything that happened. The Duke might even be blamed. If I
simply let it go, I will have to live with the consequences of any subsequent
events. Grumbling a little under her breath with annoyance, Celeste went in
search of Miss Sedgewick.

She found her in the kitchen talking with a wizened old man. “There you
are, Miss Singer. I was just about to send for you. This is Gran’ther Tim, the
head gardener. He is come up from the gardens to show you about the
flowers for the house.”

“Thank you, Miss Sedgewick,” Celeste said. “It is a pleasure to meet you,
Mr. Tim.

“Gran’ther Tim,” the old man said, bright blue eyes twinkling at her from
under shaggy white eyebrows. “That’s Gran’ther Tim, an’ I’ve earned it fair
with the years and bairns that can rightly call me so.”

“I’m very glad to meet you,” Celeste said. “But before we begin, could you
excuse me for just a minute to speak with Miss Sedgewick? I had come
down to speak with her about a puzzling matter.”
A frown crossed the housekeeper’s face, but she drew Celeste into one of
the small pantries. “Be quick,” she said. “If you want to get aught done with
the flowers, you’ll have to be at it soon.”

“This will only take a minute,” Celeste said apologetically. “It might be
nothing at all. But I saw the Duchess slip behind the big willow on the far
side of the moat. Then a few minutes later, I saw a man ride up and slip
behind the same tree. Ordinarily, I would say nothing, but since that poor
maid was found dead just yesterday, I thought it best to report what I saw.”

“Are you sure it was not her groom?”

Celeste shook her head. “I’m not certain. In all events, he wasn’t wearing
livery. In fact, he seemed to be very well dressed and sat his horse like a
gentleman. Perhaps it could even have been the Duke, but I don’t think it
so.”

“I see,” Miss Sedgewick ran one finger across a pantry shelf, and inspected
it for dust. “Thank you for telling me, Miss Singer. Say nothing to the other
staff. I will pass the word along to those who need to know. Now, you must
hurry away, lest you run out of time before she returns.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 7

A s he descended the stair, Mr. McOwen caught sight of the Duke

and Mr. McAhmladhson standing at the large window at the end
of hall where the Duke’s rooms, the Duchess’s rooms, and the
guest chambers were located. The Duke and steward were peering
surreptitiously through a slightly opened crack in the draperies.

“Now will you believe me?” Mr. McAhmladhson was saying.

“I do not wish, did not wish to think that it was so,” the Duke replied.

He turned away from the window and caught sight of his hound master.
“Mr. McOwen! Giving the young ratters a bit of a workout?”

“I am, Your Grace. They had excellent luck this morning.” Mr. McOwen
held out the wiggling bag.

“What will you do with them, Murchadh?” the Duke asked. Then, in a
quieter voice he added, “You can stop ‘your gracing’ me for now. No one is
about.”

“About that other matter,” Mr. McAhmladhson put in, “Did you see aught?”

The hound master shrugged. “The housekeeper and that new abigail came
up to look at the linens, so I didn’t get a chance. What kind of abigail sees
to linens?”

Mr. McAhmladhson laughed. “One who is new to service and wants to

make a good impression. I have her pegged for becoming a housekeeper
one day, if none of the other servants do her in for showing them up.”

“Don’t joke about that, Ahmlad,” the Duke said darkly. “Not after
yesterday.”

“I am sorry, Jonathan,” said Mr. McAhmladhson, who had apparently also

been invited to drop the formal address. “It was in poor taste. But you know
how servants can become if they believe one of their own is showing them
up.”

“I could resent that,” said Murchadh McOwen. “but we have greater matters
to consider. Did you two see anything?”

“Sadly, yes,” the Duke said tiredly. “I didn’t want to believe it, but she has
definitely lost her groom and is certainly meeting someone.”
“Unfortunately, it was difficult to tell who it might be,” said Mr.
McAhmladhson. “He had his collar pulled up, his hat pulled low and a scarf
wrapped around his lower face.”

“Clearly someone who does not wish to be recognized,” Mr. McOwen said.
“I’ll take the hunting hounds down later and see if they can pick up a
scent.”

“Meanwhile,” Mr. McAhmladhson began.

“Yes, yes,” the Duke waved one hand dismissively. “Send for young Mr.
Cory, by all means. He and young David Hammonds can put together the
petition. We’ll get the Parson to sign it. I’d ask the nun’s priest who visits
the Gentle Sisters, but that would raise questions about papistry which I
have no desire to address.”

“Quite so, Your Grace,” Mr. McOwen agreed. “Best all should be done
discretely.”

Just then the housekeeper, Miss Sedgewick, came bustling up the servants
stair and hurried over to them. She curtsied. “Your Grace, I had thought to
go to Mr. Hammonds, but since you are here there is a matter of some
importance.”

The Duke turned to her, his expression gentle and restrained. “How might
we help you, Miss Sedgewick? Has the butter gone sour? Shall we have a
meatless meal tonight?”
“No, no, sadly nothing so menial. I would not come to you for that. But,
Your Grace, you might want to hear this in private.” She looked
meaningfully at Mr. McAhmladhson and Mr. McOwen.”

“Miss Sedgewick, you had no compunction about scolding us all roundly

for getting into the mince pies or distracting the spit boy so that the roast
burned when we were younger. No matter what scrape I am in, you can
share it with these two.”

Miss Sedgewick looked a bit flustered. It was hardly fair of the Duke,
thought Mr. McOwen, to remind the good woman of the days when they
had been three wild lads getting into mischief together and she had scolded
all three roundly without compunction.

“Your Grace,” she said determinedly, “It is a matter of some delicacy.”

“Then let us all go to my study where we can discuss the matter quietly
rather than stand about in the hall.”

The study was located at the opposite end of the wide hallway, tucked in
between the Duke’s bedchambers and the library. Mr. McAhmladhson acted
the doorman for all of them, holding it open until they were all inside.

“Close the door, Mr. McAhmladhson,” said the Duke. “Now then, Miss
Sedgewick, tell me what is troubling you.”
“Oh, Your Grace, I scarcely know how to begin. But after Mr. McOwen
passed by the big window by the linen press, I went back downstairs. I’d
not been down more than a candle mark or two, when Miss Singer came to
me with a disturbing observation. She said she’d seen the Duchess go
behind the big willow tree by the river sluice, and a man followed in after.”

“Did you tell her not to discuss it?”

“I did, Your Grace. She’s not one to spread gossip. She asked to speak to
me in private, and did not mention it in front of Gran’ther Tim, who has
brought the flowers for the house.”

“Good. Had she mentioned it in front of the Gran’ther, it would be all over
the village before nightfall. If you see or hear anything else, you can report
it to one of us or to Mr. Hammonds. I would like to keep this from the quiet
until I can find the means to untangle it.”

Miss Sedgewick curtsied with grace and dignity. “It shall be as you have
asked, Your Grace. But if the Duchess shows no better discretion than that,
it will be all over the house anyway. But none shall hear of it from me.”

“Thank you, Miss Sedgewick. See if you can discourage gossip in general,
and perhaps that will stem the tide of information.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I always do.”

After a little more formal chitchat, the housekeeper took her leave of them.
Mr. McOwen agreed to invite Mr. Cory to dinner that evening, and Mr.
McAhmladhson said that he would be sure to ask young Mr. Hammonds to
attend, as well.

When his friends had taken their leave, Jonathan sat at his desk, slowly
turning his pen knife over and over in his right hand. A marriage
unconsummated was not considered a marriage at all in some circles. His
father would have told him to do his duty whether the wench would have it
or no, but Jonathan had little stomach for forcing a lady, even in the
marriage bed. He’d had a boy’s romantic dreams of his wedding night and
had been completely unprepared for Margery requesting her own suite and
retiring there each night, behind a locked door.

With the servants’ observant eyes catching glimpses of assignations, he

would have to address the situation. Perhaps he should be grateful that
Margery was providing him with an excuse to dissolve their marriage. It
saddened him because he had promised his father-in-law to care for the girl.
How could he do that under the current circumstances?

I was prepared to love her. But she has spurned my attentions at every turn,
spent my money, and now she flaunts a lover in this holding where every
move we make is observed, discussed, and analyzed by servants and
villagers alike. It must be addressed, but it gives me little pleasure to do so.

Meanwhile, this bitter winter just past has placed a great strain upon the
estate. If I must set aside funds for getting an annulment or divorce in
addition to recouping our winter losses, then our coffers shall be taxed,
indeed. The trade fair begins tomorrow, and under these circumstances, it is
vital that it be a success.
OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 8

O n the first day of the trade fair, Celeste woke early. She made use
of the little closet that served as a necessary, and washed up using
the tepid water in the pitcher on the nightstand. She set her slop
jar in the hall with the others for the menials to take down and empty later.

She hurried downstairs, gulped a cup of tea, and went out to the kitchen
gardens. Gran’ther Tim was at the backdoor with a wheelbarrow of
greenery and flowers for her. With the help of two of the young footmen,
they carried the crates of garden stuff to the bottom of the stairs near the
library.

The Duke’s study was just off the library, and since Mr. Hammonds had
said that the Duke was particular about his floral arrangements, Celeste
intended to do it first. The container was a large one, made of brass. It had a
layer of large stones topped with gravel inside it and a few shriveling
violets poked out of it. The poor things were already going to seed.

“Tha maid hadnae changed it out for a few days afore we found her, puir
thing,” Gran’ther Tim observed. “Ah dinnae think she was quite right in the
head, that one. Oft times His Grace would come to the garden an’ get
somethin’ mair ta his likin’. Even so, ‘tis a shame. Gels don’t think, nor lads
either, afore they gets into trouble. You just stick to arrangin’ flowers, Miss
Singer, an’ don’ go messin’ about. You’ll be the better for it.”

“Thank you for the kind advice, Gran’ther Tim.” She accorded him the
same respect she would have to the elders in the little village where she
grew up. “Do you know what he likes?”

“Well, now, he likes lilies, but this early in tha spring there be’n’t any out of
doors. He’s partial to heartsease, and he kindy likes ‘spargus ferns. We gots
a-plenny o’ those since the ‘spargus is just about done.”

“Perfect!” Celeste ran lightly back down the stairs and selected a set of
three pots of violets out of the crates and located a large bundle of
asparagus ferns. She took a utility tub back up to the study and set it next to
the brass container and emptied it of all the stones, gravel, and sand.

With that done, she placed enough of the rough matter back into the bottom
of the container to make the tops of the little clay pots of violets to be just
below the edge of the ornamented brass. She then nestled four cups that had
broken handles behind the pots, put water in them, and trimmed the ends of
the asparagus ferns so they would take up water and stay green. She used
some bits of string to fasten the ferns together so they would stand up,
creating a frame for the little purple flowers. She then filled in the top of the
brass container with some of the small stones and gravel, hiding the pots
and the cups. She used the prettiest of the stones on top.

Gran’ther Tim, who had busied himself with the tall urns by the front door,
came back and peered at the arrangement. “Now, that be right nice.” He
nodded his approval.
The two of them worked together, filling the many vases and pots in the
manor house with fresh posies and greenery. There were more greens than
flowers, since most of the blooms available at this season were inside the
big glass buildings that the Duke called orangeries. There weren’t any
orange trees, but there were many different kinds of herbs and flowers
sheltered in the large buildings.

Celeste had just put the finishing touches on a small arrangement for the
Duchess’s rooms when the bell signaling that Her Grace was ready to rise
tinkled in the upper servants’ dining hall.

Celeste signaled the kitchen, then stood at the dumbwaiter ready to receive
the Duchess’s breakfast tray.

The cook had outdone himself, Celeste thought. There was a soft-boiled egg
under a cozy, and a large pot of the Duchess’s favorite tea. A plate of soft
buns, a jar of cherry preserves, and a mold of butter completed the
ensemble. Celeste nestled the small arrangement of pansies and forget-me-
nots in the center of the tray and carried it up to the Duchess’s rooms.

The Duchess was not looking her best this morning. Her hair was wildly
mussed, the strings of her night dress were loose. Her eyes were puffy and
her nose was red. She dabbed at it with a lace-edged handkerchief. “What
took you so long?”

Celeste didn’t answer the challenge directly. Three months with the
Duchess had taught her that unless she wanted a reprimand or a shrill
lecture, it was best to ignore such questions. “The cook has sent up your
favorite tea. Will you have butter and preserves on your soft buns? Or one
of each?”
“One of each, and make it quick. I am so famished; I feel as if I have been
riding all day instead of sleeping.”

Celeste forbore commenting that Her Grace looked like it, too, and merely
buttered the bread. She then poured tea for the Duchess, added cream and
sugar and settled the bed tray where it was comfortable for Her Grace.

With that done, Celeste began laying out fresh clothing for the Duchess.
“The people for the trade fair are starting to arrive, Your Grace. Will you
want a morning dress or a walking dress?”

“Walking, you ninny. I could not possibly wear a morning dress to oversee
a trade fair. Nothing will be indoors. I will be trodding over stone paths and
trampling through the mud all day long. This is such a dreary affair. I
usually manage to miss it by going down to London before the first guests
arrive.”

“You will want your sturdy walking shoes, then, Your Grace?”

“Yes, of course I will. Did I not just say I would be tramping through mud
all day long?”

Celeste had seen the stablemen and houseboys busily laying out wooden
planks to create walks, so she was sure that the Duchess would be able to
avoid the mud. Still, it would not do to contradict Her Grace.
In spite of her waspishness, it seemed as if the Duchess was looking
forward to the day. Celeste dressed the Duchess’s hair in a simple knot of
curls high on her head, positioned so a favorite chip hat could rest just in
front of them.

The hat matched the blue piping on a gray wool walking dress with a
matching light jacket. The jacket was likely to be appreciated until the sun
evaporated the dew off the grass and warmed the air. “Will Your Grace be
doing anything special today?” Celeste asked.

“Oh, I think the Duke mentioned judging cattle in the morning, flowers and
early spring preserves in the afternoon. I’ll not need you until shortly before
dinner, so if you want to go down to the merchants’ row to buy yourself
some frippery, you are welcome to go.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Celeste stepped back and bobbed a curtsy.
“Would you care to see yourself?”

“Yes, girl, I would. Mind you hold the glass still!”

Celeste got out the long mirror from its special holder beside the wardrobe.
It was framed in ornate oak and must have weighed nearly three stone. It is
a great way to grow strong. But it is no wonder my arms trembled the first
few times I held it up. Today she was able hold the mirror steady. The
Duchess seemed to look at herself forever.

At last she said, “Acceptable.”

Celeste had learned that “acceptable” was high praise from the Duchess, so
she nodded and put the heavy mirror back into its holder.

I just hope I don’t break the horrible thing one of these mornings.

“Be sure to clean my rooms before you go gadding about. I don’t want to
come back to a slovenly chamber when I return.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Celeste cleaned the rooms as quickly as she could, leaving everything in

perfect order. She then eagerly picked up the laundry basket and hurried
downstairs in the hope of getting her turn at going to the fair.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 9

T he first day of the trade fair was an excellent success, and the
second morning dawned bright and beautiful. Jonathan sat at
his desk making a few notes before heading out to play the
dutiful host to the dignitaries and tradesmen who were in attendance. He
was deep into figures concerning the planting of the upper fields when a
light footstep alerted him that he was not alone.

Celeste stood at the door; her hands full of carefully shrouded plants. “Oh!
Your Grace! I had not expected to find you here so early.”

“There you are, Miss Singer. Do not mind me, but go about your business
with the arrangement. It is beginning to look a little shabby.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I have the doing of bouquets for the whole house
this morning. I had thought to do your arrangement before starting on the
others. Her Grace is likely to sleep in this morning since she was quite worn
out yesterday.”
“So she was. She pretends to despise these country affairs, but in truth I
think she revels in them.”

“I’m sure I would not presume to know, Your Grace.”

“Indeed you would not, Celeste. You are the soul of discretion. Now what
do you have for me this morning?”

“Heartsease and pansies, Your Grace. It seemed a good week for something
subdued and soothing.” Celeste spread a cloth on the floor. Taking the
drooping paeonies from the stone planter, she carefully replaced them with
earthen pots of violets and pansies. She then backed them with some
graceful ferns and disguised the roots with a layer of moist, green moss.

Jonathan watched the proceedings with interest. “Why do you leave the
plants in their pots?”

“They will last longer so, Your Grace. If I am attentive to them this week,
these little flowers can be returned to the orangery and refreshed so that
they might bloom again another time.”

“Ah. Very frugal of you, my young friend.”

“Am I your friend, Your Grace?”

“I would like to think so, Celeste. Your company as you arrange your
flowers gives me great pleasure.”

Celeste’s face colored up at this praise. “Thank you, Your Grace. I enjoy
being here.”

She said nothing more as she gave the little arrangement some final
touches. These included some polished pebbles and a carved wooden deer.

“Where did you find the deer, Celeste?”

“Gran’ther Tim carves them in his spare time. It pleases him when I can use
his whitlin’s, as he calls them.”

“Gran’ther Tim. Hmmm. You mean Tim, the gardener?”

“Yes, such a nice old fellow. He tells me about his grandchildren. He

reminds me of my father.”

“It seems I have unexpected talents among my staff. Perhaps I should hold a
craft competition or something.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace! That would take all the fun out of their makings.
These are little things that are the people’s own.”
“Do they have so little, then?”

“You pay very generously, Your Grace. You are kind, provide good food
and pleasant housing. But none of this, not even our uniforms, belongs to
us.”

Jonathan sighed. “I try to be keeper of the land and people.”

“You are, Your Grace. I think there might be a problem with the system. At
least that was what was said in France. But the alternative doesn’t seem to
be working very well.”

“Well, this system has been around for a good many generations and it does
seem to work.”

“I suppose it does.” Celeste considered the arrangement and shifted one last
little stone. “Thank you for talking with me, Your Grace. I must go if I hope
to get the rest completed before Her Grace rings for me.”

“Of course,” Jonathan said. “I’ll not keep you from your duties.”

After Celeste closed the door of the study behind her, Jonathan returned to
his accounts. Somehow deciding whether to plant winter wheat or oats in
the fallow meadow had just become less compelling. “Something of their
own.” He pondered that. She had been a shopkeeper until her funds were
stolen. Did she miss it? Clearly, it had been an uncertain life.
Well-a-day, he had no way to fix the ills of the world. He could take care of
his people and see to it that the estate prospered. Oats for the upper
meadow, he decided, for oats could feed both cattle and humans. Somehow,
he had vision of a shining golden head bowed over a heaping bowl of
oatmeal, a lovely figure handing out oatcakes to the poor, gentle hazel eyes
reproving him.

What was the matter with him? The girl was his wife’s abigail, for heaven
sakes! He had never considered a mésalliance with one of the estates staff
before in his life. Learning of his wife’s infidelity must have addled his
brain. “Pull yourself together,” he muttered to himself. He plucked his hat
off its peg and strode out to see if the arrangements for the festivities were
in train.

Celeste hastened away from the Duke’s study. How forward she had been!
But he was so easy to talk with. Did all dukes take such an interest in their
land and people? No, she thought not. Because if they did, the world would
no doubt be a much better place, and her homeland would not be in such
turmoil.

Yet he was married to the Duchess. Of course he was married to the

Duchess. That is how she came to be the Duchess. Celeste giggled to
herself. How silly! Then she sobered as she put the finishing touches on the
last bouquet. She needed to employ a little self-discipline. He was kind. He
was handsome. He was very easy to talk with. So few people understood
that to hold a conversation required listening to the other speaker as well as
talking.

She gave a little sigh as she took the debris from her labors out to the
midden heap next to the garden. For half a moment she allowed herself a
little daydream of having the Duke’s full attention all for herself. That is
just daft, she told herself firmly. Even if he wasn’t married, which he
certainly was, no Duke was going to marry a mere commoner. No, not even
if she and her Papa had owned her shop before she had been forced by
circumstance to go into service.

Well, there was no hope for it. She would focus on Mama and Papa coming
to Gwyndonmere. That would have to be enough. Let other girls indulge in
daydreams of marriage or having a lover. She would one day have her own
shop again.

But the Duke…she shook herself. Now that is just silly. She hurried back up
the garden path. As she entered the kitchen, the cook called out, “Her Grace
just rang for you. Better hurry. She sounded cross.”

Celeste hurried up the stairs, wondering what she would find today. When
she entered the Duchess’s chambers, she found nothing unusual.

“There you are,” the Duchess snarled. “Where have you been?”

“I just finished with the house bouquets, Your Grace. I was in the back
garden emptying out the leavings. I came as soon as I heard that you had
rung.”

“Stay closer. I am all out of sorts today.”

That much Celeste could see for herself. “What seems to be the trouble,
Your Grace?”

“My feet hurt, my head hurts and I feel puffy. I should never feel puffy.”

“You do not look the least puffy, Your Grace. Let me help you freshen up
and I am sure you will feel much more yourself after you’ve had your
morning tea.”

Celeste rang for the Duchess’s morning tea, then busied herself setting the
room to rights and making the Duchess comfortable.

“Don’t put that footstool there, I’m not an invalid. I can certainly sit up and
place my feet on the floor.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I am sure you are the picture of perfect health.”

“I absolutely must look it or Jonathan will be cross. Such a burdensome

man. Always going on about how appearances count and setting a good
example for the people. Well, I’d like to set them a good example of staying
in bed today.”

“I am sorry you are not feeling well, Your Grace. Let me rub a little
lavender water on your temples to see if it will ease you.”
“I do not want any stupid lavender water!” The Duchess snatched the bottle
and hurled it across the room. The bottle struck the stone fireplace where it
shattered onto the hearth.”

Celeste stood perfectly still. She had never seen anyone act this way before
in her life. “I am sorry, Your Grace. Have I done something to upset you?”

“Not you, stupid girl. It was those gabbling cats who have come for the
trade fair. ‘We saw Mrs. Gibbons at the end of the Season.’ ‘We went to
Almac’s.’ ‘We were invited to Lady Jersey’s crush.’ I’m sure that if I’d
been in London, I could have done those things, too, but I am stuck here in
a horrid castle above a bog.”

The Duchess began to cry. It was not the graceful kind of crying done to
coax gentlemen into behaving as desired. It was ugly gulping sobs that were
punctuated by the Duchess’s small fist pounding on the arm of the chair.

“I am so sorry, Your Grace.” Celeste had no idea what else to say. She had
no idea what to do. This was the kind of tantrum usually thrown by a three-
year-old who was denied a favorite plaything.

At last the Duchess ran down. “I apologize, Celeste. You are my ministering
angel and do not deserve my ill temper. It is all Jonathan’s fault. He claimed
that we could not afford a Season in London. But he could afford to repair
that stupid mill at the foot of the village.”

Celeste was aghast. The Duchess wanted to put a London season ahead of
repairing the mill? The old mill was where all the flour was ground for the
village.

The Duchess took no notice of Celeste’s reaction. “Now he wants to hold

this stupid trade fair. This stupid trade fair is held every year. You would
think it was a tradition or some such fool notion. Those women just
couldn’t keep from rubbing my nose in not going to London. It isn’t right!
It isn’t fair. I won’t have it!”

The Duchess turned angry eyes toward Celeste. They were puffy and
swollen from crying. Her brows were drawn so tightly together that they
almost formed a V. The mouth beneath the blazing eyes was drawn into a
snarl. “I will have a London Season next year. Just you wait and see. I will
have it and you will go with me. I will be the life of every party, I will go to
Almac’s, I will visit Lady Jersey and no one will be able to boast of doing
more than I!”

This gave Celeste an idea of the problem and a way to soothe the Duchess.
“Those are wonderful plans, Your Grace. I’m sure that with a little care, you
and the Duke will be able to work that out. Come now, have a sip of tea and
a biscuit. Everything will be better once you have food in your stomach.”

“Pah. Food.” The Duchess glared at the breakfast tray that was laden with
fruit, thin crackers, sweet biscuits, and slices of cheese. After a moment, she
picked up a small square of toast. “Maybe just a nibble.” She chewed her
way around the toast, eating away the crust.

She suddenly clamped her hand over her mouth and turned toward Celeste.
Quickly, Celeste grabbed up the wash basin and held it in front of the
Duchess.
When the Duchess had finished emptying her stomach, Celeste said, “Are
you sure you should not send for the doctor? Or at least for the herb
woman?”

“No, no. I shall be fine. It is just dealing with those horrid women and
having to go back out and deal with them again.”

“Very well, Your Grace. Let me ring for a little barley water. That stayed
down nicely the last time you were feeling ill.”

“Thank you, Celeste. Whatever did I do without you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, Your Grace. Let me bring you a little peppermint
water to rinse your mouth. Don’t swallow it, just swish it around and get the
nasty taste out.”

An hour later, Celeste had managed to soothe the Duchess, get her suitably
gowned, and had even coaxed her to try a little more dry toast washed down
with barley water.

“Why is it that stays down better than the tea?” the Duchess asked.

“I’m quite sure that I don’t know, Your Grace, but I do know that such is
often the case. Now, you look lovely and I’m sure that all of those ladies
will envy you, what with you living in such a fine castle and all. Gush about
the sunsets, the moon over the lake, and the fine air when they boast about
Almac’s.”
“Why ever did I not think of that? Celeste, you clever girl! Do my eyes
show that I’ve been crying?”

“Not a bit, Your Grace. You are lovely, as always, and I am sure you will
put all of them in the shade.”

“Perhaps I should have some new gowns made up. You were a seamstress,
Celeste. Perhaps you could make some things for me.”

“It would take a while working alone, Your Grace. It takes many hours to
stitch a long seam.”

The Duchess stared at her, eyes wide. “Does it truly, Celeste? I’ve often had
gowns that were made up in two days or less.”

“Yes, Your Grace. You probably ordered your gown from an established
shop where they have several seamstresses who do piece work. If they all
work together, the dress can be completed quickly. Only the final touches
need to be done by one person.”

“Oh.” The Duchess sat down and thought about this for a moment. “How
astonishing. I’m not sure I ever thought about it quite like that.”

No. I’m sure you didn’t. You just ordered your gowns to be delivered at a
certain time. Aloud she commented, “It is always difficult to know how
others manage these things.”

“I suppose it is,” the Duchess commented. “How long do you think it would
take to make up a dress or two, Celeste?”

“A fortnight for one, a month for two.”

“Even if I give you the afternoons to work on them?”

Celeste thought with regret that she would no longer be able to work with
the housekeeping staff in the afternoons. “Even so, Your Grace. I would
work hard and they might be done a little sooner, but you want something
that will look nice. That takes time.”

“This will be our secret. I will find a reason for you to work in the solar
while the dresses are being made. You have been doing the household
bouquets?”

“Yes, Your Grace, I have.”

“We shall add care of the solar to your floral duties. Old Tim usually takes
care of it. But he can work outdoors at this season.”

Another person to be put out by this arrangement, Celeste thought. She

hoped Gran’ther Tim would understand. She knew that he looked forward
to the afternoons spent in the solar where the warmth eased his aching
joints. Perhaps she would be able to make some sort of arrangement with
him so that she would not be, indeed, taking on the care of the solar in the
afternoons. While the Duchess clearly felt the work to be negligible, Celeste
knew that it was not.

“I will make your dresses, Your Grace. And I will speak with the cook
about something that will rest easy on your stomach. Remember to gush
about your lovely home. The ladies might not have even thought about how
it must seem to you when they boast of pleasures you have missed.”

“I that is possible,” the Duchess said thoughtfully. “Well, I must go to my

guests.”

After the Duchess left, Celeste began to clean up the broken glass. It was
difficult the make sure all the tiny shards were picked up, so she lit a candle
and moved it about so the bit would glitter in the light.

“Broken your mistress’s things and now trying to cover up?”

The voice so startled her that Celeste nearly dropped the candle. “Warner!
What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. Do you not think that I see what you are about?”

“I’m sorry. What do you mean?”

“You romance the Duke in the morning, then you cozy up to the Duchess.
Looks like you are going to be able to feather your nest quite nicely.”

“I am taking care of the tasks I have been assigned. Unlike some people I
know, I am aware of where I should be and when.”

“That isn’t what I hear.” Warner took a step closer, and spoke in a whiny
falsetto, “‘Oh, Celeste is taking care of the arrangement in the Duke’s study.
She should not be disturbed.’ Then not thirty minutes later, it’s ‘Oh, Celeste
is taking care of Her Grace. She should not be disturbed.’ So what exactly
are you doing, little Celeste?”

Celeste bristled. “I have done nothing that could not have been done in the
village square in full view of everyone.”

“So say you. But I’ve seen how you look at the Duke. Did you think no one
would notice?”

Celeste felt her cheeks grow hot. “I have nothing to be ashamed of, Warner.
Nor do you have any room to criticize me. I’ve seen how you flirt with the
other maids.”

Warner drew his eyebrows together and bared his teeth in something that
might be called a smile, but didn’t look very friendly. “The Duchess has
declared you off-limits for fun and games. But the moment she casts you
off, and make no mistake she will, then you are mine.”
“And I have no say in this?”

“None at all whatsoever, little friend.”

“You have been spying on me!”

“I’m the Duke’s valet. I go where he goes. When he is scratching in that

great record book of his, I relax in the library. It isn’t hard to keep out of
sight in a room designed to give readers privacy.”

“I’m surprised that you have no other duties.”

“Unlike you, Celeste, I go out of my way to avoid additional duties. As the

Duchess’s abigail, there is no reason why you should arrange bouquets,
make beds, or entertain old men. Are you hoping to marry him to gain his
hovel? Or are you hoping to engage the attention of one of the old man’s
grandsons?”

Celeste gaped at him. Her mind went completely blank, and then it went red
with rage. “How dare you! Gran’ther Tim is old enough to be my
grandfather. He is a wonderful, kind old man. My intentions, as you call
them, are only to be nice to a fellow worker who is always unfailingly nice
to me. More than that, they are to respect someone older than I. But respect
is no doubt a concept so foreign to you as to be unrecognizable!”

Warner took a step toward her menacingly. “Have a care how you speak to
me. I am only muzzled for a time because the Duchess wishes it to be so. In
all things, her wish is my command. And those of the Duke, of course.”

“As they should be. You are in their employ, so their wishes should direct
your actions. Now, if you do not mind, the Duchess requested me to clean
her chambers. She broke her vial of lavender oil today. I would like to have
it all cleaned up before her return so that she does not injure herself on it.”

“I’ll leave you to it then. But mark my words. I am watching your every
move. Do one single thing to embarrass the Duchess and I will tell the Duke
that you were reading instead of working.”

With that, Warner turned and left.

Celeste set the candle down on the hearth. Her hands were shaking so she
could scarcely hold it. Tears of frustration and rage welled up in her eyes.
She blinked furiously to hold them back. To accuse her so when he chased
anything that wore skirts. No doubt if the Duchess were not a member of
the peerage, he would chase her, too.

And the things he said about her and the Duke! Now the tears did fall, for
she could not deny the truth. She did find the Duke attractive. More than
that, he was a warm, kind, and truly gentle man.

Then for the Duchess to talk so about him. How could she possibly think
that a season in London was more important than repairing the village mill?
The mill would pay back the investment in it tenfold. The London Season
would be enjoyed and then become a memory.
No doubt it would be pleasant to go to the theater and concerts, to attend
parties, and to have no care about how much you spent each day.

Celeste sniffled and choked back a sob. One thing Warner was right about.
She had come to care a great deal about the Duke. The handsome nobleman
deserved a much better wife than the one he had. Whoever had arranged
that marriage had done it with an eye toward gaining a stable husband for a
wild and flighty daughter.

Afternoons alone in the solar would also make her vulnerable to Warner,
she realized. With heavy heart, she picked up the candle and finished
cleaning up the tiny shards of glass.

Was bringing Mama and Papa here a mistake? Should they simply all get on
the boat and go back to Calais as soon as they arrived? No. Mama had said
it was very dangerous in France. But right now, it seemed very dangerous
here, even though only an hour or two ago it had seemed so safe.

The road before her seemed very bleak. How could she manage to travel it?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 10

I t was not until the third day of the fair that Celeste managed to
find time to attend it. Even for so small a place, the fair was
certainly something to see. It was clear that it was an important
event for the folk who lived in Gwyndonmere Valley and to their neighbors.

A row of booths lined the thoroughfare between the village and the main
judging arena, located just below the castle. An observer would scarcely
credit that so much as a cross word had been heard in Gwyndonmere
Valley, let alone a murder or an estranged wife. Bright pennants flew from
every available height and a cheerful holiday mood prevailed.

The Castle was bustling with activity, for peers and some of the local
notables were put up in the guest rooms. The serving staff was given time in
shifts to visit the fair. Some of the booths belonged to villagers who spent
the winter making things to sell, but some were set up by folk from farther
away. Peddlers brought hard-to-find items such as pins and needles, finer
thread than the local housewives could spin, pots and pans, glassware,
beautiful rugs, and much, much more.

A tall booth with a shade awning had been put up at one end of the field
where the livestock judging was to take place. The Duke, Duchess, and
their guests would sit there.

Rough benches were provided for lesser folk. The local villagers were
provided with chits to get in free, but visitors were charged ha’pence each
for the chance to sit down. The coins would go into the funds used to repair
public building and help provide for the indigent.

Celeste had little to spend since she was saving to rescue her parents, but
she looked forward to a chance to see the sights. She didn’t know a lot
about cattle, sheep, or horses, but the row of booths looked promising. Her
turn came after luncheon, when every hand had been required to prepare
food, to serve the guests, and to clean up afterward.

Celeste tied on her shabby old hat, shrugged into a pelisse, and hurried
down to visit the fair. Children, dogs, and chickens ran everywhere. She
stopped for a moment to admire some shaggy cattle and a pen of sheep. She
then moved on toward the booths, where she slowly walked down the row.
She spent a penny on some ribbons and lace to refurbish her hat, then took
time to simply enjoy the sunshine and holiday spirit of the crowd.

In the distance, across the judging field, she could see the Duke talking to a
group of well-dressed men. They seemed to be discussing a brown horse
that had white socks and a blaze down its nose. He was the handsomest
gentleman there, she thought.

Unlike the prevailing custom, the Duke wore his hair shoulder length, and
tied back with a dark ribbon that matched his coat. It suited him, the braided
end lying neatly across his impeccably tied cravat and neat coat collar. The
dark blue coat fitted his broad shoulders perfectly. The sun glinted off his
dark brown hair. In one hand, he held a top hat of modest height while he
rested the other on the horse’s neck. He looks remarkably handsome and
seems to know exactly what he is doing. Wouldn’t it be fine to be married to
such a gentleman?

Celeste sighed. She was more likely to become an old maid. Perhaps with
time and hard work she could become a housekeeper like Miss Sedgewick.
She would like to have a love like her Mama and Papa, but she was their
only support for their old age. How she longed to have them with her! And
how much she missed them.

No more fripperies and no more foolish fancies. Time to go back to the

castle and let someone else have some fun.

Storm clouds began to build up to the west, and Celeste hurried. The first
drops of rain were just beginning to spatter as she entered the scullery door.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 11

T he trade fair closed early on the third day thanks to the

weather. Jonathan had left Margery in the care of a footman
while he went across the lots to deal speak with some of the
guests. A storm had been boiling up out of the west when he had left her,
even though he knew she was afraid of storms. Margery stared angrily at his
retreating back.

Big thunderheads were scudding across the sky, skimming the tops of the
mountain peaks above the castle. The cattle made those odd rumbling
sounds that cattle make when they are upset and just talking to each other.
She hated those sounds. Worse yet, the silly sheep were baaing mindlessly.
Somewhere a chicken squawked in mortal fear and pain. Probably making
the ultimate sacrifice for their dinner, so it would be chicken again.

Margery had hoped with the crowd attending the trade fair that they would
have some pork or perhaps a bit of beef. She so hated living in the country.
There was nothing to do and no good fun things ever happened. Just mean,
bad things. When she went to London again, she would show Jonathan. She
would spend, spend, spend, and make him pay all of the bills. All of them.
That would teach him to leave her with a mere footman!
To give the lad his due, he held a huge umbrella over her and hastened with
her to the open doors of the main hall. Not a single drop spattered on the
naively arranged knot of curls on the top of her head, while he was soaked
to the skin. He even canted the umbrella so that he could close it while it
was still outside the door, shedding the bad luck that could ride in on any
storm.

Suddenly, Margery felt truly magnanimous. She took a silver penny from
her reticule with her gloved hand and pressed it into the footman’s hand. He
flashed her a saucy grin, closing his fist about the coin. He then bowed and
gave her the traditional country salute of the Gwyndonmere estate: the back
of his closed fist to his forelock. It was supposed to signify undying loyalty
or some such nonsense.

She did not see the man watching her from the shadows.

His goddess came running in out of the rain, sheltered by a wide umbrella
in the hands of a drenched footman. She generously gave the young man a
coin out of her reticule. This would be so amusing; he could scarcely
contain himself. Perhaps the youth would only fall ill, who could say? It
was a good test for his future plans.

It would all be so amusing to watch. He almost laughed to himself, but that

would give him away.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 12

T he tiles rattled on the castle roof. The storm was moving in

fast. Celeste hurried to have the Duchess’s dinner things laid
out in good order. As the first drops of rain began to spatter
down, she checked the lattice windows to make sure they were securely
closed. She thought for just a moment, then opened them, closed the
protective shutters, and then closed and latched them again.

Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but when winds blew in from the
ocean or down off the mountains, large items such as tree limbs sometimes
got tossed about. The windows, with their tiny diamond shaped panes, were
terrifically expensive. No need to have one break, just because someone
was negligent about closing the shutters.

She lit the candles in the bed chamber, creating a warm glow in the room.
After a moment’s thought, she stirred up the fire, as well. By the time the
Duchess came in, the room was cheerful with warm light and redolent of
burning pinewood. Tea steeped on the hob. Crackers, cheese, and soft rolls
were on a tray by the fire.

The Duchess began shedding clothes as soon as she entered the room.
Celeste hastened to help her, mindful of the many tiny buttons on the
walking dress. Even so, one of them popped off and flew across the room.
“Never mind that,” the Duchess snapped when Celeste started to look for it.
“I need to be bathed and looking my very best when I go downstairs
tonight. The storm moving in has cut short the festivities, and since the
Duke seems to think that we are at poverty’s front door, we must make the
best of the trade that will come from this fair.

Celeste held her tongue, even though she wanted to point out that from
what she had heard, the Duchess was responsible for a great deal of their
penury. Several of the maids had pink net petticoats courtesy of large
swatches of silk netting that had been set out for the rag and bone man in
London. Instead she said, “I believe your bath is ready. Will you have your
cup of tea in the tub?”

“That would be splendid. Don’t forget the cream and sugar.”

Celeste helped the Duchess into her bathing shift and then into the tub,
wondering what it would be like to have nothing on your mind but bathing,
dressing and making small talk. She placed the tea on a small table beside
the tub and began rubbing cleanser into the Duchess’s hair.

Outside, the wolves up in the hills howled, and somewhere on the castle
grounds a dog howled, and then another answered it. The Duchess trembled
under her hands, and Celeste looked down at her with surprise.

The Duchess looked scared. “I don’t like it when the wolves howl. I always
think of that philosophy riddle governesses like to set. If you are riding in a
sleigh in the dark night with your dearest friends, and you can only escape
if someone lightens the load by jumping off, who will you throw out?”
“We are safe, Your Grace,” Celeste soothed. “I closed and locked the
shutters before the storm began. No one is getting thrown to the wolves
tonight.”

The Duchess looked at her for a moment, almost as if she thought Celeste
had lost her mind. Celeste didn’t know what to make of the blank,
uncompromising stare. Then the Duchess said, “I will wear my velvet
tonight, Celeste.”

The change of mood was so abrupt, Celeste blinked for a moment, then
said, “Of course, Your Grace.”

The Duchess was resplendent in her blue velvet gown. Its off the shoulder
style displayed her white shoulders to advantage. They were further set off
by a ruching of black lace. Celeste dressed the Duchess’s hair in a tall pile
on her head, accenting it with strings of jet beads that sparkled in the auburn
tresses.

The embroidered front panel of the gown helped create the perfect S-shaped
profile so favored in the newest mode, as fashion transitioned from soft
Grecian drapes into stiffer, more ornamented styles. The panniers were
light, however, nothing like the heavy continental styles worn twenty years
earlier.

The overskirt was looped up with knots of jet beads to reveal a sheer black
underskirt over a black silk petticoat. Perfect black kid slippers peeked from
beneath the underskirt. The whole nearly overwhelmed the Duchess’s slight
figure, but she carried it off with aplomb, and deemed the effect
“acceptable.”
When the Duke came to the door to claim his wife he said, “Very fetching,
my Duchess.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the Duchess replied. “We must keep up
appearances no matter what.”

“Quite so, Your Grace.” His eyes met Celeste’s in a glance past the tower of
hair. His face was grave, but was there just the slightest crinkle of laugh
lines around his eyes?

He understands. I hope the evening feast will go well.

Celeste dipped her head, and bobbed a quick curtsy to the Duke before he
closed the door. When the Duke and Duchess were gone, she began her
usual routine of cleaning the room. But she could not get that glance out of
her mind.

I scarcely know him, except for seeing him about the estates. But I know of
him. The staff who have been here since he was a boy worship him. The
villagers speak of him with respect and bring him their troubles. Yet she
rails at him, nags, picks, and snipes. It makes me want to slap her instead of
soothing and cosseting.

I should not hate the Duchess. I am her abigail, her shadow self that makes
her presentable. My duty is to be her support and mainstay. But I do hate
the way she treats him. How can she not see what a wonderful man she has
married?

I love him. I never thought to feel this way about anyone. The thought
stopped her in her tracks as she was placing a towel in the laundry basket.
How can I love him when I barely see him in a day’s time? Yet my heart
warms at the slightest praise, the smallest shared glance. Yes, I love him.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 13

J onathan kept his face grave as he beheld the Duchess’s

raiment. It would not have been out of place for an evening at
the opera in London, or even for dancing and cards at
Almac’s. For dining at a country estate, it was just a trifle
over-done. Still, he could not fault his Duchess’s instincts. The sky-blue
velvet of the gown reminded everyone that this was an important occasion
for everyone attending, yet the black lace was a somber acknowledgement
that the estate had suffered a tragedy just a few days ago. While a serving
girl scarcely rated mourning in a formal sense it was a sop to the
sensibilities of the household.

Glancing past the tower of auburn hair, his eyes briefly met those of Miss
Singer. In that glance, he could see that the abigail knew precisely to a hair
how overly elaborate and formal was the costume, and that she held her
breath lest she be asked to find another for the Duchess.

In the three months since he had hired her, Jonathan had never seen Miss
Singer in any costume that did not look neat, understated, and efficient.
Even when she had stepped off the fishing trawler that had taken her all the
way to Britain from France, the worn dress that graced her form had been
neatly darned and the clunky farmers boots on her feet were polished. When
offered a variety of second-hand cast-offs from which to enrich her
wardrobe, she had quickly selected those that could be made over to fit her
station as a personal maid.

It was all he could do not to smile at the worried expression on the former
seamstress’s face as he beheld his overdressed Duchess.

The tension eased as she caught his eye, and she curtsied in
acknowledgement.

If only Margery could display even one tenth of Miss Singer’s charm and
understanding of decorum.

Jonathan squelched the thought as quickly as it was born. He was a married

man, and until such time as he was legally free, he was going to behave as a
married man should behave. Miss Singer would not be in his social class in
all events. For marriage he would need to look elsewhere. But even though
his bed was lonely, he would not join the ranks of titled gentlemen who
took their pleasure at the expense of the working class.

He offered his arm to the Duchess, who placed her hand formally on top of
it. As the door closed behind her, Jonathan gave his wife his full attention.

“I have some good news for you, Your Grace,” he said formally.

“We could use some good news, Your Grace,” the Duchess returned with
equal formality.
“One of our farmer’s came to me at daybreak this morning. He knew that I
had been casting about for a suitable main dish for this evening. One of his
sheep stuck herself in the bog. They tried to pull her out, but she broke her
neck in the struggle to get free. So, we shall have mutton for dinner
tonight.”

“Oh, no! Not mutton. For how many nights, Jonathan?”

“Only tonight. I know that it is not your favorite, so the cook is making up
as much as we can use in a day, and the rest is going to the Gentle Sisters
and to the Poor House.”

“Oh, thank goodness for that. I believe I would rather cluck than baa. How
is the cook preparing it?”

“As there are onions showing green, and several carrots to be used up in the
cellars, I believe we are having a hearty Scottish broth as an opening. The
barley makes it easy to stretch to as many guests as we might have. The
main course will be chops that have marinated in our own good red wine.”

“Well, that might be bearable. Our cook is ingenious when it comes to

making the unpalatable palatable. You are so stingy with the household
accounts, my husband.”

“Only holding with good Scottish traditions, my wife. The sheep had
fortuitous timing in making her noble sacrifice when we have so many
extras to feed.”
“I hardly know whether to be glad of the company or to be prepared to die
slowly of utter boredom. Please tell me that I am seated near someone who
can talk of more than sheep, cattle, and fabric mills.”

“Why, yes, my dear. I believe there are some owners of notable vineyards
and growers of wheat who will be here to negotiate buyers for their autumn
harvests. I think your table companion has an excellent vineyard. I might
negotiate for some of his stock before he leaves.”

“Jonathan, could we not once, just once, invite someone who has been to
the opera. Or, better yet, bring in someone to perform? I swear you plan to
bore me to death so that you can obtain a better model as wife.”

Jonathan feigned astonishment. “I have thought no such thing. I made my

vows, and fully intend to stick by them. You brought money and lands to
the estate, and married me in good faith. As long as you are doing your part,
I will always honor you as my wife. A bargain is a bargain.”

Margery stared back at him, something feral moved behind her eyes. “I
thought you would say as much.” Then they went into the dining room so
that the evening’s festivities might begin.

Mr. Hammonds appeared at the service entrance and announced, “A hearty

Scottish broth, from our own mutton, cellars, and gardens.”

Jonathan smiled at his wife, completely unaware of the jangling bell that
had rung over his head with his declaration of loyalty.
A shadow slunk away from a door across the hall from the dining room. He
could use this, oh, yes, he could. The Duke was playing right into his hands.
Soon, the Duchess, and all that her child would inherit, would be his to play
with as he would.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 14

F ar up on the mountainside, a man in a long dark cloak and

mask lifted his face to the damp sky and howled. It was a
good howl, very much like the wild wolves out on the
Russian steppes. It was unfortunate for verisimilitude that the last wolf in
Scotland had been killed by Sir Ewen Cameron in 1860. But the masked
man was not native to Scotland, and had every reason to believe that where
there were mountains, there should be wolves.

Dogs in the castle below answered his howl, as well as one human hound.
The man smiled contemptuously beneath his mask. Let the petty little man
lay his plots and woo his Duchess. The masked man had more important
affairs to attend. Far more to the point was a lone human wolf howl from
higher up the mountain, accompanied by a deeply drawn out howl that
could easily be a true wolf.

The cloaked man began to climb the steep rock face. As the rain came down
harder, he was glad of the oiled woolen cloak that kept out the worst of the
damp. But in spite of the tight weave and the lanolin rubbed into it, the
cloak was heavy and sodden by the time he reached the small castle near
the mountain peak.
It was more of a fortress, really, hardly more than a stone tower with a
crenelated walk and roofed guard tower at the top. There had once been an
attached manor, but it had burned a year or two before and all that remained
of it were the stone fireplaces and chimneys, and the peaked walls that had
held up the gabled roof. The Castle of Mabway was in sad condition.

The heiress who should have cared about its condition paid no attention,
and rumor had it that her husband, the Duke of Gwyndonmere, had his
hands full keeping up with affairs in the Valley. The folk who had once
lived there had, for the most part, migrated to the valley. Those who
remained were sheep and cattle herders who now owed their fealty to
Gwyndonmere.

It was ideal for the masked man’s machinations.

He tapped in a pattern at the door, and after a moment a tiny window in the
door unshuttered, and a voice whispered, “The sleigh moves swiftly.”

The masked man answered, “When the wolves howl behind.”

The shutter closed, and the door was opened on a darkened hall. The
masked man entered, and the whisperer closed and locked it behind him.
There was a shushing sound as a heavy drape was drawn across the door,
then a rustling as another drape was drawn aside.

The masked man entered a small room where three other men were grouped
around a table that held lead mold of the sort often used to make bullets and
a stamp not unlike those used to seal letters.
“Were you able to find enough silver in the ruins to coat the coins?”

“Just enough,” said a chunky little man who was wearing a striped hat that
had a long tail and a tassel on the end.

“I thought I told you to get rid of that hat,” the masked man said. “It is not a
style worn here, and it is far too noticeable.”

“I’m not wearin’ it outside like,” the little man said. “And anyway, it is cold
in here. It keeps my head warm.”

“It’s not my fault you got skelped in by wild Indians in the colonies, nor
that you didn’t bring back enough furs to make it worth your while.”

“You try what it’s like sometime. Anyways, you better be nice to me. I’m
the only one who can make the king’s face or a queen’s on any coin worth
the name.”

A man with a lean cadaverous face said, “Enough bickering. We each have
our roles to play. This valley is the perfect place to assemble an army and
run it up the Regent’s royal backside. This valley has been at peace and
loyal to the crown for so long, it is the last place from which he would
expect an invasion.”
The third man at the table rounded upon them all. “That is correct. Soon, we
will cast down the aristocracy, smash the machines, and cottagers will be
able to ply their trades and live decently as becomes honorable folk.”

“Oh, right,” scoffed the whisperer, in harsh voice that was scarcely louder
or that hand more timber than his greeting at the door. “You, who smashed
and burned small shops all across France. You would exalt small shop
owners.”

The cadaverous man smacked his hand on the table again. “Enough, I say.
There is work to be done. Did you deliver the coins to that amorous idiot?”

“I did. And he added a little something to them. They should be circulating

merrily all through the trade fair by now.”

The five men shared predatory grins that were more like the baring of teeth
than smiles. Around the tower, the mountain slope was silent. The small
creatures of the land knew when it was best to lie low and be still.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 15

D avid Hammonds knocked on the door of the butlery with his left
hand. “Mr. Hammonds?” he called out. Then, “Grandfather?”

Mr. Hammonds opened the door. Several bottles of wine stood on the table,
with the cork puller beside them. Also on the table were two large wooden
boxes, probably containing tea.

“What is it, David?”

“Grandfather, that is, Mr. Hammonds. . .”

“Which do you want? Your grandfather or the butler?” the older Mr.
Hammonds asked. “You know the proper address.”

“Yes, sir. I…Well, the thing is, I think I want both.” The tall, gangly red-
haired young man held up his right hand which was beginning to swell.
Startled, Mr. Hammonds opened the door wider. “Come in and sit down. I’ll
send for Gran’ther Tim and Dr. Dermott. What have you been doing? You
cannot have gotten that properly doing your duty.”

“I’m sorry, Grandfather, er, Mr. Hammonds. I can’t think what could have
happened because I’ve been extra careful to do my duty as required. The
Duke gave me the task of keeping the Duchess dry and safe until she was
within doors.”

“Did you?”

“I did. I held one of those new French umbrellas she brought back from
London last year over her right up to the door, and I tipped it backward so
that all the water ran outside instead of in. She must have been pleased,
because she gave me a penny.”

Mr. Hammonds frowned. “So then what did you do?”

“I went to the bachelor quarters to change my uniform because I was

soaked. By the time I was done, my hand was red and itchy. So I scratched
it. That just made the itchy part spread.”

“Do you still have the coin?”

“I do. But Grandfather, the Duchess was carrying it in her handbag. How
could I come to harm from something she handled just before giving it to
me?”
“That is a good question. Did you touch any of the plants in the bouquets?
Wipe up any spills?”

“No, Gra…” and at the elderly butler’s frown, “Mr. Hammonds. My hand
was fine before the storm, then it just started doing this.” David Hammonds
held up the swollen hand, and started to reach for it with the other.

“Don’t scratch.” Mr. Hammonds stepped to the door, and beckoned to the
maid, Betty, as she was passing. “Miss McGuire, please send one of the
footmen to fetch Dr. Dermott and Gran’ther Tim. Young David has touched
something that has disagreed with him.”

Betty giggled as if she thought Mr. Hammonds had made a fine joke, but
when he drew his eyebrows together, she stopped laughing. “I’ll send
someone at once, Mr. Hammonds.”

As soon as she had stepped away from the door, Mr. Hammonds said,
“Now, tell me everything you have done or touched today. Oh, and do you
still have the coin?”

David nodded. “It is in my other pants pocket. I can go get it . . .”

Mr. Hammonds shook his head. “I’ll send someone for the pants. I don’t
think you should touch it again.”
David sat quietly while his grandfather, Mr. Hammonds, spoke with
someone in the hall. His hand itched abominably. He sat on his good hand
to keep from scratching at the afflicted one.

After a time, Gran’ther Tim came in. The old gardener looked at the hand,
and shook his head. “I’m not sure what would do that. Rue can cause hands
to break out in a rash, an’ ye’ll nae be wantin’ ta eat it, but ye’d ha’ ta hold
it in ye’r hand ta cause swellin’ like this. I could make up a plantain
poultice for it, but best ta let Dr. Dermott see it afore I do aught to it.”

Mr. Hammonds must have come in with him, because his voice rumbled
something that David couldn’t quite make out. His sodden uniform pants
were delivered in a basin to keep them from dripping on the carpeted floor.

Shortly after that, Dr. Dermott entered the butlery. By the time he arrived,
David could scarcely restrain himself from scratching at the swollen hand,
and the tightly stretched skin had begun to ache.

There were some more murmured voices. Then Dr. Dermott turned his hand
from side to side, examining the proud flesh. “Did you go fishing?” he
asked.

David shook his head from side to side. “No. I was on duty, attending the
Duchess while the Duke saw to some guests who were caught out by the
rain. Before that, I helped set up benches by the judging arena.”

Dr. Dermott tsked over the hand, then used a pair of forceps to fish the coin
out of the pocket of the wet trousers. “Odd. It looks like a silver penny, but
the markings on it are wrong.”

Gran’ther Tim held out a gloved hand. “Might I ha’ a swatch at it?”

The old gardener peered at the coin. “Looks mighty like summat we dug up
in the orchard last year. I think ye would be hard pressed ta spend it.”

Dr. Dermott looked at the old man in surprise. “Why is that, Gran’ther
Tim?”

“Well, ye might think an old man like me wouldn’t know much, but
coinage, now, that’s important if ye’re savin’ for yer old age. Mr.
McAhmladhson explained it all to us, an’ showed us which pieces could
spend an’ which were most like just fer lookin’ at. This here looks like a
bawbee, made out o’ billon. Or maybe not even billon.”

The doctor looked bewildered, and glanced at Mr. Hammonds in hope of a

translation.

“What the Gran’ther is trying to tell you is that this coin looks like a very
old Scottish coin that was the equivalent of a halfpence. But after the Treaty
of the Union in 1707 they were no longer legal for trading, except perhaps
as tokens.”

“Oh. I knew about the Treaty, of course, but I had not thought what effect it
might have on coins.”
“More ‘n’ that,” Granther Tim added, “I am thinkin’ that it isn’t even a real
bawbee. More like an imitation bawbee, made by some ‘un ignorant enough
to think a bawbee could still be spent.”

Dr. Dermott picked it up with the forceps again, and peered at the coin
closely. “It looks as if it has been dusted with something, and there are bits
of vegetable matter clinging to it.”

Mr. Hammonds thought for a moment. “I wonder if Mr. McOwen has the
terriers looking for rats today?” He looked out the door and beckoned over
a footman who was passing by. The fellow nodded, and hurried away. “Mr.
McOwen has the young pups hunting in the attics. If he has had any luck,
he’ll bring a rat down to us directly.”

While waiting for Mr. McOwen, Gran’ther Tim and Dr. Dermott conferred
together. After a short deliberation, Gran’ther Tim went out and brought
back plantain and comfrey.

Dr. Dermott mashed the plants together in a pestle, then added a splash of
vinegar. He then soaked a length of bandage from his bag in vinegar,
plastered David’s hand with the mashed plants and wrapped it in the soaked
bandages. Mr. Hammonds hastily placed a large ewer on David’s lap to
keep the mess from soaking the young man’s trousers or dripping onto the
floor.

Meanwhile, dinner preparations went on at their usual pace. Mr. Hammonds

sent David to the Upper Servants’ dining area to clear the butlery so that he
could continue with his work.
Warner came down and passed through on his way to the washroom,
carrying the Duke’s soiled linens. When he saw David sitting in the dining
area, he raised his eyebrows to nearly comical heights. “What happened to
you, David? Got your hand caught in a door?”

“Not sure,” David replied. “But Dr. Dermott and Gran’ther Tim poulticed it,
and it is feeling a lot better.”

“Good, good,” Warner nodded. “Mind where you put those hands, you
might need them someday.” Having made this sage, if incomprehensible,
pronouncement, he went on down the stairs.

Betty McGuire had come into the servants’ dining room to set the table for
the evening meal, and looked over at David with sympathy. “Will you be
feelin’ good enough to have a bit of supper, David?”

“My hand is feeling better, and breakfast was a long time ago. I think I
could eat.”

“What was with that one and his comment?” Betty nodded toward the stairs
where Warren disappeared.

“Who could possibly know?” David frowned “Nor do I care. He’s always
on about something.”

“We’ll see to it that ye won’t starve,” Betty smiled at the young man. “You
just rest easy, and we’ll work around you.”
David leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the tall ladder back,
and closed his eyes. His hand throbbed. Both his grandfather and his older
brother, Christopher Hammonds, had warned him that service could be hard
with unexpected hazards. But he had never dreamed that it could be
dangerous. Chris had always said that he could find trouble if there was any
to be had. But this time trouble had found him while he was doing exactly
as he should. Why would the Duchess have an old coin in her reticule?
Especially an old coin coated in some unknown substance.

I would gladly trade getting a dressing down from Grandfather for flirting
with the maids for this latest mess I’ve gotten myself into.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 16

T he following morning dawned bright and clear as if the storm

had never happened. The last of the guests ascended the
winding mountain trail back toward Edinburgh and their own
holdings. The final few traders packed up their remaining wares, and
likewise departed. The household resumed its normal routine, including
Celeste getting up early to take care of the household floral arrangements.

Celeste wanted something special for the Duke’s study. The violets and
asparagus fern had been nice, but she had in mind an arrangement that
would truly impress. When she asked Mr. Hammonds about some wild
gathering, he had suggested she go out with Gran’ther Tim, taking Betty
with them for propriety and to help carry back anything they found.
Everyone had been far too busy during the spring trade fair to think about
extras.

On top of that, one of the footmen had developed some sort of rash on his
right hand. The hand had swelled up, and the poor man developed a fever.
That made the staff a man short, adding to the difficulty of getting all the
work done at such a busy time.
But with the guests all gone home and the spring weather becoming
increasingly warm, a day was found for Celeste, Gran’ther Tim and Betty to
go wild gathering.

Betty was with the gardener when Celeste reached the kitchen door. “This’ll
be fun! Celeste, thank you so much for asking for me to go along. Gran’ther
Tim has been the gardener here ‘most forever, an’ he knows ever’one an’
ever’thing, so we are sure to find something you can use.”

Gran’ther Tim touched his forelock and grinned. “Not quite ever’one and
not quite ever’thing, but I do know a bit. Now, Hammonds says you two
wants to go gatherin’ stuff fer boo-kays.” He put a heavy emphasis on the
“boo”.

Celeste nodded. “Something nice for the Duke’s study, not too floral or
feminine.”

“Not floral, eh?” Gran’ther Tim pushed back his straw hat and scratched his
head. “Well I knows where they’s some catkins an’ some purty grasses. But
they’s up by the Lolly Mire. We can go there, if yer not too scairt. But mind
you two don’t be goin’ up there by yerselves, ner after dark. That’s where
the body was found and where Farmer Jenson’s sheep got stuck, and a high
old time they had getting’ the old girl out. Wound up breakin’ ‘er neck, so’s
she was the guestin’ feast durin’ the fair.”

Dire warnings about dead maids and drowning sheep notwithstanding, it

felt grand to be out in the spring sunshine. The gardener walked with them
down to the edge of the mire and they gathered a few stalks of catkins.
Celeste saw some dried winter grasses and seeds that looked promising. “Is
it all right to pick those?” she asked the gardener.

“Yes’m. But don’t you go beyond the edge here. That looks like a field of
grass, but ‘tis really floating grass chunks on top o’ water. You steps out on
those chunks an’ ye’ll go straight to the bottom, ye will.”

Celeste shuddered. Carefully, she used the shears the gardener had
thoughtfully provided to cut several long grasses and dried grass heads that
had survived the winter.

A small brown bird with long legs started up out of the grass and lighted in
a clump several yards away. It began scolding in a high-pitched shrill voice.

“Wood sandpiper,” Gran’ther Tim said. “They’uns live all along the marsh
edge. Come summer they nests in the reeds. He’s tellin’ us we’s too close to
‘is courtin’ spot, I reckon.”

“Poor fellow. We should get back to the house with our treasures then. I
should get these arranged before the Duchess wants me.” Then Celeste
spotted some ferns and green moss. “Oh! But could we have some of
those?”

“Best let me do the collectin’ over there, Miss Singer.” Gran’ther Tim
pulled a short stick out of his bag as well as a small trowel. He then poked
around in the ferns and into the moss. Suddenly a horrible smell arose from
the moss. Something wiggled away from them and plopped into the water.
Gran’ther Tim picked up a wiggling object that lay on top of the moss.
“Slow worm. Reckon if he’s about tain’t no adders in here. This here’s his
tail he left behind.”

“What’s a slow worm?” Celeste asked, watching as Gran’ther Tim scooped

up some moss and carefully dug out a fern or two.

“He’s like a snake with legs. No harm to ‘em, but adders like ‘m to eat. So’s
if they’s a slow worm, likely no adder about.”

“Are adders poisonous?” Celeste asked.

“Oh, they do be!” Betty said. “Peg McNally’s son Tim …”

“That be one o’ my grandsons,” Gran’ther Tim put in.

“Anyways,” Betty went on, “Young Tim got bit when he was diggin’ up the
garden. He swole up and was ever so sick.”

“I’ll pay attention then, and not come gathering at the bog alone.”

When they returned, Betty helped Celeste carry their treasures into the
Duke’s study. Betty was called away to change bed linens, and Celeste went
to work with the materials they had gathered. In a short time, she had an
arrangement that looked very much like the bank where they had collected
the moss and ferns. Catkins, the stalks tucked in artfully concealed glasses
of water, rose from behind the ferns. These Celeste had flanked with
carefully arranged dried grasses that were stuck between the glasses, into
the moss.

“Thank you,” the Duke said. “It is the perfect bit of greenery to rest my
eyes from doing accounts.”

Celeste started, nearly spilling the watering can. She had not heard the
Duke come into the room. Trying to recover her aplomb, she said the first
thing that came into her head.

“You do your own accounts, Your Grace?”

“Yes, indeed. Did you not keep your own records when you had your dress
shop?”

“Yes, of course. But who would I have asked to do them for me? You have,
well, everyone you could wish to help you.”

“I could do that.” The Duke seemed to think about it for a moment, then he
smiled.

Celeste basked in the warmth of his expression. What a lovely smile. It

could warm you all the way to the depths of your soul. She could not help
smiling back.
The edges of his dark brown eyes crinkled up, and the strong, mobile lips
parted revealing even, white teeth. Just one tooth was a little out of line, she
noticed. It was somehow endearing.

“But if I hired someone,” the Duke continued his train of thought, “I would
be less in touch with how everything is going on my estates. Even if I had
an accountant who was scrupulously honest, I would miss out on small
subtle things.”

“Like what, Your Grace?” Celeste knew she was being bold, but somehow
she just could not help herself.

“Like a charming view of the talented artist who has been making
arrangements for my study. And a notation of a very small account being
opened with my steward for one Celeste Singer. Are you planning to leave
us, Miss Singer?”

“Leave? Oh, no. But my parents are still in France. I am hoping I will hear
from them soon. I would like to rent a little cottage in the village so they
could come live here.”

“And you are saving for their fare?”

“Yes, Your Grace. And for the rent on a cottage.”

“Ah, now, you see I would have missed that entirely if I had not been in the
habit of going over the books for my estate. Now I know that instead of
being in danger of losing a good worker, I am about to gain two worthy
tenants.”

“I think I understand, Your Grace.” Celeste dropped her eyes to the small
watering can she held in her hands.

Does he care that much about everyone on the estate? Or would he be

genuinely unhappy if I left? Stupid, foolish, to read something into his
questions.

“Now, let me think. As it happens, I think I have just the place for an older
couple. Are they able to work?”

“Yes, Your Grace. My mother was a teacher in her youth, and does letter
writing for people in the village. My father is a carpenter and a gardener. He
isn’t as able as he once was, but he can still do some things.”

“Excellent. Now, Miss Singer, would you accept a small loan?”

“A loan?” Celeste stared at him for a moment.

“Yes, a loan. And the services of my agent, who is already planning to take
money to your parents on his way to run another errand for me. Would you
trust me to arrange their arrival safely on our shores? I think I could manage
better transportation than that leaky old tub you crossed the channel in.”
“Oh, Your Grace!” Celeste gripped the bail of the watering can tightly. “If
you could do that I would be so grateful. I would work for years and years
for no pay at all if my Mama and Papa could be made safe.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Miss Singer. My agent was already
scheduled for a trip to the continent on other business. Come clean my
study and keep my bit of greenery refreshed, and your weekly stipend will
continue. Oh, and keep my wife happy. That might be the most difficult part
of the bargain.”

“I would gladly do everything in my power to do those things,” Celeste

promised. “Only…”

“Only what? You just promised everything in your power.”

“Sometimes, Your Grace, there are things not in my power to do. I will
make floral arrangements for your corner, but this one will not last much
more than a week, I think. The ferns and moss might live, but the catkins
will soon burst and make a mess in your study if they are left here.”

“Indeed, I shall not expect you to exceed that which nature allows. Every
small artist must bow to the Plans of the Great Artist. Is there another thing
that might not be within your power?”

“To keep Her Grace happy, Your Grace. I will serve her to the best of my
ability, but there might be things beyond my control that would make her
unhappy.”
“Sadly, you might be right. Still, she has spoken well of you, which is more
than I can say for the last three abigails we engaged. So you see, arranging
for your parents to live in the village is a small price to pay for the
betterment of my domestic arrangements.”

“I am glad you think so, Your Grace.” And it means I can continue to work
here and be near you without feeling guilty. If I had not already realized the
depths of my feelings, making my parents safe would be enough to make me
your servant for life. As it is, I will be near you and able to worship from
afar, even if my station will keep me from declaring my feelings.

“Then it is settled. I will send to my agent to arrange for your parents’

transport, and you will keep my refuge tidy and fresh with seasonal
arrangements. As for my wife, do your duty to the best of your ability. No
more can be asked.”

Celeste stood up, surprised that her legs would hold her, they trembled so
with excitement and tension. She gave the Duke the best, prettiest and
deepest curtsy she could manage, one that would be worthy of the Prince
Regent. “Your Grace, whatever you need, you have only to ask. I am, from
this day on, your most loyal servant.”

Betty came to the door of the study. “Miss Singer? The Duchess is ringing
for you. Mr. Hammonds says I’m to clear up for you so’s you don’t get into
no trouble.”

The maid then realized that Celeste wasn’t alone in the room. “Oh! Begging
your pardon, Your Grace. I din’ know you was in here.”
“It is quite all right, Miss McGuire. Miss Singer and I have concluded our
business. Thank you for offering to help.” He remembers everyone’s names
and addresses us courteously. It would be very foolish of me to read more
than that into what he has said to me. But the heart wants even when the
head dictates reason.

Celeste curtsied again, her face coloring with the tenure of her thoughts.
“Thank you, again, Your Grace. I am forever in your debt.”

“Think nothing of it. Now, hurry away before the Duchess becomes upset
with you.”

A shadowy figure sat very still in one corner of the library, observing as the
maids came out from the open study door. So that is how the wind blows. It
won’t do for the Duke to get too comfortable. No, indeed. That doesn’t fit
the plan at all.

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 CHAPTER 17

N ot long after Miss Singer left the study, there came a tap at the
door. “Come in,” Jonathan called.

“Constable McHenry to see you, Your Grace,” Mr. Hammonds announced.

“Send him in. Good morning, Constable. How might I be of service?”

“Your Grace, I checked around with folks as was leavin’ and with the our
own folk. I came up with eleven more o’ those fake bawbees. Mr. Cory the
Elder cut one of ‘em in half, an’ he says they’s just base lead coated in
silver. But then, on top o’ that, they’s dusted with a mix of powder rue and
arsenic.”

“How did he determine that, Constable? I’m not surprised that he would
know the metal, but the other?”

“Well, Your Grace, Sister Agatha was there. You know she’s the Gentle
Sisters apothecary?”
“Yes, I know. She often buys plants from our orangeries to make into
medicine.”

“I don’t quite understand how she knew, but she’s the one who said it was
arsenic and rue. Only, she said it was re-dun-dant, whatever that is, cause
arsenic comes from lead. But then she said one more thing. She said the
edges of the coins are sharp, so’s anyone squeezing them would get stuck
by ‘em.”

“Vile!” Jonathan said. “It is almost as if they were meant to cause a painful
reaction.”

“Exactly so, Your Grace. It is no wonder young David was hurt by it. The
question becomes why was it in the Duchess’s reticule?”

“Good question, Your Grace. But she could have got it in change at one of
the booths. Young David says that she was wearin’ gloves on account of
bein’ out around the cattle and such.”

“You could be right. She is very sensitive to animal hairs, as well as the sun,
dust and anything else outside.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open, Your Grace, to see if anymore odd coins turn up.”
“Thank you, Constable. And let me know if there are any other odd
happenings. We seem to be having a very odd spring.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I certainly will. Actually, there is one thing.”

“Oh?”

“Your Grace, there ha’not been any wolves in these parts for more’n a
hunnert years. Yet they wuz howlin’ in the storm the other night. I thinks to
myself, ‘just why have we got wolves all of a suttent?’ Then I thinks,
maybe somebody brought home some wolf dogs?”

“Some dogs do howl like wolves. The castle dogs were howling last night.
Perhaps they were what you heard.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so, Your Grace. I’d know Fionn and Gertrude’s
voices anywhere, an’ I heard them, too. I’m pretty sure this was different.”

Jonathan frowned slightly. “Keep listening. If they do it again, I might

organize a hunt.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. If it’s all right, I’ll just let myself out. I might go
down through the kitchen an’ have a word with Young David, if you don’t
mind.”
“That will be quite all right, Constable. Thank you for letting me know. Oh,
one thing more. What did you do with the coins?”

“I gave them to Mr. McAhmladhson for safe keeping, Your Grace. It

seemed best.”

“Quite right. I’ll send them down for my banker to look at the next time
someone is headed to Edinburgh.”

What can possibly be the meaning of all this? Wolves where there are no
wolves, coins that are made from base metal, and my Duchess has
apparently taken a lover. What will the world come to next?

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 CHAPTER 18

S ally Ann stood over the steaming tub of dish water and let the
tears flow. No one would notice her back here in the dark corner
of the kitchen. If they did, she could just say it was the lye in the
soap making her eyes water. But who would care anyway?

She could go to Martha, but as the housekeeper she would be duty bound to
go to the Duke and report her. She could go talk to Mr. Hammonds, who
was Jill’s grandfather and who looked after all of them. But he would also
be obliged to report her. She sure couldn’t go to that stuck-up French maid
that was teaching Betty to “talk proper,” and definitely not to Betty, herself,
who had been making eyes at him. Besides, who was she to be reporting
senior staff, when she was just new? Who would believe her?

He had said they mustn’t ever use names, not even when thinking about
each other because under the Scottish and English feudal systems, they
were property. And property didn’t have names. It didn’t make much sense
to her, because she got a nice wage from washing the Duke’s dishes, and
she wasn’t just quite sure what a feudal system was. Anyway, he had made
her feel so nice she hadn’t been paying much attention to his words. But
then she told him that she was late with her Time, thinking he’d be a
gentleman and do the Right Thing.
Well, she sure didn’t feel nice now. Her back hurt and her bruised stomach
churned. She was sore in places she didn’t even know you could feel sore.
She had bruises and scratches on her breasts and back. But who could she
tell? He had laughed at her and shamed her. That horrible woman had
offered to have a go at her with a knitting needle, and he had held her when
she refused. She’d had to kick and even bite to get away. It was just luck
that the cook had called for her right then, so they had to let her go. The
bruises and scratches would heal, and she could get over the blow to her
pride, but there were some things there just weren’t no getting over.

Sally Ann scoured out the last big pot, an iron cauldron that was three times
as big as her own head. She grunted as she held it over the edge of the tub
so she could scrub its insides. Then she sat it beside the fire to dry as it
should, because no matter how you dried iron with a cloth, it rusted.
Hefting that big old pot didn’t make her feel any better, but maybe it would
take care of one of her biggest problems. She’d heard of girls going horse-
back riding or jumping off haymows to take care of such. But she wasn’t at
all sure any of that had worked. One thing was for sure, she wanted no part
of the ugly knitting needle and she wasn’t going to drink the nasty potion
her gave her.

Finally, she wiped the pot down with a bit of mutton fat to keep it from the
damp. That was all she could do, and she was due for a break, she was.

“I’m going to walk down by the lake,” she announced to the room in
general. When no one responded, she turned and walked out the door.

Outside, it was starting to blow up a storm. It looked to be one of those

spring squalls that came up mostly out of nowhere. Sally Ann walked
around to the front of the residence part of the castle and paused under the
iron trellis that arched over the foot path leading down to the lake.
The water riffled under the attention of the wind. The rays of late afternoon
sun cast the shadows of the mountains over the lake; their reflections
seemed to dance. She could go dance with them. It was one way out of her
unsolvable situation.

The minister at the Kirk taught that it was a mortal sin to commit suicide,
even worse than committing murder. That was because you were, in effect,
murdering yourself. Since you would then be dead, you would have no way
to ask forgiveness. She would be doubly damned because she would not
only be killing herself, she would be murdering her unborn child. But if she
kept it, how would they live?

She understood what he wanted, but she just could not bring herself to do it.
The babe was innocent, and even if the man had turned out to be a faithless
Sassenach, she would love the little one as part of the best times they’d had.

But how would they live? The thought circled through her mind again. She
would be turned off as soon as it was known that she was with child.
Without a job and without a father to support them, how . . .

“Go ahead,” the wind whispered in her ear. “You are worthless scum
anyway. You are only fit for a man to practice on, not to bear a child. Go on,
walk into the lake. You know you want to.”

Sally Ann looked around, but she couldn’t see anyone. That was when the
growling began. Awful growling that seemed to have words. Words like slut
and slattern. Words like filth and worthless. It seemed to come from right
behind her, then from either side of her. Sally Ann screamed, hiked up her
skirts, and began to run.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 19

C eleste sighed with relief as the chamber door closed behind the
Duchess. She had been especially difficult this week, fussing over
her clothing, accusing Celeste of taking up the seams when she
wasn’t looking, and of trying to starve her because there wasn’t enough
food on her breakfast or tea tray.

Precisely what was going on with the Duchess, Celeste had no idea, but the
respite from trying to please her was welcome. Celeste could now go to her
own dinner, and then to bed. Rising early to take care of the house floral
arrangements, then stitching all afternoon on new dresses for the Duchess,
and finally getting her ready for her evening meal with the Duke was
beginning to take its toll.

Celeste was just pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot on the upper
servants’ dining room table, when Miss Sedgewick bustled in through the
door. “Have you seen Sally Ann?” Martha asked without preamble.

“No, not since breakfast.”

“Jill Hammonds, the cook’s helper, said Sally Ann told everyone she was
going for a walk, and then practically ran out the door. That was in the late
afternoon, shortly before the footmen and serving maids began to take up
dinner for the Duke and Duchess. Cook needs her to scrub some more pots,
and she isn’t anywhere to be found. Neither Betty nor I can be spared to go
look for her. Can you walk down toward the lake to see if you see
anything?”

The last thing Celeste wanted to do was to walk toward the lake in twilight,
especially since the wind was bringing a promise of rain. “I can go,” she
said.

“Take my warm shawl,” Martha said. “It is there on the chairback. That way
you won’t have to go back up to your room.”

“Are we sure she hasn’t simply gone up to bed?” Celeste asked. “It
wouldn’t be the first time she’s lain down to nap and not heard the bell.”

“Betty went up and checked. She’s not there.”

Celeste accepted the loan of the warm shawl and hurried out into the
growing dusk. Without realizing it, she took the same path Sally Ann had
taken earlier. At the gate heading down toward the lake, she paused. There
was something white on the path. When Celeste came closer to it, she
recognized it as Sally Ann’s mob cap, the one she wore to keep her hair out
of the dish washing in the kitchen. It was slightly damp, but not wet, for the
rain was just beginning to patter down.
“Sally Ann? Sally Ann!” Celeste called into the growing dark. She walked a
few steps farther on, then stopped. The path she was following led straight
into the Lolly Mire.

Without even stopping to think, Celeste turned and ran back into the house,
clutching the white cap in her hand.

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 CHAPTER 20

J onathan settled into the big chair in his study with a sigh of
relief. Dinner had turned into an ordeal, with Margery
recounting every word of the gossip from London, and
berating him soundly for not allowing her to attend the spring
session. Between alternately extolling the secondhand accounts of operas,
musicales, and crushes, and the other male guests’ ability to attend “at least
part of the season”, she had interspersed her discourse with disparaging
remarks concerning the food that was being served.

Jonathan and the herdsman had picked out two older bulls who were too far
past their prime to trade for new breeding stock to roast. These, in addition
to the sheep that had strayed into the mire, provided roast meat for their
guests at the fair. The cook had put the kitchen staff to work drying part of
the meat that was left, but a good portion had gone into a stew that could be
kept over the fire for several days.

Margery had said a great deal about that, too, and about his other “cheese
paring” ways. It was a great relief when they reached dessert, an almond
and cinnamon flavored custard. The dish turned out well, but Margery
turned up her nose at it, declaring that eggs had been on both the breakfast
and lunch menu in some form or another.
Jonathan liked eggs. He enjoyed them poached, boiled, and made into
custard. He appreciated the cook’s frugality in taking advantage of the
abundance of eggs available in spring and summer. He had finally had
enough of Margery’s dinner conversation. Flinging down his napkin, he
announced that dinner was at an end, and had fled to the sanctity of his
study.

Perhaps he should do as Warner suggested and have his meals in his rooms.
Goodness knew it would probably do his digestion good. But the suppers
together were the last vestige of pretending that he actually had a marriage.
With his recent observations of Margery’s behavior, he wondered why he
even bothered.

He opened the book of family history that he had been reading, but
somehow the accounts of the late 1600s didn’t hold his interest as had those
of the earliest days of the estate. Perhaps it was because he came upon a
section where an especially pious ancestor was writing about a woman
being tried as a scold.

Jonathan closed the book, and stared into the fire. The papers requesting
advice were already on their way to one of his father’s friends, a minister in
Edinburgh, and another copy on its way to a junior member of the Regent’s
court. The Prince Regent was rumored to have his own marital problems, so
Jonathan was hopeful that he might be sympathetic. Of the minister, he was
not as hopeful. The elderly man was more likely to tell him to keep his
house in order.

What should I really do about Margery? She has no idea of how the world
works. I had such hopes for this marriage. She was the daughter of my
father’s friend. The old Duke of Mabway was a jolly fellow, quite the card at
hunts and always glad to lend a helping hand when needed. Margery must
resemble her mother, but who can say? Maybe it was being raised by
servants. But other children have been raised by servants and turned out all
right.

Jonathan sighed, and used the poker to stir the fire. As sparks rose up the
chimney, he continued his ruminations.

I might almost as well have consigned my messages to the flames and let
them be delivered by the fire fairies for all the good the ones I have sent are
likely to do. How did I ever land in such a toil? I made a promise, but it is
hard to keep good on a promise when the other person is fighting against
your efforts.

Jonathan sighed again. How had he and Margery gone so wrong? They did
not move in the same circles, attend the same parties, or know the same set
of people unless it was official business that benefited the estate. They did
not sleep together.

He tended to the traditional duties of landlord and legal owner by hearing

the villagers’ small grievances against one another. She belonged to a very
fast set that was focused on the latest fashions, the best wines, and the
juiciest bits of gossip. She truly loved the London Season, and it had been
the one thing he could give to her and count on her pleasure. He had not
enjoyed telling her that this year they would remain at home.

Jonathan set his book aside and strode up into his sleeping chamber. The
fire on his hearth had burned low and the spring air was chilly. Rather than
ring for a servant, he carefully placed another log on the fire, using the fire
tongs to finish settling it in place. He then replaced the tongs and drew the
fire screen across the blaze.
There came a soft tap at the door.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but Warner sent me up with your night
tray.”

His night tray? Jonathan frowned. He didn’t recall ordering anything. But
now that he thought about it, his digestion had settled and he did feel a little
bit hungry. “I don’t recall ordering anything, but what is on this night tray?”

Jonathan opened the door. A lanky, red-haired footman stood there with a
wooden tray containing crackers, cheese and a pot of tea. “Well,” he said, “I
don’t recall ordering anything, but you can take that back and get a serving
of stew, some crusty bread and an apple. I think I might work a while
tonight. I don’t want tea, but you can bring up a brandy and a fresh snifter.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Retreating footsteps clacked on the bare wood of the
hallway floor and faded into silence.

What was that all about? Some start of Warner’s, no doubt. The man was
competent as a valet. He turned Jonathan out as fine as fivepence, dressed
in punctilious correctness. But he was not someone Jonathan relied on.
Margery had found him and hired the man as a wedding gift. It was one of
those small, wifely gestures that he had hoped for, so even though the
fellow wasn’t the best servitor Jonathan had ever had, he continued to use
his services.

Perhaps the night tray had been something Margery recommended. Perhaps
she had observed that he ate with poor appetite tonight. Oh, and just
perhaps he could whistle a fortune down out of the hills to replace his losses
on the continent. It seemed as likely.

Warner was a replacement for the valet Jonathan had inherited from his
father. The old fellow had been an excellent man, but had requested to retire
after the Duchess began to run the household. Sometimes Jonathan missed
the old fellow, who had a quiet way about him and always seemed to know
exactly what was wanted without making a great to-do about it.

There came another tap at the door. “Your Grace?” Mr. Hammonds voice
inquired.

“Yes, I am within,” Jonathan replied, opening the door to the butler. Mr.
Hammonds held a tray with the items that he had requested.

“David, one of the new under-footman, says that you refused your tea. Was
there something wrong with it?”

“Nothing, except that I did not request it.”

“How very odd,” Mr. Hammonds looked truly puzzled. “Her Grace was
certain that your doctor had prescribed a sleeping draft, and that it could be
added to a pot of tea.”

“That was months ago, on the anniversary of my father’s death. As was Dr.
Dermott’s suggestion, I have long since graduated to a snifter of brandy and
a deadly dull book. As you can see, I am engaged in recording items from
the trade fair.”

“I am sorry to have troubled you, Your Grace. I feared that the boy had
given offense.”

“No, no, Mr. Hammonds. I simply do not require the tea. I’m sure that he is
a very fine lad. A new hire you say?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Just beginning on his third week. It is my hope that he
will do well, since he is one of my grandsons. I wonder where he might
have gotten orders to bring up a night tray?”

“He said that Warner sent him up with it. But Warner should have known
that I am no longer taking the medicine Dr. Dermott prescribed. In sooth, he
gave me only enough for the one week. The stuff is fearsomely habit
forming, you know.”

“Quite, Your Grace. I’ll make inquiries in the morning. I am sorry to have
disturbed your work.”

Jonathan closed the door and once again footsteps retreated down the hall.
Jonathan had just gotten his pen nip sharpened to perfection, and uncorked
the ink bottle when there came a knock at the door. “Your Grace?” The
voice belonged to Mr. McAhmladhson, the steward.

Jonathan opened the door. “Yes?”

“I’m right sorry to be disturbing you at this late hour, Your Grace. The
housekeeper has reported that Sally Ann, the scullery maid, has gone
missing.”

“Missing? When was she last seen?”

“She was crying over the big pots, Your Grace. Fair fit to break your heart,
according to Betty. Said she needed some air and was going out for a walk.”

“A walk? At night? Does anyone know in which direction?”

“Down toward the lake, Your Grace. The cook also said that she seemed
agitated. It was a good bit earlier when she was last seen.”

“A lover’s tiff, I would guess. Let me pull on my boots and hunting jacket
and I’ll come out with you. I wasn’t accomplishing anything, anyway.”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Grace. Mr. Hammonds said you’d sent the
tea back downstairs.”
“Since I didn’t order it, that should come as no surprise to anyone.”
Jonathan turned away and rummaged in the closet for his boots and hunting
coat. Where was that fool valet when he needed him? “Do we have
anything with her scent on it?”

“Her mob cap, sir. Miss Singer found it on the path by the gate toward the
lake.”

“If we are coming in on some idiot girl’s assignation, Mr. McAhmladhson,

I’ll have your guts for garters, sure as the moon rises up over the lake.”

“Yes, Your Grace, and you may have them. But I do think this is more than
a silly girl’s love spat. It has been two hours at least since she was last seen.
It was not yet twilight when she stepped out, and it is now full dark. The
bog…”

“Quite so, Ahmlad. Well, we shall take Gertrude, the lead hound, and see
what she can find.”

Gertrude was a lovely white hound with silky fur, reddish brown ears, and
large brown spots on her sides. She was also one of the Duke’s best tracking
dogs. Some of the villagers whispered that she might be a fairy hound, with
her red ears and her sure way with tracking. But they didn’t whisper it
within the Duke’s hearing.
Mr. McOwen, the hound master, was by the low fire in the kennels,
stitching the backing on a leather collar. “Your Grace? Ahmlad? Is
something amiss?”

“Indeed there is, Murchadh,” Jonathan said. “Ahmlad tells me that Sally
Ann, the new scullery maid, is missing.”

“Are we sure she has not gone off with a friend? Rumor has it she has been
hanging about with one of the stable lads and with Warner. She seems to
have a bit of an eye for the lads.”

“Be as that may, Miss Sedgewick seems to think she might have come to
harm. Miss Singer found the girl’s mob cap on the path to the lake. We’ve
come down to get Gertrude to see if she can pick up a trail.”

There was the business of getting the dog out of the kennel, and giving her
the scent. Then the hound went snuffling and snorting around the back
garden. When she reached the lake gate, she apparently picked up a scent,
for she began baying, and was off as if shot from a bow.

The three gentlemen hastened after her, juggling lanterns and minding the
uneven terrain. The trail seemed to lead straight for the bog. “Fool girl!
What was she thinking?” Jonathan said.

Ahmlad clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Hard to say, Your Grace.”
Just then the dog’s baying changed tone, and they heard the faint cries for
help. “She’s in the Lolly Mire,” Jonathan said. “Fetch a branch or a fence
post.”

Mr. McAhmladhson looked about and saw a pile of pickets where the
gardeners had been working on the garden fence. He grabbed up three of
them, handing one to Jonathan, and another to Mr. McOwen.

As they approached the quaking edge of the mire they could see a shape
splashing about in the clinging mud.

“Don’t flail,” Mr. McAhmladhson called out. “Put your arms out wide and
hold still. Flailing about will make you go down faster.”

“Help me! It’s up to my chin.”

“We’ll have you out in a trice. Now hold your arms out, there’s a good girl.”

“Yes, sir.” The girl pushed her arms out wide on the surface of the sludgy
mire. Ahmlad carefully stretched out to his full length on the edge of the
quaking mud, pushing the picket before him.

“We’ve got your legs,” Jonathan told him, grasping his steward firmly
about one calf, above the boot, while Murchadh grasped the other.
Ahmlad stretched as far as he could go, his chest and head reaching out
over the surface of the bog in the murky water. “Take hold of the picket,
now, girl. That’s the way. Get a good firm grip. Now, can you get your other
hand on it. Good, good, that’s the way. Now roll to your side, like you was
going to lie down on your bed. Good, lass. That’s perfect.”

Ahmlad used the same strong, gentle voice Jonathan had heard him use
with horses, sheep, and once with a hysterical mother. Following the quiet,
authoritative directions, the girl was soon lying sideways on top of the bog
instead of sinking into it. In a very few minutes they were able to draw her
out onto firm ground.

Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, but Ahmlad respectfully touched his
sleeve. “Allow me, Your Grace?”

“Of course, Ahmlad.”

In the lantern light, the dripping girl had gone stock still. “Your Grace?” she
whispered as if the sound of the address had stolen the timber from her
voice.

“It is all right,” Mr. McAhmladhson soothed. “The Duke is a gentleman and
hasn’t caned any wayward maids lately.”

“Caned?” the girl looked panicked now.

“He is jesting,” Jonathan said. “In truth, I’ve never caned anyone. It is a
punishment usually reserved for naughty schoolboys.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Murchadh asked.

“I was just standing at the gate looking out over the lake. It was getting
dusk dark, and the reflection of the mountains looked real pretty on the
lake. I was just getting ready to go back inside when this voice spoke up
behind me and said, ‘Go on, jump in. You know you want to. Only bad girls
have babies ‘thout a father.’ Then it started growling, like the biggest,
meanest dog you ever heard, only there was words in it. Mean stuff, name
calling. It got closer and closer, so I opened the gate and started running. I
knew I shouldn’t run into the bog, but ever’ time I tried to turn off, the
voices got around me an’ sounded like they was gonna eat me. I was that
scairt, I couldn’t help it.” She burst into tears. “I shouldn’t a said …
shouldn’t a said…now you’ll turn me off.” She cried in great gulping sobs,
“Oh, what will become of me!”

“What a coil,” Jonathan said. “I won’t be able to keep her on here. It isn’t
done. Is there a safe place for her, Ahmlad?”

“The Gentle Sisters would take her,” Ahmlad said.

“But I ain’t Catholic,” the girl wailed. “I don’t want to go to the devil
‘cause of Catholics!”

“The Sisters are very gentle ladies,” Murchadh soothed. “They will care for
you and your baby. While you wait for it, you can decide whether you want
to keep it or give it up. I promise they will not cause you to go to the devil.”

“But how will I live? His Grace is turning me off, I can tell.”

“Not quite that,” Ahmlad tucked his coat around the shivering girl. “His
Grace is very good about finding answers for these things. Who knows?
You might be wed before the summer is out. Can you tell us the father’s
name?”

“Oh, no, Sir, Your Grace. He said he’d kill me if I told. He already done
beat me for not bein’ careful. How’s a girl supposed to be careful?”

“Don’t you worry about that now.” Mr. McAhmladhson put an arm around
the girl’s shoulders. “Let us get you to Martha. She will help you clean up
and she will get your things. We’ll come up with a suitable story about
where you have gone. Do you have family who should be notified?”

“No, sir,” the girl sniffled. “I’m an orphan. He said he liked that. Miss
Sedgewick’s gonna have my skin for this.”

“Miss Sedgewick is more likely to flay the dastard who did this,” Jonathan
ground out between his teeth. “Ahmlad, find out who is responsible, and I
want him turned off immediately.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ahmlad affirmed. “I’ll see what I can find out
first thing in the morning. We hired several new men for the stables, as
footmen, and for the guard to be sure we had plenty of help for the trade
fair. Like as not, we got a bad apple in that barrel of new staff.”

“Likely you are right,” Jonathan replied. “The trouble did seem to start
shortly before our guests started arriving. I would hate to think that it was
one of our staff who have been with us for several years.”

How can this have happened? We are just a little village, a very quiet place.
Aloud he said, “This has gone on long enough. We’ve had one death and
nearly had another. Ahmlad, I don’t want to put the full burden of this on
you. Send two of our senior footmen down to Edinburgh to have someone
sent up. It’s three days down, and three days back, but that can’t be helped.

“Meantime, carry out investigations as best you can. Constable McHenry

from the village might be able to assist you, but he is by no means up to
this. See what you can learn about the newly hired staff, and set the guard to
watch two by two.”

“Aye, Your Grace,” Mr. McAhmladhson confirmed, relief audible in his

voice. “I’ll see to it right away.”

“I’ll take the dogs out and about,” Mr. McOwen said. “Mayhap I can learn a
little something, as well.”

Sally Ann gave a little hiccupping sob. “Best we should get this young
woman in out of the cold,” Jonathan said. “It will do her no good to catch
something, especially after being dunked in bog water.”
Mr. McAhmladhson took off his greatcoat and wrapped it around the girl.
“It will be all right,” he comforted her. “Somehow, we will make this all
right.”

But Sally Ann was fairly sure that nothing would ever be right again. Her
world had come to an end, and she could see no help for it.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 21

D uchess seemed agitated the next morning when Celeste brought

in her breakfast tray. “I hear there was a commotion below stairs
last night,” the Duchess said, her eyes nearly glowing with
excitement. “Can you tell me about it?”

“One of the kitchen maids went for a walk and nearly drowned in the Lolly
Mire. Mr. McAhmladhson, Mr. McOwen, and the Duke tracked her with
Gertrude and were able to pull the young woman out of the bog before she
was quite drowned. I hear she has the lung sickness from it and will be
staying with the Gentle Sisters for a while.”

“Lung sickness.” Margery’s sharp voice dripped sarcasm. “Mind you don’t
catch this lung sickness. I’d turn you off without hesitation.”

“Of course not, Your Grace,” Celeste said, trying to hide her trembling.
“Will you take cream or sugar with your tea this morning?”

“Two sugars, sweet whipped cream, just as it was yesterday and the day
before, goose cap. Make sure that cream is sweet. The last was beginning to
turn.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” Celeste carefully prepared the cup of tea. She then
split and buttered a scone. “Will you take marmalade or berry jam with your
scone, Your Grace?”

“Marmalade. The tiny seeds in the berry jam stick in my teeth. I cannot
look less than my best today.”

Celeste did not ask what was different about today. “I will prepare a glass of
mint for you, Your Grace, to clear your palate after breakfast.”

“You do that,” the Duchess sniped. “Make it strong with no sugar.”

“Of course, Your Grace. Will you wear a morning gown or a walking gown
when you arise?”

“I think I will remain abed for a time. You need not lay anything out. I will
ring for you when I require you.”

Celeste closed the chamber door behind her with a huge sense of relief. Her
Grace was always difficult in the morning, but today she had seemed more
truculent than usual. Mr. Hammonds looked at her with sympathy as she
passed the butlery, but didn’t say anything. He was busy dressing down one
of the footmen, a lanky redhaired boy whose crinkly hair would never lie
down properly.
Warner sat in the servants’ dining room. He looked sullen and hungover.
Celeste wondered where he had been last night when the Duke was tracking
a frightened kitchen maid across the lake front and into the bog. Wherever
it was, it was clear that the valet was already the worse for drink and was
exceptionally hung over. What was the Duke doing for a valet this
morning?

“What are you looking at?” Warner demanded. “Haven’t you ever seen a
man the morning after a good time?”

“I’m sorry if I offended you, Warner,” Celeste said evenly. She loaded the
tray onto the dumbwaiter, and tugged on the bell pull beside it to start it on
its journey to the depths of the kitchen.

One of the bells above the door jangled. “Ah, the master calls and the dog
must answer.”

Celeste stared after him. What was all that about? Whatever it was, it
seemed clear that Warner was out of charity with the Duke. The Duke is so
kind to everyone; I can’t imagine why Warner would be upset with him.

Celeste realized that she was probably running late for getting started on the
household floral displays, and that Gran’ther Tim was no doubt waiting for
her. She ran down the stairs to the kitchen at a far from decorous pace. Just
as she rounded the last turn for the bottom landing, she ran right into a well-
muscled chest.
The owner of the chest made a soft “umph” sound, and she found herself
looking up into the Duke’s face.

“I am so sorry, Your Grace,” she stammered, trying to curtsy in the small

space available in the stairwell.

The Duke was dressed in a rough overcoat, worn canvas workpants, and
heavy chore boots. Clearly, he was not in his chambers above. So who had
rung for Warner?

The Duke handed her gently down the last stair and asked politely, “Where
is the fire?”

“Fire?”

“There must be one considering the way that you were pelting downstairs.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace, no fire. I am late for meeting with Gran’ther Tim. He
must be waiting for me by now.”

“Then I will not stand in your way,” said the Duke of Gwyndonmere. “The
decorations for my study and the rest of the house have never looked better.
But do slow down lest you bowl over a lesser man, or perhaps a woman.”

Now on the sandstone blocks of the kitchen floor, Celeste gave the Duke a
proper curtsy. I wish the stones would open up and swallow me, I am so
embarrassed. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will slow down and be more
careful, Your Grace.”

“See that you do.” He smiled at her, and added, “Even when there is a fire,
orderly movement toward the goal is to be preferred. Oh, and one more
thing, Miss Singer. You and Gran’ther Tim are to forage in the orangeries
today. You are not to go nigh the Lolly Mire or Gwyndonmere Lake. Do I
make myself clear?”

Celeste curtsied once more. “Yes, of course Your Grace. Did we do

something wrong?”

“No, not at all. But I value your skill as an artist very much, Miss Singer.
We have had two unfortunate accidents in the last month, and I’d prefer not
to add you or Gran’ther Tim to the list.”

“Oh!” Celeste stood still and stared at the Duke for a moment. “I had not
even thought of that. Thank you, Your Grace. I will try not to rob the
Orangeries of too many of their blossoms.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just stay safe. I’ll have Mr. Hammonds send
young David Hammonds and Miss McGuire to keep the two of you
company and to help carry things. David is in trouble with Mr. Hammonds
over something he said, and being your assistant for today might keep him
out of more hot water.”

The Duke gave her a nod, and went on up the stairs. Celeste went on into
the kitchen at a more sedate pace.
“Celeste!” Martha came bustling over. “Are you well? You look pale.”

Celeste said. “I ran into the Duke.”

“You ran into the Duke?”

“Just now. I was running down the stairs, because…well, because I thought
I was late for meeting with Gran’ther Tim, and I ran right into the Duke. I
am so embarrassed!”

“Embarrassed? Running? Over a meeting with Gran’ther Tim?”

“And, oh, Warner spoke to me in oddly.... But the Duke rang for him, and
he went away.” Celeste stopped and caught her breath. “But it couldn’t have
been the Duke because I just ran into him. This makes no sense at all.”

Martha looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps the Duke rang from the
stables. He does sometimes when he is in a hurry. I would not read too
much into it.”

“He does? Then that must have been it. Warner certainly looked irritated to
be called. I can’t imagine why he would be. The Duke is so easy to work
for.” And a dream to look at, listen to and just to be near. He is such a
handsome man, so well-spoken and courteous. I feel so foolish for running
into him, but that chest was all muscle when I bumped into it. What would it
be like to be held against that chest?

Martha smiled wryly. “He is for those who are interested in working.
Warner has a way of slipping off when there is anything but taking care of
the Duke’s needs to be done.”

Celeste raised her eyebrows. “Why does the Duke keep him on, then?”

“Warner was a wedding gift from the Duchess to the Duke. She said he
needed someone who could turn him out in style.”

“I can’t imagine the Duke being other than in style.”

“Well, Celeste, it would seem that there is style and then there is Style. The
Duke always dressed well enough by our standards. But the Duchess is
ambitious. She wants to make a Name for herself in London.”

“So the Duke has to dress to suit her?” Celeste bristled with mild
indignation of behalf of her employer.

“I would never have it heard that I said so.”

Celeste laughed. “I have not heard it yet. I must go. Gran’ther Tim is likely
wondering if something has happened to me by now.”
“’Deed he is,” Gran’ther Tim came in from the garden door into the kitchen.
“I was about to send David and Betty to see what had become of you, but
here you are havin’ a rare old clishmaclaver with Miss Sedgewick.”

Miss Sedgewick wagged a finger at the old gardener. “Go along with ye
now, yer an old clishbag yersel’ now and again.”

Gran’ther Tim spread a hand over his chest, in pretended horror. “Me? Why
I am the soul of discretion. Never a word of gossip would come from these
lips. But I’ll own I do like a juicy story, that I do.”

Martha laughed at his antics. “Go on, Celeste. I’ll keep an ear out for Her
Grace and send someone up if she rings.”

Celeste followed Gran’ther Tim out to his wheelbarrow where Betty and
David stood waiting.

“So’s we’s for the orangeries t’day,” Gran’ther Tim said. “’is grace don’t
wan’ none o’ you lot sinkin’ in the bog t’day. ‘e’s got ‘nough on ‘is mind. ‘e
don’t need to be havin’ to take Gertrude out ta sniff out any more lackwits
as go wanderin’ in there.”

“Will there be enough plants for the Duke’s study and the house, Gran’ther
Tim?” Celeste asked.
“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout that, none,” the old gardener said. “The late
Duke, our present Duke’s father, loved his flowers. We’s got all kinds o’
blossoms an’ ferns. One thing ‘bout gardenin’ indoors, you can pick how
warm or wet it is. Not like gardenin’ outside where it’s God’s weather or tha
Wee Folk you gots to worrit over.”

Celeste managed to keep her face straight over this mixing of the gospel
and folklore, even when Betty glanced at David and rolled her eyes at him.

Gran’ther Tim caught them at it, even so. “Now, David, din’ Mr.
Hammonds, as is your own Granda, rebuke ye roundly this very morn fer
disrespect? An’ here ye are encouragin’ tha lassie ta do likewise.”

Apparently, this was too much for Betty McGuire, who burst into giggles.

David Hammonds said, “Sorry, Gran’ther Tim.”

Celeste, who had been admiring tables of luscious blooms in a section of

the orangery that had been partitioned off with lattice, thought she should
distract the three of them before both David and Betty should be “rebuked
roundly” by Gran’ther Tim.

“Gran’ther Tim, what are these lovely blooms over here? Is there a special
reason why they are shut off from the other parts of the orangery?”

“Ah, well, now, Miss Singer, we grows that lot for the apothecary over at
the Gentle Sisters. You’ll not be wantin’ none o’ that lot for yer boo-kays.
Purty as they are, they’s stuff in there would strike ye dead just fer touchin’
it thout gloves.”

“Oh. Oh, dear. Whatever could the apothecary use such things for?”

“Ye see, they’s some of ‘em that if done up right can help instead o’ hurt.
Fer instance, see those purty purple un’ yella flowers over there? That’s
monkshood. Some calls it wolfsbane, cause it was used to kill wolves. But
most folks don’ use it fer that cause it’ll kill just about anything else, too.
The teeniest bit, though, can help a failing heart or ease joint pains.”

“But if it’s not used right?”

“It’ll kill ye deader ‘n’ anything. And not a purty death. I don’ let no one
‘cept myself tend it, an’ I wears gloves and a long-sleeved shirt that I wash
out mysel’.”

“And that trumpet shaped purple blossom?”

“That’s nightshade, Miss Singer. You’ll not be wanting that either.”

“I’m glad we didn’t come in here without a guide. Where should we look?”

“Come on over here.” Gran’ther Tim led the way to a curtain made of
coarsely woven fibers interspersed with tiny translucent panes of something
that looked like glass. He gently pulled the curtain aside. A cloud of warm,
moist air escaped. “This is the hothouse, where we keeps the orchids,
African violets, rose crosses, and tha like.”

They stepped into a land of wonder. Long tables held row after row of
blossoms in every tint and shade, from tiny white bell-shaped flowers to a
crimson cabbage rose that was so dark that the petals were nearly black.
“These’uns are at ther prime, and won’t be near so purty next week. You
can use anything in here you want.”

Celeste headed for a bed of ivory lilies. She already had a good idea what
she would use for the Duke’s study. I might not be able to solve the
mysterious incidents or get the Duchess to be a nicer wife, but I can make a
beautiful arrangement with his favorite flowers.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 22

J onathan shook his head in amusement as he climbed the stairs

from the kitchen. Surely Miss Singer could not have been in
that big of a hurry to meet with Gran’ther Tim! Could it have
been that she was that eager to meet with young David
Hammonds? No, that could not have been it. She had not known that the
young man would be accompanying them because it was a last-minute
decision. Mr. Hammonds was exceedingly upset with his grandson over a
flippant remark about one of the housemaids.

In view of recent events, Jonathan could scarcely blame the butler for his
outrage. It was no time for careless remarks that could be misconstrued by
investigators, even though it was likely to be at least six or seven days
before the men he had sent for the constable could return.

Still, it could not have been David who had her all of a twitter. He felt a
strange sense of relief that the young man could not have been the cause of
her precipitous flight down the stairs. Whatever did we do for amusement
before she came?

Miss Singer’s body had been slender and lithe against him in the brief
moment when she had bounced off his chest. How prettily she had colored
up with embarrassment, yet she had maintained her decorum. For a fleeting
minute I wanted to hold her, to make sure that she was all right. What is
wrong with me? I am married, however unhappily, and even if I were not,
we are worlds apart. Even such a moment begun in all innocence would be
wrong. It would be like owning a masterpiece painting and covering it up
with your own work.

Jonathan shook his head to clear it and went on up to his rooms to change
into something more presentable than the clothing he wore to work with the
horses in the stable. Warner was waiting for him with his fresh clothing laid
out. The dun colored trousers were unremarkable, as was the linen shirt.
The ensemble would be completed with a dark brown jacket.

“None of your fancy neckcloth tying today, Warner,” Jonathan directed.

“I’m a plain country gentleman today, dealing with matters having to do
with the estate, not some fanciful dandy.”

“I understand, Your Grace,” Warner commiserated. “What a sad state of

affairs. Have you any idea as to the culprit?”

“None at all. We’ve never had this sort of problem before, so I don’t think it
is anyone who lives here or has worked at the estate for very long.”

Warner quickly brushed and fastened Jonathan’s hair at the nape of his neck
with a dark brown ribbon. He then helped the Duke ease into his coat.
Although it was not as tight as some of the worn by more fashionable men,
the cut was good and Jonathan needed no padding to fill out the shoulders
nicely.
“There you are, Your Grace. Every inch the country gentleman, quite
respectable.”

“Thank you, Warner. Respectable is what I shall need this morning. I am

meeting first with the men on staff, except for Gran’ther Tim and young
David, who are escorting the gathering party for the household floral
arrangements. Then I will meet with Constable McHenry from the village
and the village council. We must get to the bottom of this before anything
further can happen to anyone.”

“Oh, I quite agree, Your Grace. With so many young ladies on the staff, you
could scarcely do otherwise. Why, if this goes on, the household would
become completely disrupted.”

“An interesting point of view, Warner. And while I am thinking about it,
would you please step back a little from your flirting with the maids? It has
gone a bit beyond pleasing, and I have received several complaints. We are
a decent, Christian household, even if our villagers do still dance the
maypole and put out milk for the fairies.”

“Quaint customs, to be sure, Your Grace. I will have a care to be more

discreet, but I can assure you that all of my amours are willing.”

“There’s willing, and then there’s willing,” Jonathan said. “Do not lead the
young ladies on the staff astray. I’ll not take kindly to it. More than that, this
is not a time when you should wish to draw attention to yourself as a lady’s
man.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Your Grace.” Warner bowed slightly. “Will you have
further need of me?”

“It is unlikely that I shall, but stay where you can hear the bells. You have
been remarkably laggard in your responses of late.”

“I’ll be sure to be on hand, Your Grace.”

“See that you are.”

Jonathan stalked out of his rooms, fuming. The encounter set him on edge.
The man was not a comfortable person to be near. Sometimes Jonathan
longed for amiable old Edward Smith, the valet he inherited from his father.
But Smith and Margery had been at loggerheads from the moment she set
foot in the house. For the sake of a little peace, he had pensioned old Smith
off when he asked to be let go.

Jonathan saw his old valet now and again. The venerable fellow lived in a
little cottage near the mill, just at the bottom of the green. He kept a little
garden, and seemed content. For a moment Jonathan wondered what it
would be like to live with so few responsibilities. It must be pleasant to
have only your own little plot to tend, to sit in the sun on warm days and tell
stories to the village children. Especially if you could sit there with a person
as delightful as Miss Singer, having grown old in her company, relying on
her good sense and support.

Well, each to their own last, as his late father used to say. Jonathan squared
his shoulders, shook off the daydream, and entered the main hall.
The masculine members of the staff were seated in rows. No doubt this was
the handiwork of Mr. Hammonds, who would know down to the last pin the
right way to go about setting up a meeting. Indeed, the gentlemanly butler
stood at the back of the hall, surveying the young men sitting before him.

“His Grace, the Duke of Gwyndonmere!” Mr. Hammonds announced in his

sonorous, perfectly modulated voice.

There was a bit of shuffling as the staff members rose, then sat back down
when Jonathan sat in the big oak chair on the slightly raised dais at the front
of the room.

“As you have probably heard, we have had a death and a young woman
pursued and frightened by someone or something. There is no solid
evidence as to the person responsible for these deeds, but I am going to ask
all of you to be extra respectful of the female staff members and to do your
part in helping prevent any further incidents.

“We will be cooperating with Constable McHenry from the village, and I
have sent to Edinburgh for a specialist to assist him. We are not prepared for
crime on this level, nor shall it be tolerated. Rest assured that when the
culprit is found, he shall be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Jonathan paused, and sipped some of the water that was on his desk. “Most
of you have worked on the estate for many years. A few of you have been
hired recently. In light of our current troubles, the extra guards who were
hired for the trading fair will be kept on. Your duties will be to patrol the
grounds two by two, and to watch for anything unusual.”

Jonathan smiled wryly. “While I am not usually in favor of being my

brother or sister’s keeper, if you see any lover’s trysts, you will break them
up immediately and escort the couple to me. Otherwise, you shall all carry
out your normal duties. Any questions? None? Then you are all dismissed
to return to work.”

As the staff members stood up and walked quietly out of the hall, Jonathan
walked back to where Mr. Hammonds stood by the door. “Did I do it
right?” he asked the old butler softly.

“You did beautifully, Your Grace. Your father, the late Duke, could not have
done better. I am just sorry that it is such a sad occasion that has prompted
use of your oratory skills.”

Jonathan sighed. “Likewise, Mr. Hammonds. Likewise. Now, when should I

expect the villagers?”

“At any moment, I should suspect, Your Grace. Do you want to come in at
the last as you did for this presentation, or will you receive them as they
arrive?”

“I will receive them. With the staff, I wanted it known that I will not
tolerate any nonsense. But the villagers are my neighbors, my tenants, and
some of them I even consider friends. They are frightened and worried. I do
not think the maid was well known to them since the agency in Edinburgh
listed her as an orphan, but they will be thinking about their own
daughters.”

Then Jonathan smiled. “I have seen the effectiveness of a crowd of country

folk when they are roused. Given the right incentive, an armored knight can
be pulled down and defeated by a sufficiently determined mob. We are
isolated here. Our well-being and safety are dependent on mutual
cooperation and friendship. Besides, someone among them might have seen
or heard something that will be useful.”

“Truer words were never spoken, Your Grace. I am glad to hear you put it
so. I’ll do my best to put them at ease, and announce them to you as they
arrive. Where will you sit?”

“I’ll come down and sit at the head of the table, as a first among equals.
This loss, this terrible thing that has come to us, affects everyone.”

It seemed to Jonathan that it took forever for the villagers to file in.
Sometimes they arrived one or two at a time, sometimes they came in
family units or clumps of associated businessmen. After a time, Mr.
Hammonds had to send a footman to ask staff to bring up more chairs.

Through it all, however, he had a word or two for each one as they came in.
He asked after family members and commented on small doings in the
village. There was Mr. Cory, the blacksmith, who had sent a son to the
College of Law in Edinburgh with Jonathan’s help and blessing. Mrs.
Brandenburg, the candy maker, came in with her emaciated husband and
three plump children. Three of the Gentle Sisters, in their soft brown habits
and crisp white wimples came in the company of Father Jacob. Parson
Graves, his wife Lillian, and Deacon Brown represented the local Kirk.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones, the village gardeners, entered in the company of Mr.
Brown the shepherd, who was older brother to Deacon Brown and had
taken on young Pete Brown as an apprentice. Finally, there was Constable
McHenry bringing up the rear of the long line of interested parties. The
Constable nodded to Mr. Hammonds as he entered. Mr. Hammonds looked
out, and seeing no more people, closed the door.

After he had greeted everyone, Jonathan sat down and listened to what his
people had to say.

At first, they were very quiet. Then Brother Jacob spoke up. “We are
grateful to you for sending Sally Ann to us, Your Grace. We will take very
good care of her.”

Deacon Brown spoke up. “Well you should. But don’t scare the girl by
telling her of your heathenish ways.”

Parson Graves lightly laid a hand on Deacon Brown’s sleeve. “Deacon, the
Sisters have always taken good care of the girls. Many of them are able to
go on and have normal lives, in other locations, of course.”

“Other girls?” Jonathan looked puzzled. “There have been other girls?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Brown spoke out. “Not many, not like some
of the great houses, but one or two a year. Sometimes a lad will come
forward and let it be known that the babe is his. Then we have a wedding,
and if the babe is a little early . . . well, that is not all that unusual with a
first baby.”

“But sometimes,” added Mrs. Brandenburg with conspiratorial relish, “the

girls refuse to tell who the father might be. Just like this Sally Ann. We
always suspected that it was someone high up in the Castle who didn’t want
it known who he was.” She stared meaningfully at the Duke until her lean
husband must had pinched her or kicked her ankle, because she said,
“Ouch!” and turned to glower at the man.

One of the Sisters looked at Brother Jacob, as if to ask permission to speak.

“Go on, Sister Sarah,” Brother Jacob said. “It is why you wanted to come.”

“I was one of those girls,” said the Sister. “I never knew his name, because
he always wore a mask. I was a dairy maid, and he used to like to sing that
silly song about a maid going milking. He spoke well, with a low-lander
accent.”

“That could be any of a dozen men in the Duke’s employ,” said Constable
McHenry. “Still, Father Jacob and I thought you should hear of it from her
own lips, Your Grace.”

“I can tell you that it was not I,” Jonathan said, fixing Mrs. Brandenburg
with a stare when she began to put a smirk on her face.

“Oh, no, not a bit of it,” said Sister Sarah. “I would recognize the voice, I
think. Your’s is nothing like it, Your Grace. You’ve always had a wee bit of
a lilt, like singing, to your voice. But your voice is deeper, his was higher.
Not like a woman’s voice, but higher.”

“I would never accuse you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Brandenburg burst out.

“I am glad to hear it,” Jonathan said. “What I would really like to know is
why I have only just now been informed that there have been other young
women?”

Mr. Smith, shrugged, and lifted his hands, palm up. “What do you do when
it might be someone in charge? But the thing is, Your Grace, usually the
girls are just hastily married off and no more said about it. But killing
them…this is new and not at all good.”

“Well, we are in agreement on one thing,” Jonathan replied. “It is not good.
Nor do I think that any of you should have to endure such things, even if it
is hushed up and the girls wed. Mr. McAhmladhson and Mr. McOwen will
work with Constable McHenry to see what they can learn between them.
Mr. Hammonds and Miss Sedgewick will make themselves available to any
servants, or any of you, who want to share information. And I’ve sent to
Edinburgh for a specialist to help us in our time of need.”

One by one, the villagers filed out. When they were gone, Jonathan sat
down heavily in his chair and rested his face in his hands. Mr. Hammonds
and Mr. McAhmladhson sat down in the chairs on either side of him.

“Gentlemen, we have a problem. Apparently, we have had a seducer among

us for several years. But lately, he is increasing his game. This is not
tolerable. It would seem this has been going on for more than ten years, yet
none of us have caught wind of it until now.”

“It is possible,” Mr. Hammonds said, “that it is not someone employed on

the main estate at all. It could be someone who has moved into the
neighborhood.”

“It could be, I suppose,” Jonathan thought about it for a moment. “But why
now? Why is it increasing now? It just does not make sense.”

Mr. McAhmladhson pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Perhaps,” he said slowly,

“We should think about things that have changed. What is rationally or even
radically different from last year or the year before? What new thing has
come into our lives?”

“We’ve hired new staff. But staff come and go, I don’t think that would be
it.” Jonathan furrowed his brow in thought. “I didn’t go to Parliament this
year. But I can’t think what that would have to do with this. Beyond that,
Ahmlad, everything is pretty much the same as always.”

“Well, Your Grace, since none of us three are criminal masterminds intent
on killing others, it is not surprising that we can’t put our finger right on it.
But I’d be willing to stake my next year’s pay that when we discern what
we did differently this year, it will reveal what triggered this whole
nightmare.”

“The only thing I can think of that is radically different is that the Duchess
and I are not going to London this Season. But how could that create a
situation like this? It is completely daft to think that it would set off such a
chain of events. After all, the one person who truly resents not having a
London Season is my wife. One thing for sure, she is unlikely to be
seducing young women or murdering them.”

“True enough, Your Grace, True enough. Whoever is committing these

crimes is definitely male.”

After a little more talk, Mr. McAhmladhson and Mr. Hammonds went on
about their business, and Jonathan sat at the table staring into space. What
had changed?

So much was different, with the war on the continent, with distant change
bringing changes closer at hand. The budget for the estate had never been
so close before. He had never stayed home from Parliament. And there was
one very special change. But that change had to remain locked in his heart.
He should not even admit it to himself.

Miss Singer has captured my heart. She is the biggest change that has come
to Gwyndonmere, and yet she has done nothing but do her duty. She does
that excellently. Her manners are so genuine and unaffected that she is
well-liked, even by the other females on staff. And I miss her company if she
were gone. But these are thoughts that must never pass my lips, so they
cannot be what has precipitated these terrible crimes.

Unless this is God’s way of punishing me for lusting after a young woman
when I am a married man?
Jonathan shook his head at the sophistry of that last thought. God would not
punish others for my misdeeds, nay for my thoughts, on which I have not
acted.

No, this thing that had come to Gwyndonmere had a human agent. The
question was, who?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 23

J onathan stared down the long empty table that had so recently
seated his tenants and neighbors. What was happening to his
home? What had been going on that no one felt courageous
enough to bring to his attention?

He poured himself a glass of the water from the pitcher that was sitting
there and took a sip. It had an odd bitter flavor that lingered in the back of
his mouth. Making a face, he moved to the casement window that looked
out over the formal gardens and the entry to the stables.

I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve hunted with these people, helped with
harvests, and celebrated the seasons. Yet they have not trusted me enough
to bring me this deep sorrow. How many young women has it been? Were
there some in London about which I had no idea?

Jonathan watched his wife ride into the stable yard. She wore a becoming
blue habit, a tall hat with an ostrich feather that threatened to dwarf her
head. She sat her horse remarkably well. It took skill to ride in a side saddle
and still control the horse, especially one that was a spirited as the dapple
mare Margery favored.
If Margery was back from her ride, then it was nearly time to dress for
dinner. Appearances must be kept up no matter what. His father had drilled
into him that the steady round of meals served, the appearance of the head
of the household, and the even tenor of customary events kept the estate
from coming apart at the seams. The last thing he needed to do at this time
was to ravel the customary routine of servants and householders alike.

Turning away from the window, he fought off a wave of dizziness. His
vision steadied and he continued on up to his chambers where he prepared
for dinner. As he stood, he realized that he had forgotten to eat anything
before meeting with his staff and villagers. That must be it, I am a little
faint from lack of food. Although it never used to bother me.

He held to the rail as he climbed the stair to his chambers. For a miracle,
Warner was waiting there with his fresh clothing laid out.

“I have put out your third best, Your Grace, since it is my understanding
that you and the Duchess will be dining alone tonight.”

Jonathan nodded wearily. “Yes. Our guests have all gone home, and I have
no desire to entertain this night.” It does seem a pity to prepare that great
dining room for just the two of us. But otherwise I would have no
opportunity at all to try to persuade Margery to fulfill her duties.

It took an effort of will to stand upright while Warner fussed over his
garments, but at last Jonathan was dressed and in good order.
He walked down the hall as if going to his own execution. As ill as he felt,
the last thing he wished to do was to escort Margery to dinner and listen to
her snipe at him. Why could she not for once, just once, say something
pleasant or kind?

Expecting that was like asking water to run up hill, or a bunny to attack a
wolf.

Well, he had made this bed, now he must lie in it. Isn’t that what the country
folk say?

He shook his head. Fanciful. That’s what he was, just fanciful. Nothing
wrong here that a good meal and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t cure.

Now to persuade my mind to settle down so I can manage to procure both.

And I’ll not get to it by dragging my heels on the way to dinner. I have
managed through nearly ten years of these dinners. One more is not going
to break me. Just one more foot right after the other. Left, right, left, right…
yes, fanciful and not very coordinated.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 24

C eleste was just putting the finishing touches on a fresh arrangement

of white lilies, baby’s breath and ferns, when the Duke strode in
with Benny and Brodie at his heels. He had been out for a walk,
and carried the scent of fresh morning air and crushed grass about him.

Celeste bobbed a curtsey, then set the oblong brass flowerpot on its pedestal
in the corner opposite the fireplace, and turned to the Duke. “Good
morning, Your Grace. Good morning, Benny and Brodie.”

“You know their names!” The Duke looked pleased.

“I met them a few days ago when Mr. McOwen had them up in the attic,
practicing at catching rats. They are such beautiful little dogs! May I offer
them each a treat?”

“Of course!” Jonathan smiled, a boyish, happy smile that made Celeste’s
heart turn over with delight just looking at it.
Celeste fished in her apron pocket and brought out a wrapped package.
From it, she extracted two fried dough balls. She bent down and offered one
to each of the terriers in turn. They gobbled them down, then Benny sat on
his haunches and waved his paws in the air, while Brodie chased her tail,
circling around three times, before she sat down and looked at Celeste
expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” she told them, “That was all I had. You’ll have to wait until I
get some more.”

“I hope they did not just eat your breakfast, Miss Singer.”

“Oh, no. I learned this from Miss Sedgewick. Since Mr. McOwen has been
taking them about the house, we’ve been far less troubled by mice and rats.
She has the cook make up fried dough balls to give them for treats, and we
all keep at least two in our pockets to reward them.”

“Oh, my!” Jonathan laughed. “I’m glad you only gave them one each. If
everyone is rewarding them, they shall soon be fat as little butterballs.”

“I don’t think they hold still long enough to get fat.” Celeste sank down on
her knees, and held out a hand to each of the pups. They dashed up to her,
putting their paws on her knees, and wiggling in an ecstasy of joy at being
given attention.

“You certainly have a way with them.” Jonathan watched her as she petted
the terriers and scratched their ears.
“They are so sweet, it would be hard not to like them.” Celeste snuggled
each one in turn, then stood up, shaking out her skirts. “But perhaps it is a
good thing that I am wearing my plant tending apron.” She looked down
ruefully at the pawprints and fur on the white fabric.

“Quite so,” Jonathan laughed. “I have often thought that dress makers and
tailors should create pet-colored clothing so that one need not worry about
brushing off before going into company.”

“What an amiable thought.” Celeste flashed a smile at him. “Perhaps you

should suggest it.”

“I shall certainly keep it in mind,” Jonathan said. “Perhaps I will suggest a

riding costume to match my horse, as well.”

“Do horses shed, Your Grace?”

“Oh, they do, indeed, Miss Singer. Fortunately, the grooms usually have
most of the loose hair brushed off before I get on my horse and the saddle
blanket further protects my breeches.”

“Perhaps, then, it is only for dogs that one needs matching clothing,”
Celeste said.

“I have an aunt who keeps a large quantity of cats in her home. It is my

observation that her cats shed a great deal more than dogs, and they require
more cleaning after. Fortunately for her, my grandfather gave her an
excellent bequest at his death and her man of business is a canny old soul
who has done very well by her in the way of investments.” Better than I
have done. Perhaps I should take lessons. “Since her income is generous,
she has no problem hiring plenty of servants to clean up after her cats.”

“What an amazing thought. We had just such a lady in our village, but she
had no servants, so the cats all lived out of doors. They could be quite a
nuisance. Some people whispered that she was a witch, but I think she was
just a lonely old woman.”

“Most likely. Do you like cats, Miss Singer?”

“Sometimes. It really depends on the cat. I’ve not had much of a chance to
be around a lot of animals. Mama and Papa always said that it cost a lot to
keep an animal. We had a goat once.”

While Jonathan digested this bit of information, and tried to think of

something suitable to say in return, Betty knocked on the doorframe of the
study. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” she said. “The Duchess is
asking for Miss Singer.”

“Of course, Miss McGuire. Miss Singer, I will not keep you any longer.”

As the two maids hastened away, Jonathan watched them go. Celeste’s
slender frame in her well-fitted uniform was a strong contrast to Miss
McGuire’s stockier form, as was her neatly braided blonde knot a contrast
to the other maid’s frizzy ginger curls that were constantly escaping her
braids.
She is just amazing. She has taken to the dogs and they to her, even though
she never had a pet. She gets on well with the other maids, and Mr.
Hammonds relies on her. What did we do without her? What will I do if she
leaves?

Jonathan sighed. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Well, no amount of

sighing will keep up the estate records, nor will it discover who it is that has
been despoiling the maids and sometimes hurting them. He picked up his
pen and began entering figures into neat columns.

Then he paused. What was the name of his aunt’s man of business? She and
her household lived in Edinburgh. Perhaps the old fella could give me some
pointers on recouping my losses. I think I should write him a letter. He
might even be able to give me some pointers on managing females since he
seems to have managed my aunt all this time. But then, he isn’t married to
her.

I’ve heard it said that marriage turns both men and women into monsters.
Perhaps if I had not married Margery, she would be an ordinary, amiable
girl.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 25

S hadowy figures slipped through the gloaming on the heights

above Gwyndonmere Lake. One by one, they furtively entered an
old cow byre set on the edge of a highland meadow. A man clad
in a dark cloak with a mask over his face sat on a lump of turf on a slightly
raised mound at one end of the byre. Rude seats made of rolls of turf,
mounds of hay, and planks laid across turf were set out for the rank and file.

When the men were seated, the masked man rose and addressed them all.

“You know why we are here,” he said. “It is time to drive the sheep out of
the Highlands and to take back our old way of life. Too long have we
suffered beneath the heel of the English. They have laid waste to one croft
after another, and destroyed or deported the clans.”

The gathering shifted restlessly, waiting to hear more. “Down there in

Gwyndonmere Vale sits one of the cursed English, put in charge not even
one hundred years ago and given the title of ‘duke’. The current duke’s
great-grandfather was a mere harper in the king’s court, a jester if you will.
The king thought it a great joke to put his court jester in charge of
Gwyndonmere, where our ancestors lived since the before times.”
Silence greeted the figure. It wasn’t what the masked man expected. “The
great sheep drive almost succeeded,” he continued his narration. “We can
begin here, take back the castle, and restore Gwyndonmere to its former
glory.”

An old man stood up at the back of the byre, folded his arms, and spoke out.
“Now, see here, laddie. I’m thinkin’ ye’ve got yer history just a little bit off.
I remember the Sheep Drive, an’ I also remembers what become of the
fellers as set it goin’. What’s more, I think ye might have the Dook’s
gran’thers a might off. That there Harper fella was a might few more
generations back than yer makin’ out. When other Dukes were pushin’ Clan
off the hills an’ out ta tha sea, tha Duke o’ Gwyndonmere held on fast an’
kept his people. Ef tha’s wha’ happens when ya sets a court jester ta rule,
I’ll take it. Come on, lads. I think we’s heared enough.”

With that, the oldster turned around and stalked out of the byre. Nearly all
of the masked man’s audience stood up and walked out with him. Seven
men remained.

“Well,” said one of the seven, “that didn’t quite go as expected.”

“They will come round,” said the masked man. “I’ll see to it. They just
aren’t quite ripe for the picking. All it will take is a few words here and a
few there to undermine Jonathan Harper and topple him from his little
dukedom.”
“An’ how’s’it ye plan to do that?” another man asked, his London gutter
accents harsh against the echoes of the mellow Scottish brogue that seemed
to still echo from the oldster’s declaration.

“Wait and see.” The man puffed out a breath that blew against the skirt of
his mask. “If I told you now, you’d not be proper surprised when the time
comes. But you and Smythe make sure that you are paired up when doing
your rounds. The Duke seems to think that by having guards go two-by-two
he’s keepin’ the ‘bad apples’ in line.”

“Bad apples? Is that what he’s calling a woman dead and another near
drowned?”

The masked man nodded at the speaker. “Oh, aye, that he is. He is that
upset that such has happened in his manor house. It just goes to show what
a weak-willed fool he is that is set to govern the valley. He doesn’t even
know what is going on in his own house.”

Smythe spoke up. “I’ll be sure to pair up with Wilson. The pairing is
supposed to be random, but I’ve got a favor or two to call in. ‘Sides, Wilson
has made himself that unpopular that I won’t have no trouble tradin’ out.”

“See to it, Smythe,” the masked man directed. “The more we can keep the
Duke off balance, the easier it will be for me to continue to carry out the
Plan. We’ll be running Gwyndonmere before you know it. The common
people shall prevail.”
“Viva la revolucion!” said a small chunky man wearing a striped, tubular
hat with a tassle on the end.

“Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité ou la mort!” affirmed a tall man with a

cadaverous face.

“Hush, brothers,” the masked man said softly, “Sound carries in these hills.
Would you give all away? But if we play our cards just right, the cursed
English will have a small army climbing up their backside before the year is
out. Gwyndonmere is the perfect staging area.”

“An’ what do you get out of it?” demanded a man who had been sitting
quietly to one side.

“I get a toehold that will allow me to revive the revolution, and my friend
over there,” he nodded to another masked man, “will gain the woman of his
dreams,” the masked man replied. “Just wait and see.”

“La femme fatal,” the previous speaker chuckled. “I’ve seen that one. Are
you not sure that you are not taking on more than any one man can handle?”

“Oh, I can handle her,” the second masked man boasted. “She is putty in my
hands. Already she has brought the Duke so close to ruin with her profligate
spending that he is foregoing his session in Parliament. She is quite wroth
with him for denying her a chance to swank around during the London
Season. All I need to do is offer her a chance to regain her social position
and she will do anything I say.”
After a few more words, the seven stood up and six of them filed out. The
seventh turned and looked at the second masked man. “Be careful of
becoming too over-confident. Plans that turn on the whims of a woman are
easily over-set. The Duchess might be the pea goose you make her out to
be, or that could be an act. Moreover, are you sure you have understood the
inheritance laws? Have a care my friend, and look sharp to the games you
play. If you run afoul of the local constabulary, I’ll make no move to pull
your fat out of the fire.”

“Have no fear,” said the second masked man. “I know just how to make the
Duke look the fool and to wind the Duchess around my fingers, poor lonely
woman that she is. The Duke has no idea how to woo or win her.”

“Be as that may, I’ve seen evidence of your handywork of late. If you tip
your hand too early, all will be lost.” With that, the seventh man left the
cattle byre and was swallowed up by the night.

The masked man waited until the last footsteps had died away, then he
removed his mask and tucked it in his pocket. He took out a dark piece of
cloth and wiped his face, then pulling up the hood of his cloak, he began to
make his way down the treacherous cliff path back to Gwyndonmere castle.
The Duke simply does not know what treacherous ground he walks upon. I
will depose him; I will have my revenge. And I will make a way for
Napoleon to bring his armies through Scotland and into England. I have no
love for the French, but I have none for the English either. They made my
childhood a living hell. Why should I care what happens to them?

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 26

C eleste hurried to assist the Duchess get ready for the day. The
beautiful white lily was carefully ensconced in the Duke’s study,
its perfect bloom a symbol of hope. It was simply too bad that such
horrible events had come to Gwyndonmere. The place was nearly picture
perfect; a gem left untouched in spite of the various troubles that had so
recently come to Scotland.

She had confidence in His Grace, and in his ability to overcome the
tribulations that marred the harmony of the little valley. She would do her
best to carry out her part, keeping the greenery in the castle refreshed and
serving the Duchess as best she could, just as she had promised the Duke.

The footman on duty in the hall held the heavy door to the Duchess’s
chambers open for her as she sidled carefully through it, carrying the heavy
tea tray.

The cook had done his best to create a tempting breakfast for the Duchess.
The tray held a half melon from the orangery, a dish of curds, soft buns,
lightly toasted on the inside, and a large pot of India tea. Celeste settled it
carefully on the bedside table, and began to prepare the Duchess’s cup of
tea.
“How was the orangery?” the Duchess asked.

“Beautiful, Your Grace,” Celeste answered, a little startled. “There are so

many lovely blossoms and fruits. Your melon came from there. It is one of
the first of the season. And the dairy maid has sent up fresh curds, just for
you.”

“Oh. Curds.” the Duchess turned her eyes toward the window, then looked
back at Celeste. “They are fresh?”

“Quite fresh, Your Grace. And there is a little clotted cream to go on them,
if you would like. The sweet cream for your tea is from the morning’s
skimming. There are strawberries, as well, if you would prefer them to the
melon. Or you can have both.”

“Tuck the curds in the top of the melon, and top them with strawberry
slices. They are quite delicious that way.”

Celeste took the Duchess’s word for it since indulging in the luxury of both
strawberries and melon was far out of her personal experience. It was
enough to make her morning brighter when the Duchess sipped her tea and
then bit into a piece of toasted bread with evident pleasure.

“This is quite good,” the Duchess remarked. “You have very odd ideas
about what gowns should be worn, and your hair-styles are naïve to say the
least, but you do have a way with the creature comforts. Perhaps when our
resources have recovered a bit, I shall ask the Duke to hire a hairdresser.
Yes, I believe that would serve very well. Where is the Duke this morning,
by the way?”

“I could not say for certain, Your Grace, but I believe he is in his study.
With all of the unusual events, the word below stairs is that he is going over
accounts, and then plans to look about for any more information that might
be had about the miscreant.”

“Oh, of course. Always so conscientious, is my husband. One might almost

imagine him as some sort of feudal lord, tucked away up here in the hills.”

“The villagers admire him very much, Your Grace. You are a very lucky
woman to have such a worthy man as a husband.”

“Worthy. Pah. He isn’t even going to Parliament this Season, but is sending
a proxy. Were I in his place, I would certainly set someone’s ears to ringing
over the sorry state of affairs here and abroad.”

“What would you say to them, Your Grace?”

“Why, I should remind them that we need security here so close to the
Channel. Who knows what riffraff might be making their way across from
France with all the unrest? I’d remind them that we should have a say in the
laws that are passed, that we are not nonentities, even if our holding is
distant from the capital.”
“I am sure Your Grace would set them straight,” Celeste commented with
an absolutely straight face, mentally thanking her stars that Christopher
Hammonds was being groomed to represent the Duke. Gwyndonmere was
three day’s ride from Edinburgh, which was the closest seaport. We are very
far away from an invasion by sea. Does she not even pay attention to the
distances traveled when they go to court?

Mr. McAhmladhson had commented that young Mr. Hammonds was

coming along nicely, and might well be his successor as steward since there
were no McAhmladhson heirs to take up the position when he retired.

“I want to go riding today, Celeste. I would like my blue riding habit, if you
please.”

“Of course, your Grace. I will lay it out while you finish your tea. Would
you like to freshen up before putting it on?”

Her Grace would certainly like to freshen up. In fact, she wanted a bath.
Celeste immediately rang for the young footman who was in charge of
running errands, even though she was fairly certain that the Duchess was
going wash herself completely away with all the baths she took.

“Yer in luck, Miss Singer,” he told her. “The laundry water is just now hot,
and I’ll bring up some o’ that. Old Nell, I mean Mrs. Possinger, will nigh
flay the skin off me with her tongue lashing, but seein’ as it is the Duchess
as wants the water, there’ll be naught she can do about it.”
“Please refill her kettle, if you would. This will delay the household
washing, but it can’t be helped.”

“What are you clattering about, Celeste?” the Duchess demanded.

“Just talking with the boy about the hot water, Your Grace. It will be up
shortly.”

“I should hope so. Now, do see to my riding habit. It must not be crushed or
mussed.”

Celeste forbore asking why the habit must be in pristine condition. The
Duchess usually rode alone, with only her groom to bear her company as
she rode around on the bridle paths. It was doubtful that the heather or the
rabbits would care. Even if Her Grace should happen to meet a shepherd or
farmer, it was unlikely that they would be cognizant of the condition of the
Duchess’s habit. But perhaps she is meeting the man she met by the willow
tree. I guess if you are meeting a secret lover, you want to look your best.
But why would she want another man? The Duke is certainly handsome.
The duchy is a beautiful place to live, even though it probably wasn’t as
busy as London.

By the time the Duchess had finished her tea, the footman and three of his
fellows had filled the swan bath. Celeste draped the sheet over the wooden
sides to protect the Duchess from splinters, then quickly helped her into her
bathing shift. She then helped her to bathe, then assisted her with the
foundation garments before dressing her hair in a stylish mode that would
accommodate the hat that went with the riding habit.
Once the Duchess’s beautiful auburn tresses were done up in high style,
Celeste assisted her with getting into the riding habit and finally settled the
matching hat onto her head.

Celeste saw the Duchess off in the company of one of the footmen. Two
other footmen scooped the used bath water into pails and carried it back
downstairs. Celeste cleaned up the chamber and took the laundry down to
the washroom. She was heartily glad to give the basket of laundry into the
hands of the Duchess’s dedicated laundress, and to snatch a few minutes to
have a cup of tea and a bit of bread and butter.

Miss Sedgewick sat down at the table across from her and poured a cup for
herself. “No curds and melon for you?” the housekeeper asked with a sly
smile.

“You know that is ‘of course not’,” Celeste replied, then took a sip of her
tea. “Her Grace does seem to have a remarkable appetite of late. She is both
finicky and ravenous. The fruit and cheese seems to satisfy her when
nothing else seems to appeal.”

“Just as well that the new melons are coming on, then. There will be melons
for the rest of us in due course. There are always more than the entire
household can eat in the spring and summer. You’ll get your share of curds,
as well. When summer comes, there is always more milk than meat.”

“Makes sense, I guess. How did the morning talks go yesterday? Have you
heard? I saw the Duke this morning, but it didn’t seem my place to ask.”
“Well as can be expected, I guess. The young men came back all looking
like kicked puppies. Seems the Duke has forbidden courting on the grounds
for the time being.”

“I guess he is trying to sort out those who are just hoping to entertain
sweethearts from the murderer who seems to have found Gwyndonmere to
be his hunting ground. It is going to be hard on the staff who have been
doing a little courting on the sly.”

“Not too much of a burden for most of us. But I do think that Nancy, the
dairy maid, is going to be sad and sorry. She seems to have learned the way
of having her bit of fun without consequences, and she does love to spread
her favors around.”

Celeste had to think a moment to connect name to face. “She’s the tall,
heavy-boned woman with sandy hair? The one who brings up the cream
and butter?”

“The very one. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Nancy’s a good sort, she just likes
to have a bevy of fellows about her. You’d think by now she’d be over such
nonsense. She’s well past thirty.”

“How very strange. I would not have taken her for a day over five and
twenty. Perhaps she cannot have children. That would be a sorrow to her, I
think.”

Martha shrugged. “I’ve not asked her. It seems a chancy sort of life for a
woman, always taking up with a new man.”
“Any chancier than going into service and not taking up with any man at
all?”

Martha gave Celeste a stern look. “Far riskier. Play your cards right as a
single woman with a bit of funds and you can look forward to a little
cottage of your own. If you’ve a mind to enjoy younglings about your feet,
there’s always a matron or two in your neighborhood more than glad to lend
you one or two just for the sake of getting them out from under foot.”

Celeste sighed. There was a good chance that Martha had just described not
only the future that the older woman was no doubt saving for, but her own
future as well. For a moment, she pictured herself sitting by a cottage door,
holding a baby and the Duke leaning over her. The baby had his dark hair
and her hazel eyes. Celeste gave herself a mental shake. Enough
foolishness! “I guess I’d just not thought that far ahead.”

“Did you not ask Mr. McAhmladhson to set up an account for you?”

“I did. But I’m saving for my parents to come to Scotland so they are no
longer in danger. Or at least that is what I thought.”

“Well, we do seem to have a murderer on the loose, but we’ve got no mobs
with pitchforks running about burning down houses. How long do you think
it will take to save up enough?”
“It would have taken a year or more, but the Duke noticed the account and
is making me a loan. If all goes well, my parents should be here by
summer’s end.”

“Ah. Now that is just like His Grace. How long do you have to pay it off?”

“I’m not sure.” Celeste felt a little embarrassed, and took a sip of her tea. “I
don’t know if I really care. It is enough to serve.” Celeste set her cup down,
and fiddled with the handle in embarrassment.

Martha Sedgewick looked at her shrewdly. “Have a care, Miss Singer. That
is a slippery slope you are standing on. The Duke is a good man, but he is
still a man.”

And what a man he is. “Since all he has asked of me is to keep the greenery
in his study fresh and to serve the Duchess to the best of my ability, I have
no fear of anything untoward.” What would I do if he asked for more?
Would I be willing to give it? I think I might, but he is far too honorable to
ask it of me. “I am so very grateful that my parents will be away from the
fighting and looting.”

“Are they not safe where they are?”

“Safer than in our home village. They are living in a charity house and
helping the proprietress take care of the refugees who come through that
way. But there are such horrible stories in every newspaper, I do fear for
them.”
“Well it is to be hoped they will be here soon. Meanwhile, we’ve got the
winter linens to sort and put away with herbs to keep the moths out of them.
Are you free to help this afternoon?”

“Until Her Grace gets back from riding. I’d be glad to help.”

“The Duchess went out riding? Now? With everything that has happened?”

“She is a law unto herself. She does have her groom with her.”

“Well. That one. It is not my place to say more, but it does seem risky to
me. Be as it may, those linen will not fold and put themselves away. I’ve
good bit of rue, fennel, and mint put by to lay amongst them.”

“It sounds lovely, and as if it will be a pleasant way to spend the afternoon.”

As Celeste went up the stair to the linen closets, she nearly tripped over
Brodie and Bennie, the red and white terriers, as they bolted toward the
linen closet. The dogs whined and snuffled at the door until Celeste opened
it. Bennie dashed into it the minute the door opened. Celeste scarcely had
time to leap back and keep her skirts clear of the large rat that bolted out.
Brodie was on it in seconds, giving it a shake that broke its neck.

Brodie then dropped the rat at Celeste’s feet. She and Bennie sat, looking up
at Celeste expectantly. Miss Sedgewick came up the stairs with a tall stack
of winter linens, and stopped in astonishment as she saw the dogs and the
rat. “Mercy sakes!” she exclaimed. “Did they kill that?”
“They did. And now I think they want a reward, but I don’t have anything
to give them since I gave them some earlier.”

“Well, now, we can fix that.” Miss Sedgewick brought a well wrapped
bundle out of her pocket and offered two dough balls to Celeste. “You
should reward them, since they are looking to you as the human on the
spot.”

Celeste gingerly accepted the oily bits of fried dough and looked at the
pups. Tentatively she offered on to Brodie, who took it daintily in sharp,
white teeth. Encouraged by this success, she held out the other one to
Bennie who also accepted it carefully, then woofed it down with gusto.
They both thumped their tails on the floor, tongues lolling in doggy grins.

Celeste looked at Miss Sedgewick. “Now what? Do we do something with

the rat?”

“Pet the dogs,” Miss Sedgewick said. “I’ll deal with the rat. They have done
a fine job. I wish we had a terrier that could flush out the human rat who
hurt Sally Ann.”

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 CHAPTER 27

M argery rode up the steep slope toward her old house. She
refused to call it her home, since her father had done his best
to make her feel unwelcome. As she rode, she heard the
sounds of another horse, and smiled as her lover brought his mount
alongside hers.

“They know about the willow,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “I really don’t care. I am so tired of this subterfuge

and sneaking about.”

“Just a little while longer, my love. Then we will have the big castle and the
city house all to ourselves. I have it all arranged.”

“You do?” she asked doubtfully. “I’m supposed to be married. How are you
going to get around that? And if I am not married, there is no way I can take
over the castle.”
“There is one way,” he said. “We must get you with child, and you must
convince Jonathan that it is his.”

“I think,” Margery said slowly, “I think that we might have already done
that.”

“Truly? I am very glad of that. You will be the one woman who will bear
my child. I’ve made certain of that.”

“You are sure that this will work?”

“Absolutely. A child can inherit, and you can stand guardian and caretaker
to him”

“He. What if it is a girl?”

“Best hope it isn’t,” her lover said somberly. “My claim is tenuous. I’m
fairly certain that I am not the only by-blow begotten by the late Duke. If
my kinship is acknowledged, there might be others to step out and lay
claim.”

“Are you sure you can prove it, if it comes to that?”

“Of course. My mother has been doing your laundry for years now. And
helping me wash out a few other things.” He shrugged. “The dairy maid is
forever sterile thanks to her. I learned my first few apothecary mixtures
from her.”

“Is she really? What delicious irony. I think she takes on half the male staff.
Do you think she is hoping it might reverse?”

“I have no idea what she thinks, nor do I really care. She was a long time
ago, and I have moved on.”

“Moved on to me?”

“Of course, my love. Where else would I move on? Come down from there,
and let us make sure that you really are making a baby.”

Margery slid from her horse into his arms. He hugged her and kissed her,
enjoying the taste of her mouth and her minty, fresh breath.

He then released her, gathered up the reins of the horses, and led them into
the shady clearing a little way off the path.

There, he had built a little bower using fallen limbs and lined it with pine
boughs and fresh greenery to make it soft. He slipped out of his cloak and
mask, then spread the cloak over the springy bed he had created.

“Come to me,” he said. “Of all of them, you are the only one worth
keeping. You are forever fresh, forever new.”
“Oh, Roddy!” she said softly, “What would I do without you? You make me
whole and your potions help me think. Without them, the world is a mad
jumble that moves too fast and makes it so I cannot think at all.”

“I know, love. And I have your medicine right here. Open up, my little bird.
Papa has brought you something delightful this time.”

A dark shadow withdrew from shrubbery around the clearing, and made its
way up a path toward the ruins of Mabway Castle, taking care not to alert
the lovers to his presence. When the time came, this would work to his
advantage. Meanwhile, he had to appease the men. Their supplies were
running low, and there was a limit to how much they could pilfer without
alerting the locals to their presence.

It was too bad that the Duke of Gwyndonmere was a good and reasonable
landlord. Almost a pity to dislodge him, really. But sometimes you had to
throw out some good along with the rubbish. The system of Kings, Dukes,
and all the rest was simply no good at all.

He wasn’t sure he agreed with those who wanted to do away with the
machines. He rather liked being able to get a full set of clothing without
spending a year’s wages or attaching himself to some house. But he did
understand how weavers and spinners saw their livelihood threatened.

Well, there would be those who wouldn’t care to have the great houses
brought down because it would mean their livelihood brought down. But,
like bringing down a man who actually understood that fealty was a two-
way transaction, it was a necessary evil. They could take up inn keeping or
some other such occupation and use the skills they had learned.

He checked the apothecary room where three men were carefully creating
the preparations they would need. Pity that “Roddy” was such a feeble reed
to lean on. But they would not have known about this place if he had not
discovered the amorous idiot at play while he was in London.

Too bad that he had come to the notice of the local watch who had shared
his description with neighboring watch captains. His English was not good
enough to hold up to close scrutiny, to the annoying little man, with his
ambitions and his proclivities were essential to the plan. It was just to be
hoped that they could pull it off before he and his “duchess” were exposed.

Back in the clearing, the lovers lay entwined. Margery lay with her head on
his shoulder. “Will we really have the castle, Roddy? I wouldn’t mind not
having it, so very much. Sometimes I wish you were just an apothecary
apprentice again. I’m so sorry that bringing me my medicine got you in
trouble.”

“In trouble is something of an understatement for getting turned off without

a recommendation,” he replied. “It was fortunate that you were able to
persuade the Duke to take me on. And that my days on the acting circuit
allowed me to quickly assume the role.”

“I heard the story about the scullery maid. Did you really make her think
that hounds were chasing her?”
“I did. I never thought I would be grateful for that time I spent as a
ventriloquist. But it certainly stood me in good stead. I’ve used it before,
but never to such excellent effect. Unfortunately, she has seen my face. She
is a loose end I must clear up soon.”

“Will it be difficult?”

“I’m afraid so. Not all of those Sisters began their lives as nuns. It takes a
very tough woman to be Catholic in Scotland these days. Not all are as
forgiving and accepting as your Duke.”

“My duke. You are my Duke, and never should you forget it. Jonathan is
just a stuffy, old-fashioned country squire who somehow got puffed up into
being a Duke. Do you know he goes about in country man’s boots and
canvas trousers a good part of each day?”

“I would imagine that canvas trousers are less likely to gather horsehair
while he is training his prize stock.”

“And what kind of Duke does that? He has no idea how he should act.”

Her lover kissed her then. “And how should he act, my pet?”

“Oh, I don’t know. More grand, more sure of himself. If you met him on the
street in Edinburgh, you would take him for a merchant. He won’t even let
you barber his hair so he looks like the other nobles.”

The man laughed. “That might be a good thing since I have long since
mastered ladies’ hair dressing, but barbering is one of my lesser skills.”

“Oh, very well. I shan’t nag him about it then.”

“We need to get you back to the castle before you are missed.”

“Must I go back? It is so pleasant here.”

“You must. It will grow cold here when night falls. Nor would you like it
when it rains. I promise, when the sun goes down, it is much more pleasant
inside the castle.”

“That moldy old pile of stone. Our house in London is much nicer, but
Jonathan won’t take us there this year.”

“Well-a-day, we shall just have to make this time work for us and not
despair over what is not happening right now. Soon, you will be able to
attend all the balls, parties, and crushes your heart desires.”

“Oh, that will be so wonderful. Do you promise?”

“I absolutely promise.”

Just as soon as I can gain control of that castle and get my revolutionaries
moved in. Then we will party you right on into the bog where that Sally Ann
should have stayed.

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 CHAPTER 28

T he Duchess swept grandly into her apartments, bringing with

her an aroma of horses, heather, and hay, and something else
that Celeste could not quite identify.

“I am completely soiled,” she announced. “I will bathe before I dress for

dinner with my esteemed husband.”

“Your Grace just bathed this morning. Perhaps a little light freshening up?
Too much water could dry your skin . . .”

“I will bathe,” the Duchess said. “See to it girl, and be quick about it. I’m
surprised that you do not have my bath ready.”

Celeste bowed her head in acquiescence and stepped to the door to bespeak
the canisters of water. While they waited, she helped the Duchess from her
riding habit and into her bathing chemise. When the bath water arrived and
Her Grace was settled into it, Celeste set about selecting a gown and
accessories for her.
“Will you have the white wool or the blue, Your Grace?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said carelessly, “I’m only dining with my husband
tonight. I don’t need to dress up especially for him.”

What an odd notion. Mama always tried to put on something special for
Papa, even when we were tramping through fields. It might have only been
a field daisy, but she always added a little something.

“Very well, Your Grace. I will lay out the blue, and do your hair up in soft
curls. It will be comfortable and easy.”

“Comfortable would be very nice,” the Duchess commented. “Now, if you

would help me from my bath, I am ready to get dressed for dinner.”

Astonished by the pleasant compliance, Celeste helped the Duchess from

the deep bath, and assisted her with exchanging the dripping bathing robe
for a soft dressing robe, and began drying her luxuriant locks.

More than an hour later, the Duchess was dressed and her hair done in an
artless Grecian knot of curls. The blue wool dinner gown’s high waist
emphasized her figure and the blue brought out the bright blue of her eyes.

When Celeste opened the door at the Duke’s light tap, she was gratified to
see approval on his face.
“You look lovely, Margery,” he said, offering the Duchess his arm. “I
believe that the cook has prepared a surprise for you tonight.”

“Today went well, then?” she smiled up at him.

“It went well enough.” The Duke bent his head toward the Duchess, smiling
at her. They went on down the hall, chatting amiably.

As she closed the door behind them, Celeste sighed. She had no right to be
jealous of the Duchess, but felt a little stab of envy all the same. The Duke
had looked tired, but even so he cut a handsome figure as he walked down
the hall. He was dressed simply, as might a country gentleman about to dine
with his wife. Even so, the cut of his dinner coat was impeccable, and his
broad shoulders needed no padding to fill it out. His breeches fitted neatly
at the knee, and the plain stockings revealed calves that were well
developed from walking and other exercises above trim, but modest,
buckled shoes.

How could the Duchess not admire such a man? Even though he wore his
hair shoulder length and did not powder it or wear a wig as was the current
mode, Celeste could find no fault in him. Nor could she fault his behavior
which was that of a gentleman in every instance that she could recall.
Whatever Miss Sedgewick might say of slippery slopes, she was confident
that she could trust the Duke to always do not only the correct thing, but
engage in actions that were both kind and moral.

More’s the pity, said a nasty little voice at the back of her mind. For he’ll
not ask of you or any of the household what so many gentlemen require of
their feminine staff. Which means you have no hope with him at all.
Celeste gave her head a shake to dislodge such immoral and disloyal
thoughts and turned her attention to putting the chambers to rights.

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 CHAPTER 29

M r. McOwen brushed and sponged the last of the bog mire off
Gertrude. Crouched beside her, he examined her carefully to
make sure she had taken no harm from her night’s
adventuring. She had done her duty valiantly for the Duke and Mr.
McAhmladhson, and had accompanied Mr. McOwen on subsequent
searches.

Gertrude shook herself, and put her cold nose against his neck, just above
his neckcloth. “Yes, you are a good girl,” he told her. “You did a fine job
finding the lost lassie.

She gave his cheek a polite lick, then sat back, her head cocked to one side.
“Well, let’s go see to that other matter while Her Grace is unlikely to be up
and about. No good tipping the Duke’s hand in this. But it might be a good
thing to know who was having a bit of fun under the old willow, if there’s
any way to find out.”

Gertrude shook herself, settling her silky coat, then looked up at the hound
master with a doggie grin, her tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth.
Mr. McOwen went to the stables, with the hound trotting happily at his
heels. She was an active beast, always glad of a run even after working as
she recently had the last few days. He got out the mare who was reserved
for his use, and rode up to the mountain side of the bridge. He then got out
one of the Duchess’s soiled handkerchiefs and held it in front of Gertrude’s
nose.

Gertrude happily lolloped over to the big tree, whuffled around it a few
times, then sat down. She looked at him as if to say, “All right, she was
here. Now what?”

Mr. McOwen looked around under the big tree. It’s drooping fronds were
thick enough to hide anyone who might come in under it. It was apparent
from the number of footprints as well as hoofprints that is was a favorite
trysting place. There was a place where the ferns were flattened as if
something heavy had been placed over the top of them. A saddle blanket
perhaps?

Disappointingly, there were no ready clues such as one set of footprints or a

dropped button. The whole area was scuffed over as if someone had swept
it with a large branch. Gertrude snuffled about, and sneezed. Then she
backed away from an area and growled at it.

When Mr. McOwen looked to see what she was fussing about, he found a
tidbit of dried meat surrounded by several dead mice and voles. “Someone
trying to poison the wildlife, I guess.” He carefully picked up the tidbit with
his handkerchief. Perhaps someone would have some idea as to what was
on it.
Mr. McOwen didn’t like poison. When an area needed cleared of a predator,
he preferred to use the dogs and drive it out. Poisons were too likely to get
the wrong creature. Canny predators tended to leave it alone, but these little
ones had been enticed to their death as could be others. He briefly
considered picking up the dead animals as well, but decided against it.
There were too many of them, and he had no idea what he would do with
them if he did take them.

When he and Gertrude came out from under the willow, she started up the
riding path that led to the upper meadows. She looked back over her
shoulder to see if he was following.

He swung up on his horse, signaled the dog that she could pursue whatever
it was and followed her. Curiously, she went straight up the trail, zigzagging
from side to side, the white plume of her tail waving in the air, her red ears
pricked forward as she snuffled the ground.

She soon stopped snuffling, and bounded up the trail. She did not leave it as
she might have for a fox or some other wild creature. Instead she ran
steadily, without stopping, until she came to one of the shepherd’s way
stations. Mr. McOwen swung down off his horse. Looping the reins on a
convenient post near a sheep pen, he followed the hound into the low shed.

It was an odd sight that met his eyes. It looked as if someone had set up a
meeting. Bales of sod were piled at one end to make a sort of rough
podium, while planks were placed across more bales to form a rude seat.
This cannot bode well. I need to get back and tell the Duke about this at
once.
With that thought, Mr. McOwen went back outside, mounted his horse,
whistled to Gertrude, and rode back down the mountainside toward the
castle at nearly the same time as Inspector Ravensgard was entering the
village from the mountains on the other side of the valley.

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 CHAPTER 30

I nspector John Ravensgard drew rein at the top of the valley.

They had been traveling hard for the last four days, steadily
climbing the hills up from Edinburgh. The two footmen wearing
Gwyndonmere livery pulled up beside him, the third turned back from
where he was riding point.

“Is there a problem, Inspector?” the lead man asked.

“No, no problem. Just getting the lay of the land, as it were.”

It was beautiful land, spread out as if it were a child’s playhouse on a bright

quilt. The sun, which had been absent through most of their journey came
out and illuminated the scene below. The castle, a great structure of rough
stone, stood at the edge of the lake, with the tributary stream coming down
out of the mountains on the opposite side.

The village was located near a spillway from the lake where the overflow
connected with the river. Inspector Ravensgard could make out a mill, a
scattering of outer buildings, neat rows of cottages with gardens out behind,
and the sun glinting off what looked like glass.

“What are the shiny buildings?” The Inspector pointed with his chin.

“Oh, those be the orangeries, Inspector,” the lead footman replied. “The late
Duke, the current Duke’s father, had them built. Cost a pretty penny I’m
told, but well worth it. There’s nothing like having a bit of green with your
neeps and taties in tha winter.”

“Forward thinking of him. Shall we go down?”

For the next hour the small party rode down a snake trail of a road that
switched back and forth across the steep slope. As it neared the bottom it
both widened and straightened, ending in a nicely constructed bridge that
was wide enough for two carts to cross abreast.

“Will you have a cleanup and a bit o’ luncheon before you go on up to the
castle, Inspector? A room has been made ready for you at the Blind Sheep
Inn, and I doubt not they will make a room at the castle, as well.”

“I could use with a wash and a bite. But only a short one, so’s not to go
before the Duke in all my travel dirt.”

The wash and bite were quickly done, the inn keeper anxious to get the
special visitor on his way to the Duke. Despite the haste, the inspector
noted, the food was hot, the bath was warm, and his boots came back to him
quickly, well-blacked, and his dusty, travel-stained clothing was brushed
and redded up as well as might be without the attentions of a laundress.

Fortunately, the Inspector had a fresh shirt and small clothes in his saddle
bags. Fed, and feeling much more presentable, the Inspector made ready to
mount up and continue on his way to Castle Gwyndonmere. With
perceptions perhaps sharpened by a well-fed belly, he noticed two gaudy
little wagons similar to those often used by the Travelers.

“What are the wagons?” he asked his guide, the lead footman. The other
two had gone on ahead to alert the castle.

“Oh, those are a whim of the Duke’s. A year or so ago, he was much taken
with the appearance and efficiency of these little cart houses, and
commissioned a passing band of Traveler wheel rights to make these. He
intended them for use at the sheep camps, but the shepherds have their own
gear and their huts so they’ve remained unused.”

“If you’ll mount up, Inspector, we’ll be up to the castle in a trice, and you’ll
no doubt be welcomed since the Duke sent for you.”

Seeing the sense in this, the Inspector quickly mounted up. After a short
ride, he was met by a stable lad who took his horse, then by a punctiliously
correct butler of such venerable age it was all the inspector could do not to
scream at the ponderous pace at which the old fellow escorted him to the
Duke’s study.
At the door, the butler tapped gently then intoned sonorously, “Inspector
John Ravensgard from Edinburgh to see you, Your Grace.”

“Come in, come in,” called a quiet, cultured voice.

The butler opened the door, and gestured for the Inspector to enter.

“Allow me to introduce His Grace, Jonathan Harper, Duke of

Gwyndonmere, and Mr. Ahmlad McAhmladhson, Steward of
Gwyndonmere,” the butler said. “Your Grace, Mr. McAhmladhson, please
meet Inspector John Ravensgard from Edinburgh.” The elderly retainer then
moved as if he would withdraw.

The Duke of Gwyndonmere raised his hand. “Please stay, Mr. Hammonds.
Pull up a chair and help impart the knowledge that the inspector will
require.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Hammonds then turned one of the spindly
audience chairs to face the Duke, and indicated another for the Inspector. “I
will be glad to help in any way I can.”

The Inspector took out a ratty notebook bound in dark leather, and prepared
to make notes with a stubby pencil.

The Duke began the tale, with the steward and butler taking up pieces of it.
“So let me get this right,” the Inspector said, tapping the page in his
notebook with the stubby pencil. “You have a dead body and one girl
thrown in the marsh. You don’t normally have this sort of crime, so you
have sent for a specialist to find the person or persons responsible.”

The Duke of Gwyndonmere nodded. “Indeed, that is the essence.”

“Have there been any other strange happenings?”

“There have been reports of signal fires and banditry on the heights.”

“Is there a chance that these things could be connected?”

“At this point, I am not sure what to think. Constable McHenry, Mr.
McAhmladhson, and Mr. McOwen have been quietly investigating, but they
have tried to avoid alerting anyone about any suspicions they might have. I
am surprised that you did not stop in the village and speak to the constable.”

“In God’s truth, I should have,” the Inspector said ruefully. “Discourteous
to fail to consult a comrade in arms. What is your impression of your
constable, Your Grace?”

“Constable McHenry takes care of our needs here in the village. But for the
most part, my people are an orderly sort. The rare times we have murder, it
is usually in hot blood and well-witnessed. Ordinarily, the good constable
deals with the villager who had had a little too much to drink at the Blind
Sheep or with domestic spats or rivalry between shops or farms. This is a
completely different sort of thing.”

“To be expected of a village constable. Likely he is a very fine fellow, but

crime of this sort might be somewhat out of his experience range. I’ll go see
him before I retire tonight. It is likely that he will have a feel for how things
should be, as opposed to how they currently are.”

The gentlemen sat in silence for a minute or two, each lost in his own
thoughts or waiting for the others to speak.

“Now tell me, you say this is not customary for your people. What is
different this year?”

Mr. McAhmladhson spoke up. “First, the Duke was at home for the spring
trade fair. Usually at this time, he is in London for the spring Season. As is
our custom, we hired extra help for the event since there are many guests
who attend it. With the Duke and Duchess at home, there were an unusual
number of guests.”

“Were these also peers who are foregoing the Season this year?”

The steward shook his head. “A few perhaps, but for the most part they
were local gentry who were excited to have the opportunity to rub elbows
with a peer, as it were.”

“Have you taken on any permanent staff who were not here last year?”
“Only a new abigail for the Duchess. A displaced shopkeeper from France.”

“This young lady, this former shopkeeper, is there any chance that she
might be a spy?”

“Are you thinking of the infamous Aphra Behn?”

“Hardly. She was far too public to be successful. However, the ladies are
often in a prime position to infiltrate and gather information. Many a
gentleman has spoken indiscreetly under the covers, if you take my
meaning.”

The Duke glared at him. “Your meaning is taken, but Miss Singer came
highly recommended by the agency in Edinburgh, and has excellent repute.
To the best of my knowledge, she has not engaged in any “under the
covers” activity. Furthermore, I think that by now we would have seen signs
that she might be collecting information were she a spy.”

“Is she your only recently hired staff, Your Grace?

“Sadly, no. We have several new men at arms, some footmen and a maid or
two who were hired for the spring trade fair. Thanks to the troubles, I have
kept them on. Both for the extra hands and to keep them close in case they
were needed for questioning.”
“Nicely done, Your Grace. You’ve made my job a lot easier. Well, enough.
I’ll hope to visit with all of them tomorrow. I’ll go down to the village and
speak with the constable before I talk to anyone else. Did he interview the
staff at the time of the incident?”

“After the maid was nearly drowned in the Lolly Mire, yes. But his results
were inconclusive. As is often the case, no one saw anything or heard
anything, other than that the girl was extremely upset.”

“The maid who was nearly drowned, is she still on staff?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Mr. McAhmladhson. “In point of fact, she
is staying with the Gentle Sisters, and the Duke is paying a small stipend for
her support. She had quite a shock and is not always quite rational. It is
likely that the Abbess will want to be with her when you question her.”

“Abbess? Catholics?” The inspector looked shocked.

“We think of them as sisters of mercy, Inspector. There has been a chapel in
this valley since the days of St. Columba, and they have our protection.”
The Duke looked rather fierce. “I can assure you that they are neither spies
nor are they in any way connected to our current problems.”

“I see,” said the inspector. “Well, well, I shall go down and speak with the
constable. Perhaps he can put me in the way of making an appointment with
the unfortunate maid, and fill me in on the information he has gathered. I
shall look forward to meeting all of the staff tomorrow, including the
recently hired abigail and other new help.”
A shadowy figure slunk away from the study wall near the spy hole.

Oh, this will not do. It will not do at all to have an inspector here talking to
people in the castle. But what to do, what to do? I must think. Above all, I
must protect my goddess. None of this can come back on her.

I must get word to the heights. He must take extra care to protect himself,
the men, and the Operation.

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 CHAPTER 31

J onathan watched as Mr. Hammonds showed Inspector

Ravensgard out of his study. When the two of them had gone
far enough down the long hall, and the study door was closed,
he turned to Mr. McAhmladhson and asked, “What do you
think? Will he be able to find out anything?”

Mr. McAhmladhson shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, Your Grace.

I think we should not cease our efforts to determine what is going on just
because he is here. But another set of eyes and ears that are unprejudiced by
being part of our community cannot hurt.”

“I suppose not. I do not like to think of one of our own being responsible
for the death of a young woman, and the near death of another. Yet if what
the villagers is telling us is true, and there is no reason to doubt it, sexual
depredations have been going on for a long while.”

“We do not know that it is one man responsible for them, Jonathan,” Mr.
McAhmladhson said gently. “Spread out as they are over the years, it might
be more than one person. Human nature being what it is, perhaps it is more
surprising that there have not been more incidents. We have both young
men and young women working here. Vigilant as we might be, it is
impossible to constantly monitor all their actions.”

“I know, Ahmlad. Sometimes I wonder if we are even doing the right thing
by trying to do so. Perhaps when we restrain those natural impulses and
give them no opportunity for outlet, we are setting up the perfect
environment for transgression.”

“What would you do, then, Jonathan? Employ married couples, with all the
consequences that would evolve from having families under your roof? Can
you imagine small armies of children roving the halls, getting underfoot,
and demanding attention?”

“Maybe that would be a good thing. I wanted children, Ahmlad. As things

stand now, I am unlikely to get them short of adopting an orphan or two.”

“I’m not at all sure that the Prince Regent would find that acceptable, Your
Grace. There is the question of consanguinity and being of noble
inheritance.”

“Perhaps I should find some noble orphans? The war has certainly made a
few.”

“I think that would carry more complications, not fewer.”

“Well, Ahmlad, as things now stand, it is only an idle exercise in

speculation. No doubt, I shall die without heirs and the estate will go back
to the crown.”

“That is a dismal prospect for the villagers, Your Grace.”

“Of that I am aware. I am not sure if they fully understand the possible
consequences.”

“I think young Mr. Cory does.”

“It would be unlikely that he does not, considering that he is currently

reading law. But even if he understands, convincing others of what he
knows could be quite a challenge.”

“Reason is a rare commodity,” Jonathan agreed. “Well, that is another

problem. Something to be solved another day. I am in good health and
hardly likely to leave this mortal plane any time soon.”

“Of that I am glad, Your Grace. You are an able guide to this land, and it is
well on its way to recouping losses seen when your father, the late Duke,
held the reins.”

“As much as I loved my father, I could hardly have done worse. Even
though my efforts have frequently infuriated my wife.”

“Do you think that is what caused your estrangement?”

Jonathan gave a snort. “Hardly. The ink was scarcely dry on the wedding
documents. The guests had just gone home when she locked herself in her
private chambers and refused to let me in. The arguments about spending
and social engagements didn’t start until, oh, at least a week later.”

“It has always amazed me that you have stuck it out.”

“I liked the old Duke of Mabway. He feared that Margery’s understanding

was moderate, and he wanted to provide for her security. My father was his
friend, and he saw an opportunity to increase our holdings. I made the old
Duke a promise to look after his daughter. I’ve done my best, but it is true
she has made it very difficult.”

Ahmlad nodded. “I know. I would need to be blind not to see it. But, Your
Grace, you do need an heir. Further, it is becoming increasingly difficult to
mask her behavior from the people outside the household.”

“What you are telling me is that my own household already knows.”

“I am afraid so, Your Grace. In fact, it would be difficult to hide. I can

assure you that people who are aware include the laundress, the stable
hands, the footmen, and the maids.”

“Have they been able to catch sight of who it is she is seeing?”

“Sadly, no. Whoever he is, he is much more adept at hiding his tracks than
your Duchess.”

“Could she be seeing more than one person?”

Mr. McAhmladhson shrugged. “Possible, but I rather doubt it. She is clearly
not able to completely hide her trysts from the household.”

“Or she has decided that she doesn’t care. No, that really doesn’t make any
sense. In fact, none of it makes sense. Why marry only to deny yourself and
your lawfully wedded spouse the privileges of the marriage bed?”

Mr. McAhmladhson chuckled. “Jonathan, you are asking the wrong person.
I came close to marrying once, but she wanted to live in the city, far from
Gwyndonmere. This has been my home all my life. I really cannot imagine
leaving it.”

“I’ll own I am glad to stay home this year. I have little interest in politics as
a general rule, and this Christmas just past being at court was an exercise in
diplomacy.”

“How so, Your Grace?”

“While nearly everyone agrees that the King is not capable of ruling, they
do not agree on who should be in charge. The Prince Regent is not
universally liked or approved. He keeps court in lavish style, and maintains
his household in similar mode.”
“Is that why we rarely have more than fifty people on staff here?”

“Do we need more, Ahmlad?”

“Perhaps some more field hands and gardeners. Gran’ther Tim is a marvel,
but he is beginning to feel his age, and we have expanded both gardens and
fields in the last three years.”

“I’ll think on it,” Jonathan replied. “It is true that I have pushed for
expansion of our agricultural base, and I favor using the mill race to
establish factories. I don’t like the feel of the way things are going, Ahmlad.
There is change in the air, and I’m not sure that it is all good.”

“Come, now, Jonathan. You are not usually such a pessimist. When did you
last eat in good company?”

“Since my dinners with the Duchess hardly come under that heading, a
good while ago. Moreover, right now the mere thought of food makes me
feel bilious.”

“Why don’t we go for a ride then, Your Grace, and get some air. You’ve
been mewed up in this study since the trade fair. Let’s go look at the flocks,
or take the dogs with us and see if we can flush a bunny or two. It would do
them good, as well.”
Mr. McOwen tapped at the study door, then let himself in. “I heard that last.
I think you should ride out with us, Your Grace. I have something to show
you.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 32

J onathan followed Mr. McAhmladhson up the steep trail to the

old sheep shed where the shearing was customarily done.
They kept to the trail because Mr. McOwen, who was coming
up the rear, wanted to be certain they didn’t obscure the signs
he had found.

First, they stopped at the old willow, where Mr. McOwen pointed out the
dead animals and showed the bit of meat to the him. “Not sure what it is
poisoned with, Your Grace, but it did these small creatures in very quickly.”

“Gather the animals, Mr. McOwen and put them in a game bag. If the
poison is that lethal, something could get sick from eating them. Did you
find anything else?”

“Nothing except the crushed ferns and grasses that make it sure that
someone laid down here. And the area where their horses stood and cropped
grass while they were doin’ whatever it was they were doing.”
“Not too difficult to guess what,” Mr. McAhmladhson said. “The question
is who, and why?”

“Who is still open for discussion,” Jonathan replied. “The why is less
difficult. Whoever it was probably is responding to my notice that there was
to be no courting whatsoever.”

“Isn’t supposed to be anyway,” Mr. McAhmladhson observed.

“True enough. But I have usually turned a blind eye to innocent flirting and
the occasional kiss or two when the staff are off duty. If we are too strict
about their behavior, where will I get the next generation of servants, after
all?”

Mr. McOwen gave a little snort of laughter. “Ha! That’s rich, Your Grace.”

“Mr. McOwen,” Jonathan said with mock sternness, “There is a high

probability that half the village married couples met while they were in
service. Surely you do not wish to depopulate the countryside?”

Mr. McOwen lifted his hands as if to fend off criticism. “No, no, be it far
from me to dictate the actions of others. But that somewhat seems to go
with being a Duke, if you’ll pardon my saying so, Your Grace.”

Jonathan sighed. This sighing habit must stop. Soon it will be a tell, just as
if I were in a card game. “Alas, you have the right of it, Mr. McOwen. I
have been fortunate in the people who are on my staff and living in the
village, so it has not been too great a responsibility. But this most recent
situation is less than pleasant.”

“It is, Jonathan. And I will stop picking at you, and get these rodents into a
bag.” So saying, Mr. McOwen then got out a game bag. He then slid on a
glove and carefully picked up each mouse, vole, and squirrel, placing them
inside it.

Back on the trail, they rode on up the mountain. There were no horse prints
at the sheering shed, but there were a great many human footprints. Oddly,
the shed showed no recent evidence of having been used for sheep.

Inside, Jonathan looked at the benches and makeshift podium. It was clear
this had been a meeting place.

“Should we take it apart?”

“That would let them know that we are aware of them,” Mr.
McAhmladhson said.

“Unless they are completely blind, they will already know that,” put in Mr.
McOwen. “What might be more to the point is that they have used boards
and timbers out of the sheep pen. The next group of shepherds coming
down from the heights will have a mess to clean up before they can use the
shed.”
“Let’s at least set that part to rights,” Jonathan directed. “We’ve had enough
problems without failing to anticipate one we can prevent.”

The three gentlemen quickly set about returning the timbers to their
accustomed place in the sheep pen. Since Mr. McAhmladhson and Mr.
McOwen were far more adept at replacing the timbers, Jonathan confined
his efforts to kicking apart the mounds of turf. As he did so, one of the
mounds gave an odd clink.

Jonathan bent down, and brushed away the crumbling bits of dirt and grass.
When he did so, he found an odd assortment of bottles, jars, and small vials.
“Gentlemen! Look at this,” he called.

“What is it?” Mr. McOwen asked.

“Good question,” said Mr. McAhmladhson, uncorking one of the bottles

and sniffing at it. “Fah! It smells foul, like a brewery batch gone wrong.
Let’s pour it out.”

“No, not so fast,” Jonathan said. “Let’s carefully pack the stuff into a
saddlebag and take it down to Inspector Ravensgard. I’m sure he would be
interested in it. I’d leave it here and observe it, but I don’t want to think
what might happen if some of the village lads chanced upon it. Dead maids
are quite enough excitement. The last thing we need is a dead child.”

“Quick thinking, Your Grace,” nodded Mr. McOwen. “I have just the thing.
I have my fishing creel, which will protect the bottles. We can pack them in
some of this grass and earth to keep them from rattling about.”
Having found one stash of odd items, Jonathan approached the destruction
of the other mounds more cautiously. None of the others proved to be a
hiding place for anything.

Higher up the slope above the shearing shed, a figure made a gesture as if
he were throwing a stone, but he made no sound. Foolish, foolish to have
left the things in the shed. Just because a seasonal building does not show
signs of recent use does not mean that it will always stand empty.

Another man stood behind the first, his hand on a great grey hound to keep
it quiet. “I don’t like it,” he said.

“You don’t have to like it,” said the first man. “Just do the job you were
hired to do and be glad the wind is blowing to us instead of away. Those red
eared hounds have keen noses and would quickly catch our scent otherwise.
As soon as they are gone, we will go higher up the mountain. It will rain
soon and all the sign will be gone by morning.”

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 CHAPTER 33

C eleste strained the bits of peppermint out of the tea, added a little
honey, and brought the resultant cup to the Duchess where she was
propped up in bed. Her Grace was definitely not at her best this
afternoon. Another late summer storm had blown up from the west, which
meant that an afternoon horseback ride was not possible even if Margery,
Duchess of Gwyndonmere, had been in the pink of health. As it was, “pink”
was an excellent description of her nose.

The Duchess took the cup from Celeste and sipped at it, then held it under
her nose. “I can almost smell that,” she said. “I feel so miserable right now.
Why did it have to rain? I feel as if the air is pressing in on me.”

The atmosphere did feel oppressively still in the chamber, but opening the
windows while the wind and rain lashed at them was out of the question.
Fortunately, the wind had not howled down the chimney, blowing the ashes
and soot about the room.

“Perhaps if you dress for dinner and spend some time out of this room it
might help,” Celeste suggested tentatively.
“I just don’t feel up to it,” the Duchess whimpered. “My head hurts
abominably and my stomach is upset.”

“Perhaps a little dry toast to go with your tea, Your Grace?”

“Perhaps just a little. Is there marmalade?” The Duchess perked up like a

hopeful child.

“There is marmalade,” Celeste reassured her, “In fact, there is a new pot
just made up today. In just a moment, I can have some for you.”

Celeste picked up the toasting fork off the tray, skewered a thick slice of
bread and began toasting it over the fire. When it was done, she spread a
thin layer of marmalade over it and brought it to the Duchess.

“Mmm,” she said, biting into it. “This is one of the things that I do love
about Gwyndonmere. It is difficult to get oranges in London. The gardener
here has a magic way with orange trees.”

“Yes, Gran’ther Tim has a marvelous way with plants of all kinds. And the
cook makes the most amazing jellies and jams. I’m glad you like it, Your
Grace.”

“Are you, Celeste? Sometimes I think you do not quite approve of me.”
“It is not my place to approve or disapprove of you, Your Grace. It is my
duty to serve you as best I can. I know you are not feeling well today, and I
am glad that something can make your dismal day indoors a little better.”

“It is a dismal day,” the Duchess agreed. “Far too wet to ride, and I feel too
miserable to go down to dinner. Celeste, do you think you could go down to
the library and find a book to read to me? You do read, don’t you?”

“Yes, Your Grace, I can read. I am not quite as good at it when reading in
English.”

“Oh. Let me think. There are some schoolbooks for children on the large
wall near the study. Perhaps you can find something there that you can read
aloud to me. Oh, and bring back some lavender water so you can bathe my
temples. I feel so miserable.”

The Duchess sank down into her mound of pillows. She did, indeed, look
quite unhappy. Two bright red spots shown on her cheeks, and she rubbed at
her forehead fitfully.

“I will bring them both up, Your Grace,” Celeste promised. “I might be a
few moments while I search for a book.”

The Duchess did not reply, so Celeste quickly let herself out and went down
the hall to the study, which led into the library. She was surprised to find the
Duke, Mr. McAhmladhson, and Mr. McOwen warming themselves by the
study fire.
“Oh!” she said, a bit startled. “Your pardon, gentlemen, but the Duchess
would like for me to find a book to read to her. I can go down to the lower
hall and come back to the library.”

“No, no,” the Duke said. “Come right on through. In fact, I know just the
book.” It was one of the few things we enjoyed together, back when it
seemed as if there might be some hope for us.

The Duke went into the library and over to a low shelf that held several
shabby little books. “Most of these are my schoolbooks, but here is one here
that I purchased for the Duchess for her twenty-first birthday. We had been
to a Shakespeare play at Covent Garden. She found it puzzling. I knew that
Tales from Shakespeare was newly published as an instructional book, so I
bought it for her. I know that she enjoyed it a great deal.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Celeste bobbed a quick curtsy. “I will hurry back
to the Duchess and hope that reading it will help her feel a little better. Oh,
and I was to deliver a message to you as well. She says that she feels too ill
to dine formally this night, and begs that you will forgive her absence.”

Celeste thought the Duke looked a little bleak at the prospect of dining
alone, but all he said was, “I thank you for the information, Miss Singer.
Take back with you the message that I hope she will feel better soon.”

When Celeste returned to the Duchess’s chambers, she quickly delivered

the Duke’s message. “And he recommended a book that he is sure that you
will like,” Celeste added.
“How very like him,” the Duchess said. “He is fond of books, and used to
give them to me as gifts. But when he realized that I preferred jewelry, he
gave me fewer gifts.”

“Oh?” Celeste looked at the Duchess, her hazel eyes wide with surprise.

“Jewels cost more than books, you see, and Jonathan always has an eye on
his accounts. Which book did he send up with you?”

A little startled by this view of the Duke, Celeste glanced up at the Duchess,
but then clamped down on her reaction. “Tales from Shakespeare.”

“Ah, yes. We had been to see Macbeth, and I found their motivations rather
puzzling. Jonathan had heard someone describe Tales from Shakespeare as
having been written as a means to educate girls who had not read the
classics so that they would understand the contents of the Bard’s plays. It
was new, just published when Jonathan bought it. I have come to
understand Lady Macbeth very well, I think, although I am less sure of
Macbeth himself.”

“Is that the story you wish to hear?” Celeste asked.

“No, no. Let us read something cheerier. There is one in there shortly after
Macbeth. It is called ‘All’s Well That Ends Well.’ I rather like that one.”

“That is a promising title,” Celeste commented. Turning to the beginning

page of the story she began to read, “Bertram, Count of Rousillan, had
newly come into his estate…” Celeste found the simple English that
Charlotte Lamb had used to tell the tale easy to read, and the story
intriguing. It recounted an intricate tangle of misplaced motivation,
mistaken identity, and general mayhem before coming to the conclusion,
“…she was now the wife of her beloved Bertram…”

As Celeste read the last word, she looked over at the Duchess. Her Grace
seemed to have fallen asleep amid the welter of pillows. Before Celeste
could consider the next thing she should do, the Duchess murmured, “You
read very well, but I think I would like to be alone now. Perhaps I shall
nap.”

“Very well, Your Grace. It shall be as you wish.” Celeste started to tidy up.

“Leave it. You can clean the room tomorrow when I will go out riding. It
cannot rain forever.”

Celeste glanced around quickly. Fortunately, she had tidied the room before
preparing the Duchess’s light repast. There was nothing on the tray to
decay, although the crusty bread might attract mice. “Shall I take the tray?”
she asked.

“Leave it. I might want to nibble at it later.”

The Duchess did sound sleepy, so Celeste slipped out of the room, closing
the door quietly behind her.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 34

J onathan looked up from the ever-growing stack of accounts as

Celeste walked past the study door and started to turn down
the stair to the servants’ quarters. “Miss Singer,” he called out.

She turned and came back toward him. “Your Grace?”

“Come in, Miss Singer. I am surprised to see you. I thought you were with
the Duchess just now.”

“I was, Your Grace. I read to her from the book you suggested until she
began to feel sleepy. She then dismissed me. Did you need something?”

“Perhaps. Mr. McAhmladhson usually does the bulk of the accounts, and I
only fill in around the edges. But he has been much preoccupied of late with
various events. I believe you recently mentioned that you kept your own
accounts when you had your shop?”
“I did. But, Your Grace, my small shop didn’t require much in the way of
record keeping. There was only the purchases of fabrics, often paid for in
advance by my patroness, and lists of who purchased what, and whether
payment was made when the dress was ordered or upon delivery.
Sometimes, someone would charge something. But I tried to discourage
that.”

“I can readily imagine. More than one small shop has been brought to ruin
by noble patrons charging things and somehow forgetting to pay for them. I
try to discourage the practice, and here in the home village I have been
successful. But that is not what I wanted to ask you.”

“How can I help, Your Grace?”

“Can you help sort these papers for me? I find that tonight, for some reason,
they simply make no sense to me and I cannot get them separated out into
anything coherent.”

“I can try. But I know very little about running an estate. What if I make a
muddle of it?”

“They cannot possibly be in a greater muddle than they are already in. If we
find that we still cannot make sense of them, Mr. McAhmladhson will
straighten them out when he has time tomorrow.”

Celeste sat down in the visitor chair, and Jonathan handed to her a stack of
envelopes. Some of them had been opened, and some were not. Hesitantly,
Celeste picked up the top one and read the address aloud. “Beedle,
Bascomb, and Babcock.”

“That is my banker,” Jonathan said. “You can set those aside. Mr.
McAhmladhson and I will need to attend to those.”

Celeste quickly scanned through the stack, and pulled out three more letters
from the banking house and set them aside. She then picked up another
unopened envelope.

“Mainland Milliners,” she read.

“That would be something for the Duchess. Why don’t we put that over
here?”

One by one they went through the stack of mail. Some of it was from
business houses, some from neighboring estates, responding largely to
events or purchases made at the recent trade fair. It was an odd task, but
Celest seemed to be interested in it. Before long, the mail was sorted into
stacks that would help make it more manageable.

As they worked, Jonathan rested his eyes by watching the sweep of

Celeste’s dark eyelashes against her fair cheek as she focused on
deciphering the addresses.

“Nicely done,” he said. “Now, let us see how you do with entering items in
a ledger. We will start with the household accounts, and see how you do.”
Celeste’s head came up abruptly, and she stared at him with wide hazel
eyes. A few curls had wisped out from under her cap and softened the
planes of her slender face. By the gods, she is lovely! All of that, and
intelligence, too. How was it that no one had asked her to marry before
now? How I wish. . . but that is just foolishness from a married man and
one far above her station. Such particular attentions could only do her
harm.

Jonathan stood up, and from a nearby case he took a worn little ledger
book. “The household accounts are usually kept by Miss Sedgewick. But
she is also unusually busy, what with clearing up after the fair, seeing to the
spring cleaning, and discussing with the cook the pickling and brewing as
the garden produce is beginning to be available in greater amounts than the
household can immediately eat up.”

“Oh! I had not thought…she is always busy.”

“That she is. She is responsible for over-seeing all the female members of
the staff. I am concerned for her. She feels the death of the housemaid and
the near death of the scullery girl quite deeply.”

“And you, Your Grace?”

Jonathan took a deep breath and assessed his feelings. The staff members
who worked in his household should be allowed to go about their work
without fear. But he found that his concern for them was over-shadowed by
the possibility that Celeste might come to harm.
As he considered the question, he studied the maid before him as he had not
observed any woman since marrying Margery. The hazel eyes, that were
beginning to look a little apprehensive, were framed in dark, curling
eyelashes, the golden blond hair pulled smoothly back into an intricate knot
of braids at the base of her neck, the slender neck modestly framed by white
ruffle above the dark cloth of her uniform, and the tension in her slender
frame.

“I am disturbed that these dreadful events have occurred in my household,

but I did not work closely with these young women. Although I think I
might have seen them at the time of their hiring, I did not know them. Miss
Sedgewick did, and they were her responsibility. She feels the loss of one
and the near loss of another very deeply, and has pledged to be extra careful
in accounting for the maids placed in her care. This means added vigilance
in addition to her normal duties. If we can lighten her load a little, I believe
the entire household will be the better for it.”

Celeste nodded her understanding, and dropped her eyes to look at her
hands in her lap. “She is stern, but kind. I had not thought how this all must
be for her. I will gladly lend my assistance.”

“Good. Now, here are notes up from the cook, the gardener, the poultryman,
the cowherd, and more. Some of them can read and write, while others keep
tally sticks. Let’s begin with the poultryman, who does read, write, and do a
little figuring.” Jonathan handed her a little book made of sheets of linen
rag paper that had been folded and carefully stitched together at the center.
“Now, then, here is the account book.”
Celeste opened the little book, and gently turned the pages. It was clear that
it held records of several years of household accounts, and that it had been
kept by more than one person.

Then Jonathan handed her a polished board covered with charcoal

markings. “And here is the poultryman’s accounting for yesterday. When
you have his accounting recorded, we can scrub the board clean and give it
back to him.”

Celeste took up the rude slate, careful not to disturb the charcoal markings.
“2 gr. Eggs for the house.” She looked up at the Duke. “Two . . . gross?
That’s 288 eggs?”

“Yes. It takes a lot of eggs to feed a staff of fifty. Imagine what it might be
like if I maintained a household in grand style. Some of the larger duchies
have a household staff of three hundred or more. We only have that many
when it is time to harvest the hay or the grain.”

“Gwyndonmere is a small duchy?”

“Very small. After all, it and Mabway were created as something of a joke.”

“I would think it might be a rather expensive joke,” Celeste observed.

“Oh, quite. I believe it was set up as a sneer at a nobleman of the time. The
king stated that his court jester could do a better job of running a duchy.
The king laid a bet that if he gave his court jester and his taster each a small
bit of land that they would do a better job of running them than the
nobleman in question.”

“Who won the bet?”

“The king, of course. We are still here, although my marriage to Margery

has merged the two duchies. Mabway was situated higher up the mountain,
and had even less cultivable land than Gwyndonmere. The two have always
had to cooperate to survive. Then, two years ago, the main house at
Mabway burned to the ground. No one knew why. The last few of its folk
moved to the valley, except for the herdsmen and shepherds.”

“How very strange it all is, making bets with people’s lives.”

“Such is the business of kings,” Jonathan said gently. “Gwyndonmere and

Mabway were a rather gentle bet, comparatively. Even a small war is far
more expensive, and that is a bet of sorts.”

“I suppose so.” Celeste returned her attention to the account book.

“Here, let us move the chair to a corner of the desk so that you can have a
good writing surface.” Jonathan rose and suited action to words.

When Celeste was seated comfortably at the corner of the desk, she
carefully dipped the pen that Jonathan handed to her into a bottle of ink.
With equal care she entered the eggs into the household account book. She
wrote with in a clear, schoolgirl script, and the numbers she added were
neat and legible.

“Very nice,” Jonathan commented. “Now, here is an entry from the cook
that will go with that one. And he pushed over a sheet of foolscap paper,
enumerating the stores the cook had drawn from the pantry. About halfway
down the page were three entries that read: 100 eggs scrambled with milk
added for morning meal, general. Twelve eggs, beaten into cake. Two eggs,
soft-boiled, for the Duchess. Two eggs, hardboiled, for the Duke. Ten of
remainder reserved for immediate use, the rest set in brine for pickling.

Celeste made the entry, then observed, “He used almost all the eggs up at
once.”

“Eggs do not keep well in summer,” Jonathan said gently.

“I suppose not. We never had enough eggs to worry about it. We had two
hens once, but a stray dog caught one of them, then the other died of age. At
least that’s what Papa said happened to it.”

“Most likely,” Jonathan nodded. “According to my last tutor, they only live
a year or two. He set me a mathematical conundrum having to do with hens,
eggs, roosters and the feeding of an army. I suppose he thought I would
need it.”

“Did you, Your Grace?”

“No, Celeste, I did not. I have been fortunate. I was my father’s only heir.
We produce a good bit of meat in the high meadows and sell our surplus to
Edinburgh or send it as taxes to the king.”

“How do you send meat to London?” Celeste asked, incredulity coloring

her voice.

“On the hoof,” Jonathan replied. “My herdsmen are very good at getting
them down the mountain and to the lowlands with flesh still on them. It
takes a bit of planning, I believe. I’ve never tried doing it myself.”

Celeste narrowed her eyes, looking at the ledger. “Yet Her Grace has
complained for weeks now that there is little real meat to be had. Are you
taxed heavily, Your Grace?”

“Not as heavily as some, but enough. The real problem this year was the
dreadful winter. We were reduced to feeding out a great deal of hay at a
time when the herds are usually eating grass. We even had to put hay out for
the deer lest we lose the wild herds completely. As a result, we had a great
deal of meat in midwinter when we put down all but essential breeding
stock. We have a good supply of salted and dried meat, but the Duchess
does not like it.”

Celeste frowned at the little book for a moment, but did not say anything.
Instead, she picked up another foolscap paper. This one read “Culling
Inventory” in Miss Sedgewick’s neat hand across the top. Beneath that, a
less legible hand recorded, “One-bushel sound winter apples to the kitchen.
One-peck rotten apples to the poultryman.”
Then she laughed. “I think I saw this happening. The hens were so happy to
get the apples. They pecked and scratched and cooed at them. Then the
rooster came and ate his fill before allowing the hens back to the food.”

“My Shanghai, I don’t doubt. He is nearly as good as a watchdog when it

comes to announcing intruders, but he is a dreadful bully.”

Celeste looked up at him from the papers. “You know so much about your
estates. Do all dukes take such interest?”

“Possibly not. I am accounted to be a very dull fellow, not at all

knowledgeable about the latest opera or play, or who is cozening whom.
There are a great many cockscombs at court, and some of them resemble
my handsome rooster.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Celeste’s mouth, but she simply returned
to the culling inventory and read, “Twelve bushels neeps, wrinkled but in
good condition.” She frowned a moment, then gave a little laugh. “That is
why we had turnip soup and mashed turnips. The Duchess was exceedingly
wroth with that menu.”

The Duke smiled in return. “I read the note she sent down to the cook. It is
fortunate that there are melons in the orangery and that the spring
strawberries are coming on. Otherwise I fear I might have had to protect our
cook, whom I should be exceedingly sorry to lose. He does a fine job of
producing excellent meals with whatever he has on hand.”
Celeste nodded emphatically. “I have never eaten so well as I have here. I
fear I shall soon grow fat with all the good food.”

“Then we shall simply have to keep you too busy to become rotund.” You
could use a little extra meat on those bones, although they are very fine
bones, indeed.

When the hour candle had burned down a mark and a half, Jonathan
declared that they had done enough for the evening. “Go down and get a
little something from the cook, then seek your bed. You have been hiding
yawns this last quarter hour. We have made good inroads on this mound of
paper, and Mr. McAhmladhson will be relieved not to have to do it himself
or to rely on clumsy apprentices to take care of it.”

Celeste carefully corked the ink bottle and wiped the wooden pen on the
cloth that lay ready to do that duty. She then rose, gave a little curtsy and
said, “Thank you, Your Grace, for a most instructive evening. I have
enjoyed it.”

“So have I, Miss Singer. Your questions are cogent and your views quite
refreshing. Perhaps I can count on your assistance tomorrow evening?”

Celeste flashed him a smile of genuine pleasure. “I shall be very glad to

help, Your Grace.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 35

T he shadow man tapped lightly at the Duchess’s door as soon

as he was sure that Miss Singer would not be returning. That
the abigail had gone into the Duke’s office was not
necessarily a good thing, but from the tenor of the snippet of conversation
he had listened to, they would be busy for some time.

When the Duchess opened the door, he slipped inside, closing it behind
him.

“It’s about time,” she hissed. “My stomach is roiling, my head aches, and I
was ready to throw the stupid abigail out the window.”

“Shh, shh, my love. Come sit down, I have your medicine. You will feel
better in just a few minutes.” Margery sat on the vanity stool. From an inner
coat pocket the shadow man produced a small, brown vial and a spoon. He
poured a small amount of the liquid into the spoon. “Open up now, there’s a
good girl. Into the mouth and down the hatch. Now, give it a minute and
you will soon feel better.”
Margery sat still for a moment, then said, “Oh! I feel better already.”

“That’s good. Now, let me guide you over to the bed before you begin to
feel its full effects, and you can tell me how you allowed the abigail to
entertain you.”

“She read to me.”

“She reads?”

“Yes, in two languages. One wonders why she did not become a governess
instead of an abigail.”

“Perhaps because she needed a position, or perhaps she had some other
motive. Tell me, what did she read?”

“She read from Tales from Shakespeare. I asked her to read ‘All’s Well that
Ends Well’.”

“Awwww,” the shadow man crooned, “Were you so desperate as all that,
my love?”

“Oh, Roddy, I was.”

“Shhh, shhh, no names. The walls have ears.”

“Big, pink ears?”

“Aye, and little brown ones. Let’s not give them anything to use against us.
Besides, it is just the two of us, my little sweet. Who needs names?”

“A rose by any other name…” Margery giggled. “I do love Shakespeare. If

I can’t call you by your name, what should I call you?”

“Romeo?” the shadow man asked roguishly.

“I don’t like that one,” Margery pouted. “The lovers die in the end, and
there is no fun in that.”

“Jacque?”

“Better, but too stuffy. Besides, someone might think you are a French
Revolutionary.”

“Viva la revolucion! Had it succeeded, we might not be in our current

plight.”
“Plight. Perhaps you are Orlando. Yes, I think you are, and I shall call you
Lan for short.”

“And you shall be Rosalind. My sweet, sweet Rose.”

“I like that. How did we come to such a pass as this, Lanny?”

“Your father did not think me good enough for you or for his pocket-sized
Duchy. So he insisted on this sham of a marriage for you.”

“I’m not sure I always like being a Duchess, Lanny. It isn’t nearly as much
fun as I thought it would be.”

“I know, Love. But soon all shall be yours. All we have to do to make sure
you are with child.”

“But Lanny, I’ve done nothing with the Duke to make me so. He knows
that. He will surely know it isn’t his.”

“I’ll not fault you for your choices, but that does make it a bit difficult. We
must simply, therefore, convince him that he has made you pregnant. Then
we can clear the road for your baby to inherit.”

“That is a lovely plan, Lanny. But how shall we do it?”

“Wait and see. I don’t show all my cards at once. The first part is to ensure
the baby.”

“But…but Lanny, I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t like babies. My

mother died having me, and I don’t want to die!”

“Sweet, you were the second baby. The women in your family only die with
the second baby. The old Duke of Mabway made a mistake when he tried to
get a second child from her.”

“But I don’t want to! I’ve seen the bellies of women who had babies. When
we went to Bath to take the waters, there were young mothers in the ladies
bathing area. Their tummies were all misshapen and one showed me her
stretch marks. I don’t want stretch marks!”

Margery began to cry.

“Shh, shhh, love. It will be all right. I would never ask you to do something
that would hurt you. We will have a little bit of fun, and you will enjoy it.
Then, by and by, you will have our baby, and he will be a Duke one day.”

Margery rubbed her head against the shadow man’s shoulder. “It won’t
hurt?”

“Not a bit of it. You shall see.”

The shadow man put his arms around Margery and kissed her gently. “You
are my love, you are my only love. I will make you a Duchess, and I will be
your consort. We just have to take care of a few little inconvenient details.”

“It’s just I don’t see why I must have a baby. I don’t want a baby. I don’t
even like them.”

The shadow man brushed the hair out of Margery’s face, then kissed her
again. Inwardly, he sighed. This could be harder than he thought. The
serving girls were a lot easier to please. But Margery was the love of his
life, and they had come this far. He just needed to get her talked around to
his point of view.

She was always difficult, temperamental, and hard to please. But she is in
every way worth it. Even with spending almost every cent I make on her
tonics, she is definitely worth it.

As he held her, somewhere high up on the mountain, a wolf howled. “I

don’t like it when the wolves howl,” Margery whimpered. “I think my
father threw me to the wolves to save himself or to save his precious
Mabway. Only then it burned, and only the big tower is there. I don’t even
like to think about it.”

“Shh, shh, love. No one is getting thrown to the wolves. That wolf is high
up on the mountains. He probably has a den of babies somewhere to take
care of. You would not begrudge him that, would you?”
“Yes!” Margery said, “Yes, I would begrudge it because if he has babies,
then soon there will be more wolves. I don’t like wolves at all. I like them
even less than babies.”

Then, almost as if on cue, another wolf howl answered the first. Well, at
least that is one thing that is on track. That means that the good batch of
false coins are ready.

Margery buried her face in the crook of his arm, trembling at the sound. He
gently rubbed the back of her neck. It never occurred to him to think that
the last wolf in Scotland had been killed several years before. Or perhaps he
didn’t know.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 36

T he following morning, Celeste realized that she had an

exceptionally busy schedule ahead of her. “I do believe that
competence is its own punishment,” she murmured to the
dim mirror in her room as she put up her hair and tied on her cap.

Her day began with refreshing the floral arrangements. Fortunately,

Gran’ther Tim had somehow caught wind of some of her changes, and had
brought a wheelbarrow of flowers and greenery up from the orangeries.
“Too wet for ye ta be mucking about outside,” he told her. “An’ I’ve a
minute or two extra thanks ta tha weather.” Between the two of them, they
quickly had the displays refreshed and the withered ones changed out.
Celeste even managed a cup of tea before the Duchess rang for her.

Her Grace seemed to be feeling better, and was happy to sit up in bed and
eat a hearty breakfast. She was even more pleased when a delivery from the
village proved to be more fabrics that she wanted Celeste to make up into
new gowns.

Soon the two of them were almost companionable as they designated a

sprigged muslin for a new morning dress, a crisp lawn for an afternoon
walking dress, and a brown silk to make up into a dinner dress. In addition,
there was good bit of heavy twill, perfect for creating a new riding habit.
Celeste carefully partitioned off in her mind the time that she would spend
making the dresses, and gave her artistic abilities full rein as she sketched,
discussed, and planned the new wardrobe for the Duchess.

With the clothing plans made, the Duchess announced that she was hungry.
“Please ring for some lunch, then you may help me get into my riding habit.
I shall go riding today.”

“Are you certain that is a good idea, Your Grace? It is sure to be muddy on
the trails.”

“I am quite sure. As interesting as all this is, I believe I shall go quite mad if
I am cooped up inside this moldy old heap of stone for another day.”

Celeste found Gwyndonmere Castle to be quite comfortable. The walls

were solid, the roof did not leak. The Duchess’s chambers had large
windows that could be opened to catch the summer breezes off the lake
when the weather was nice, and her bed could easily hold a family of six in
its downy depths. I suppose it is all a matter of perspective.

The Duchess was eager to be off, so she did not insist on her usual bath
before dressing. Instead, she gobbled down her lunch as if she were starving
and was happy with a simple knot of curls at the back of her head to support
her riding hat.

“You may take the fabric and thread up to the solar and begin at once. I am
especially eager to have a new dinner gown, so you may start with that
one.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Celeste said. She willed her stomach not to gurgle, even
though her morning tea was only a distant memory.

Once the Duchess was safely out the door, she began to bundle the sewing
supplies together. She then stepped to the door, and saw that David
Hammonds was on duty as footman.

“David, can I get some help? The Duchess desires me to work in the solar
this afternoon.”

“Of course you can, Miss Singer. Tell me what you want moved and where.
I’ll be glad to. Just let me tell Mr. Hammonds what I am doing so he won’t
think I’ve left my post unattended on purpose.”

Celeste waited at the open door to the Duchess’s chambers until David
returned. “Mr. Hammonds says that not only can you have some help, he
will send up a little something to tide you over until dinner since you were
closeted with the Duchess all through lunch. He’s adding a little bit extra
because Gran’ther Tim will be up in a while to tend the plants.”

Celeste flushed a little at this. “I think I was supposed to do that,” she said.
“But I’ll be glad of the company.”

“I don’t doubt that at all. Miss Sedgewick says you’ll have your work cut
out for you trying to make dresses all alone. She’s thinking to send Betty up
to help you with some of the plain seams.”

Celeste smiled with relief. “That would be wonderful. Tell her thank you,
because I know that there are many things that need to be done. It is a great
kindness to send Betty to me.”

“She also says she will send up a horn book as well as a story book, and
that you are to teach Betty her letters.”

“I will be glad to, although I am not sure how reading and sewing will go
together.”

By the time Celeste had collected the fabrics, and she and David had carried
them out to the solar, Betty was there. She was busily setting out a luncheon
of bread and cheese, a basket of fresh strawberries, and a large pot of tea.
There were plates and utensils for three. “I’ve not had lunch either,” Betty
explained, “Nor has Gran’ther Tim. But that basket over there is sewing
supplies from the laundry. Miss Sedgewick says that you’ll have enough to
do without having to search for tools to use. We can heat the pressing irons
at the hearth, and there’s a pair of Sheffield scissors, too, that will make
cutting the patterns so much easier.”

“Oh, my! I always wanted a pair, but they are so very dear. If I do not see
her tonight, be sure and tell her thank you.”

When Gran’ther Tim arrived, they all three ate quickly. Betty then put the
luncheon things in a basket for David to take down to the kitchen.
Gran’ther Tim then set up a trestle table, and Betty spread a clean white
sheet over it to protect the fabric from snagging on the wood. With that
done, Celeste set about picking apart a dinner dress that the Duchess had
discarded as being too shabby to wear again. She would use that dress as a
pattern, since it fit the Duchess well.

With Betty’s help, it did not take long to take the dress apart, pin it to the
new fabric and to cut the pieces using the steel Sheffield shears. When that
was done, Celeste set Betty to work tracing her letters on a polished board
using a piece of charcoal.

“I understand why Miss Sedgewick wants me to speak proper,” she said,

enunciating the words carefully. “But why do I need to learn to read and
write?”

“So you can help label the pickles and jam,” Celeste said calmly. “When
your have learned the letters, we will work with the hornbook. If there is
enough time, I will read a story aloud to you. But I might be called to serve
the Duchess before we have a chance.”

“Be sure ta listen ta Miss Singer,” Gran’ther Tim put in from where he was
training up a vine. “I remember tha time tha late Duke’s gran’ther decreed
that all his folk would learn ta read n write. It were a hard thing, an’ the
school master he got believed that a boy learns best if well-beaten.”

“Dear me!” Celeste was a little taken aback by this pronouncement. “I don’t
think that will be necessary.”
The three of them passed a pleasant afternoon, scarcely realizing the that
both literal and figurative storm clouds were gathering on the horizon.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 37

I nspector Ravensgard, Constable McHenry, Jonathan, Mr.

McAhmladhson, and Mr. McOwen were gathered in the
distillery at the Gentle Sisters. Father Jacob, Mother Sarah, the
abbess, and Sister Agatha, the apothecary, were there also.

“Laudanum,” Sister Agatha pronounced firmly. “A very fine grade, too.

Many ladies use it for female troubles, headaches and the like. Pennyroyal
is a better choice, as long as the woman is not trying to become with child.
It is sometimes also used for general pain relief. It can quiet a racking
cough or allay the symptoms of dysentery. This has been prepared by a
knowledgeable hand, and the cork has kept it clean, even though the outside
of the bottle is dirty. Where did you say you found it?”

“Buried in a mound of turf,” Jonathan replied. “Dr. Dermott, I am sure,

would have some. Gran’ther Tim, my gardener, keeps some on hand for the
days when his bones ache too badly. But if what you say is true, then there
is a good chance that someone is smuggling it.”

Sister Agatha nodded. “I know about Gran’ther Tim, and I make the
preparations for Dr. Dermott. Gran’ther Tim grows the poppies that we use,
which means that we do not have to worry about the purity of the supply. I
only make small amounts, since it is wise to restrict use of it.”

Jonathan considered the implications of the quantity he had found, but

found his imagination less than equal to the task. “I cannot think why
someone would bury it in an old sheep shed. Since both you and Dr.
Dermott have it on hand, and Gran’ther Tim keeps it in the poison cabinet
in the orangery, there is a sufficient supply for most common needs.”

“That is a very good question,” Father Jacob commented. “It would seem to
me that having such a quantity would indicate a desire to do something
illicit with the substance. If the shed was set up as a meeting place, it
certainly does not bode well. What if this were emptied into the drinking
water for the village or castle?”

Sister Agatha considered the possibilities, then she shook her head. “I really
don’t think it would have much effect. Even though this is very good
quality, if it were dumped into one of the wells it would rapidly disperse
because the aquifers are deep and flow swiftly. If it were poured into a wine
bottle or even a barrel of beer, then that might have serious consequences.”

The ten people gathered in the distillery all looked at the jar. “It seems we
have a mystery,” said Father Jacob, “and not of the mystical sort. I think
that it would be very practical to put new locks on any cabinet that contains
opium or any other pain killers or poisons, and keep a close watch on them.

“I heartily concur.” Inspector Ravensgard endorsed the Father’s suggestion.

“Can it be done, Your Grace?”
“Yes, of course. The trick will be getting it done without the process
becoming the talk of the entire village. For it to be effective, changing the
locks needs to be done quietly.

Mr. McAhmladhson tapped his lips with one forefinger. “I’ll speak to Mr.
Cory, the elder. He would be the one to make the locks in all events. He
might have something on hand that we can use. Mr. Cory the younger has
been taking care of some legal questions for the Duke, and could plausibly
bring the ones intended for the orangeries.”

“Those are good plans,” Jonathan said. “However, it should be remembered

that the orangeries are made of glass. It makes securing them somewhat
difficult. But I have another question for all of you, and for the Inspector in
particular. Do you think that this substance has anything to do with the
death of the maid, and the near-death of another?”

“Almost certainly. Sally Ann has had night sweats and anxiety attacks since
she was here. Since she is with child, I have only given her willow tea or
chamomile, because laudanum can have a deleterious effect on the unborn.”

“How do you know this?” inquired Inspector Ravensgard.

Sister Agatha gave him a level look. “I was a nurse in the London slums for
a time. It was brutal work.”

The Inspector quirked an eyebrow at her. “It seems odd that you should be
here, now.”
“Inspector, I had an unfortunate encounter with a footpad one night. When I
was sufficiently recovered, my natural born sister invited me to stay with
her. She and her husband have a cottage in the village. He works in the
gardens.

“I was in a pitiable condition. I had several broken bones that had not
healed well and I could not make it through a single night without a dose of
laudanum. I was fortunate that Dr. Dermott and Gran’ther Tim recognized
my problem for what it was and helped me wean myself off the stuff. Both
Father Jacob and Parson Graves counseled with me, and prayed with me.
But it was Mother Sarah who offered me a place to be at peace.”

“I knew of her case,” Jonathan added. “Her sister is cousin to my butler, Mr.
Hammonds.”

The Inspector shook his head. “Country villages. Always so close knit, and
so interconnected. But this all seems a bit different. I’m hard pressed to say
how, but it doesn’t have the earmarks of your usual criminal event.”

“Indeed, no,” said Constable McHenry. “We don’t have a lot of crime, as
such. Usually just a petty robbery or one of the lads losing his temper and
letting fly with his fists too hard. But this has all been very strange, which
is, of course, why we sent for you.”

“We hoped,” Jonathan added, “that an outsider might see something that we
overlook just because it is familiar.”
“I am surprised at one thing,” the Inspector said. “Why isn’t Dr. Dermott
here at this meeting?”

“Oh, dear, Inspector. Did you think that a village doctor would not be busy?
One of the younger Cory brothers jumped out of the haymow and broke his
leg. His father is exceedingly wroth with him because he was to start his
apprenticeship in the smithy now that he is tall enough to work the
bellows.”

The Inspector chuckled. “Well, well. I suppose some things never change.
Haymows and boys seem to go together, and there is always one coming to
grief.”

“True enough.” Jonathan decided to get the discussion back on track.

“However, the fact remains that we still do not know who is doing this, or
why. The more I hear, the more anxious I become about it. I think this
person poses a considerable threat to my people.”

“I cannot dispute it, Your Grace. And I will do my best to help you. But you
know that all human bests have limits.”

The Duke smiled ruefully. “I know that all too well.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 38

T he shadow lover hastened up the track toward the sheep shed.

The Duke and his two henchmen had been up this way
yesterday. With the Duchess settled, he needed to check on
his supplies. It would not do to allow something to happen to them. In
addition, he needed to check in with his accomplice and see what was going
on, and make sure that the reason he was howling was merely that the coins
were done.

The howls were intended to do two things. They were to frighten the
villagers out of going into the hills at night, and they were to serve as
signals. The howls last night had that distinct quality about them that
indicated that they were signals, and he thought he knew why. But he had
been too involved with the Duchess to pay them much heed.

Now he hurried up the track to see what had happened. As soon as he

neared the sheep shearing shed, he could see something was wrong. Or
something had gone back to being right, depending upon your point of
view. He slipped off the track into the undergrowth along the way, took his
mask out of his pocket and put it on, then he pulled his hat low down over it
and his coat about him.
The rails had been returned to the fence, and the bales of turf were stacked
outside the shed. He hurried inside, and discovered that the cache of bottles
was gone. All gone.

Now what was he going to do? Margery depended upon him. She suffered
abominably without the laudanum. But the stuff he gave her was not pure
laudanum. It was cut with a tonic he had learned to make when he was
apprenticed to the apothecary. Some of the “Ladies” of Rose street used it to
make their trade more pleasurable. The mixture, when the tiniest bit of
laudanum was added to it, enhanced perceptions. It made the world
brighter, sped up thinking, and soothed anxiety.

Under its influence, Margery could hold a conversation, could listen to a

book read aloud, could maintain a seat on horse. Without it, for her the
world was a terrible place.

Margery had always been anxious, even as a child. When he returned home
to his mother, having been turned off from the apothecary to whom he been
apprenticed in Edinburgh, he had been assigned to his little goddess as a
protector, keeping away stray dogs, wasps, and even butterflies. She could
not even stand to pet a kitten. It was only several weeks after he had begun
dosing her with his miracle formula that she had been able to learn to ride.

Now she was an amazing horsewoman, finding in wild flights across

country on horseback an escape from what she had come to consider an
untenable situation.

In addition, the formula made her pliable, so it was no trick at all to

persuade her to stand in front of an Anglican minister from a small town at
the foot of the mountains to make her vows with him.
When the late Duke of Mabway had insisted that she marry the heir to
Gwyndonmere, he saw an opportunity. Between them, he and Margery had
plotted that she would pretend to wed, but that she would insist that he have
a place in the Duke’s household.

But with the laudanum gone and his money gone, too, he scarcely knew
how to manage. There was enough in the vial in his pocket to keep her for a
week. He would have to come up with something before he ran out. The
stuff was integral to the rest of his plan, as well. He would need to find a
new source, and quickly.

Margery was his everything. Without her, he was nothing. There was
nothing he would not do, would not risk for her.

There was a sound behind him, and he whirled around. The Revolutionary
stood behind him. “I see you found the problem,” he said. “They came up
yesterday and dug it out. Where were you?”

“Attending essential business,” the shadow man snapped.

“Essential to whom? To me? To the Cause? Or to that high-strung aristocrat

you’ve been diddling?”

“To everything,” the shadow man replied. “If I do not keep her appeased, I
am likely to lose my place.”
“I don’t suppose,” the Revolutionary drawled, “that it ever occurred to you
to do the job you were hired to do? Not that being on the staff of a highborn
gentleman ever appealed to me, but a show of competence would eliminate
the need for the Duchess to keep interceding for you.”

“How do you know about that?” the shadow man asked.

“I get around. My face isn’t known, so I can go into the village to buy
things now and then. To them, I’m just a vagrant, roaming around up here
in the hills. They are sure that I poach a bunny or two, and they might lay
some stolen laundry at my door.”

“What about our other friend?”

“Him? He’s terrified out of his wits. The poor fool cares for nothing but his
dogs. He nearly messed his drawers when he saw the use to which your Ma
put his dogs. That was a pretty maneuver, but I wonder how it will be when
we come down to the end and things become a little sticky. Know this, little
man, I will put you down as readily as you intended to do that girl.”

“What do you mean? I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Don’t you? Well, you can play it that way if you wish. But I intend to have
this little castle back here in the hills whether you can off the Duke and turn
his Duchess up sweet or not. I like finessing the game, but if that isn’t
possible, I can round up enough outlaws to do it the hard way.”
“Hold on there,” the shadow man felt his insides go to jelly. “You can’t do
that. This isn’t the olden times when soldiers pillaged and destroyed.”

“Ask the little abigail if it isn’t. I think she might tell a different story,
having been in France so recently.”

“But that is in France, not in Scotland. Things are civilized here.”

“Is that what you call it? Pour a little snake oil over it, and it is civilized, is
it? I don’t know what you are thinking, you little piece of work, but I’m not
civilized. I know the kind of barbarian I am, but I don’t think you are any
better.”

The shadow man gulped, then rallied. It was for Margery, it was all for
Margery. He would find a way.

“I have enough for the Duchess for a week. I have a good idea about where
they might lock it up. I’m sure that is what they have done. It is so pure, the
Duke will not want to waste it. He is dedicated to keeping his accounts in
the black, and would know the worth of such a thing.”

“Very well. You have a week. If you have made no progress by the end of
the se’night, we will do it my way. And don’t forget, I know your secret –
you and your precious Duchess.”

With that, the Revolutionary glided away into the brush, heading back up
the mountain. The shadow man leaned against the lintel of the shearing
shed for a moment, steadying his shaking nerves. He longed to take a sip
from the little flask, but he dared not. No, that was for Margery, the
Duchess, his goddess, his dearly beloved.

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 CHAPTER 39

C eleste and Betty had just finished the long seams on the brown,
striped dinner dress when David Hammonds came to tell them that
the Duchess was ringing for Celeste.

“You go,” Betty said. “I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

Celeste hurried from the solar to the main hall. When she entered the
Duchess’s chambers, Her Grace was practically glowing.

“You had a good ride?” Celeste asked.

“Lovely!” the Duchess said, “It was so beautiful outside. There was even a
rainbow.”

To Celeste’s eye, it looked as if the Duchess had been playing in the mud.
She was often careless about her clothes, but today she had taken that
carelessness to new heights. Her boots were caked with mud and the hem of
her riding habit looked as if she had gone wading in it. The skirt was not
only muddy, but soaked to the knee. The back of the garment looked as if
the Duchess had sat down on a muddy bank, for it was covered with mud
and grass stains.

The Duchess herself seemed in fine fettle. Her color was high, and her eyes
sparkled with an almost manic light. “Come, help me out of this and ring
for a bath. Do not dawdle. You will make me late for dinner. I am
famished.”

“I ordered a bath on the way to your chamber, Your Grace. It should be here
shortly. Of course I will help you out. Did you fall?”

The Duchess laughed, a silvery girlish laugh. “Oh, no. I saw some
wildflowers that I wanted to pick, and I slid down an embankment.”

With some difficulty, Celeste was able to peel the Duchess out of her
muddy clothes and into a bathing robe before the pot boys brought up the
canisters of water. She had just gotten the bathing sheet draped over the tub
when they tapped at the door.

Soon the Duchess was soaking in a warm tub, babbling on about rainbows,
wildflowers, and racing with the wind in her hair. It would be appropriate
for a girl of ten summers to gush like this, but it is a bit worrying in a grown
woman.

“It is good to see you in good spirits, Your Grace,” Celeste commented.
“I am always in good spirits,” the Duchess announced. “Why ever should I
not be? Oh, did you get my dress finished? I would like to wear it tonight.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace. We have the main seams done, but not the finish
work.”

The Duchess’s face fell. She pouted like a little child. “But I want to wear it
now.”

“Perhaps tomorrow night,” Celeste soothed. “Betty helped and we have the
main part of the garment finished. Perhaps your silk bombazine? It should
be light enough for the evening.”

“Very well,” the Duchess said sulkily. “But I want to wear the new one
tomorrow. Perhaps you can beg off some of your other chores and attend
just me, for a change.”

“I am always here for you, Your Grace. My other chores are only to fill in
the time when you do not need me.”

What has come over her? She is up, then down. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen
her quite like this.

It was a relief to send the Duchess off to dinner with the Duke, but Celeste
felt a little sorry for him. He looked sad and tired, although he put on a
pleasant smile for the Duchess. When they were gone, Celeste cleaned the
room, then hurried to get something to eat before the Duchess required her
services again. As was often the case, however, she did not ring for Celeste
after dinner.

This left Celeste with a dilemma. Should she go to the study? The Duke had
suggested it yesterday. But did he mean it?

Celeste poured herself another cup of tea, trying to decide what she should
do.

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 CHAPTER 40

J onathan offered his arm to Margery. She seemed unusually

animated, her eyes bright and sparkling. Her smile held a
promise of something, but he could not tell what. She offered
no conversation at all, but leaned coyly on his arm, as if he
were a lover from whose bed she had recently risen.

Dinner was also an anomaly. His Duchess praised the soup, devoured the
main dish, which was the despised chicken. She ate the dessert custard with
apparent relish, and even gave him a peck of a kiss on the cheek before she
retired to her rooms.

But the door closed in his face, as it always did. Frustrated, Jonathan
clenched his hand once, then strode back down the hall to his study. What
was she playing at this time? Was it not enough that most of the household
was aware that she had taken a lover? He did not want to confront her until
the annulment papers were in his hand. But what to do with her, that was
the question.

She had no kin to whom he could send her. She was an unlikely candidate
for a convent. In good conscience, he did not feel that he could break his
promise to her father. Clearly, the late Duke of Mabway had known that his
daughter’s mental faculties were frail. But to be shackled to a mad woman
for the rest of his days! It scarcely bore thinking on.

Jonathan flung himself into his chair and stared into the flames of his
fireplace. The usual pile of reports and tallies sat in a large wooden box on
one corner of his desk. It seemed almost an insult after the long day he had
spent trying to discover what had gone wrong in his small domain. He
sighed, and reached for the box. No matter what else went on, people had to
eat, be sheltered, and have clothing to wear.

If only he had some help. Then he remembered. Celeste! She had entered
the household accounts so neatly. She could at least take that burden from
him. He reached for the bell pull.

When David Hammonds answered the summons, Jonathan asked, “Is Miss
Singer still up?”

“I think so, Your Grace. Shall I ask her to come to you?”

“Yes. I would like her assistance with sorting these things again, and with
the household accounts. She writes with a fine hand and quickly understood
the way the entries need to be made.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” David said, his face politely expressionless.
Celeste was sitting in the servants’ dining hall sipping a cup of tea when
David found her. “His Grace would like to see you,” he said.

She rose at once. “I will go to him straight away.”

David studied her face for a moment. “Do be careful, Miss Singer. When
the likes of us mixes with the likes of them, the results are not always
good.”

“Thank you for your concern, David. But I owe the Duke a great deal. He is
having quite a trying time just now, so I am glad to help.”

The tall young footman looked at her sadly. “Just be careful, Miss Singer.
The Duke is a good man, but he is still a man.”

These words echoed the advice given her by Miss Sedgewick. Celeste bit
her lip, holding on to her temper. “He has offered to do nothing that could
not be done in full view of the entire household, including his wife. I have
no fear of the Duke overstepping his bounds.” More’s the pity, for I do not
think I would say him nay. How can such a man endure a woman like the
Duchess?

Celeste arose from where she sat and placed her cup in the tub on the
sideboard. “I will go to him now, if you please, David.”
Jonathan looked up with a smile when she tapped on his door. “Miss
Singer! I have need of your help again.”

“Of course, Your Grace. I will be glad to.”

Jonathan moved the heavy box of reports and mail over to the side of his
desk. A much smaller desk now sat there, next to his. “I took the liberty of
creating a better workspace for you by having one of the footmen bring this
down from the old school room. If you can sort this box of mail and reports
just as we did together yesterday, I will take care of some of the letters I
need to write.”

Celeste sat down at the small desk and began to sort the items in the box.
For some time, there was no sound except the crackling fire, the susurrus of
shuffling paper, and the scratch of Jonathan’s pen. The door from the study
to the hall was open. David Hammonds stood outside, the footman on duty
for the evening.

Jonathan surreptitiously watched Celeste as she sorted the papers, then

without further direction from him, opened the little book of household
accounts, and began entering the day’s tally of supplies used and supplies
harvested. He had, from time to time, hired a clerk to take care of these
menial record keeping tasks, but had never found one that met his
standards.

Now, the abigail I hired to tend my wife is proving herself to be a better

clerk than any I’ve had to date. And she is so beautiful.
Scarcely knowing what impulse moved him, Jonathan stepped to the door
of the study.

“David, will you fetch us up some tea? These dry papers make for thirsty
work. See if the cook has some of that custard left, or perhaps a few biscuits
as well.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” David replied. But he cast a meaningful look at
Celeste.

Jonathan saw the look, and recognized the protectiveness in it. But the
young footman went at his bidding in spite of what were clear misgivings.

Jonathan then turned to Celeste. “I must take this chance while I can, for
young David will not be gone long. I want you to know that I am making
every effort to protect your reputation. But I also want you to know that I
admire you, and I find you beautiful. Before meeting you, I had no idea that
a woman existed who could combine feminine grace with supreme
competence.”

Celeste blushed, but held his gaze unwaveringly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Jonathan struggled to find the right words, then settled for speaking plainly.
“I am married, although I hope to have that marriage set aside for a variety
of reasons. Our stations are vastly different. Yet I find that I am rapidly
developing a tender spot for you, in addition to being deeply appreciative of
your very competent help.”
Then he thought over what he had just said. “Miss Singer, if I were an
ordinary shepherd and you an ordinary villager, I would declare my
undying love for you. No, I, as a Duke declare my love for you, in spite of
all the obstacles that society might place between us.”

Celeste turned wide eyes to him. Was that a little trace of fear in them?

“Your Grace,” she began. But David returned with the tea just then, so he
was denied hearing the response she might have made. With infinite grace,
Celeste rose and poured tea for all three of them.

As she passed a cup to Jonathan, she allowed her fingers to brush against
his. “Will you take sugar or cream?” she asked.

“I will take it as it is,” he replied, prolonging the contact.

She nodded, and withdrew her hand, leaving him the cup. She then loaded
two biscuits and a serving of custard on a plate, and handed it to him. “You
should eat more, Your Grace. You are becoming far too thin.”

He could have shouted for joy, or wept in despair for the uncertainty of it
all. But with David looking on, he simply replied, “Thank you, Miss Singer.
I shall endeavor to keep up my strength.”

“See that you do,” she said crisply, returning to the household accounts.
When the tea, custard, and biscuits had been consumed, Jonathan sent
David back to the kitchen with the tea things. As soon as the young man
was out of sight, Jonathan said, “Celeste…”

“You need not say anything, Your Grace. I pledged to serve you in any way
I could when you promised to send for my parents. But even without that,
you would have captured my heart. If you were a shepherd, I would have no
hesitation in following you and your flocks.”

“But since I am a duke?”

“Then I owe you fealty, and am yours to command in all things. I trust you,
Your Grace.”

And that put responsibility for whatever might come next squarely back
with him. “Oh, neatly done, Miss Singer. Remind me not to give you the
opportunity to read for law. But my regard remains.”

“As does mine for you, Your Grace.” Celeste boldly reached over and gave
his hand a gentle squeeze. “You are under a great deal of strain just now. I
find you to be both a handsome and an honorable man. I know that you will
select a course that will ensure that all is well for everyone, including you
and I.”

Jonathan turned his hand, and brought Celeste’s fingers to his lips. “I shall
do my best to deserve your trust, Celeste.”
By the time David returned to his post, both Jonathan and Celeste were
busy with the accounts. The only change discernable was that the tips of
Jonathan’s ears were pink, and Celeste’s cheeks were unusually rosy.

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 CHAPTER 41

A t daybreak, one of the under gardeners came to Gran’ther Tim

with horrifying news.

“All of it?” the Gran’ther asked. “Every dram and crumb?”

“All of it, Sir,” the under gardener said. “Every root, dried leaf, potion and
tincture from the poison cupboard.”

“Hoo did they gie in?” Gran’ther Tim asked. “That press was triple locked
an' bolted tae th' fluir in th' orangery office.” His brogue was thick and
nearly incomprehensible in his stress.

“They took an axe to the door, sir. What should I do?”

“Gae up tae th' castle an' tell Mr. Hammonds sae 'at he can alert th' Duke th'
moment he is waukin'. I’ll gae o’er th' inventory list, an' send a copy up as
suin as Ah can gie it copied oot.”
“Yes, Sir, Gran’ther Tim. I’ll do it at once.” The under gardener darted out
the door, and set off for the castle at a run.

Gran’ther Tim pulled out the big ledger where accounts were kept of what
was in the poison cabinet and hastily began to copy out a list of the things
that were in it. Aconite, datura, foxglove, rue, so many ways the plant
kingdom defended itself from animal and man. So many ways to heal or to
kill.

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 CHAPTER 42

S he checked her face again. It was so hard to hold his attention

lately, even though he was hers, body and soul, as they had vowed
to each other. It wouldn’t do to disgust him by looking less than
her best.

Was that a wrinkle at the corner of her eye? Her new abigail made her feel
old. The chit was scarcely more than a girl. With her sleek blond braids and
fresh face, she had half the castle mooning after her and the other half
wishing they looked half so good. Even He had that look sometimes when
the girl was near. But He was hers, and had been long before her father had
insisted on this ridiculous alliance to a Duke who was little better than a
country squire.

She remembered her so-called marriage night. Thank goodness Jonathan

had not insisted on the country custom of bedding in front of witnesses. She
would never forget the look on his face when she closed her bedroom door,
almost on his nose. And thank goodness he was a true gentleman, because
he had never claimed his marriage rights by force, as he could have legally
done.
She had been such a naïve child when she gave in to her father’s demands,
even though she knew it was wrong. Before her shadow man came into her
life, it had been so hard to think, to keep herself together. But he had
changed all that.

The tonics he brought to her made her feel so pleasant. So light, so airy, as
if the world were made anew. She could think when she had them, and she
could behave like a lady.

Not only that, when he came to her, he knew all the best ways to please a
woman without stretching her belly into an ungainly shape with an
unwanted child. He made this horrible place of stone, and bugs, and mice,
and those horrible night birds bearable. They even helped keep out the
sound of the wolves howling on the hills.

Margery shivered. She didn’t like the wolf howls. They were lonely and
fierce all at the same time. She wanted to go to London, where all was
gaiety and balls, with the best food and drink to go with the sweetness of
the late morning hours. There, she could sleep all day and attend parties all
night. For a little while, she could forget that she was married to a do-
nothing little country squire, even if he did have the title “Duke.”

There came a tap on the door. She rose and opened it. He was there, the one
she was waiting for. And he was carrying a beautiful little earthenware
bottle. “I have something new for you,” He said, offering it to her.

“It is lovely!” Margery exclaimed. “Wherever did you find it? I don’t think
there is anything like it in the village, or even in Edinburgh!”
“I found it the last time we were in London,” He lied. She could tell that he
was lying because there was an odd quirk to his left eyebrow. It was the
only way you could tell, although he lied all the time. It was one of his
greatest charms. He told stories and he fully expected those around him to
tell them, too. It was a great game with Him.

She turned it over in her hands. It looked old. There was a strange
translucency to the pottery, a lightness as if it were partially made of glass.
The main part of the vessel was a dark brown. It was inlaid with bright
white figures in an odd metal. The scene showed a goddess and a god
pursuing each other around the bottle. She giggled at the sight of it.

The inlay left little white smudges on her fingers. She started to lick it off,
but He caught her hand and wiped it clean with his handkerchief. “That is
for later, dear one. Have a little patience.”

“Will I like it?” Margery asked.

“You will like it excessively,” he said. “Come, my sweet and lovely

Duchess, my queen, my empress, and let me show you how to rule me, your
loyal subject.”

“You exalt me,” she said.

“No day better to do it,” he replied. “Soon all shall be as we wish. The
wheels have already been set in motion.”
“They have? Will I be able to attend the London Season?”

“Of that, I am not sure, but do not fret. I have it on the best authority that
the London Season will be sadly flat this year.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because the most beautiful flower of the ton will not be there. Without
you, it will only be full of old men chewing over policies that only ensure
that the rich get richer and the poor get poorer, while the young men are fed
to the war machine.”

Margery shivered. “That sounds dreadful.”

“It is dreadful. So come, let us celebrate our own Season. I promise you will
never have felt better.” He carefully measured out a few drops of the
contents of the bottle into a spoon. “Take your medicine, dear Margery.”

Obediently as a baby bird, she opened her mouth and he tipped it in. “Gah!
That is vile!” she said, shuddering.

He kissed her gently. “There, does that take away the nasty taste? Soon, you
will not mind it at all.”

He picked her up as if she were a child and laid her on the bed. He then
began caressing her and set about a ritual that soon had her moaning with
pleasure. “I am a woman made of flowers,” she said.

“Yes, my love, you certainly are,” he agreed. “And I am the bumble bee
come to steal your sweetness.” Then he did something he had rarely done
with her before. She knew it was a thing that she had not desired, and at
first it hurt. Then the hurt turned into an unbearable pleasure that burst into
brilliant colors all around her.

All the same, she cried afterward. But he held her and soothed her. “Shh,
shh, my sweet one, my beautiful lovely wife. You should never have been
subjected to this, but your father would never have accepted me.”

“I know, Roddy. Did we do a bad thing to be married in secret? And then I

let them make me say vows with Jonathan. Too many vows. All I wanted
was a cottage with you. Although it was very pleasant to be a Duchess and
go to parties and balls. Will we still be able to do that?”

“If everything happens as I have planned, you will be able to attend every
party and every ball that your heart desires.”

“Have you put a baby in me, Roddy?”

“I hope so, my sweet, for it is the only way that you will be able to inherit
from your Duke. The only thing that remains is to find a way to make him
think that it is his, or at the very least to make it impossible for him to deny
it.”
Margery sniffled against his shoulder. Her emotions were all in a turmoil. “I
will die in childbirth. It will all be for nothing. But I am not sorry to be with
you, my sweet shadow man.”

He stroked her back, sending shivers down it, little echoes of the pleasure
they had just shared. “And I am not sorry to be with you. We shall make
sure that you live, my darling, and the baby, too. For it is the babe who will
inherit. As a woman, you would have only your widow’s portion, and
perhaps not even that if the Crown wants the estate.”

“And if the babe lives, but I do not? With Jonathan gone, this babe will be
an orphan. You will not be able to claim him.”

“If that should come to pass, I will have put a cuckoo in a Dukeling’s nest.
Is that not a fine joke on the world?”

“I’m not sure, especially since I won’t be able to enjoy it.”

“Don’t worry, love. Medical science has come a long way since your
mother gave birth. I will not allow anything to happen to you.”

Margery rested her forehead against his shoulder, and willed herself to
believe his words. Then the medicine took its hold upon her, and she slept.
And awoke alone as she always did, because it would not do for her real
husband to be found in bed with her.

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 CHAPTER 43

J onathan received the news with his morning tea. That the
contents of the poison chest had been stolen was disturbing,
but thanks to the meeting with the apothecary, inspector, and
constable, it was not unexpected. What was unexpected and
perhaps a little frightening was the violence with which the chest had been
attacked.

“An axe, you say?” Jonathan questioned Mr. Hammonds who had
accompanied the footman bringing his tea. “Thank goodness none of the
staff interrupted this person or persons unknown. If he was strong enough to
hack through the chains that bound the cabinet, he would surely have turned
his weapon against anyone who interrupted him. The concern now is how to
recover those materials before he can use them to do mischief.”

“I have already sent for the constable and the Inspector, Your Grace. What
else should we do?”

“Set a watch on the poison room in the orangery, both inside and out.
Caution the men not to pursue anyone entering the area, since some of those
plants are dangerous to even touch. As was pointed out at our meeting with
the apothecary at the Gentle Sisters, the orangeries are made of glass, and
are therefore not an easy place to keep secure.”

“I understand, Your Grace. I will speak to Gunther, our senior guard. He

might want to recruit some additional help from the villagers.”

“The Cory boys might be a good choice for that, since Mr. Cory the Elder
starts all of them out in the smithy, even if they take up other professions
later in their lives.”

“How many are there, now?” Mr. Hammonds mused.

“Six, I believe, plus four daughters who are as buxom as their mother. They
have quite a brood.”

“Indeed. Gunther might know of others who are trustworthy and trained
well enough to serve. One of my nephews is back from the war, and I think
that Betty McGuire has two brothers.”

“It sounds as if you have that well in hand, Mr. Hammonds. I will leave you
to see to it.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Something else you should know. This packet
came for you in the post. It had set for a time in the Edinburgh office before
making its way to us, but it looks very official. I thought you should see it at
once. And there is also a missive from my grandson, Christopher. I have
had one also. He says that he is well, and has met with Miss Singer’s
parents. But I am sure that more details will be in your letter.”

When Mr. Hammonds had made his ponderous way out the door, Jonathan
opened the letter from Christopher Hammonds. He scanned it quickly. The
young man’s handwriting was clear and easy to read, as befitted a youth
training for diplomacy. Much of it was details about his journey, the food
(mostly lack thereof), the accommodations and conditions in the French
countryside. Then he got to the meat of the matter.

“I found Celeste’s parents in reasonably good health. Mr. Singer has been
able to make a little money for himself, as well as making the house where
they are residing a little more stable. But there is little money to be had, and
even less food. I will bring them with me upon my return. Mr. Singer is
happy to get Mrs. Singer to more secure surroundings as she has been ill.
She is recovering, but there is precious little in the way of good food for an
older woman whose health is precarious.

“On the other matter about which I was charged to investigate, I have found
a curious piece of information. It will be coming to you by way of the
regular mail, and should precede this missive. I think it will make you a
great deal easier in your mind and help you with your current concerns.”

“A little less cryptic would be nice, young Christopher,” Jonathan

murmured. He reached for the official looking envelope, but was
interrupted by David Hammonds, who scarcely paused to tap at his door.

“Your Grace! I went with Gunther to see about posting a guard on the
poison room in the orangery. It has been plundered, and many of the plants
have been ruined.”
“What is missing, David?”

“Mostly the opium poppies and the monkshood, Your Grace. But several
large nightshade plants have also been ripped from their pots. Gran’ther
Tim is there now, wearing his special clothes and has charged us all to stay
clear.”

“Send down to the Gentle Sisters for Sister Agatha. Tell her what is amiss.
She will, no doubt, have to bring one of the other sisters or Father Jacob
with her, but she is the only person I know who is fully qualified to assist
our head gardener.”

“Is the risk truly so great as that, Your Grace?”

“It is. Sometimes I have thought that we should not be growing these
medicinal plants, but they have been used to save lives. Now, I fear that
they might be used to put lives in danger.”

As soon as David was out the door again, Jonathan reached for the envelope
only to be interrupted again. This time Mr. Hammonds tapped at the door,
bringing Inspector Ravensgard and Constable McHenry with him. “Your
Grace,” he began.

“Yes, yes, Mr. Hammonds. Bring them on in. Good morning Inspector,
good morning Constable.”
Constable McHenry looked sober and a little frightened, Inspector
Ravensgard looked grim. “How is it, Your Grace,” he demanded, “that you
are growing large quantities of poisons in your greenhouses?”

“Profit, Inspector, and medicines. Sister Agatha, whom you have met,
makes up most of the medicines used by Dr. Dermott. The surplus is dried,
distilled, or preserved and sent to Edinburgh to the large apothecary shops.
As you might have noticed, this is not a large establishment and we look for
ways to make extra where we can.”

The Inspector nodded. “I do see that, and that you are largely self-sufficient.
I wonder, Your Grace, if you have thought that you might be a target,
isolated as you are?”

“Until now, our isolation has been protective. It isn’t easy to get into
Gwyndonmere Valley, and it is even harder to get up the mountain to the
old Mabway estate.”

“Is anyone at Mabway now that your Duchess’s father has passed?”

“Only a housekeeping force, Inspector. Her Grace does not like to visit
there, especially since the main house burned. She says that it makes her
uncomfortable and unhappy.”

“I see.” Inspector Ravensgard made a note in his book. “Perhaps you would
like to come with us to inspect the damages to your greenhouse and what
was it…cupboard? Cabinet?”
“Give me just a moment.” Jonathan gulped his tea and looked regretfully at
his breakfast. He took his outdoor coat that he wore when working with the
horses, folded a couple of biscuits in a napkin, and dropped them into his
pocket. He then stuffed a slice of cheese into a bread roll, and gestured at
the rest of the food.

“The kitchen always sends up too much for one man. Help yourselves,
gentlemen.”

Inspector Ravensgard hesitated, but Constable McHenry said, “Don’t mind

if I do. Thank you, Your Grace,” while imitating Jonathan’s method of
securing provender.

“I’ll send down some tea and other comestibles to the orangery,” Mr.
Hammonds said. “I am sure that many of the people who are there have not
yet broken their fast.”

“The little gazebo should be a good place to set up refreshments,” Jonathan

agreed. “I am highly concerned about Gran’ther Tim. He will take all this
deeply to heart.”

“I will send David with you to run messages,” Mr. Hammonds added,
nodding to his grandson, who was standing at attention in the hall. “David.”

David nodded and fell in at the rear of the party.

At the last moment, Jonathan turned back. “Mr. Hammonds.”

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Lock my study, if you would please. I have several pieces of valuable mail
that I do not wish to become lost, especially since I have not yet had a
chance to look at it yet.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

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 CHAPTER 44

C eleste entered the servants’ dining hall to find it bustling with

activity. “Oh, there you are, Celeste!” Miss Sedgewick turned to
her with relief. “You are not to worry about the household
greenery today. Gran’ther Tim is too busy with serious matters to deliver
fresh flowers. Instead, can you help pack these hampers?”

“Of course. But what has happened?”

“Someone broke into the orangeries last night and stole the poison plants.”

“Oh, no! Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Who knows?” Miss Sedgewick shrugged. “To sell, perhaps. Some of them
are quite valuable. More importantly, the Duke has ordered guards on all
the wells and for the inn and our kitchen to put by barrels of fresh water for
human and beast.”

“Oh, dear! What if it has already been tainted?”

“Then we are all in a great deal of difficulty. We can, of course, get water
from the Great Spring Falls where they tumble down into the tributary that
feeds the lake. But that is a difficult journey with containers. It was done in
the older times, before the wells were dug.”

Just as the staff finished packing the last basket to be taken to the gazebo
that was near the orangeries, the Duchess’s bell rang.

Celeste picked up the tea tray she had prepared moments earlier in
anticipation of the call, and took it up to the Duchess’s room.

She noticed that there was no footman on duty in the hall, so she was forced
to set the tray down on the table placed there for such occasions while she
opened the door.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” she called.

“Good morning, Celeste.” The Duchess sat up on the edge of her bed and
stretched lazily. Then she surveyed the tea tray.

“No strawberries or melons today?”

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace. Someone broke into the orangeries last night,
so all is in disarray this morning.”
The Duchess’s eyebrows drew together in a way that presaged a temper
storm. “How very inconsiderate of them.”

“Quite, Your Grace. There is, however, marmalade and fresh cream. Shall I
toast a muffin for you? The cook made them up fresh today.”

“Very well. Since there is nothing better to be had, that will have to do. It is
far too nice a morning to be spoiled by something as trivial as the theft of a
few plants to disturb it.”

Celeste paused in placing half a muffin on the toasting fork to stare at the
Duchess. But she was surveying herself in a small hand mirror and took no
notice. She is sincere. She does not realize that ‘a few plants’ could make
the difference between wintering well or there being shortfalls for castle
and village. Nor does she understand that some of those plants could be
poisonous. Well, it is not my place to inform her.

Celeste continued with the chore of toasting the muffin halves. When they
were nicely browned she asked, “Will you have marmalade or strawberry
jam, Your Grace?”

“One of each, I think. Is there any clotted cream?”

“There is.”
“I would rather have that than butter, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Your Grace.” Celeste quickly prepared the food for the Duchess.

When she was seated before the fireplace, happily munching, Celeste asked,
“Will you dress for the morning, Your Grace? The new sprigged muslin is
not quite ready to wear, but your blue morning dress is freshly laundered
and pressed.”

“That sounds comfortable,” the Duchess said. “I have nothing in particular

planned for the morning. Perhaps you would not mind reading to me? You
have such a pleasant voice.”

Inwardly, Celeste quailed from the task, but she asked, “Will you have
another story from Tales from Shakespeare, Your Grace.”

“No. The post came last night, and Mr. Christopher Hammonds caused a
new novel to be sent. It is titled ‘The Wanderer,’ and it is written by Mrs.
Frances Burney, Lady d’Arblay. It should be far more amusing than
Charlotte Lamb’s prosy tales.”

After the Duchess was attired in her blue morning gown, Celeste sat down
with the new book. It was a marvel to her because very few books had
come her way, and this one was newly printed and had not even been
opened. Reverently she opened it to the first page and began to read, “To
Doctor Burney…”
“Never mind that part,” the Duchess said impatiently. “that’s just the
introduction. Skip to the first chapter.”

Celeste obligingly turned several pages until she at last came to the
beginning of the first chapter. She then began to read, “During the dire reign
of the terrific Robespierre . . .” She read for more than an hour, her voice at
last growing hoarse, her mind scarcely registering the trials of a woman
“without a protector.”

At last the Duchess said, “Enough. Ring for some luncheon, and prepare my
riding habit.”

“Your favorite one is still with the laundress, Your Grace. And are you sure
it is wise to go out riding today? Clearly, there is a criminal about. You
might be in danger.”

The Duchess shrugged. “There is always some danger when riding.

Besides, I will have my groom with me.”

If you don’t give him the slip.

Aloud, Celeste said, “As you wish, Your Grace.” And she rang for someone
to bring up a meal.

Once the Duchess was attired and had departed the chamber, Celeste
collected the Duchess’s soiled garments, hung the blue morning gown back
in the wardrobe, and set about putting the chamber into order. With that
complete, she took the basket of laundry down to the washroom. Mrs.
Possinger was busy with the regular household linens, while Mrs.
Whitehurst worked over a smaller basin that was filled with the Duchess’s
stockings. Her soiled riding habit from the previous day hung where the
mud caked upon it could dry in preparation for brushing it away.

“More laundry from the Duchess? I declare, she goes through more clothing
in a day than most of us do in a month. You’d think she was a princess
instead of a mere Duchess. Can’t you do something about it, Miss Singer?”

“Since I do not ride, let alone ride with her, I am afraid that is out of my
power,” Celeste replied. “She is currently out riding, so I am sure you will
have a full day again tomorrow.”

“Out riding?” Mrs. Possinger exclaimed. “With some madman about? That
cannot be safe.”

“I tried to dissuade her from it, but she insisted that she must go out. She
said she would have her groom with her.”

Mrs. Whitehurst hawked and spat a brownish liquid into a can by her side.
“That one. She’ll have that poor groom ditched in a trice.” Then she said no
more, merely taking a fresh dip of snuff, and inserting it under her lip. “No
more sense than a gooseberry.”

Since Celeste didn’t disagree with that assessment, but did not think it
professional to gossip about her employers, she changed the subject. “Have
you heard anything more about the robbery at the orangeries?”
“Only that the Gran’ther is exceedingly upset. He has sent for fresh hot
water twice now, and a large can of lye soft soap. It must be a fearful mess.”

Celeste opened her mouth to ask more, when one of the potboys ran lightly
down the stairs from the kitchen. “Miss Sedgewick wants you, Miss
Singer.”

“Right away,” Celeste replied, picking up the empty laundry basket. “I’ll
come back later for the clean laundry.”

When she entered the upper servants’ hall, Miss Sedgewick was waiting for
her. “Celeste, I need someone trustworthy and discrete to take a message to
the Duke.”

“Of course. I will be glad to.”

“As a cover, take this special lunch basket to him. Tell him that Mr.
Hammonds says, ‘The old legionnaire’s trick works every time, and that his
special mail is in the old post office.’”

“All right.” Celeste looked puzzled. “I won’t have any trouble being
discrete because I have no idea what this is about.”

“Don’t worry. The Duke will know. Ask at the gazebo where to find him.
Betty is there. She has been helping him along with Sister Agatha. I don’t
think you can miss them.”

Celeste put the strap of a bottle covered with woven straw over her
shoulder, and picked up the heavy basket. “I’m sorry to burden you so,”
Miss Sedgewick said. “But this food really does need to go to the
orangeries. If you could bring back some of the empty utensils, it will
help.”

Celeste trudged toward the orangeries, holding the basket in her arms
because it was simply too heavy to carry by the handles. As she drew near
the gazebo, she could see the devastation. The big glass building that had
held the poison garden had one entire side smashed out of it. An area was
roped off, and only three figures worked inside it. As she drew near, she
realized that they were Gran’ther Tim, Sister Agatha, and Father Jacob.
Sister Agatha had her habit kilted up, revealing men’s trousers and stout
boots underneath. The father had lain aside his cassock, and was clad in a
long, heavy shirt and dark trousers. Gran’ther Tim wore the long-sleeved
shirt that he had indicated to Celeste as being what he wore when dealing
with the poisonous plants. All three wore long, tightly cuffed gloves.

The damage had not been confined to the poison garden. The southern end
of the orangery had been smashed, and the curtains that had held moisture
and heat around the collection of beautiful flowers had been yanked down
and holes rent in it in several places. The Duke was in that area, giving
directions and helping rescue as many plants as could be managed.
Villagers and staff from the house, stables, and gardens moved back and
forth carrying pots. A trestle table had been set up and several of the under
gardeners were busy repotting such plants as could be saved.

Betty was busy combining trays to make room for added foods as busy
people came and went from the tables, grabbing something to fill their
stomachs before heading back to help with the work.

“Celeste!” Betty exclaimed. “The last I knew you were mewed up with the
Duchess. Word has it she received a new book.”

“Yes. I read until my throat became too dry to talk, then she decided to go
riding.”

“Riding? Now? Today?”

Celeste shrugged. “She insisted on it. Short of locking her in, I had no way
to stop her. Can you get the Duke’s attention? Miss Sedgewick sent a dinner
down especially for him.”

“I can try. We’ve scarcely been able to get him to stop a minute.”

“Tell him that I have a message for him. I’ll wait here.”

Betty gave her an odd look, but Celeste laid a hand protectively across the
basket. “I’ll go get him. Keep an eye on the foodstuffs and don’t let the
birds get at it.”

Celeste watched as Betty went to the Duke. He glanced up, and then started
toward her, Betty walking just behind him. It was clear from the way he
moved that he was both weary and discouraged. But when he drew near, he
had a smile for her.
“Celeste! Betty said that you had a message for me?”

“Yes, Your Grace. It is from Mr. Hammonds, and I am to tell you privately.”

The Duke looked around. “Not a lot of places to be private just now. Let’s
see…up by the fountain should be good. The water will mask our voices,
and the breeze across it will feel very good. You say you have a plate for
me, too?”

Celeste nodded, and opened the basket. On the top was a plate done up in
brown paper with the initials J.H. marked in charcoal. She lifted it out
carefully. “The bottle is yours, too, Your Grace.”

“I can get that if you will get the plate, Celeste. I’ll clean up a bit at the
fountain, and you can give me your news.”

In a very few minutes the Duke seated himself on the stone curbing of the
fountain. Celeste looked around, and seeing no place to rest the plate, knelt
and lifted it up as if it were an offering. The plate proved to have rendered
pork rinds, brown bread, and a large wedge of green cheese.

“Pork cracklin’s and brown bread,” he said with delight. He then opened the
bottle. “And small beer! Just what I needed.” He took a large swig, then
took the plate from Celeste’s hands, balancing it on one knee. “Miss
Sedgewick knows what pleases me. Now, what news do you bring to me.”
“Mr. Hammonds says, ‘The old legionnaire’s trick works every time, and
that your special mail is in the old post office.’”

“Old legionnaire’s trick, eh? I hate to ask it of you when you have already
trudged so far, but go down to far side of the orangery and ask Mr.
McOwen, Inspector Ravensgard, and Constable McHenry to come up here.
Oh, and tell Mr. McAhmladhson that I will be going up to the castle for a
while. You can come back with Mr. McOwen and the others. We’ll stop to
get the dogs on the way.”

“The dogs are not with Mr. McOwen?”

“No. Too much monkshood about. Gertrude won’t come within fifty feet of
any of the orangeries today, so I’m guessing it has been scattered
everywhere. I’ve made sure that everyone is wearing shoes and gloves, and
that none of the ladies have trailing skirts.”

The Duke paused then, and looked at Celeste’s uniform. “On second
thought, you let Betty go get the gentlemen. Those slippers are too light,
you might very well cut yourself on the broken glass. She is already
prepared, and knows which paths to stay on.”

When Betty had gone, the Duke turned his face up to the breeze. “It is
wonderful to get a breath of fresh air. There are so many scents from the
plants and the broken vessels.”

“Is it very dreadful?” Celeste asked.

“We lost more than half the poison garden, and the plants are crushed and
mixed in with the others. We are salvaging as much as we can, but we
might have to buy medicinals before winter.”

In a few minutes, Betty had returned with the three gentlemen the Duke had
requested. Jonathan hastily finished his meal, then each of them, including
the Duke, collected up baskets or boxes of empty food containers. Celeste
picked up an empty basket, and filled it, prepared to carry her share.

Once they were away from the work parties, Mr. McOwen asked, “I gather
there is a reason for us to assemble, other than carrying back the empty
vessels?”

“Yes. Mr. Hammonds sent Celeste with a message. Remember that thing we
called the ‘Old Legionnaire’s trick’?”

“I do. Using it, we caught Rory Diggerson sneaking into the fort we made
at the bottom of the orchard.”

“Aye. And got into a mort of trouble with both my father and the cook. But
it was worth it. I believe that Mr. Hammonds has applied the principle to
my study today. I asked him to lock it and not to allow anyone in.”

“Someone tried?” Inspector Ravensgard caught the tenor of the

conversation.
“Not only tried, but did. Mr. Hammonds also took the liberty of removing
my mail and hiding it, since I had not had the chance to open all of it this
morning.”

“Was it indeed something special, Your Grace?” asked Constable McHenry.

“It was. From the tenor of the letter I received from Christopher
Hammonds, it contained the answer to a conundrum that has been troubling
me. I believe he found something or received an answer that resolves the
problem.”

“And you want the dogs?”

“Yes, because I think they might be able to pick up something. I am not

sure, but it is possible.”

“Well, we can but see,” Mr. McOwen said. “It cannot hurt to stop by the
kennels and collect Gertrude and Fionn. Benny and Brodie are already in
the kitchen because the cook thought there might be a rat in the pantry.”

“Oh? Why is that?” the Duke asked.

“Food has been going missing. There are empty plates and crumbs. Once,
the fowl that was planned for the head table had been ravaged. That is why
you had stew that one night, Your Grace.”
“Well, it was tasty enough. And the Duchess is dismally tired of things that
wear feathers.”

“There are some would be glad of a bird or even a rabbit, Your Grace,”
noted Constable McHenry. “The parson and Father Jacob have been doing
their best to find ways to help those who are struggling, but it was a hard
winter and a chilly spring. Both the parsonage and the Gentle Sisters are on
somewhat short commons themselves.”

“Constable! Why did you not tell me?”

“Truth be told, I thought you had enough on your plate, Your Grace. You’ve
always been open handed with the village. Your feast day contributions
have been of great help, and so have the contents of the poor box. We’ve
managed, and now that the first crops are coming it, we should manage
even better.”

The Duke growled something under his breath, but when Mr. McOwen
asked, “Did you comment, Your Grace?” he declined to repeat it.

Mr. Hammonds met them at the top of the servants’ stair, the Duke having
come in through the kitchens as was his habit when out in the stables or
gardens.

“Your Grace, gentlemen, Miss Singer, if you would all come with me?” He
turned and led them at what was, for him, a brisk pace. As it was, Celeste
observed that the muscles in the Inspector’s jaw were clenched as he
carefully did not overrun the venerable butler.
When they arrived at the study door, Mr. Hammonds first pointed out two
dabs of what looked like dough, and a dangling string. Mr. McOwen kept
the dogs, Gertrude and her mate Fionn, back so that they would not disturb
anything before Mr. Hammonds was ready.

“Dye on the string?” the Duke asked.

“Of course. But who ever it was used a key, not lockpicks. You will notice
there are no scrapes or marks on the lock.”

Mr. Hammonds then carefully opened the door, and there, marked out in
white flour, was a single neat footprint. It was rather large, clearly a man’s
print, but it looked more like a shoe than a boot.

Inside the room, the large wooden box that normally held mail and reports
was tipped over and its contents strewn about the floor, and mixed with
spilled earth and broken flowers. The vases that Celeste had hidden in the
brass flower tub had spilled and the water mixed with the earth to make a
muddy mess on the carpet. The tub itself was bent as if someone had kicked
it.

“Didn’t find what he was looking for,” Mr. Hammonds said with
satisfaction. “I took the liberty of removing all the unopened mail, Your
Grace, and I have it safe.”
Inspector Ravensgard studied the old butler for a moment. “Why did you
think to remove the Duke’s mail?”

“I’ve told the Duke many times before that this room is not secure. The key
is kept in the servants’ hall, so locking it only keeps people who are not
familiar with the castle out of it. Still, it has served a purpose, I believe.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hammonds,” the Duke praised the old man, “There was
one piece of mail that I particularly wanted to read, but kept getting
interrupted.”

“Let me know when you are ready for it.”

“I am curious,” Inspector Ravensgard put in, “Old legionnaire’s trick?”

The Duke looked uncomfortable, and Mr. Hammonds’ normally somber

face broke into something close to a grin. “When the Duke, Mr. McOwen,
and Mr. McAhmladhson were lads, they could get into more mischief than
twenty boys. One of the things that they delighted in doing was breaking
into the pantry. The late Duke would have had their hides if they had broken
the door, so they became very clever at picking the lock. I caught them by
pasting a dyed string across the keyhole and sprinkling flour on the floor.”

“I remember that,” Mr. McOwen commented. “I’m not sure what happened
to the Duke or Mr. McAhmladhson, but I was assigned to muck out the
stables for a month.”
“Sums,” the Duke said in a hollow voice. “Page after page of difficult sums.
When I mastered those, it was multiplication, and then division. My tutor
had just introduced me to square roots when Father relented.”

“But . . . old legionnaire’s trick?” The inspector looked puzzled.

“That’s what I told the lads it was. Truth be told, I did learn it from a
quartermaster. Hungry young soldiers are clever lads.”

“So it has become something of a code. And the post office?”

“Ah, that is only for the Duke and for me. He can tell you if he wishes, but
sometimes it is necessary to keep a little something back. These walls have
ears.”

“I’ve heard that about castles,” the inspector observed sagely.

“So what now?” the constable asked.

“We bring the dogs in and see if they can get a scent. It might not work.
This room has had a lot of people in it.”

The two beautiful, long-legged white and red hounds entered the room
cautiously. Gertrude stepped carefully over the fallen flowers and mud,
whuffling her nose around the fireplace and across to the opposite door.
Fionn, who was not in the castle as often, poked his nose under the desk and
investigated the corners of the room.

He then joined Gertrude at the library door on the other side of the study.
Unfortunately, Mr. Hammonds had not thought to sprinkle flour around this
door, so there were no handy prints to follow.

The dogs followed the scent trail to the door of the Duke’s sleeping
chamber, to the tall library ladder, and to a chair near a window. They
tracked their quarry to the hall leading down to the great stair that led down
to the main entrance, but there they seemed to lose it.

“Well, that’s that,” said Mr. McOwen. “They tried, but the hall is just too
busy and too full of scents.”

“Or the person they were trying to track is a member of the staff, and their
scent is a familiar one.” Inspector Ravensgard looked up and down the
hallway, as if expecting the owner of the scent to pop out from a doorway.

“It is almost certain that the person is someone who works here,” Mr.
Hammonds said softly, his modulated voice muted down to a basso rumble.
“Only a servant would have known where the keys are kept. It is not often
that the Duke’s study is locked, but he has done it occasionally. That is why
I knew that locking it would only tell someone that there was something of
value inside.”

“Dear me, my wits must have been sleeping this morning.” The Duke gave
a rueful chuckle. “Well, there is still a mess to clean up at the orangery, but
it is clear that a guard should be posted on my chambers and study, if for no
other reason than to prevent malicious mischief.”

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 CHAPTER 45

J onathan quickly returned to the orangery. When he asked

Gunther about sending a team back up to the house, the senior
guard asked volunteers.

Smythe and Wilson were only too glad to get out of standing about in the
hot sun, as the day had turned out quite warm. “Still a lot of standing
around,” Wilson said.

“But out of the sun, at least,” Smythe returned. “As work goes, I’d just as
lief stand about in a stone corridor as out here with the midges. They seem
to love me.”

Jonathan watched the two guards a moment as they strode off up the
graveled path, then turned his attention to the work at hand. Most of the
plants that could be salvaged had been moved now. Gran’ther Tim came
over to say that they had been able to save at least a third of the valuable
medicinal plants, and that they had been suitably cordoned off in one of the
other two orangeries.
Four of the Cory brothers volunteered to stand guard over the poison plants,
and several other village lads would guard the outside of the vulnerable
glass houses. Two of Gran’ther Tim’s nephews valiant declared they would
stand guard over the old man. It was a sure sign of the Gran’ther’s fatigue
that he did not protest.

“Would you like a guard at the Gentle Sisters?” Jonathan asked Father
Jacob and Sister Agatha.

Father Jacob shook his head. “Parson Graves will spend the night in our
guest room. He was a prize-winning pugilist in his youth, and can help with
any hand-to-hand situations. If it comes to swords, I have my trusty quarter
staff, which has been proven against many a sword in its time. Should we
need to defend ourselves from guns, Sister Agatha is a crack shot and has
bagged many a dinner for us. We shall do well enough, and your guards are
spread thin as it is.”

Jonathan was too tired to argue. He, Mr. McOwen, and Mr. McAhmladhson
trudged back to the castle. Once there, they ate a cold supper from the
buffet that Miss Sedgewick had laid out for them, then each retired to his
own rooms.

Jonathan found that he was too tired to ring for his valet. Tugging off his
boots, he lay down on his bed, tugging the coverlet over him. There was
something oddly gritty about his bed, but in his exhaustion he just did not
care. He closed his eyes and was almost instantly asleep.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 46

I n her rooms, Margery, Duchess of Gwyndonmere, stirred in the

arms of her shadow lover. “The wolves are howling again. Oh,
please make the wolves stop howling.”

“It is all right, my love, my angel. Nothing can harm you while I am here.
All shall be wondrously well, just as I promised you.”

Then the great steppe wolf howled, and she buried her face in the crook of
his shoulder. “Horrible, horrible,” she shuddered.

“It is all right, Margery. It is all right.” Just as soon as I make end to that
precious pair. Who could ever have predicted that the Duke would fall in
love, and with a serving girl at that? Well, soon none of that would matter.
Now if that idiot would just quit howling at night. I know there are guards.
Who does he think I am? The Village Idiot?

All the same, he slipped from his bed, quickly dressed, and tip-toed out the
door. Margery would not wake for several hours. It would not do to let
matters slide now that they were near their goal. He needed to get up the
mountain and see what was going on.

He padded out the door in his stocking feet, carrying his boots in his hand.
He could see Smythe and Wilson on guard duty at the door to the Duke’s
rooms. Smythe, who was the nearer, winked at him as he passed, and waved
one gloved hand.

Ah! They had done it. Now things would truly be in motion. Still, he
wanted to check with his revolutionary friends and see how they were
doing. In the long run, of course, he would have to get rid of them before
they tried to take over the two Duchies. Once he was rid of Jonathan
Harper, he wouldn’t need them. He could already see that they were going
to be difficult to manage.

Since it was Smythe and Wilson, not a guard team that would cause him a
problem, the shadow lover sat down and put on his boots. Standing up, he
put a bit of a swagger in his step and went on down the stairs. Let someone
else find the Duke. He didn’t want to deal with it.

He let himself out the kitchen door and headed toward the stables. The bay
he usually rode resented being wakened out of a peaceful sleep and made
little horsey grumbling noises. A wedge of apple and piece of carrot
beguiled the sleepy animal, and soon the creature was walking out of the
stable, saddled and bridled, with the shadow man keeping the bulk of the
beast between him and any observers stationed on the castle walls.

Once he was on the path that led up to the shearing shed, he swung up into
the saddle, still keeping low so as to obscure his face. Once around the
bend, he slipped on his mask and continued the journey upward.
The Revolutionary met him at the shearing shed. “How do you like the fine
mess we made? Is it enough of a distraction? I am certain it was profitable.
Who might have suspected that a duke would been growing such a fine
assortment of valuable plants. It will go a long way toward funding a troop
of revolutionaries. The English will do their part by putting down
Napoleon, then my recruits and I will show them what commoners can
really do.”

“I know that is your plan,” the shadow man said. Then he blew a fistful of
dust into the Revolutionary’s face.

The man began clawing at his eyes and the skin on his face. “Get it off! Get
it off!”

“I’m sorry. You have a problem? You won’t in a few minutes. You are very
clever, but you see, your plan won’t work for me. I don’t want to give the
duchy to the people. I want it for myself and my Duchess. You would take it
all away from both of us, so now I need to get ahead of you before you can
ruin my plans.”

The Revolutionary fell to the ground, writhing. “That’s right. You shall
share the fate planned for the Duke. If my men have done their job right, he
will never wake up. He will never have a chance to repudiate the Duchess’s
child, and in due course, all of it will be mine.”

The Revolutionary arched his back in a terrible rictus, shuddered, and lay
still.
“Step one of counter revolution,” the shadow man whispered. “Now for
step two.” He swung up onto his bay mare, and continued his way toward
Mabway Tower.

But when he reached Mabway Tower, he found it empty. Even the herbs
and the press were gone.

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 CHAPTER 47

T he upper servants of Gwyndonmere were just finishing their

morning repast when the bell rang for Celeste.

“I’ll take care of your plate,” Betty said, “You go on and take care of Her
Grace. Wouldn’t do to keep her waiting.”

“So true. Thank you, Betty.” Celeste quickly rose from the table and
hastened up the stairs.

When she arrived in the Duchess’s chambers, she found the lady in quite a
state.

The Duchess was bent over the chamber pot, retching. There was a thick
coating of vomit all over the carpet and Her Grace’s soft woolen gown.

“Your Grace!” Celeste exclaimed. “Let me help you!”

Quickly Celeste substituted the clean wash basin for the half-full and very
smelly chamber pot, guiding the Duchess away from the mess. Holding the
basin under the Duchess’ nose she guided the Duchess couch in front of the
cold hearth. Once there, she was able to undo the laces of the lady’s dress
and divest her of the soiled garments.

Celeste emptied the basin into the chamber pot, rinsed it using a little of the
water from the bedside ewer, then poured water over a face cloth. She then
used the cloth to clean the Duchess’s hands and face. “Can you sit here for a
minute, Your Grace? If you can, I’ll have one of the other servants help me
clean up so that you can make your way to your bedchamber.”

“Better clean up the bedchamber, too,” the Duchess said faintly. “It began in
there.”

“Are you unwell, Your Grace? Should I ask His Grace to send for a
doctor?”

“No, no. The cold repast we had last night did not agree with me. It tasted
all right going down.”

“But not so good on the return journey. I understand, Your Grace. If you can
bide here for a moment, I’ll make all fresh and tidy for you.”

Celeste decided to ring for Betty and Miss Sedgewick, rather than have one
of the men servants in Her Grace’s quarters. The three women made short
work of the cleanup. Neither of them said anything other than simple
directions to each other as they mopped, changed linens, and even rolled up
and removed the woolen carpet.

Outside, in the hall, Betty commented, “Never knew anyone could hold so
much inside.”

“Better out than in when you aren’t well,” Miss Sedgewick said. “I’ll ask
Cook to brew a posset.”

“Best make it cider instead of wine,” Celeste said. “She’ll be that unsteady
from the food loss.”

“Maybe best to make up some barley water,” Miss Sedgewick added. “It is
a little better on a tender stomach.”

“I’ll see to it,” Betty assured them. “I’ll be back up with it directly.”

“And I’ll take these things down to the night laundress,” Miss Sedgewick
added. “No reason to have them lying about, stinking. Although I’m not
sure there will be any reclaiming that gown.”

Celeste sighed. It was likely that Martha was right, and the Duchess would
not like it. The gown was a favorite one, especially just now when it
seemed so many of her clothes were not fitting well.
“Please send up the pot boy with some hot water and cold, if you could,
Martha. I think Her Grace would be the better for a tepid bath.”

Martha readily assented.

With the domestic arrangements made, Celeste returned to the Duchess.

“How are you feeling, Your Grace?”

“Shaky,” the Duchess replied. “Once I started spewing it didn’t seem as if I

could stop. Will I have a bed soon?”

“We’ve already did that, Your Grace. And I’ve taken the liberty of having
the pot boy bring up some water so you can have a tepid bath before you
get into bed.”

“Oh, dear. I can’t be sitting here in my chemise while he brings water.”

“Of course not, Your Grace. I’ll get you into your bathing robe, and you can
wear your dressing gown until the bath is ready. I have the chamber pot all
clean and nice so if you are taken with the urge again it will be at hand.”

“Thank you, Celeste. I am sorry I ever doubted your skills.”

“Perhaps you never needed these skills before, Your Grace. Should
someone should mention to the cook that perhaps some fruit and a bit of
cheese would sit better for you than heavy sliced meats?”

Soon the potboy brought up the water. When he was gone, Celeste assisted
the Duchess with a quick bath.

Martha followed shortly with the barley tisane. Between them they coaxed
the Duchess to drink a little of it and then settled her in bed.

“Will you need anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, no. I am feeling better. Leave the barley water beside the bed. It tasted
good and I believe it is going to stay put.”

“Very well, Your Grace. Ring if you need me.”

Celeste prepared to leave the room, but as she turned to go, Warner entered.

Celeste paused at the door. She heard Warner say, “I heard you were ill, so I
came right away.”

“On behalf of my husband?”

“Of course. Why else would I be in a lady’s chamber?

“Why else indeed?”

Celeste eased the door closed. What the gentry did was truly none of her
affair. Although why a husband would send his valet to check on his wife
instead of coming to see her himself was more than she could say.

Feeling quite weary from all the excitement and work, and more than a little
nauseated from the cleanup, Celeste headed down the stairs to do what she
could for the floral arrangement. Martha and Betty in the hall, cleaning
when she came down into the entry foyer.

“How is she?” Betty blurted out.

“Well enough. The barley tisane stayed down. His Grace has sent Warner to
inquire about her, and I am no longer needed.”

“Sent Warner.” Martha frowned. “That doesn’t seem a likely thing.”

“Be it far from me to worry about what the gentry do.” Celeste began to
pluck the dead leaves and blossoms out of a dying bouquet. With any luck,
she would be able to coax it into a semblance of life for another day or two.

She was absorbed in her work when Benny and Brodie came running up to
her, yapping ferociously. “What has gotten into you, silly beasts.”
Brodie took hold of Celeste’s skirt and began tugging on it, while Benny
made a tremendous racket with his barking. He then dashed part way up the
stair, then back down it, alternately whining and barking.

“Whatever is all that about?” Miss Sedgewick asked.

“I don’t know. He certainly is excited. They seem to want something.”

As soon as Celeste started moving, the dogs dashed ahead of her, then back,
making sure she was following. Miss Sedgewick and Betty followed as
well. The terriers ran through the library, and then started barking and
scratching at the door of the Duke’s sleeping chamber.

“Your Grace! Your Grace! Jonathan!” Celeste called.

There was a hoarse strangled cry and a muffled thump. She tried the handle,
but it was locked.

Miss Sedgewick said, “Allow me!” Selecting a key from a bundle at her
waist, she unlocked and opened the door.

The Duke was sprawled the side of the bed. He was still dressed in the
clothing he had worn the day before. Bits of vegetable matter clung to the
side of his face and his clothing. Some of it was in his hair. He tried to rise,
to speak, but one side of his face and body seemed to be paralyzed.
Celeste rushed to his side, but he feebly tried to wave her off. When she
touched one of the vegetable bits, her finger tingled, then went numb.
“Poison!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to get him up out of this.” She tugged
at him, but he was much too heavy for her slender strength.

“I’ll get the footman and send for Mr. McAhmladhson,” Betty said.

Miss Sedgewick pulled on her white housekeeping gloves and began

picking the bits of bloom and stem off the Duke’s face. “Put your gloves on,
Celeste. If it is what I think it is, we haven’t a moment to lose.”

Celeste pulled on her gloves, and helped push the Duke up into a sort of
sitting position, getting his exposed skin away from the clinging bits of
plant. They had just gotten all of it off his face, and Celeste was picking it
out of his hair, when Mr. McAhmladhson appeared at the door.
Understanding almost at once what was needed, the steward picked the
Duke up, moving him out of the scattered petals.

“It’s monkshood,” he said. “Send for Gran’ther Tim, Dr. Dermott and Sister
Agatha. The Duke is being poisoned.” Miss Sedgewick moved to the door
of the bed chamber, and shortly there could be the sound of running
footsteps.

“I think he must have slept in it,” Celeste said. “It doesn’t look as if he even
undressed last night.”
“That tired, I suspect, and that worthless valet never anywhere to be found
when needed. He only keeps him on to please the Duchess, although it is
beyond me why she wants to keep the lout on staff.”

Mr. McAhmladhson staggered a little as he tried to pick up the Duke, for

the two men were nearly the same size. He was able to get him upright. The
Duke managed to rest most of his weight on the leg that was not yet
affected. Celeste nipped in under the bad arm, draping it about her and
helping Mr. McAhmladhson support the Duke’s weight.

Then David Hammonds came dashing in, followed by two more footmen.
They managed to get the Duke into a chair carry, and took him into the
library.

As they laid him on the leather sofa, the Duke’s body spasmed, seeming to
try to curl toward the side that was paralyzed. “Miss Singer!” Mr.
McAhmladhson said, “Go meet the doctor and the others. Mr. Hammonds is
too slow, we have not a moment to lose.”

“We’ll have to undress him,” David said. “He has bits of it down his collar,
and it has probably worked its way into his clothing.

Celeste hastened down the broad front staircase to meet the doctor, Sister
Agatha, and Gran’ther Tim. She was surprised to see that the party was
increased by the addition of Inspector Ravensgard, Constable McHenry, and
two young men whom she had never seen before.
She did not waste time asking for introductions, however. She hurried them
toward the library. Mr. Hammonds fell in at the rear of the party, making as
much as he could.

As soon as they entered the library, one of the unknown young men took a
pair of pigskin gloves out of his pocket and began helping Mr.
McAhmladhson and David undress the Duke.

Constable McHenry touched Celeste’s arm. “Best to wait outside, Miss.

He’ll not want you to see him like this.”

Reluctantly, Celeste withdrew to the door, where she was met by Miss
Sedgewick and Betty. Miss Sedgewick, in an unusual gesture of sympathy
held her hands out to the two younger women, squeezing them gently. They
dropped hands after a moment, and stood quietly, waiting.

There is a quality of waiting when someone well-loved is ill and their loved
ones are shut out of the sickroom. It is like a weight that presses down over
every square inch of the skin. It seems unreal, as if the world were painted
with a gray wash. It is a time of no words, because words can become sobs,
and sobs can be heard by the beloved.

It was in this sort of time that the three of them waited to see if the men
who tended the Duke would be able to save him. As they stood waiting,
there came the sound of running feet, and the potboy from the kitchen came
barreling toward them, his eyes wide with terror.

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 CHAPTER 48

M r. McAhmladhson alternately swore and prayed as they

worked over the Duke. The Duke’s breath was fast and
harsh, his heart was racing. Gran’ther Tim brought out a soft
brush that he ran over the Duke’s skin to remove the tiny fragments of herb.

“A tepid bath,” Gran’ther Tim called over his shoulder. “As soon as we
have all the bits off him.”

“And a kettle of hot water and a tea strainer,” added one of the tall young
men.

“What is your plan?” asked Dr. Dermott.

The young man replied, “As soon as we have all the discernable bits off
him, we will wash him in a tepid bath with strong soap. Meanwhile, I will
make a tisane of foxglove to stimulate his heart.”
“Stimulate?” the older doctor snapped. “It is racing now. I would not
think…”

“There was a case in my village,” the young doctor replied. “In fact, it is the
reason my people scraped together the money for me to go to medical
school. The lad brushed against some monkshood growing in a hedgerow.
We calmed his heart, and he was dead within minutes. There is no known
antidote for aconite, otherwise known as wolfsbane or monkshood. It is so
deadly that just brushing against it can poison a grown man within hours if
it is not washed away.”

“Will he live?” Mr. McAhmladhson asked anxiously.

“That is our hope, and what we strive for. But in truth, it is in God’s hands
whether we can save him or not.”

“In God’s hands and in the strength of the herbs. Where did his killer get so
much of the stuff?” Inspector Ravensgard asked.

“From the orangery,” Gran’ther Tim said grimly. “We grow it in the poison
room. It was one of the reasons that I only allowed Sister Agatha and Father
Jacob to help with that part of the orangery. Some of the apothecaries in
Edinburgh pay very well for it. Ratters sometimes use small amounts of it in
their poisons. But it is always handled very carefully. As you know, the
orangery was broken into yesterday, and all of our supplies of poisons
stolen.”
Inspector Ravensgard frowned. “I truly question the wisdom of growing
such stuff so near a population center.”

Sister Agatha said, “There are many potent herbs that, in the right hands,
are powerful medicines. But in the wrong hands . . .”

“In the wrong hands, quite deadly,” said the tall young man. “Shave his
head. We cannot chance that bits of herb are caught in his hair, ready to
become a deadly tea in his bath.”

“I can do that,” the older doctor volunteered. “Sad though it might be to

state, I received my training when surgeon and barber were often
synonymous.” So saying, he produced a pair of scissors and a straight razor
from his bag, and quickly divested the Duke of his soft, brown locks.

Having done the best they could to remove the bits of herb from the Duke’s
skin, they eased him into the tepid bath, and began to scrub him mercilessly.
The Duke’s eyes were wild, and once he cried out, a wordless protest
against the indignities of medical science.

“It is all right, Jonathan,” Mr. McAhmladhson said gently, “I am here. We

do only what is needful to save your life.”

The Duke lifted his good hand feebly, and clutched at his friend. Mr.
McAhmladhson grasped the flailing hand and held it tightly.
“A good sign!” cried the young man. “Keep scrubbing gentlemen! Now,
then, let’s have him out of the bath and dry him off.”

“Stop! Stop!” a young voice yelled out. “The towels, the linens . . .”

Everyone paused to look at the young potboy who often helped the cook.
Celeste stood in the doorway behind him, her eyes wide. “The towels,
sheets, tablecloths, all full of the filthy stuff. The cook found dead rats and
mice in the linen cupboards. Those little red and white dogs made him look,
cause they were barking and carrying on in front of the kitchen linen
closet.”

“How then can we dry him?” asked the older doctor in stunned
bewilderment.

Celeste said, “Take the sheets off my bed, or off any bed where folk have
slept the night safely.”

“I’ll get them!” shouted the boy, caught up in the moment. He dashed out
the door and down the hall.

Conscious of Celeste’s presence in the room and the Duke’s feeble pressure
on his hand, Mr. McAhmladhson took off his coat and wrapped it around
the Duke.

Although it seemed like hours, in short order the boy was back with an
armload of variously scented sheets. “This is the cook’s pallet from the
kitchen. Says he can be sure that it ain’t got no nasty herbs in it, since he is
just out of it scarce an hour ago.”

“An excellent thought. But let us put the Duke in my chambers . . .” said
Mr. McAhmladson.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. McAhmladhson,” the boy protested, “but

you’ve not been next nor nigh your room since cock’s crow yesterday. I
know, cause I’m the one as does the bath water and such like.”

“True enough. Where then?”

“The servants’ dining room,” Celeste put in. “It is unlikely that the
miscreant would poison the room where he is likely to dine.” It will also
make it easy for those who care about him to be near him and forestall
further attempts.

Miss Sedgewick came up behind her. “Even if it were so, it is an easy room
to clean. I’ll see to it at once.” She bustled away to take care of it.

Benny and Brodie appeared at Celeste’s feet. “Miss Sedgewick!” she called.
When Martha turned back at the sound of her name, Celeste added, “Take
Benny and Brodie with you. They can help check the room.”

“Of course!” Martha bent down and called the two little dogs. The terriers
ran to her, and leaped into her arms. “There, now, good doggies. There,
now…” Martha soothed as she hurried away.
The young doctor approached the Duke with a steaming mug of tea. “Can
you drink this, Your Grace? It will taste vile, but it will support your heart.”

Half leaning on Mr. McAhmladhson, with his weak side braced against his
friend, the Duke reached for the steaming cup.

The Duke started to sag in Mr. McAhmladhson’s grasp. The young doctor
rushed forward, taking the cup from Celeste’s hand. “Quickly, now. Sip this.
There, that’s right. Just a bit. And a little bit more…excellent!”

Mr. McAhmladhson braced himself to support the Duke’s weight. The

Duke was a tall man, and well-muscled. As the Duke’s head lolled back
against his shoulder, Mr. McAhmladhson staggered a little. In a flash,
Celeste was there, inserting herself under the Duke’s arm on his bad side,
nearly dislodging the precariously wrapped coat.

The young doctor looked terrified for a moment, then the Duke rallied.
“Celeste,” he murmured. “Ahmlad.”

“We are here, Your Grace,” Celeste said. “And here are two strong young
footmen ready to take you to a safe place to rest. We will be with you until
you are well.”

“My men from Edinburgh will guard the room,” Inspector Ravensgard
added. “We shall have no more of this nonsense.”
“I have a good idea of who is doing it,” Celeste said.

“So have I,” the inspector replied grimly. “Do not say it out. We have no
idea who might be listening.”

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 CHAPTER 49

“M argery! Margie!” Warren knelt beside her bed. “What

happened, Love?”

Margery glared at him. “I’m with child, you ass. And you did it. I feel
absolutely wretched.”

“Margie, my sweet, we have to leave, right now! Let me help you up and
into your riding habit. We can get away if we hurry, but not if we wait
about.”

“Roddy? Roddy, what’s wrong?”

“I killed the Revolutionary. We have to run. We have to run, now.”

“Who’s the Revolutionary?”

“It doesn’t matter. But I’ve killed him and all his men are gone, along with
the coin press and all the poison stuff.”

“Roddy! You aren’t making any sense.”

“Never mind making sense. Just let me help you get dressed, and let’s get
away. I’ll explain it all when we are safe. Listen to me. I could be gone now,
but I came back for you. We have to hurry!”

“All right. I think I’m feeling better now. Will you be able to make barley
water for me in the mornings like Celeste does?”

“All the barley water you want if you will just hurry.”

Warner helped Margery into a worn, old riding habit that seemed a little
tight but serviceable. “Celeste was making me a new one,” Margery
observed. “But I guess we don’t have time to wait for it.”

“No time! Not a minute to lose. Margery, don’t be a silly goose. We are
outlaws, and there might be outlaws after us. There is absolutely no time to
talk.”

Warner took Margery by the hand, and pulled her to the door. When he put
his head out to look, there was a great deal of commotion down the hall by
the Duke’s rooms. Smythe and Wilson were nowhere to be seen. He pulled
Margery down the servants’ stair, which was strangely deserted. Where
were all the servants? Not even the cook or the potboy were anywhere to be
seen.

Steam billowed up out of the laundry room as they passed, but there were
no sounds of washing.

Once they were outside, Warner slowed to a provocative saunter. “Roddy!”

Margery whispered, “What are you doing? I thought we had to hurry.”

“We do,” he hissed back. “But if we run here, we will attract attention. Just
pretend I’m your groom.”

“All right,” Margery said, drawing herself into the haughty stance she
always assumed when walking ahead of the groom. “Is my horse ready?”
she demanded, in her most imperious voice.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Warner replied. “I have our mounts ready for your
morning ride.”

“Oh, good,” Margery remarked, “You saddled my dapple gray. Did you
pack a lunch?”

“We’ll pick up something on the way.”

“Very well. That is acceptable. Now, help me up.”

Warner obligingly tossed her up into the side saddle that she favored, then
got aboard his own horse. He led them out of the paddock at a sedate pace,
down the trail and across the bridge by the sluice.

As soon as they were past the big willow, he put his heels to his bay and
called back, “Come on, Margery. Race you to the top!”

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 CHAPTER 50

A s they hurried down the hall behind the two strong footmen,
Celeste glanced out the window and gasped. “The Duchess! She
went out riding. Could she also be in danger?”

“I’ll tell the stableman,” Gran’ther Tim said from behind her, turning to
make his way back through the crowd that had collected in the hall that
approached the servant’s stair.

“My man will go also,” said Inspector Ravensgard. “We’ll have no more
mishaps due to mistaken identities or covert actions.” The second, tall
young man, who had stood back while the doctors did their work, quickly
moved up to do the Inspector’s bidding.

At a nod from the Inspector, Gran’ther Tim and the Inspector’s man
hastened away.

In the servants’ dining hall, a stretcher had been braced across four chairs,
making a serviceable bed. The footmen gently placed the Duke on the
waiting sheets, and Mr. McAhmladhson drew up the coverings, trying to
preserve his friend’s modesty and the shreds of his dignity.

Heedless of both, Celeste knelt on the floor beside the Duke’s shoulder.
“Your Grace,” she said.

The Duke looked up at Mr. McAhmladhson. “I thought I kept her safe.”

They were the first clear words the Duke had said since the poisoning.

“You did, Jonathan,” Mr. McAhmladhson said. “You did, she is safe now.”

The Inspector cleared his throat. “Well, then. I shall leave the Duke in your
capable hands, and see if I can go apprehend the criminal responsible for
his condition.” With that, he turned on his heel and went out into the
corridor.

Mr. Hammonds pointed to the stairs leading down into the kitchen. “That
way, Inspector. Go through the kitchen, and there is a back door that opens
out into the stable yard. Take any horse you need.”

“I’ll run,” said the Inspector. “Getting a horse will take too longer. When
Jemmie gets back, have him saddle up two horses and follow me.” Then
Inspector Ravensgard sped down the narrow steps into the kitchen and
nearly ran into Gran’ther Tim and the lanky young man who had gone with
him.
The young man spoke. “Stableman says the Duke’s valet is riding with her,
and that they took his bay and her dapple gray. They went out by the old
willow. Does that mean anything to you?”

“The bay belongs to Warner,” Gran’ther Tim said. “An’ the dapple gray was
a birthday gift from the Duke to the Duchess. So that means that if they ride
off and just keep goin’ it mostly means they aren’t horse thieves.”

“Just murdering frauds,” the Inspector ground out between his teeth. “When
I catch up to them…”

“No need to run, Sir. I took the liberty of bespeaking horses. The stableman
is saddling up for us now. If we hurry, we might catch them. He says that
the dapple gray is pretty, but isn’t a stayer, if you know what I mean.”

“Understood.” The Inspector strode out into the stable yard just as the
groom brought up the horses. Without a moment’s pause, he swung up on
one of them while the lanky young man took the other.

Gran’ther Tim watched for a moment as they started down the trail. “Good
luck and Godspeed!” he said softly, almost as if it were a prayer.

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 CHAPTER 51

M argery, erstwhile Duchess of Gwyndonmere, rode like a mad

woman. She took the twists and turns of the mountain trail
past the old willow at a pace that would have challenged her
horse on the flat, trying to keep up with Warner’s bay.

The bay was longer legged, and it was used to bolting out of places at a
dead run. This was not the first time its owner had needed to flee the
premises.

Margery slashed at the mare she rode with her riding crop, urging the little
horse to greater speeds. When she leaped over a gate at a pace that allowed
the animal no time to recover, she held the two of them together for both the
jump and the landing with skill that came only from hours and years of
practice.

The mare staggered a little. She was not a hunter, just a lady’s hack. But she
collected herself and kept on running. Warner had already disappeared
around the bend. Sounds of his running horse encouraged Margery to
greater efforts.
As she rounded the bend, a figure wearing a mask stepped from the bushes,
startling the already panicked horse. She shied, stepped on a rolling rock,
and fell heavily. Margery fell with her, foot trapped in the stirrup of the
sidesaddle. When the mare came down, Margery’s legs and hips were
pinned awkwardly beneath her.

“Margery! Margery, love,” the masked man cried out, kneeling beside her.

“Roddy,” she said dazedly, “Why are we running away? You said if I let
you make me pregnant that I could make people think it was the Duke’s. It
would look enough like him since you are brothers.”

“I’m sorry, Margey. It all came apart. Something has gone awfully wrong.
The Revolutionaries, the coin press, and all the plant stuff is gone. There’s
just you and me left, and there won’t even be that if we can’t get away.”

“So I let you make me pregnant for nothing? So now I will die in childbirth,
just like my mother did. Just for a whim, a plan that went wrong.

“Oh, Margery, no you wouldn’t die. Not with the first one. You would be
fine. Anyway, I did it so you could inherit. Don’t you see, Margery, it’s
really all mine. I’m the late Duke’s first-born son, I! But because my mother
wasn’t a prissy peer, I was nothing in his eyes.”

“I know that, Roddy. But I tried. Your mother tried. But my father would
have none of it. He said ‘wrong side of the blanket’ and some other
uncomplimentary things. He insisted that I marry the ‘right brother’. He
didn’t care whether I loved him or not.”
The masked man laughed, a harsh sound with a sob behind it. “The right
brother. He could never have loved you as I do. He would never have
understood. Oh, my sweet, my little flower, I never meant for any harm to
come to you. But it has all gone wrong, and I’m not sure why.”

“Oh, Roddy. How could you make such a mess? I will be punished for
making vows I had no right to make. And you are in even greater danger.
You will be tried as a murderer, and so will your mother.”

“My mother. That old hag has been taking care of unwanted babies for
years now. But that Sally Ann would have none of it, and look where she is
now! Oh, love, I was that close to securing the castle and this valley for the
two of us.”

“And that,” said Inspector John Ravensgard, coming around the corner of
the trail, and sliding from the back of his horse, “is just about as close to a
confession as ever I’ve heard.”

“Who are you? Where did you come from? I . . . I did nothing. I’m just
soothing her, she is frightened.”

“Well, I’d be frightened, too, if I were trapped under a horse being hovered
over by a madman.”

The tall young man who had been following the Inspector slipped up
behind the masked man, seized him, and secured his wrists behind him with
rawhide thongs.

“Now, then,” said the Inspector, “let’s see who you really are.” And he
removed the mask assembly. “Roderick Warner, the Duke’s valet. Naughty
Roddy, the ventriloquist, opium peddler, pickpocket, and thief. Likewise,
illegitimate brother to Jonathan Harper, and husband to the presumed
Duchess. Posing as a valet to the Duke. Who better to poison a man of rank
than one who should have been his most trusted companion?”

“Is that how you would have secured the castle and valley to us, Roddy? By
poisoning Jonathan? Roddy, that’s awful.” Margery struggled to sit up. “My
legs! I can’t feel my legs!”

“I’m sorry to tell you, Your Grace, but when your horse fell, she crushed
something. Best you should lie still until we can get someone here to tend
you.”

Margery began to cry. Softly at first, then harder and harder. “All I ever
wanted,” she sobbed, “was to have fun. To go to parties, to give parties.
Being a Duchess wasn’t really any fun at all. I don’t want to go to gaol.”

The Inspector sighed. “Well, we shall see what happens,” he said. “It is
certain you are not going very far, for I suspect the horse crushed your
pelvis.”

The stableman who had been following them all at a more discreet pace
now caught up with them. He dismounted and quickly went to the horse.
After examining all four legs, he said, “Only strained, I think. If some of
you fellas can help me, let’s see if we can get her up and off the Duchess.”

With the help of two of the constables, he was able to ease the mare up onto
her belly, then onto her knees with her hind quarters supporting her, and
finally into a standing position. Blood ran from beneath the Duchess, and
Warner cried out at the sight. Her skirts billowed out around her making it
impossible to discern the extent of her injuries.

“Leave the mare, and ride for help,” the Inspector directed. “We will wait
here with the Duchess.”

The stableman, who had blanched at the sight of human blood, gulped once,
then followed the Inspector’s directions. Roderick Warner stood quietly
beside the constable, his face blank.

The wait was long. The inspector knelt on one knee beside the Duchess,
who was quietly sobbing, until she, too, fell silent. Shadows thrown by the
afternoon sunlight grew long.

Suddenly, the constable gave a shout as Warner threw the rawhide thongs
from him and took off running into the trees.

The Duchess smiled. “That’s my Roddy, always looking out for himself.
Run, Roddy, run!” Then she closed her eyes and lapsed into
unconsciousness.
“How did he do that?” the inspector demanded. “You were standing right
there!”

“I’m sorry, sir. He was just still for the longest time, then he threw up the
thongs and ran.”

The Inspector groaned. “Well, there is nothing for it. We can’t take the time
to pursue him now. It will be dark soon, and we cannot leave the Duchess
here alone. Where has that fool stableman gotten to?”

“Here, sir,” the stableman came into sight, followed by the four Cory
brothers. “Can’t get a cart up that track, Inspector, and we cain’t hardly take
Her Grace down a-horseback in her condition. So the gentlemen will carry
her down on a stretcher.”

Betty, who had been following the gentlemen, swung down off her horse
and ran to the woman they had believed to be a Duchess. Blood soaked all
of her garments now, and a great deal of the ground around her.

The Duchess opened her eyes as Betty knelt beside her head. “Betty. I
yelled at you. Why are you here?”

“You certainly did yell at me, but as one woman to another I am here to
help. I think you have lost your baby, Your Grace.”

“Oh. Good.” The Duchess closed her eyes. “Well, that is one thing
accomplished at least. I never want to have children.” Then she fell back
into stillness.

Betty sighed. “Them as can, don’t want to. Isn’t it an amazing world. Avert
your eyes, gentlemen.”

Working quickly, Betty removed the Duchess’s soiled skirts and

straightened her limbs as best she could. She then wrapped her nether
regions in a clean sheet. A sheet, it might be added, that came from Betty’s
own bed where she knew that she had slept and taken no harm.

With the lady properly shrouded from masculine eyes, Betty elicited and
received help loading the Duchess into the stretcher so the men could bear
her down the mountain and back to the castle.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 52

D uring the hours that Inspector Ravensgard pursued the Duchess

and Warner, Celeste sat with the Duke. She held his hand,
completely oblivious of what anyone thought, indeed of
anything going on around the two of them. She had only eyes for the gaunt
man lying on the makeshift bed in the servants’ dining hall. It was an
unlikely place for a Duke, but no one thought anything of it.

The upper serving staff dined with the lower in their dining room, not
begrudging the space to the gentleman. After a time, Sally Ann came in.
She seated herself near Celeste.

“How is he?” she whispered.

“He is awake and can speak for himself,” said the Duke. “I have found the
perfect excuse for being cosseted by every lady in Castle Gwyndonmere.”

“At far too high a price, Your Grace,” Celeste reproved gently. “We so very
nearly lost you.”
“I’ll admit,” Jonathan replied, “I’d prefer to offer them chocolates and
Christmas shawls or somesuch. But I am happy to gain such indulgences as
I can.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who he was when you pulled me out of the Lolly
Mire,” Sally Ann apologized. “I wus scairt that he or his ma would hurt me.
I din’ know he wus gonna hurt other people.”

“Did you tell someone, Sally Ann?” Celeste asked.

The girl nodded. “I told the Inspector, just now. He walked here with me
‘cause he was afraid the ‘nasty piece of work’, as he called him, might hurt
me or the sisters. I came with Mother Sarah. She stopped downstairs to
trade jam recipes with the cook.”

“His mother.” The Duke fixed his eyes on Sally Ann. “Did you say he or his
mother?”

“Yes, Your Grace. His mother works here in the castle.”

“Who is she? I thought I knew all the families who serve me.”

“She’s the Duchess’s laundry woman, Your Grace. She’s got a delicate way
with silk stockings, but a heavy hand with the help. Us younger ones
dursn’t tell Mr. Hammonds, ‘cause she has a way of getting back an’ she
has the Duchess’s protection.”
The Duke pushed himself up on his elbows. “How can these things be
happening under my roof?” he tried to bellow, but it came out more like a
hoarse croak.

“Lie still, Your Grace. The doctor’s orders are that you should not be
excited.” Celeste placed a gentle hand on the Duke’s shoulder. “Sally Ann,
will you step to the door and send for Mr. Hammonds? I think it is time he
knew of this.”

Sally Ann needed only to step to the door to find Mr. Hammonds. The
elderly butler had been hovering just outside, keeping one ear out for the
Duke and Celeste while fixing the Father Jacob and Sister Agatha, who had
been left to guard the door, with a disapproving stare.

He scarcely waited for Sally Ann to open her mouth and say, “Mr.
Hammonds…” before he was in the room and closing the door behind him.

Now that there was someone ready to listen, Sally Ann twisted her fingers
together, too nervous to speak.

“Go on, Sally Ann. Tell Mr. Hammonds what you told us.”

“It is all right,” Mr. Hammonds said gently. “Come, let’s sit down here
where you may speak in confidence.”

“Well, sir,” Sally stammered. “When I found out that I was in a family way,
that Warner held me so’s his ma, Mrs. Whitehurst could beat me. He said
they’d have the baby out of me, one way or another. An’ he gave me this
nasty smellin’ bottle o’ stuff an’ told me I should drink it. But Miss Singer
came down with the Duchess’s laundry an’ the cook called me, so I got
away. Then when I walked down by the lake to try to think, there was
somethin’ that growled and barked at me, just like it was at my heels. It
sounded like growling, and it was just awful. Ever’ time I tried to turn off
the path, it got louder an’ seemed closer. That’s why I ran into the Lolly
Mire, cause there wasn’t any place else to go. But I made a misstep on the
bog path, and in I went.”

“I remember you told us that when Mr. McAhmladhson and I pulled you
out,” the Duke remarked.

“I shoulda tolt you then,” Sally Ann sniffled, beginning to cry. “If I’d a told,
you wouldn’t a got hurt. I’m sorry, Your Grace!”

“I think,” Celeste said, “that it is time for a certain laundress’s reign of

terror to come to an end. Sally Ann, was Mrs. Possinger involved in all
this?”

“Oh, no, Miss. Mrs. Whitehurst and Him always waited until Mrs.
Possinger went home for the night. But Mrs. Whitehurst didn’t have no
home. She slept in the back of the laundry.”

“Mr. Hammonds,” Sister Agatha said with deceptive gentleness. “Would

you be so good as to help Father Jacob watch over the Duke? I believe that
we ladies need to go have a talk with the laundress. Are you coming with
us, Miss Singer?”
Reluctantly, Celeste slid her hand out of the Duke’s. “I am,” she said, and
accompanied the Sister out the door. “Will we be able to do this? Mrs.
Whitehurst is very strong.”

“Not to worry, Miss,” Sister Agatha said. “Not all Sisters lead a life of
contemplation. I’m not only the Gentle Sisters apothecary, I am also the
brewer, the gardener, and I do the repairs around the Abbey. Father Jacob is
a fine fellow, but he doesn’t understand hinges or stonework.”

“And if you will recall, I am superior to Mrs. Whitehurst,” Miss Sedgewick

said. “If she does not respect that, consider that I have been dealing with
maids and footmen for nearly thirty years.”

When the three of them burst into the laundry room, they found Mrs.
Possinger bound up in a sheet and Mrs. Whitehurst stuffing lace into a
valise. “Are you leaving without a reference, Mrs. Whitehurst?” Miss
Sedgewick asked gently. “Of course, after rinsing the Duke’s sheets in
arsenic and then sprinkling them with wolf’s bane, it would be rather
difficult to get a reference, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t need no reference from a back-country housekeeper like you,” Mrs.

Whitehurst spat. “If you must know, my son came into some property today,
and I’m going to go live with him.”

“Would that be the fugitive that Mr. McOwen is tracking with Gertrude and
Fionn even as we speak?”
“Him? That poor stick. Mark my words, Miss Singer, don’t ever take a
Duke as a lover. He’ll just leave you with a bastard to raise on your own.
Or, if you are lucky, he’ll sent the brat away somewhere to apprentice and
give you a hot, sweaty job.”

“The late Duke was accounted as something of a womanizer,” Miss

Sedgewick temporized, “But I can promise you that he respected the word
‘no’ and took being turned down in good part. I know this, because I did
turn him down and I retained my place all the same. You could have had a
job here without warming anyone’s bed.”

“Oh, that’s fine for you. You were never warm-blooded enough to attract
any man. But I’m not going with that poor stick of a son. I’m going with the
other one – the one who is a leader of men. He’ll take care of his puir auld
mither.”

“Thanks, Ma. That’s a nice way to talk about the son who got you a good
job doing ladies dainties instead of heavy sheets.”

Roderick Warner appeared in the doorway of the laundry, holding a cocked

pistol in each hand. “I’m here for you, Ma, if you’ll condescend to travel
with such a poor stick as myself. Brother is waiting for us, all we have to do
is get out of here and go. Just walk over here and stand by me, so I can
dispose of these ladies. After today, you’ll never have to curtsy to any such
as them again.”

Mrs. Whitehurst started to edge past the three women, but as she passed
Sister Agatha, the Sister booted the laundress in her ample behind,
knocking her into Warner. Warner’s pistols discharged into the floor above.
That almost seemed to be a signal for Benny and Brodie who rounded the
corner, little paws scrabbling on the stone floor of the laundry. They went
for the valet’s heels. They were followed by Gertrude and Fionn who
quickly had Warner down and pinned.

Mrs. Whitehurst, in a move surprisingly nimble for so large a woman,

jumped over Benny and Brodie and her son’s thrashing legs, only to be
subjected to a roundhouse left kick to the back of her head from Sister
Agatha’s heavy work boot. The terriers were dodged out from under her as
she fell across Warner.

“Neatly done, Sister,” said Inspector Ravensgard. “I am sorry he frightened

all of you. He got away from us up in the wood, and we were delayed by
having to tend to the Duchess. Although, rightly speaking she is not a
duchess at all. She is Mrs. Warner.”

“She is who?!” Celeste stared at the inspector. “How can that be possible.
She and the Duke of Gwyndonmere were wed ten years ago.”

“Well, they exchanged vows ten years ago, but two months before that,
Margery sneaked out of her father’s house and married this bounder. That
marriage was performed by an Anglican priest, so it is all legal, right and
tight. So that made the marriage to Duke a prime bit of fraud. Easy to
perpetuate since the late Duke of Mabway had a bee in his bonnet about
uniting the two Duchies. Convenient for both the late Dukes since Mabway
had no heir, and Gwyndonmere had a son ripe for marriage. The boy had no
objection apparently, but the girl had objections a-plenty, to which her
father was not listening.

“How do you know all this?” Miss Sedgewick asked.

“Well, it all came about in bits and pieces. But let me get irons on this lad
here before we settle in to tell the tale of Roddy the Rude, also known as
Roderick Warner. He was a circus performer for a while, and figures
ventriloquism and amazing escapes in his bag of tricks.”

David Hammonds came down the steps from the kitchen, taking them two
at a time. “Inspector! I was coming to tell you . . .Oh, you got him.”

“Well, I have him. But I’ll not count on keeping him until we can get him
well and truly shackled.”

“Tom Cory could do that at the stable forge. Won’t take much to adapt some
harness pieces, I shouldn’t think.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hammonds the Younger. Miss Singer, will you please tell
His Grace that I will be back as soon as I can to give him a full accounting.
Just as soon as I get this fellow in leg irons and tucked safely into the town
jail.”

“Oh, don’t put him there,” Miss Sedgewick said. “He’d be out of it before
you could say ‘pick lock’. That’s just a scary room for the local drunks.”

“Where can I put him, then?”

“The old buttery. It used to be the prison, until the late Duke declared he
was tired of the choice of letting prisoners die of pneumonia or having the
doctor for them. It even still has some chains fastened to the wall. It has a
good stout lock and steel bars on the doors and windows.”

“Excellent,” said the Inspector. “Miss Singer, I will be back as quickly as I

can. Please tell the Duke that I have not forgotten him, and that I will
report.”

“Certainly, Inspector.”

“I will go with you, Miss Singer,” Sister Agatha volunteered. “It is time I
was getting back to Father Jacob anyway. He becomes anxious when his
flock is too far out of his sight.”

Mr. McOwen, who had arrived on the scene just in time to see Sister
Agatha’s roundhouse kick, called the dogs off Warner. Inspector
Ravensgard and Constable McHenry pulled him out of the doorway so that
the ladies could pass.

Celeste puzzled over recent events as they climbed the stair. She turned to
Sister Agatha and asked, “How did you ever learn to kick like that? It was
amazing!”

“I was a ballet dancer until I broke an ankle. That was at least fifteen years
ago. The late Duke was my patron, and he brought me here to recover with
the Gentle Sisters. I found their peaceful way of life to my taste, so I
stayed.”
As they neared the servants’ dining hall, Celeste found that she could not
bear to be away from the Duke any longer, so great was her anxiety for him.
She gave Father Jacob and Mr. Hammonds a quick curtsy, then rushed
through the door to his side.

The Duke looked surprisingly young as he lay on his pallet, with his eyes
closed. When she entered, he asked, “Did you find her?”

“We did, although she was preparing to flee. She had poor Mrs. Possinger
trussed up like a Christmas goose.” Celeste had a dreadful thought. “Oh, I
do hope someone thought to release her. We were all in quite a state.”

“That will never do,” Jonathan exclaimed. “Someone should check on her.
He struggled up to his elbows.

“Please, be still Your Grace! Do not excite your heart! I will tell you all
about it.”

Taking his hand in hers, she quickly described the events of the last few
moments.

He lay there, mulling it over when she had finished. Then he said, “And
Margery?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace. The doctors are with her now, I believe. They
have given her a spot by the kitchen fire for both the light and the heat are
best there. We shall simply have to wait.”
“What a muddle. And no true way to fix it. If wait we must, then that is
what we shall do.”

They shared a few minutes of silence, the Duke lying on his makeshift cot
and Celeste sitting in an armchair beside him, holding his hand in both of
hers.

The Duke said, “I can’t bear just lying here waiting. Tell me again about
Sister Agatha’s high kick.”

Celeste laughed softly, and described again how the Sister’s ballet move
had brought Mrs. Whitehurst low.

The Duke gave a little chuckle that resolved itself into a hoarse cough. Then
he sobered and asked, “Tell me again what Inspector Ravensgard said about
Margery and Warner.”

“They were married, Your Grace. Apparently about two months before your
ceremony.”

“No wonder she locked the door to keep me out. And that was who was
helping her undress each night?

Celeste nodded. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I should have considered it odd.
But I’ve never been an abigail before. I really didn’t know what was
expected.”

“I’m not sorry,” Jonathan assured her. “Thanks to their machinations, I

gained a very able clerk to help with the household accounts, as well as a
gentle companion whose company I prize highly.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Your Grace. If I had reported her odd behavior to Mr.
Hammonds or to Miss Sedgewick, they might have been able to learn what
was going on much sooner.

“I doubt it, Celeste. You aren’t her first abigail. She usually managed to
throw a temper tantrum and get them turned off or they quit in high
dudgeon before we could put together the pattern.”

“This has to have been a nightmarish experience for you, Your Grace.”

Later, the older doctor stopped by to tell them that the Duchess would live,
although she had lost her baby and was unlikely to ever walk again. Her
pelvis had been crushed in the fall, and one leg broken.

He found them sound asleep. The Duke lay mostly on his back, but his face
was turned toward Celeste. Celeste held one of his hands in both of hers,
and she leaned awkwardly against the arm of the chair and the wall. The
doctor carefully adjusted a pillow under her head, then went away shaking
his head at the vagaries of fate.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 53

E ven though he survived the initial poisoning, Jonathan was ill for
several days. He was, however, rational and held court in the
servants’ dining hall because no one wanted to leave him alone for
even a minute while there was a chance that a whole cohort of disgruntled
former revolutionaries were roaming the mountainside.

Inspector Ravensgard didn’t appear to be in any hurry to take Warner and

his mother to Edinburgh for trial. It seemed as if he was waiting for
something.

On a clear, bright Tuesday afternoon, when nothing in particular was

happening, the “something” came walking down the mountain trail from
Edinburgh.

Mr. Smith, the Bow Street Runner, came trudging into the village. As might
be expected after walking for the better part of five days, his clothes were
covered with dust, but he had a remarkably cheerful demeanor. Especially
for a man who walked from Edinburgh up into the mountains. He stopped at
the Blind Sheep Inn and asked the innkeeper, “Do you have an Inspector
Ravensgard who has a room hereabouts?”
The innkeeper eyed him askance. “An’ who might ye be that’s askin’?”

“I’m Mr. Smith. If you know his whereabouts, perhaps you would be so
good as to deliver my card to him?” Mr. Smith presented the innkeeper a
blue card, printed with crude black lettering. On the back of it was the
legend, “Bow Street Runner.” “I’ve a bit of news for him, which I think he’s
been wanting.”

“Well, I’ll send the card with an errand boy, soon as mine gets back from
the market. Are ye plannin’ to stay long?”

“A day or two. I might need a room.”

“Happens I’ve got a room. It’s up under the eaves, but it’s clean. The sheets
on the beds are new wove. They gets changed once a week if occupied, an’
after each guest if not. Ef ya wants yer boots blacked, that’s extra. Ef ya
wants laundry, that’s extra. But my boy blacks tha boots, an’ my wife does
the laundry, so’s ya know its done right. Any questions?”

“How much, with laundry and boot blacking?”

“Tuppence a night, meals are extra.”

“Done. I’m famished, and I think my feet have grown to these boots. Is
there anywhere a man could buy a new pair o’ socks?”
“Haberdasher right down the street, public bath next door. My wife would
appreciate it if you availed yourself of it before sleepin’ on her clean bed.”

“Excellent!” said Mr. Smith. “I’ll have whatever is the special today, then
I’ll just go take care of those things. When the Inspector arrives, I’ll most
likely be in the bath.”

“Very good, sir. Special today is vegetable soup an’ brown bread. It’s a
good soup with plenty o’ beans.”

“Beans, eh? Might as well have a small beer with that, then.”

While Mr. Smith tucked into his meal, then went in pursuit of a new pair of
socks and a bath, the innkeeper’s son went pelting up the road to the castle.

When he arrived, Mr. Hammonds made him wait in the front hall while he
delivered the card to Inspector Ravensgard.

Mr. Ravensgard was in the solar with the Duke, Miss Singer, Mrs. Warner
and Gran’ther Tim. “Ah, yes. I’ve been waiting for this,” he said. “I believe
that Mr. Smith will have more of the story about Roddy Warner. I have been
expecting him, Mr. Hammonds. Could you have the boy carry a note back
for me?”

“Of course, Inspector.”

Inspector Ravensgard wrote out a note, and handed it and a small coin to
the boy.

When the innkeeper’s son had departed, Celeste said, “Every time I see
someone hand out a coin now, I want to leap up and hold out a bowl of
water to wash it. How is David’s hand?”

“Oh, it has been quite well for some time now. But he is also a bit wary of
taking coins. He has developed the habit of wearing gloves when he is on
duty.”

Mrs. Margery Warner, she who had posed as Duchess, spoke up then. She
was reclining on a contraption made of wood with long strips of leather
woven around the framework. Suspended between four wheels, it could be
moved from one place to another without distressing the occupant. “You
won’t hurt Roddy, will you? He does love me.” She sounded almost
piteous.

Inspector Ravensgard gently replied, “It really isn’t up to me. I’m afraid
that your Roddy was a very bad boy, for quite a long while. I’m not even
sure if he loved you. There is a good chance that you will have to stand trial
for your part in his nefarious schemes. But, again, I am not the judge, and it
is not up to me.”

She nodded, and a slow tear trickled down one cheek. “It is hard to think
without his potions. I need them. Could someone please let him make one
for me?”
“I’m sorry, Margery,” the Duke said. “I’m afraid that isn’t allowable. Sister
Agatha will be here soon with your medicine for today.”

Margery moved her hands restlessly on the coverlet and looked as if she
would like to throw something. Unfortunately for her, but fortunately for
everyone else in the room, her lower limbs were completely immobilized in
the hope that the bones might one day knit together again.

“I don’t understand,” she whined. “I just wanted to have parties and pretty
clothes. What was so wrong about that?”

The question was more rhetorical that real, and the rest of the room’s
occupants had heard it and variations on it so often in the last few weeks
that it had ceased to have an impact on them.

Sister Agatha explained it best. “She is like a two-year-old trapped in a

woman’s body. She has all the desires of a woman, but none of the wisdom
that should have come from living. She sees a pretty bauble, and she wants
it. It doesn’t matter what is between her and the object.”

The Sister had looked sad and troubled then. “I can slowly wean her off the
laudanum, and Dr. Dermott and Dr. Young, his apprentice, can help her
body heal. But there is really nothing we can do for her mind.”

Remembering the conversation, Jonathan sighed. Celeste, who was sitting

beside him as was usual these days, asked, “Are you all right, Your Grace?”
“Just realizing that there are far too many things in the world that I cannot
fix. I made a promise to Margery’s father that I would take care of her. But
even if it were possible, I would not wed her now that I know her
personality.”

“No,” said Celeste with some asperity, “I should think not. I cannot imagine
anyone, even a doting father, expecting that after all that you have been
through.”

“But I cannot help asking myself, what will become of her? I toured a
madhouse once. Executing her would be a kindness by comparison.”

“Have you spoken with Mother Sarah or Parson Graves? Or even Father
Jacob? Illnesses of the spirit are their province.”

“I have not. Perhaps I should. But I am not sure that even they can do more
than pray for her at this point.”

Celeste said no more, but laid one slender hand over his. She found it very
hard to garner any sympathy for the woman who had pretended to be
married to Jonathan. Even though Warner had been the actual perpetrator of
most of the planning and the deeds, Margery had willingly gone along with
it.

Jonathan turned his hand over, and wrapped his long fingers around hers. “I
can forgive her on the grounds that she was the instrument of allowing me
to meet you.”

He might have said more, but just then a large number of people began to
crowd into the Solar. Sister Agatha, Father Jacob, Mother Sarah and Sally
Ann came in together. They were followed shortly by Miss Sedgewick, Mr.
Hammonds, Jill, and David Hammonds. Finally, Constable McHenry and
Mr. Smith came in.

When everyone was seated, the Inspector rose. “Your Grace, with your
permission, I would like to fulfill a promise made several days ago. That
was to tell the story of Roddy the Rude. Some of it somewhat impugns the
late Duke, so if you would like this room cleared, I would completely
understand it.

Jonathan waved the suggestion away. “Everyone here has pieces of the
story. We might as well put it together into a complete narration. These are
my most trusted advisors, with the exception of Margery. But I believe that
she, too, deserves to know.”

“Very well,” Inspector Ravensgard cleared his throat. “Mrs. Whitehurst,

who was then Miss McWhitley, was a maid in this very house thirty-five
years ago. The late Duke, being between Duchesses, had begun to feel the
pressures of certain personal needs. At this point I will turn the tale over to
Miss Sedgewick.”

“It was really a bit embarrassing. He quietly went from one maid to another,
asking us to his bed. I was only a cook’s helper then, but I told him ‘no’ and
he respected my response. That is why I know that Miss McWhitley, who
had been chamber maid to the first Late Duchess, could have refused the
late Duke’s advances and been none the worse for it.”
Celeste clutched Jonathan’s hand a little tighter. “Was it easy to refuse
him?”

“Easy? That didn’t really come into it. He was handsome enough, our
current Duke looks a great deal like his father, but he was far above my
station and I knew he was not offering marriage. I’d seen it before, at other
houses, and even in the Duke’s household. I had no desire to have a baby
only to have to give it up.

“But McWhitley said yes. When she got in the family way, he turned her off
without a reference and without a penny.”

Celeste gasped, and turned wide hazel eyes on the Duke. “Don’t worry,” he
said softly.

“Now,” said Mr. Smith, “I have the next part of the tale. Miss McWhitley
was taken in by an abbess in Convent Garden. The abbess was taken with
little Roddy, so when Miss McWhitley had the opportunity to become Miss
Whitehurst, she kept the baby boy. The lad ran errands for her when he was
old enough and did other small chores. But the abbess became angry when
she learned that little Roddy was old enough to be sampling the wares. That
would have been unacceptable, but worse than that, sometimes Roddy liked
to play rough. That was how he earned the title Roddy the Rude.”

“He was never rough with me,” Margery burst out. “Never. He loves me.”
Inspector Ravensgard looked at Margery with an expression of pity on his
face. “I believe that is actually true, which makes this story all the more
bizarre. The next phase of Roddy’s existence was a troupe of traveling
players. Roddy learned how to do escapes, to use ventriloquism, and he
received his first lessons in mixing drugs there. He enjoyed that, and had
the good fortune to be apprenticed to an apothecary who’s shop was in
Edinburgh. That was where he met Margery.”

“He was so handsome,” Margery volunteered. “And he brought me little

samples that made me feel so much better. I didn’t want to cry all the time,
or throw things at people. Then he did other things that made me feel so
good. So we ran away and got married at a little church at the foot of the
mountain.

“But my mean old father wouldn’t let me be married. He snatched me up

and took me to Mabway Castle where it was always cold and he was always
angry. I burned it down, you know,” she said confidingly. “There wasn’t
anyone important in it, so I left a lighted candle next to the drapes. It was so
pretty when it burned.” Her face was rapturous.

“Everyone made it out alive, including Mrs. Whitehurst who was working
in the laundry,” Jonathan said. “I don’t know if Margery knew that she was
there, or if it would have mattered.”

Jonathan took up the tale at this point. “I was of an age to be married, and
Margery was only a year or two younger. Our fathers thought it would be
ideal. I had no idea that someone had a prior claim.”

“Roddy wanted to be a Duke. He knew that Jonathan was his younger half-
brother. It isn’t fair you know, that Jonathan has so much and he doesn’t
even know how to enjoy it.” Margery pouted a little.

Jonathan rolled his eyes at that, but didn’t say anything.

“Now,” Mr. Smith went on, “here is where the story begins to be a little
grimmer. Little Roddy was still angry with the Covent Garden abbess.”

“I really wish he wouldn’t use that term,” Sister Agatha muttered.

Mother Sarah patted her hand. “Don’t worry about it, dear. It is just a word
and cannot harm anyone.”

Sister Agatha grumbled something beneath her breath.

“Because he was still angry, or perhaps because it was fun, he started luring
working girls away from their protectors, using them roughly and leaving
them either dead or dying on the streets. He got away with this for several
years because the Duke would visit London during the season, then he
would go home. So Roddy got his fun, and was off and away back to
Scotland before anyone noticed. But then he graduated from the ladies who
were selling their favors to housemaids, but he still left their bodies on the
old abbess’s doorstep.”

“I started investigating,” Mr. Smith added, “when a sister of a dear friend

was found dead in the rookery.”
Jonathan looked grim, but added his own bit. “Then circumstances
combined to limit my ready cash, and I elected to skip a season. With no
outlet in sight, he started to prey on the young women in my employ.

Inspector Ravensgard added, “Mr. Smith had visited me not long before I
received a letter from Constable McHenry, inviting me to look around and
see what I could learn. I had no real expectation of finding Mr. Smith’s
culprit. But the two incidents with the Lolly Mire just seemed too
coincidental.”

“But the howling,” Margery asked, intrigued in spite of her own

predicament. “What about the howling?”

“That was puzzling,” the Inspector admitted. “I wasn’t sure what was
causing it, until one of the potboys recently overheard Roderick boasting to
his mother how he had disposed of the ringleader, a man the others simply
called the Revolutionary.”

“Oddly, when he went on up to the tower, all of the men were gone, and so
were all the medicinal plants they had stolen, and the fake money stamp.”

“What had happened to them?” Celeste asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“That was where I came in,” said a new voice. A small man, wearing a dark
cloak stood in the doorway of the solar. When he threw the cloak back over
his shoulder, it was revealed that he was wearing a military uniform. His
head was topped with the most astonishing piece of headgear, knitted in
colorful stripes, with a large tassel on the end. A large dog that looked like a
shaggy gray wolf was by his side. “Speak, Sheena,” the man directed.

The large dog sat on her haunches, pointed her muzzle at the ceiling and let
out a long mournful cry. Then she lowered her muzzle, looked around the
assemble company, and let her tongue loll out the side of her mouth in a
doggy grin.

“It was just our luck that the band of revolutionaries decided to try their
hand at counterfeiting in this area. We had suspected that one was operating
up here in the hills for some time. For a while we thought perhaps the Duke
might be involved.”

“Me?” Jonathan burst out.

“We quickly learned that it wasn’t you, Your Grace, even before you were
poisoned. We are sorry about that. If we had moved more quickly, perhaps
we might have been able to prevent it.”

“The reason Warner couldn’t find the band of men was because we had
apprehended all of them except the leader a few hours before that. Warner
thought that the man the others called the Revolutionary was trying to take
over the castle and lands that he had come to think of as his own.”

“Perhaps if I had been more observant, I could have kept some of this from
happening.”
“Perhaps the military gentleman would like to introduce himself?”
suggested Mr. Hammonds.

“I am remiss,” said Parson Graves. “Everyone, please meet Lieutenant

Renald Graves, my nephew. He was on the continent for some time with his
regiment. It is our good fortune that he was able to apprehend the
miscreants before they put the rest of their plan into action.”

“Which was?” asked the Duke.

“David Hammonds was a test cast to see if it would work. They planned to
baste counterfeit coins with arsenic and wolfsbane and use them to purchase
goods in the village. They would slowly poison everyone, then they would
use Gwyndonmere Valley as a staging area to invade England.”

Jonathan considered this for a moment. “Aren’t we rather far from the
border for that to work?”

Lieutenant Graves smiled, flashing a rather adorable dimple. “I think I said

they were miscreants, not geniuses. I rather think their plan would have
backfired sooner rather than later, but a great many people could have been
hurt in the meantime.”

“And all the items that were stolen?” Gran’ther Tim asked. “Those aren’t
things to just leave lying about.”
“As it happens, I could not agree more,” the military man said. “Therefore I
have two large crates out here which I would like to return to someone. I
seriously considered confiscating part of it for military use, then decided it
would be better to tax you a portion of the refined products.”

“An excellent decision,” Jonathan said quietly. “If our medicines can be of
assistance, we will be glad to help. I do hope no one tried to handle the
stuff.”

“One lad got a numb hand out of it before our surgeons realized what it
was. The counterfeit coins we will melt down, although some of them are
rather clever.”

“Oh?” Jonathan cocked an eyebrow at the young man.

“Quite clever. Faces turned the wrong way, key items upside down. They
would never have passed as legal tender. But most of these benighted souls
were illiterate and quite uneducated in any way, so they didn’t see the small
changes I had made.

“You?” Celeste turned wide, astonished eyes upon the man.

“Me,” he smirked. “I was posing as their artist.”

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 CHAPTER 54

T he following day, the lieutenant and the men he had hidden in

the hills came down into the valley to begin the process of
transporting the perpetrators of the various crimes. The
minor rank and file of the revolutionaries, including Smythe and Wilson,
had already been hauled rather unceremoniously down to Edinburgh.

Since Warner and Mrs. Whitehurst were English citizens, they would be
treated differently from the Frenchmen who had been captured. Their fates
would be determined in a court of law. It only remained to be seen whether
they would be tried by magistrates in Edinburgh or taken to London.

Margery was another matter. She was likely to be permanently disabled,

thanks to her fall. Dr. Dermott said that if she ever walked again it would be
a miracle. Her pelvis had been crushed under the horse and her spine was
damaged. Sister Agatha suggested that she be placed in the care of the
Gentle Sisters, and Mother Sarah concurred. Father Jacob considered it,
then decided he would need to establish the Brother Protectors or
somesuch, because he didn’t trust “that Warner” not to come bothering
around again.
After some discussion with the Lieutenant, the Inspector, and Mr. Smith, it
was decided that a comfortable, but secure, cell was the kindest approach.

“She loved riding,” Celeste said, her eyes brimming with tears as Margery’s
cart contraption was carefully taken down the stairs and trundled across the
courtyard to a wagon that was waiting to take her to the Gentle Sisters.
“And she liked listening to stories read out loud. She wasn’t always kind,
and she was more like a child than a grown woman, but it hurts my heart to
imagine the life she was leading and the one that awaits her.”

Jonathan gently put his arm around Celeste, giving her plenty of space to
pull away if she wanted. She leaned into him, cuddling closer. “I promised
her father I would take care of her,” he said. “She didn’t want me as a
husband, and now that I have met you, I don’t want her as a wife. This is as
close as I can get to keeping that promise. I toured a madhouse once, and I
would not condemn anyone to that sort of torture. She would be better off
hanged, and I just cannot quite bring myself to send her to trial. She would
convict herself out of her own mouth, without even realizing she had done
so.”

“It still hurts my heart,” Celeste said.

“Mine, too,” Jonathan replied. “Mine, too.”

They stood silently watching until the cart was out of sight around the bend
in the road leading to the village. “You know,” said Jonathan, “I have some
special mail that I have never opened. I think it might be time for me to ask
Mr. Hammonds where he put it.”
“You don’t know?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Jonathan said. “He was always full of surprises and
playing tricks on us boys. You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he used
to be a lot of fun when we were growing up. I’m not completely certain that
being a grandfather really agrees with him.”

“I think he likes it very much,” Celeste argued. “You should see him when
Jill and David are around. He is so proud of them that he nearly bursts his
buttons.”

They walked down to the butlery, swinging their hands as if they were
children. It was as if somehow in all the turmoil, they had found a warm
bubble of happiness that encased them and allowed them this moment
together.

If I never have anything more than this, Celeste thought, I will have all the
world.

When they reached the butlery, and explained their mission, Mr. Hammonds
rose with ponderous slowness from his seat at the big, old table and shuffled
slowly over to a rack of wine bottles. He removed one that had the bottom
cut out of it, making it a false front. Then he drew out the mysterious
package.

Jonathan seated Celeste at the table as if she were a great lady. Then he sat
beside her and opened the package with Mr. Hammonds looked on. On top
of the bundle of papers was a marriage certificate for Margery Taster and
Roderick Warner, dated two months before his supposed wedding.

A note in Christopher Hammonds neat handwriting read, “You don’t need

an annulment. You were never legally wed.”

“I wonder,” Jonathan said slowly, “If I had read this the morning I received
it, would it have made any difference?”

“You didn’t read it, Your Grace,” Mr. Hammonds said, “Because the
Inspector and the Constable came to get you to see the carnage at the
orangery. By that time, I think it was already too late.”

Jonathan sighed.

“You need to stop doing that,” Celeste said. “You can’t possibly fix
everything in the world.”

There were sad, dark depths in his eyes as he looked at her and then looked
away. “I realize that.” He added, “Celeste, if I ever ask of you something
you don’t want to do, you can say no. I will acquiesce to your will.”

“I know that, Your Grace. I trust you to not ever lead me astray.”

“Celeste, that is a lot of responsibility for one man.”

“Not really. It is just the right amount, because I have faith in you and your
judgement.

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 CHAPTER 55

F or the next several days, repairing the orangery was their

primary focus. Even so, it was rare to find Jonathan and
Celeste very far apart. While he supervised the workmen
who were putting in the new panes of glass, she was painstakingly repairing
the curtains that were used to separate the different areas in the big glass
buildings. While he was helping mix cement, she was working at the
potting table with the under-gardeners.

It reached the point that the staff and villagers just grinned at each other
when the two were together. There were a few, however, who frowned
because they feared what might come of this young couple who were so
clearly drawn to each other, yet so far apart in station.

Celeste worried about it, but Jonathan merely picked up her hand and kissed
her fingers when she finally asked him. “Not to worry. I will not leave you.
I would sooner give up the duchy than you. As it happens, I don’t plan to
give up either one. But I want to be certain that it will come to pass, that
which I have set in motion, before I accidentally make another promise that
I cannot deliver.”
One drowsy afternoon late in July, a messenger from Edinburgh came on
horseback.

He was dusty from traveling, but the most interesting thing about him was
his livery, which made it plain that he was a royal envoy. When he drew
near, he alighted from his horse. After enquiring directions of several
people, he hurried toward Jonathan and Celeste.

When he was sufficiently near, he bowed first to Jonathan and then to

Celeste. He then pulled a scroll from his belt pouch and began to read, “In
as much as she has rendered assistance and aid to a peer of the realm and
supported him in recent trials, going above and beyond the call of duty,
allow me to present to you, the Right Honorable Dame Celeste Singer, this
Order of the Thistle. Will you receive it?”

“I, um, that is,” Celeste stammered.

“Just say yes,” Jonathan directed.

“Yes,” Celeste repeated.

The messenger lifted the flat links of the chain and placed it over her head.
Then he turned to the people who were working on the orangeries and
announced, “Please allow me to introduce the right honorable Dame Celeste
Singer.” Then he said more quietly, “There will be an official presentation,
but the honor is yours right now.
Everyone cheered and the applause echoed off the mountains. But only
echoes came back to them. No wolves howled.

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 CHAPTER 56

C eleste’s honor, of course, called for celebration. As the sun sank

down behind the mountains, trestle tables were set out in the
courtyard. Fresh fruit, roast fowl of varying sorts, and mounds of
new vegetables, and platters heaped with bread were set out. It was very
much the same food they would have been eating anyway, but adding
tablecloths and calling it a feast made it a festive occasion.

No one had dressed up for it because they had been working hard all day
long and no one had time to go back home and change. That didn’t decrease
the festive ambiance.

An impromptu band struck up a dance, and several of the younger villagers

found enough energy to step out to the lively music. Just as a merry country
dance was in full swing, another messenger, this one in a plain gray suit of
traveling clothes, alighted from an old wagon drawn by a pair of farm
horses.

If he had not already known who was in that wagon, Jonathan would have
known it from Celeste’s joyful shout. “Mama! Papa!”
The Right Honorable, newly made, Dame ran toward the dusty couple,
completely heedless of any sort of dignity.

First her mother, then her father, folded her in a warm, loving embrace and
for a few moments there were no words spoke among them at all.

When Jonathan approached the joyous family reunion, Celeste turned to

him, joy shining in her eyes. “Oh, Jonathan! I mean, Your Grace, please
allow me to introduce my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Singer.”

“I am honored to meet them, Miss Singer. They have come just in time, for
as of this hour you and I are equals. I will not have to contemplate choosing
between your and this land. Mr. Singer, Mrs. Singer, I beg leave to court
your daughter, for it is my earnest hope that she will consent to be my
wife.”

Celeste gaped at him wordlessly. “Well,” said Mr. Singer. “I think that is up
to Celeste. What do you think, my dear?” he turned to his wife.

“I think this is very strange, but if he is an honest man and true, I see no
harm in it,” Mrs. Singer consented.

Then Jonathan took both Celeste’s hands in his.

“Celeste, I would get down on one knee and do this properly, but you would
then have to help me get up again, considering the work I have done today.
Is it just possible, knowing all that you know about my past and my way of
doing things, that you might perhaps entertain the idea of becoming my
wife?”

Celeste laughed. “Oh, Jonathan. I vowed not long after I arrived here to
serve you in any way I could just so I could remain near you. I would adore
being your wife.”

Celeste put her arms around Jonathan Harper, Duke of Gwyndonmere, and
tipped up her face to be kissed. Jonathan returned her embrace, kissing her
deep and slow, like a thirsty man trying to make a sip of water last. She
leaned into him, savoring his warmth, the strength of his muscles, the thud
of his heart, and the way his breath quickened. Her own was a little faster,
too, she realized. There was only one cure for it. She leaned into the kiss,
putting in it all the fear, all the hope and all the love she had grown to feel
for him.

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 CHAPTER 57

O n a fine August morning, with the newly refurbished orangery

shining behind them, Betty, Sally Ann, and Martha were in the
wedding pavilion, putting the final finishing touches on Celeste’s
wedding dress.

“This is so very strange,” Celeste said. “So much has changed in such a
short time.”

“But wonderful,” Sally Ann said.

“Yes, indeed,” Betty echoed. “Me, learning to read and write. I like your
teaching, Miss Celeste, but your mother makes everything so much clearer.”

Celeste laughed. “She’s been a teacher for a while. I’m still new at it. How
are you coming along with that? Are you reading stories yet?”

“Only very easy ones with pictures,” Betty replied. “But I am learning.”
“So am I,” said Sally Ann. “And I’ve been doing fine sewing with Mother
Sarah. She says that she thinks I might make a vocation of it.” Then the girl
paused and thought. “What’s a vocation?”

“Something you want to do all your life,” Celeste answered.

“So, will Jonathan be your new vocation?” Betty teased.

“Jonathan will be my life-long companion. As for vocations, we are

thinking about raising silkworms.”

“Really?” squeaked Sarah Ann. “Why would you raise worms?”

“Because they are the creatures that make the thread that is used to make
silk dresses,” Martha said gently, calming what looked as if it might
become a small riot. “Is that not correct, Mrs. Singer?”

“I am told that is correct. I’ve never seen one, and would be more curious to
see what they look like.”

“We are just thinking about it,” Celeste said. “After all the events this year,
Jonathan is worried about continuing to grow anything as lethal as
monkshood, yet the orangeries were quite expensive to repair. We need to
make up the difference somehow.”
“Dame Celeste, we need your mother out here and you need to be ready to
go.” Sister Agatha approached weddings with the same no-nonsense
manner that she used when dosing village younglings for coughs and colds.

Celeste stepped out into the summer sunshine. A tartan-clad band with
bagpipes struck up the wedding march. Celeste walked down the path
toward the lake – the same path where Sally Ann had run from phantasmal
voices that turned out to be Warner using ventriloquism. But instead of
taking the branch to the bog, Celeste followed a petal strewn path that lead
to an outdoor altar. Her attendants walked with her, helping keep her train
and her veil from dragging in the dirt and across the grass.

Mr. Singer met her and offered her his arm. “Little did I know,” he said,
“that I would be reunited with my daughter, only to lose her to a Duke.”

“Oh, Papa! You have not lost me at all. You know I will visit you every
day.”

“Oh, perhaps not every day. You will have duties to tend. Besides, your
Mama would throw us both out of doors if we were too much underfoot.”

“Shhh!” Betty cautioned them. “You need to look dignified.”

“I’m too happy to be dignified,” Celeste protested. But she straightened her
shoulders and tried to be more sedate.
Then she caught sight of Jonathan, waiting at the altar, and she could
scarcely restrain herself from running to him. With all the outdoor work he
had been doing, he had regained his tan. In addition, with a daily dose of
admiration from Celeste, he was rapidly losing the hesitant manner he had
displayed in her first months at Gwyndonmere.

Mr. Singer held her firmly by the elbow. “Steady, with dignity,” he said.
“Make him proud.”

She walked in time to the skirling pipes and the tapping drums and paused.
The village parson read out his prepared speech, and prompted them
through their vows. It was happening. They were really getting married.

After they had said their “I do’s”, Celeste turned to throw her bouquet.
When she did, Sally Ann instinctively reached up to catch it, then hastily
thrust it at Betty, as if to ward off a bad omen.

Then, amid a shower of rice and rose petals, they ran to the dance platform
where they danced the first dance. Because Celeste wanted her parents to
join them on the dance floor, the first dance was a romantic waltz.

Then they cut the cake, toasted each other, and were toasted by many.
Finally, they sat watching the revelry, content just to be in each other’s
presence.

“I love your people, Jonathan,” Celeste said.

“Our people,” Jonathan corrected. “From now on. Our people.”

“Our people,” Celeste repeated. “And, Jonathan Harper, Duke of

Gwyndonmere, I love you.”

“And I love you, Celeste Harper. You are the one I have dreamed of and
longed for all these years.”

OceanofPDF.com
 EPILOGUE

J onathan Harper, Duke of Gwyndonmere, sat by his wife’s

beside and extended a tentative hand toward the tiny baby
who stared about him with unfocused eyes. The infant
managed to free one hand and flapped it about wildly.
Encountering his father’s finger, he grasped it and tried to pull it toward his
mouth.

“There is nothing there for you, little man,” the Duke said. “Your mother
can better provide for you just now.”

“Would you like to hold him?” Celeste asked.

“Are you sure I won’t break him?” Jonathan looked both excited and a little
scared.

“Just support his head and back. Dr. Dermott and Sister Agatha say that he
is a big baby, but even so I do not think he will tax your strength.”
Jonathan carefully gathered the baby up, his face shining with joy. “I had
given up hope of having a child. I despaired of finding a way that we could
be together as legally wed man and wife. But here we are, and here is the
result.” He supported the baby on his forearm, with the infant’s head
cradled in his hand. With one finger of the other hand he stroked the shock
of black hair. “What should we name him, my dear?”

“Jonathan, of course.”

“But how will we tell who is being called for dinner or scolded for
misdeeds?” Jonathan asked with mock seriousness.

“Oh, we’ll call him Jonny. Jonathan is much too grown up a name for such
a little boy. But it will give him a name to be proud of, one that he can grow
into and attempt to live up to.”

Jonathan’s eyes grew suspiciously damp, but he said, “Thank you, Celeste.”

“Wait until he breaks something priceless or spills ink on documents,”

Celeste said. “You can decide whether or not to thank me then.”

“I’ll thank you now, Celeste, just in case I forget to later.”

Jonny looked at his father solemnly, turned a screwed up his little face and
grunted a little. He then did something that produced horrendous odor, and
damp warm began to seep through Jonathan’s coat sleeve.”
“Well,” said the Duke of Gwyndonmere, “At least we know that his parts
are working properly.”

Celeste laughed and tugged on the bell pull that hung over the big, four-
poster bed. A round-faced young woman quickly entered the room. “Please
take Jonny to be dressed, I believe he has soiled himself. And ask the valet
to come take the Duke’s coat for cleaning.”

“I’ll be glad to, Your Grace,” the girl said. “What a handsome fellow he is!”
she added, taking the baby. “You must both be very proud.”

“Very,” said Jonathan.

When the nurse maid had taken the baby away, Jonathan shed the soiled
coat, and then seated himself again beside the bed. “How are you, my
dear?”

“Tired. A little sore, and very, very hungry. And I suspect in need of a bit of
cleaning up and a comb.”

“You are absolutely beautiful, just as you are,” Jonathan declared. “I knew
you were beautiful before, but now you are glowing. I am an amazingly
lucky man.”

“And I am a very fortunate woman,” Celeste replied. “but I always knew I

could trust in your good sense and caring heart. You have proved me right.”
“Speaking of good sense,” Jonathan said, “We are moving the poison
gardens into a walled garden on the backside of the Gentle Sisters. That
should make it less accessible both to thieves and to curious children.”

“That is a good idea, Your Grace,” Celeste said. “Especially since it is my

hope that we will have several more.”

“Are you sure, Celeste?”

“Quite sure. I hope for at least one daughter to match our handsome son.”

“In that case,” Jonathan said, “How soon do you think we can start on the
next one?”

Celeste laughed. “Not for a week or two, Your Grace. But I would take a
kiss or three, just to make sure we stay in practice.”

“Hrruumph,” Mr. Hammonds cleared his voice. “Your Graces, you have
guests. Mr. and Mrs. Singer are here to see you, and to see the new baby as
well.”

“Papa! Mama!” Celeste exclaimed, still holding onto Jonathan’s hand.

“Have you come to see the baby?”

“We have come to see what is new in the world, but we have also come to
see you, my daughter.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Singer. “How are you, my dear?”

Jonathan looked up at Mr. Hammonds, then Mr. Hammonds signaled

someone outside the door. Two chairs were brought for Celeste’s parents.
For a moment there was an awkward silence, then the nursemaid brought
Jonny back into the room.

The baby was carefully passed from one adult to another until he began to
fuss. “He’s hungry,” said Celeste’s mother, giving a pointed look at her
husband.

Celeste looked up at Jonathan, and he smiled back at her. “I think the ladies
would like some time alone together,” he said to his father-in-law. “Could I
invite you to my study for a celebratory brandy?”

“Of course,” said Mr. Singer.

They strolled down the hall to the Duke’s study. As usual, the large table
was littered with papers of all sorts. Among them was a neat drawing of a
little building.

“I have something to show you,” the Duke said as he poured two fingers of
brandy into a snifter for his father in law. “This is the first sketch for an idea
I recently had.”
“Oh?” Mr. Singer looked at it carefully.

“Yes. I think it is high time we have a school. Do you think your wife
would be interested in teaching there? Perhaps not all the classes. We have
others who can also teach, but perhaps beginning reading and writing and
even a little French.”

“I think she might, but since I prize domestic bliss, I will ask her before
answering that question.”

“A prudent answer. So let me ask you another question. Would you be

interested in working on it? Again, not the whole thing, but spending time
with the other men who will also lend their talents to making it handsome
building, secure against the weather and a pleasant place to gather.

“Your Grace, I would be honored,” said Mr. Singer. “I was not sure how it
would be to have a Duke as a son-in-law, but I believe my daughter chose
very well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Singer. And I believe that you and your wife have done a
wonderful job raising a lovely, intelligent, caring woman. I am a very lucky
man.”

Meanwhile, Celeste and her mother cooed over the baby. “What a fine man,
your Duke is,” Mrs. Singer said. “I was not sure how it would be having a
peer as a son-in-law. But he is as natural and genuine as any man. You are a
very lucky woman.”
“I know, Mama. If I were you, however, I would not judge all peers by
Jonathan. He is by far gentler and nobler, and yet more humble than any
other. He is the finest man I have ever met, aside from my father.”

“Your father would be proud to hear you say that. But I’ll not tell him that
you are comparing him to a Duke. There would be no living with him.

When Celeste’s parents had gone back to their cottage in the village,
Jonathan came to her room and sat a while with her and the baby. When the
baby was fed and sleepy, the nursemaid came and took him away to tuck up
in his cradle.

Jonathan carefully lay down next to Celeste, and cradled her in his arms.
She snuggled up to him, and they quietly cuddled together.

“This is perfection,” Jonathan said.

“It is,” Celeste agreed. “Well, almost. It will be even better in a few weeks.”

“So it will,” Jonathan replied. “So it will.”

And they lay looking through the big window, watching the stars come out
one by one until they fell asleep.
 The End?

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 EXTENDED EPILOGUE

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enjoy this complimentary short story featuring the beloved couple!

Simply TAP HERE to read it now for FREE! or use this link:
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 MORE SWEET HISTORICAL ROMANCE

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THE COMMONER WHO STOLE
ΗER ΗEART

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 PROLOGUE

H e rode through the dead of the night, laughing, sometimes

weeping, his black cloak whipped out behind him from the
wind of his speed. The nearly full moon gave him enough
light to see by and his horse certainly saw quite well. At a dead run, he
rode, his madness following him, ever keeping pace. Of course, he knew he
was mad, as insane as the King himself. However, unlike the King, he kept
his madness reined in, on a short leash, mostly silent and subdued, save for
times like these.
Laughing hysterically, he spurred his horse to greater speed, scattering
flocks of sheep and cattle. His mount leapt a low stone wall with the grace
of an African gazelle. He galloped on, dodging large rocks and thickets of
bramble. “I will have what is mine,” he screamed into the night. “I will
have what is mine.”
Blood flecked his spurs. Flattening his neck, his ears back, the madman’s
horse reached an even faster pace, foam lathering his neck. On the gelding
raced, urged on by his rider’s insanity. Another stone wall rose in his path
and, yet again, he soared over it as though possessing the wings of Pegasus
himself.
Half blinded by the tears he wept, the man laughed, shrieking, “They cannot
stop me, they will not stop me, I will have my due.”
Lights glimmered in the distance. A house. By the sheer number of lights
glowing in the darkness, it was a very large house. Slowing his mount to a
hard gallop, the man reined toward it. Even at this hour, lamps were lit
along hallways and corridors, glowing through the windows. He laughed
again, recognizing it, even as he knew this was his destination all along.
The Willowdale estate.
“I will have what is mine,” he repeated, muttering now, sunk into the depths
of his own mind. “He will not stop me.”
Throwing back his head, he howled like a wolf, his voice echoing across the
black hills. Over and over he laughed, then broke into coarse, heavy sobs
before howling to the moon again. Screaming wildly, he galloped his horse
in circles, staring at the house and dreaming of his possessions inside it.
At long last, his fit of madness left him. His throat raw, he wiped the tears
from his face with his hand. Reining his blowing horse to a stop, he let the
animal rest for a moment or two as he gazed, now quiet, at the Willowdale
home. “None of you can ever stop me,” he whispered as the night breeze
ruffled his hair, drying his sweat and his tears. “I swear it, Willowdale. You
cannot keep me from what is mine. I will not let you and I will do whatever
it takes to have my due. Even if it means your death.”
Turning the horse around, he nudged the beast into a ground-eating trot. He
knew he had pushed the horse too hard, but his madness would never
permit him to feel guilt over it. His obsession with Willowdale consumed
him – he could think of nothing else, even when his fits of insanity had not
sent him over the edge.
“I swear I will kill you,” he muttered. “Do not make me kill you,
Willowdale. Give me what is mine.”

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 1

T hea Miller stared at her older brother, stunned and

incredulous. “Surely you are jesting, Freddie. Father and
Mother have not been in their graves a month.”
“Why does that have anything to do with it? You are nine-and-ten now,
Thea, it is time to find you a husband.”
The stiff breeze off the lake, a beloved area of the Willowdale estates for
time out of mind, whipped her hair across her face. Black as a raven’s wing,
Thea tended to break social protocol by leaving it loose and unfettered, to
fall like a silken river to her waist. Her light brown eyes studied Freddie as
he gazed out over the waves lapping at the gravel on the shore.
Though he was three years older and over a foot taller than she, they could
almost be twins, she had often thought. His hair coloring and eyes were,
like hers, both inherited from their mother. Their father, the late Viscount of
Willowdale, had been short and stout, with the blue eyes and blond hair of a
Viking. Of course, family jests abounded that the Lady Martha Willowdale
and her children were true descendants of the native people who lived
among the former colonists across the ocean.
“Then why do you not get married, Freddie?” Thea asked. “You have to
carry on the family name.”
Freddie finally looked at her, his handsome lips bowed in a slight frown. “I
will, little sister, in time.” He glanced down, away from her, as though
uncomfortable. “I am still getting used to being the Viscount of Willowdale.
I feel much too young for such a heavy title, and the responsibilities that go
with it.”
Thea tilted her pert nose up, a trait she knew had irritated her parents to no
end, and one she used on her brother almost as often. “I am not ready to get
married either.”
Walking to the edge of the lake, she gazed out at the tiny whitecaps pushed
upward by the wind, wondering if her father had made such plans for her
marriage before he died so unexpectedly. “I suppose you already have a
candidate picked out,” she said, her voice hard, her back to him.
“Of course not.”
Thea heard the crunch of his boots on the gravel as he stepped up to stand
beside her. Bending, he picked up a rock and threw it out as far as he could,
the stone skipping across the water’s surface before sinking at last. “Why
are you being so hard headed about it? You have to get married eventually.”
“Why are you so quick to sell me to the highest bidder?” she retorted,
glancing sidelong at him through thick tendrils of her hair.
Though Freddie tended to be more tidy and conscientious about his
appearance than Thea, his ice blue cravat had loosened to the point it would
soon flap under the force of the wind. With her hand on his arm, Thea
turned him toward her.
“Here,” she said. “Let me fix that.”
Freddie raised his chin to grant her access to his cravat, his pale brown eyes
amused. “Perhaps I should keep you around as my valet. I swear, sometimes
I believe Nicholas would serve better sweeping the stable.”
“The man does his best,” Thea replied tartly. “You should have more
patience with him.”
Freddie’s full white teeth gleamed, even under the muted sunlight as he
grinned down at her. “You are always running to the defense of the servants,
Thea. One might think you have an affinity for them.”
“And why should I not be?” she inquired, her eyes snapping in annoyance.
“They have no advocate, can be dismissed without a word and turned out
into the gutter at a moment’s notice. Someone should behave as though they
cared.”
“But you truly do care.”
Her hands at her sides once more, Thea stared out over the water. “I want to
marry for love.”
The irony in his voice was unmistakable. “Does Miss Miller have a well-
heeled and wealthy suitor she has not told her brother about?”
“No,” Thea replied, wheeling on him. “But that does not mean it is not
possible. Why should I not marry the man I fall in love with, Freddie? Why
is it that the servants and the peasants in the village can marry for love, but I
cannot?”
Stepping lightly toward her, her brother smiled as he gently tucked strands
of her black hair behind her ear. “Because we of the aristocracy are
expected to marry for the benefit of the family, Thea. Even I cannot marry
for love. If a Duke or an Earl were to propose a union of our families and
estates by marrying me to his daughter, then I can hardly refuse.”
Thea did her best not to sulk. She knew he was right. She had been raised
from infancy to know that her place was to marry a man who her father
selected, or in his place her brother, to beget heirs of her husband’s family
line. It was her duty. Her mother had instilled that principle into her, and
would no doubt have swooned to hear Thea’s rebellious talk of marrying for
love.
“I know,” she said softly. “I just wish it did not have to be that way.”
Freddie’s warm and loving expression grew into a playful grin. “It is those
romance novels you constantly read that are putting such notions into your
head. Perhaps I should ban them from the library.”
Although she knew he was joking, and that he read those same books as
lavishly as she, Thea feigned horror and outrage that he dared to threaten
such an atrocity. “You do, Freddie Miller, Viscount of Willowdale, and I
swear I will spread honey in your bedsheets and pour ants into it.”
Freddie jumped, his expression horrified, and scratched at his arms. “Do not
even think of doing that again, Thea. My God once in a lifetime was
enough. I still have nightmares.”
Crossing her arms over her breasts, Thea smirked. “That was for the snake
you set loose in my chambers.”
Freddie gaped. “But it was a harmless snake. Those ants bit me all over.”
“Just so you know I am not to be trifled with, brother,” Thea declared, her
nose up. “I can and will make your life very difficult indeed. Now, what
were you going to do with the romance books in the library?”
Freddie eyed her with no little humor. “I expect they will stay put. But
please consider helping me find you a suitable husband.”
Startled, Thea’s nose drifted down, her eyes widened. “You mean that? You
will let me help decide?”
“If it means no more biting ants in my bed,” he replied, his tone dry, “I will
do anything.”
“Freddie.”
“Oh, all right,” he snapped. “Yes, because I love you, Thea. I want what is
best for both you and the family, even if it means permitting you to get
involved.”
Thea wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but as Freddie was a
terrible stickler for protocol and for what was proper and what not, Thea
refrained from such an obvious show of affection. But she gave him such a
warm, happy glowing expression, Freddie harrumphed and turned his face
away, clearly out of countenance.
“Yes, well, it is time for luncheon, Thea,” he said, half turning toward the
grand estate house that had been in their family for generations. “Come
along.”
Strolling at his side, Thea noticed the footman that waited attendance upon
them, and a wide smile crossed her features before she could halt it. Liam
Carter had been her friend since both of them were little, until she grew
older and her mother put a stop to it.
“Well-bred ladies do not associate with the hired help, dear,” she had said,
her dark hair in a perfect coiffure. “Do not get your fingers dirty.”
While she resented her mother’s implication that her friend Liam was ever
dirty, Thea obeyed her mother and ceased inventing new hide and seek
games with Liam. Taller and of greater width than her brother, Liam owned
shaggy red-gold hair and brilliant green eyes, the heritage of his Scottish
sire. The son of the Willowdale’s family housekeeper, Liam’s sailor father
died at sea when he was but a baby.
Thea, while maintaining a polite social distance with Liam and the other
servants, never forgot how much she liked Liam, or ever forgot their games.
Freddie feigned a distaste of such antics with the son of a mere
housekeeper, but Thea knew her brother had watched from hiding and
envied them.
“My Lord,” Liam intoned formally, bowing low, his voice deep and rich
with the tiniest Scottish flare in his accent. “Miss Miller. The butler wishes
to inform you that luncheon awaits your pleasure.”
“We are on our way now,” Freddie replied, hardly seeing Liam at all.
“Thank you.”
Unwilling to treat the servants as though they did not exist save when they
did something wrong, Thea dipped her chin into a sober nod toward Liam.
“Mr. Carter,” she said as she and Freddie passed him, “thank you very
kindly.”
She liked the way his green eyes sparkled when they looked at her, the
somber yet fullness to his voice when he said Miss Miller and, most
especially, she loved seeing the near reverence in his strikingly handsome
face. He bowed again, his scarlet and silver livery pristine.
Aware of him following them as she and Freddie strolled toward the house,
Thea resisted the urge to turn and gaze upon him again. She certainly did
enjoy staring at him. He is too good looking for my own good. She hardly
heard Freddie speaking until his very last words.
“ – party for you.”
“Er, excuse me, what?”
Freddie shook his head, his expression one of mild exasperation mixed with
love. “I do so hope you are not planning some devilish reprisal for my jests
earlier, Thea.”
“Of course not. Why do you want a party? It is far too soon after Father and
Mother’s funerals.”
“But inviting all the bachelors of the kingdom will permit you to meet
them.” Freddie gazed down at her, his brows furrowed, his lips thinned. “I
do worry so over you, sweet sister.”
Still conscious of Liam following a few paces behind and no doubt
overhearing every word, Thea lowered her head and her voice. “I appreciate
that Freddie, I truly do. But my heart still grieves for our parents. You
simply must give me more time.”
Freddie nodded. “Perhaps I am pushing you too hard, Thea,” he admitted,
his longish black hair caught under the throes of the wind. “Just promise me
to keep an open mind.”
Thea agreed, her nose not rising an inch. “I can do that. And I do thank you
for worrying over me.”
Freddie gazed down at her, not an ounce of humor anywhere. “I told you I
love you, sister, and I do want what is best for you.”
Somehow, I fear what is best for me is not what you have in mind.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 2

F eeling his heart break in his chest, Liam despaired. It cannot

be true, he told himself, Lord Willowdale would surely not
marry her off to some husband who may treat her badly.
Would to God I had been gently born so that I may face her as an equal and
beg her hand in marriage. Bitterness rose to his throat and stuck there,
choking him, cutting off his breath. He was not gently born. He was not her
equal and never would be. Asking for her hand in marriage was like
reaching into the night sky to seize the moon, then paying a jeweler to set it
into a wedding ring.
Walking a few steps behind the brother and sister, Liam could not help but
overhear their speech, as Lord Willowdale’s voice tended to carry. Miss
Miller’s was softer, a true lady who spoke like an angel. Lord Willowdale
wanted a party to bring together the cream of the realm’s aristocracy for
Miss Miller to pick a husband.
I should be her husband. No one else will care for her as I do.
The instant Liam had struck adolescence, he knew he was in love with Miss
Miller. Of the same age, they played together as children – the daughter of
the Viscount and the son of the housekeeper. He never truly understood
when she ceased their games, had told him she had so many other things to
do. When he grew angry at the ripe old age of thirteen, his mother, Mary
Carter, drew him aside.
“Ye must let her gae, laddie,” she said, wiping his angry face with her
apron. “Her maw dae be tellin’ her that ye be a servant and such. Noo ye
best be realizin’ that she be gentry and ye nae.”
“But I ken it, Mum,” he protested. “I loves her, sae I dae.”
Mary gazed at him, sympathy in her clear blue eyes. “I ken it, son. But ye
must let her gae.”
Liam did not let her go. Instead, he practiced his English accent until his
throat was raw. He banished as much of the Scots from his blood as he
dared, and grew older. By his mid-teens he became a household footman,
the Scottish in his voice barely recognized by those who heard him speak.
Liam waited and he watched, loving Miss Miller from a distance as she
grew from the gangly, knobby-kneed child he had played with, to the
stunningly beautiful lady she had become.
His duties as a footman made him all but invisible. His livery, his powdered
wig, made him anonymous, a nobody, one among many just like him in size
and stature, but gave him access to following and watching her. Without
making it obvious, Liam made certain he was the nearest to her when Miss
Miller needed her packages carried. He made himself indispensable on her
shopping trips to the village, flipped coins with his fellows to make sure he
accompanied the family to London.
Liam grieved with her when her parents were killed in the robbery and
longed to hold her in his arms as she wept in her grief. He rejoiced at her
every smile and knew she smiled at him, at Liam her old friend, and not just
another footman. He loved her with every fiber of his being, would slay
himself at her bidding and would lay down his life for her if she but asked.
“I appreciate that Freddie, I truly do. But my heart still grieves for our
parents. You simply must give me more time,” Liam heard her say.
If she needs time, then perhaps I can find a way to convince her of how
much I love her. He knew quite well that commoners married aristocrats,
and the world had not yet ended, despite many opinions to the contrary. If I
can show her my heart, then perhaps she will consent to marry me.
Following the siblings from the lake to the vast old house, Liam trailed
behind Miss Miller, Thea as he preferred to think of her, as she climbed the
stairs to her rooms to get cleaned up for the afternoon meal. He waited
outside in the hall until she emerged, then bowed to her as she ambled past
him and back down the stairs. He lived for attending upon her every need,
recognizing that he, perhaps, had grown obsessed with her.
Standing with other footmen along the wall in case they were needed to run
errands for their master and mistress, Liam listened to their low voiced
conversation, and learned Thea planned to spend the afternoon reading in
the library. So that is where I will be.
“Let us go out riding, Thea,” Lord Willowdale said to her. “We have not
spent any time on horseback in ages.”
As Thea faced him, due to Liam’s strategic positioning of himself where he
could watch her, he saw her tilt her head as she pondered his invitation.
“Not today, Freddie. How about later in the week?”
“That will be fine,” he replied, cutting his roast with his knife. “I believe
Robert plans to visit tomorrow.”
Thea wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Then I will find an excuse to be out
when he calls.”
“I will never understand why you do not like him. He is my best friend,
after all. And he certainly likes you well enough.”
“I never have,” Thea replied, her voice firm. “And I never will. Please do
not encourage his pursuit of me, Freddie. I have no desire to marry him.”
“But he’s one of the most suitable candidates, Thea,” Lord Willowdale said.
“He is a Baron and quite wealthy, and close to your age. I know you could
learn to, if not love him, then have some affection for him. I know he would
love you.”
“I am not certain as to why I do not care for him,” Miss Miller went on,
shaking her head. “I feel dirty every time he looks at me.”
“He would make a far better match for you than some old Earl with
children your age.”
To Liam’s ears, it sounded as if Lord Willowdale were growing angry, but
as he could not see his face, Liam could not be sure.
“Already planning to renege on your promise to let me assist in finding a
husband?” Miss Miller asked, growing annoyed in her turn. “That did not
take long.”
“Of course I am not going back on my promise,” Lord Willowdale said, his
voice rising. “But you are not making this task easy at all.”
Thea pushed her plate away and stood up. “Nor do I plan to, brother. Good
afternoon.”
Storming from the huge dining room that could easily hold a hundred
guests, Miss Miller slammed the door behind her. Liam heard Lord
Willowdale mutter what sounded like curses under his breath, as he pushed
his own half-eaten meal away. Though he did not leave the table, he
drummed his fingers on its top, obviously irritated. Liam dared not leave to
follow Miss Miller in case his master needed him.
Sure enough, Lord Willowdale turned in his chair and snapped his fingers at
Liam. “Fetch me paper, ink and a quill pen.”
“Right away, My Lord.”
Liam bowed, then left the dining room to obey, heading to the butler’s small
office not far from the kitchen. Returning with the requested items, he stood
once more against the wall as Lord Willowdale wrote on the paper.
Finishing his writing, he folded it, then put it in his pocket and rose from
the table. Lord Willowdale then left the dining room, permitting Liam and
the other footmen to begin clearing the table.
Deep in his thoughts and worries that Miss Miller would marry another,
Liam barely listened to the conversation around him as he worked, and
hardly noticed when his mother, Mary, entered until she stood beside him.
Busy cleaning the silver, he started in surprise to find her at his elbow.
“Mother,” he said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Are you well?”
“Aye, lad,” she replied. “I didnae see ye in the servants’ quarters breakin’
yer fast this mawnin’. I came to check on ye. Hae ye been eatin’, son?”
Liam shook his head. “I have been attending Lord Willowdale and Miss
Miller.”
“I cannae hae ye wastin’ away, lad. Ye must eat.”
Striding firmly toward the butler who was busy inspecting the footmen’s
work, Liam heard her say, “Wi’ ye permit me lad tae come wi’ me, Mr.
O’Bannon? Me foolish bairn dinnae ken how tae care fer himself these
days.”
The butler nodded gravely. “He has been working quite hard, Mrs. Carter.
Yes, take him with you.”
Obedient, Liam followed his mother to the servants’ wing of the great
house and to a big chamber where the household staff ate their meals.
Several other footmen and cleaning maids sat around the big table, dining
on their midday meal. The maids eyed Mary uneasily, as though caught
idling without her permission. Pushing Liam toward the end of the room
where they could talk in private, Mary fetched both of them plates of cold
roast, wedges of cheese and hard black bread.
“Noo, lad.” She took a chair across from him, glancing down the table to
make sure none could overhear. “Whet be botherin’ ye?”
Discovering himself famished once the foods’ odors reached his nose, Liam
stuffed his mouth full of bread and cheese while Mary ate more delicately.
She had plaited her blonde hair, spotted with grey, into a braid and pinned it
atop her head. Her sharp blue eyes watched him from her narrow face.
Always a strong woman, she had risen in the Willowdale household over
the years from a simple cleaning maid to the head housekeeper.
When he could speak, Liam said in a low voice, “Lord Willowdale is
pressuring Miss Miller to marry.”
Mary scowled. “Sae that be whet be stuck in ye. Ye ken better, Liam. I love
the lord and lady like me own bairns, but ye cannae marry the lass. Ye must
ferget these mad notions ‘o yers.”
Liam dropped his eyes to his plate. “I cannot, Mum,” he said softly. “I have
tried and tried. I love her so much.”
Mary sighed. “Perhaps it be best if ye left the household, lad. Find work
else where. Get away from her and this place.”
“No.” Liam’s heart ripped wide open at the very idea of never seeing Miss
Miller again, breaking into a cold sweat. He swallowed hard, his stomach in
knots. “Please do not suggest that, Mum. Not ever.”
“Whet ye gonna dae when the lass marries and gaes away?” Mary asked.
“She must marry to please her family.”
Leaning his elbows on the table, Liam folded his hands and leaned his brow
against them. “I do not know,” he whispered. “Maybe I should tell her how
I feel.”
“Nay.” Mary’s voice was firm. “Dinnae confuse the lass. I ken ye both were
fond ‘o each other when ye were young, but she cannae return yer love,
lad.”
Liam raised desperate eyes to his mother. “Yes, she can. It is possible for us
to marry. I heard Lord Willowdale tell her she can choose her own husband.
If she knows how much I love her, she may choose me.”
“Dinnae get yer hopes up, Liam,” Mary said sternly, her lips bowed down
in exasperation. “Uir master may let her choose, but he wi’ ne’er permit her
tae choose a footman o’er a husband ‘o noble birth. Noo get that right oot ‘o
yer head.”
Shunting his eyes away from hers, Liam swallowed hard. “I will try, Mum.”
Reaching across the table, Mary took his hand in hers. “Yer love and
dedication dae make me proud ‘o ye, Liam. Ye be a guid lad. Ye be turnin’
heads all o’er the house, ye ken.”
Liam tried to smile. “I expect I did not notice.”
“Aye. All the lasses be watchin’ ye, hopin’ ye wi’ notice them, and wishin’
ye wi’ offer to court them. Handsome lad ye be, strong and able.”
Trying to imagine himself courting one of the household’s wenches, and he
did realize many of them were quite pretty, Liam could not do it. Not a one
of them could compare to Miss Miller in good looks or replace her in his
heart. He merely said, “Perhaps. If Miss Miller marries and leaves this
house, then I will consider it.”
“All I can ask, lad.”
After Mary left to return to her duties, Liam finished eating, though he had
no appetite. Miserable, he knew there would be no getting over Miss Miller
once she married and went away with her new husband.
I am sorry, Mum. Should that happen, my life will be over. I cannot live
without her.

OceanofPDF.com
 CHAPTER 3

A fter supper, during which neither she nor Freddie spoke much,
Thea left the house to walk to the lake. Though full darkness had
fallen, she had little difficulty in finding her way. The small lake
had been her favorite place and her solace since she was a little girl. She
loved the sound of the small waves lapping the shore, the tiny splashes of
the trout leaping up to snack on bugs over its surface, its utter peacefulness,
and its tranquility.
Stepping out onto the long dock where Freddie tied his rowboat he used
when he went fishing, Thea gazed up at the stars. Near tears, she said, “If
you can hear me, Mother, Father, I miss you both so much.”
The authorities never caught the robber or robbers who waylaid her parents
as they traveled home from London. The highwaymen even killed the
coachman and the two footmen accompanying them, thus there were no
witnesses to the crime. Thea often wondered if the little jewelry and money
the robbers received were worth the lives of five people. “Was it worth your
soul?” she asked the inky sky and glittering stars. “Because surely you will
go to hell for what you have done.”
Leaning against the post at the end of the dock, Thea wept, grieving for her
Mother and Father. Perhaps it was because of her quarrel with Freddie that
she felt so depressed and weepy, as well as missing her parents, that made
her cry. She had never been one to shed tears as so many other women were
wont to do, and even remained stoic and dry-eyed when she fell from her
horse and broke her arm several years ago.
Only the death of her parents brought the tears now. “I miss you,” she
sobbed, hanging onto the post with both arms, salty tears coursing down her
face and wetting her gown. “I miss you so much.”
Her heart aching, Thea heard the post creak, yet paid it no heed under the
force of her sobs. An instant later, it gave way. With all her weight against
it, she plunged, along with the wood, headlong into the cold water of the
lake. Gasping for breath, her face broke the water’s surface. Frantic, she
tried to grab hold of the post, but in her thrashing, it danced just beyond her
reach.
Unable to swim, Thea sank under the water, struggling and panicking.
Bubbles burst from her nose, the lake filled her mouth, choking her. Trying
to kick upwards, she fought against the dead weight of her clothes. Like her
mouth, they filled with the water and dragged her downward, as heavy as
stones. Still flailing, Thea struck the thick mud and muck of the lake’s
bottom, drowning, unable to see, unable to breathe.
I am dying.
Panic seized her mind. Sucking in air to scream, she only inhaled water,
choking, gasping and coughing. Fighting to breathe, she barely felt the
hands grab and lift her, forcing her upwards to the surface of the lake. Her
head burst into the night air as she spluttered, wheezing as a strong hand hit
her hard between her shoulder blades. The water she had inhaled was forced
from her lungs, enabling her to breathe past her coughs and chokes.
Blinded by her hair, Thea felt herself dragged to the lake’s edge, then
picked up and carried to higher ground. Her chest on fire, she breathed
raggedly as her rescuer set her carefully down on a bench.
“Miss Miller?”
The voice in her ear was deep, masculine and more than familiar. Liam!
Swiping her hair from her face with a hand that shook, Thea peered through
the water that still dripped down her face. She tried to speak, but a fit of
coughing caused her to bend over, holding her chest against the terrible
pain.
“Do not try to talk,” he told her. “Just breathe. Just breathe.”
Obeying him, Thea focused on drawing in one careful breath after another,
the hot burning receding a fraction. She shivered, goose pimples erupting
all over her skin as the cool night air chilled her wet body to the bone.
When she felt she could speak, she turned her face up to him.
“Thank you,” she whispered past her raw throat. “You saved my life.”
“I saw what happened, Miss Miller,” he said. “But I was back that way, it
took me a moment to get to you.”
“You were there for me.”
“Can you walk?” Liam looked her up and down. “I must get you inside and
warm.”
Thea nodded and did not mind at all when Liam slid his arm around her
waist to help her to stand, and then to slowly make her way back to the
house. Lights gleamed in windows all over the huge structure, even in her
own that faced the lake. Despite her near death by drowning, Thea liked
having him so close to her and enjoyed his powerful strength holding her
up. She craved to lean into him, resting her head on his shoulder, but dared
not. If he did not feel the same way toward her as she did Liam, she knew
she would feel horribly embarrassed.
Still supporting her, Liam opened the main door into the house. “Easy there,
Miss Miller,” he said his rich voice in her ear. “There you go.”
In the entryway, a passing footman halted mid-step to gape. “Fetch Lord
Willowdale,” Liam ordered. “I will take Miss Miller to her rooms.”
The footman rushed away even as Liam picked her up in his arms and
carried her up the stairs. He grinned down into her uptilted face. “Much
easier on you, Miss Miller, in your weakened state.”
Inside the house and under the light of the lamps, Thea could now see his
red-gold hair plastered to his face, still dripping water down his cheeks. His
lips were tinged with blue, as no doubt her own must be, while wet and
cold. “Your livery,” she whispered. “Is it ruined?”
“Have no worry about such small matters, Miss Miller,” he said, carrying
her up the stairs with the same ease he might display in carrying a puppy.
“Your life and health are far more important.”
At the door to her chambers, Liam turned sideways to turn the handle, then
pushed it open with his foot. Her personal maid, Felicity, gave a small
screech of shock as he brought her inside. “Fetch Miss Miller a blanket,” he
ordered as he set Thea gently on her feet. He gazed down at her while
Felicity bolted into the other room, and said, “I will leave you in the care of
your abigail, Miss Miller. But should you have need, I will be right outside
the door.”
Thea nodded. Liam smiled, then bowed low and turned to leave. He closed
the door behind him, Thea wishing she could ask him to stay. Her fingers
numb, she plucked at the lacings on her bodice even as Felicity returned
with the thick wool blanket.
“Let me get you out of those wet clothes, Miss Miller,” she said, fussing
over Thea like a mother cat over her litter of kittens.
Within minutes, Thea had been stripped and dried, her wet hair wrapped in
a towel. Warming up, at last, Felicity helped her into a night-dress, then
insisted she get into her bed. But a knock at the door took the maid away
from Thea before she could. Suspecting it was Freddie on the other side,
Thea wrapped the blanket around her shoulders to cover herself properly.
Freddie burst in, apparently unmindful that she might be stark naked when
he did so. “Are you all right?” he demanded.
Finding it still too painful to talk, Thea nodded. In spite of his strict
adherence to never showing affection, Freddie threw his arms around her
and held her close to his chest. “The footman informed me you fell in the
lake and were drowning.”
“He saved me,” Thea whispered.
“I could not bear it if I lost you, too,” he muttered against her hair, his voice
thick. “I love you so much, Thea.”
Contenting herself with just letting herself be held, Thea closed her eyes,
her arms around Freddie’s waist. Their quarrel seemed so distant now, so
trivial and unimportant. She suspected that was what happened when one
almost dies – one learns what is important and what is not. When at last her
brother let her go, Thea smiled up into his face. “I love you.”
Freddie lightly touched her nose with his finger. “I will send a servant up
with hot tea and honey. Get yourself to bed, and get some rest. All right?”
Thea nodded. As Freddie went to the door, she saw Liam standing outside
and looking in, and raised a tiny grin for him. He bowed low as Freddie
passed him, still damp, but most of his drips appeared to be gone. But
Felicity shut the door in his face before he could answer her smile.
“Come,” Felicity ordered, ushering her into her bed chamber. “To bed, Miss
Miller.”
Thea let herself be herded like a sheep, feeling exhausted and unwell. She
shivered even under the warm sheets and blankets of her bed, wondering if
she had caught a fever. Not even the tea, well laced with honey, helped.
When Felicity put out the lamps, it took her a long while to get to sleep.
When she did manage to drift off, Thea dreamed of death coming for her on
a black horse, dread filling her even as she slept.

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 CHAPTER 4

R obert Cartwright, the third Baron of Ampleforth, whistled under

his breath as his carriage conveyed him closer to the Willowdale
estates. He looked forward to not just seeing his friend Freddie
Miller again, but also little Thea. “Thea,” he muttered, grinning to himself.
“Soon to be my wife.”
He had no doubt Freddie could be persuaded to let him marry the girl.
Robert knew himself to be everything a young, gently born woman would
need in a husband – a title, wealth, and influences at court. “Yes, Thea, you
may have spurned me in the past, but your dear brother will not.”
Laughing to himself, he recalled the last time, a few weeks before her
parents’ tragic deaths, he had asked Thea to marry him. She had responded
with a polite smile and a firm no, yet her eyes had burned with a fierce
dislike. Robert did not care if she did not regard him as highly as Freddie
did. She was everything Robert wanted: beautiful, young and with a title to
match his own.
Determined to marry her whatever the cost, Robert would have her whether
she consented or not. He knew he had become obsessed with Thea, his need
to have her for his own overwhelmed everything else in his life. She danced
through his sleep, haunting his dreams, and his every waking thought was
of her. “I think I fell in love with you when we were all children,” he
mused, staring out the carriage window at the passing fields, ripening oats
tossing on the light wind. “Do you remember that, Thea?”
Freddie himself stood on the wide veranda with several footmen as Robert’s
carriage rolled up and the horses reined into a stamping halt. Disappointed
that Thea had not put in an appearance, Robert still found a wide grin with
which to greet his oldest and best friend as his footman opened the carriage
door for him.
“Freddie,” he called, stepping down. “You are looking dapper, as usual.”
“As are you, Robert,” Freddie replied, heading down the steps to take his
hand, grinning. “Did you have a pleasant journey?”
“I did, thank you. Though I had hoped to see your sister here to greet me as
well.”
Freddie’s welcoming grin faded. “Thea had a bit of an accident, Robert.
Come in, let us go into the drawing room for brandy. I will tell you about
it.”
“She is not hurt?” Robert asked, concern filling his heart. “Is she all right?”
“No, she is not hurt. Not really, anyway, but right now she is confined to her
bed by my order.”
Passing amidst bowing servants, Robert’s gaze chanced upon that of a tall
footman who met his glance in a manner that made the hackles on Robert’s
neck stand up. He could not identify exactly why the servant’s green eyes
bothered him so, nor did the man’s respectful bow hold any answers. But
whatever the reason, Robert kept a watch on him until he passed out of
sight.
“Who is that footman?” Robert asked.
Freddie’s brows shot up. “You may have to be a shade clearer, my friend. I
have only a hundred of them in my employ.”
“Unmistakable in my opinion,” Robert replied. “He has brilliant green
eyes.”
“Ah, that one.” Freddie dipped his chin, his lips quirked upward. “He saved
Thea’s life last night. His name is Liam Carter.”
“A common footman saved her?”
“Indeed, yes.”
Seated in a comfortable armchair in front of a blazing hearth fire, Robert
eyed Freddie sidelong as a footman, not the one with the green eyes, poured
them both a brandy. Once the servant stepped aside to offer them privacy,
Robert said, “All right. Out with it. What happened to Thea?”
Freddie swirled his drink around his snifter. “She fell into the lake by all
accounts,” he replied, taking a sip. “She leaned against a post and it gave
way. She was drowning, Robert. She came this close to dying.”
Freddie lifted his hand, his thumb, and forefinger apart by a mere fraction
of an inch. “If Carter had not been nearby and pulled her from the water,
she would be dead now.”
“I see,” Robert remarked, still wondering what it was about the man that
alarmed him so. “Naturally, I am very grateful to him. But why are you
insisting she remain in bed? I had so hoped I would see her on this visit.”
“Call it being an overprotective brother,” Freddie answered, his eyes
examining his brandy. “No, I fear she should refrain from any visitors at the
moment. Perhaps next time.”
“Very well.” Robert sat back in his chair, comfortable and feeling lazy.
“You know of my affection for her. I trust you will send her my regards?”
“Of course.”
Robert raised his own snifter and squinted at the liquor. “Speaking of my
affection for Thea,” he said, enjoying the moment of his triumph. “I wish to
have your blessing to marry her.”
Freddie stared at the fire without speaking. Robert lowered his glass,
confused by his host’s noncommittal behavior. A small tingle of worry
worked its way into his stomach to join the brandy. “Freddie? Surely you
will agree that I may marry your sister?”
Alarmingly, Freddie shook his head, still not meeting Robert’s gaze. “I
cannot do that, Robert. I gave her my word.”
“What word?”
With a deeply fetched sigh, Freddie stirred, taking his lingering gaze from
the fire at last. “I gave her my word that she will have a say in choosing her
husband. I fear, my old friend, she does not wish to marry you.”
Instantly, rage roared through Robert’s veins. He broke into a heavy sweat,
his fingers tightened on his snifter, almost hard enough to shatter the glass
into splinters. He relaxed them just short of implosion, trying to get his fury
under control before Freddie noticed it. Breathing in and out, silent, his face
turned away toward the fire, he flexed his jaw, loosening it.
“I see,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal.
From the corner of his eye, he observed Freddie glance toward him, then
away again. Perhaps he had not noticed anything unusual. Focusing on
reining in his anger, he barely heard what Freddie said. “Er, pardon me, old
chap. What did you say?”
“I apologized,” Freddie answered. “I know you have your heart set on
marrying Thea, and I also understand it would be a wonderful match. But
my sister has her heart set on marrying for love.”
The idiot should have nothing to say about it at all. It is not a woman’s
place to select a husband.
“That is not practical, Freddie,” Robert said, keeping his tone cool and
unruffled. “Love should not matter when discussing such marriages.
Besides, you know how I adore Thea.”
Freddie’s lips turned upward. “And I am quite grateful for it, Robert, truly I
am. Please understand, Thea is my only family now. I love her enough to
want only her happiness.”
Robert leaned forward. “I can, and will, make her happy. I would devote my
entire life to that end. But I cannot do so without marrying her.”
Still smiling, Freddie shook his head. “I am planning to host a party, you are
invited, of course, to permit Thea to meet potential suitors. While I will
certainly guide her in her decision-making process, I must, and will, stand
by the choice she makes.”
“Even if that choice is not me.”
“I am sorry, old friend. I will not compel my sister to marry against her
will.”
“I see.”
Robert forced a lighthearted smile to his face. “Can you at least attempt to
persuade her that I would make an ideal husband?”
Freddie raised his glass toward Robert. “That I have been doing and will
continue to do so.”
“Thank you.”
The next few hours Robert had planned to visit with the Willowdale
siblings passed with agonizing slowness. He dined with Freddie and worked
hard to maintain a cheerful and friendly façade. While making light
conversation, he seethed inside, wanting nothing but to smash tableware
and pull the table cloth and all its contents onto the floor. Reminding
himself that he would have Thea as his wife did nothing at all to curb his
temper or lighten his sour mood.
“Thea and I plan to ride out in the next day or so,” Freddie said, wiping his
lips with his napkin. “We have not been out since before our parents were
killed.”
Robert sipped his wine. “I suspect it would do you both good. Have you
been hunting lately? We should do so, and soon. What good does it do us
landlords with all this land at our disposal, and we never go out and kill
anything?”
Freddie chuckled. “You make a very good point, sir. Perhaps on your next
visit, we will make a point of going hunting.”
“I will look forward to it.”

Ensconced in his carriage for the two-hour return journey to his estates,
Robert’s fury once more rose to the surface. Yet, confined as he was to the
carriage, he had little means of a physical outlet for it, and his rage turned
inward, impotent, boiling like a cauldron on a bonfire.
“Who is she to refuse me?” he growled, pounding the leather seat with his
fists. “Who is she to dare choose her own husband? By God, there is no one
better suited for her to marry than me. I have wealth, I have power. I am
better looking than anyone in the kingdom. Why, I have women falling at
my feet every day of the week, and Miss Thea thinks I am not a suitable
husband?”
He slammed the heel of his hand against the door, garnering the attention of
his coachman. “My Lord?”
“It is nothing,” Robert called back, biting hard on his knuckle and leaving a
bruise. Lowering his voice, he muttered, “What the hell is Freddie thinking,
letting her have a say in her marriage choice? I never thought you were a
fool, Freddie, but I certainly do now. It is not a woman’s place to pick a
man to marry.”
Trying to make himself relax, he pondered why Thea refused to marry him.
While they had grown up together, as their families had always been close
and their estates bordered one another, Robert thought back to those days.
At the time, he and Freddie were best friends, and both of them were at the
age where they hardly considered girls as human. It was not until he
reached the age of about fifteen when he observed the beautiful creature
Thea had grown into.
Robert never outgrew his infatuation.
“Did I offend her somehow back then?” he mused. “Perhaps I should
simply ask her why she despises me so.”
Robert decided to court her anyway. “Perhaps she will eventually learn I am
the wonderful man and excellent husband to be that I know I am. I simply
must try harder to woo her.”
Envisioning her lovely eyes on him and him alone, her adoring smile just
for him, Robert relaxed back into the leather seat. “Ah, my lovely little
minx,” he sighed, his anger finally gone. “Soon you will see what a
charming and perfect gentleman I am. Once you fully realize my feelings
for you, you will fall into my arms and permit me to kiss your sweet,
adorable lips.”
Gazing out the window, Robert saw his life stretch out ahead of him,
waking to see her in the bed next to him, Thea bearing his children,
standing beside him at parties and balls, walking into their old age hand in
hand.
“You will learn to love me, Thea,” he murmured. “I swear you will. But
should you make me drag you, screaming, to the altar, I will do it. You see,
my dear, sweet Thea, I will have you. One way or another.”

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 ALSO BY HANNA HAMILTON

Thank you for reading The Perks of Being a Duke!

I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, may I ask you to please write a review HERE? It would mean the
world to me. Reviews are very important and allow me to keep writing the books that you love to
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The Commoner Who Stole Ηer Ηeart
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The Defiant Governess of Rosenhill Manor
The Secret Life of the Elusive Governess
The Hazardous Gamble of the Alluring Duchess
The Salvation of the Deceived Lady

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Hanna Hamilton

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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hanna Hamilton has been fascinated with the regency era ever since she was a young teen, first
discovering historical romance novels by famous authors such as Jane Austen and Lisa Kleypas. She
believes that love was just so much more magical back then, more like a fairy tale. She always
daydreamed about finding love herself that way, but since that is impossible in the twenty first
century, she decided to write about it instead!
Born in Texas, Hanna Hamilton obtained a degree in Creative Writing, and had worked as a literature
teacher before becoming a novelist. When she isn’t writing, Hanna likes to explore the countryside
with her husband and two children, gaining inspiration from the natural world around her.
So, come on a journey into love, confusion, and redemption all within the regency era. Hanna hopes
that you will enjoy immersing yourself into her novels, and that you too will find a love for old
fashioned romance, just as she has.

Let’s connect
hannahamilton.com
hanna@hannahamilton.com

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