An American Duchess

by Caroline Fyffe

  Will anybody miss us? Will they even come looking down in the servants’ area? Surely not.

  Her head ached horribly, more than she could stand, but she had to do something more. Something to save Emma.

  “Beranger?” a weak voice called out.

  Charlotte heard scuffling sounds, as if Emma were trying to move.

  “Where am I? Beranger?”

  Emma’s voice was garbled. She was just coming around.

  Phoebe had stopped what she was doing at the stove and now looked in Emma’s direction.

  Charlotte had to do something before Phoebe had a chance to hurt her, or worse. “Phoebe!” Charlotte called. “I’m going to throw up. Please sit me up so I don’t choke. My head is pounding.” She wiggled her hands frantically, feeling her restraints give just a wee bit more. She’d have one chance at this, and if she failed, it might mean both their lives.

  Phoebe tromped her way. She leaned down and took Charlotte by the shoulders.

  That moment, one of Charlotte’s hands slipped free. Before she had a chance to be afraid, she wrapped one arm around Phoebe’s neck and pulled her down. Charlotte’s feet were still restrained, so Phoebe had the advantage.

  “Emma! Emma, wake up!” Charlotte shouted. She had a choke hold around Phoebe’s throat that wouldn’t last long. The woman was strong, and as agile as a snake. If she didn’t have help soon, all would be lost. “Help, somebody!” Charlotte screeched at the top of her lungs. “Please help us in the laundry!”

  “You viper!” Phoebe snapped, her voice distorted by the pressure on her windpipe. “You’re just like them! You’ve turned against your own people.”

  “I haven’t, Phoebe, I promise you that. Think of your children. If you’re hung for killing the duchess, it’ll be up to Leo to raise them. Is that what you want?”

  They rolled on the floor, both struggling to get the upper hand.

  “That pig! He’s no better than Beranger, who went off and left me. We were in love, a love that would last a lifetime—I had thought. Beranger and Phoebe, a true love that would last. But he was a liar, just like Leo. I hate him. I hate them both! I’m going to burn her beautiful face and make it ugly like mine. That will hurt Beranger—my love—more than killing her!”

  The strain was taking its toll. Charlotte wouldn’t be able to hold her off much longer. Once she was free, there was no telling what the lunatic would do.

  The laundry room door banged open, and Charlotte’s heart took flight. Somebody had heard her cries! They would help, come to their rescue. Rolling once again, Charlotte looked up to see Margaret Malone standing there, her eyes as wide as plates.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Tristen and Beranger made one more sweep of the ballroom and then alerted the staff to begin a thorough search of the castle. Not one corner was to be left unturned, including the stable and outbuildings. The ranch hands had sprung into action, and Justin Winters dogged Tristen’s heels, as if he was afraid the gamekeeper would get all the credit if he was the one to find the women and not himself.

  Tristen turned suddenly to face him. “We’d cover more ground if you searched on your own. Now go! Leave nothing to chance.” It was then he saw fear in Beranger’s cousin’s eyes. “Do you know something you’re not saying? Have you an idea where they are?” It was all Tristen could do not to mop the floor with the whimpering man. He’d transformed at the sound of trouble into a man afraid of his own shadow.

  Mr. Winters stood his ground. “No. I’m flummoxed. That note, that poem, it’s horrifying. Who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. Now, make yourself useful. You have nothing to fear. You’re not the duke or his wife. I assure you, you’re safe.” Tristen strode away, vowing that if he could only find Charlotte before something horrible happened, he’d let her know just how deeply he loved her. Mathilda had been right. Love was more important than things or status. He wouldn’t choose to be Justin Winters for all the money in the world.

  “Wait!”

  Tristen turned back.

  “What about searching the secret passageways? Did Brig say anything about that?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. Show me!”

  With a screech like a banshee, Margaret Malone flung herself forward and gripped Phoebe’s head at the exact moment Charlotte ran out of energy and her arms fell away.

  The two rolled to the left, leaving Charlotte free to work feverishly on the tie binding her ankles. Her shaky fingers made gripping the cord difficult. The sound of the screaming women was frightening. Behind them, the glow of the stove top drew her attention, and then her gaze fell to Emma’s wide, frightened eyes watching the tussle playing out before her as she lay defenseless, still bound on the floor.

  As they struggled, Margaret’s head knocked against the stone floor and she went limp. Phoebe sprang to her feet one moment after Charlotte was free.

  Charlotte jumped up and crouched forward as she’d seen the village boys do down by the river whenever there was a fight. Her instincts kicked in. The look in Phoebe’s eyes sent a streak of terror down Charlotte’s spine. Phoebe leaped forward and grasped Charlotte’s hair, careening them forward and bumping the hot stove.

  With a loud smack, a red-hot iron fell to the floor, landing just inches from Emma’s face.

  “Get back!” came a shout from the door.

  Tristen burst into the room, launched himself forward, and took Phoebe down to the floor.

  Her head struck with a crack, and she went limp.

  Charlotte rasped for breath, her heart pounding and pain ricocheting through her head. Sweat trickled down her temple, and a lock of hair partially blocked her sight.

  One moment later Beranger appeared and ran to Emma’s side, scooping her into his arms and striding out of the room.

  When Tristen turned to Charlotte, she didn’t know what to do. Unspent energy demanded she do something—fling herself, fight for her life and those of her friends as well.

  Instead, Tristen made the decision for her by scooping her into his arms and following Beranger out of the sweltering room.

  “Wait,” Charlotte cried, putting out a hand to Margaret, who was pushing herself shakily to her feet. Thank God she’d appeared at the exact moment they needed her most and was brave enough to jump in to help. Without her, all might have been lost.

  Margaret swayed.

  “Help her!” Charlotte screeched.

  Without missing a beat, the Honorable Justin Winters, who’d been hanging in the shadows, caught Margaret Malone, scullery maid turned kitchen helper, in his arms as she crumpled toward the floor.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The people had cleared out and gone home. Charlotte, with a towel filled with ice held to her head, sat on the sofa in the library next to the duchess, who had the same treatment on the lump on her head. Constable Kerrigan only a few minutes before had escorted a bound Phoebe out on a stretcher, taking her to the doctor, but only after he and the men had found the passage that had allowed Phoebe to cart the women, one by one, unseen from the third floor to the laundry. The woman was awake but hadn’t said a word to anyone. Not her husband nor Beranger when he’d tried to question her.

  A basket of green tobacco leaves, as well as gloves, was found hidden in the back of a cupboard in the far reaches of the laundry. The constable’s theory was that Phoebe had been trying to poison the duke through his clothing by ironing his garments with the toxic green tobacco leaves inside. That would explain the dizziness and the vertigo.

  Trevor and KT sat silently watching. The night that had been so wonderful before now revealed the extent of the danger to Emma in England. Charlotte could see the ranch hands’ inner struggle. Would they remain here? Or trust Beranger to keep the beloved daughter of their former boss safe from her husband’s enemies? Only time held that answer. Lord Harry sat at their side, his expression also troubled.

  “Take another sip of your tea,” Tristen said softly to Charlotte
. His concerned gaze seemed to caress her face, and he hadn’t left her side since carrying her from the laundry. Did this mean that he did feel something for her? She hoped so. The way she’d felt tonight, without him at the ball, only confirmed in her mind what she was beginning to believe. She loved him. She just needed to tell him—and there was one other thing they needed to discuss.

  “What will happen to Phoebe?” Emma asked, her gaze skimming over the dowager and Lady Audrey, who’d just entered the room. Their expressions were drawn as they sat, and they both looked like they were in disbelief at the events of the night.

  Beranger paced the rug. “I don’t know. She’ll live, but only because she was unable to complete her intentions.” His gaze slid to Emma, who was still as white as a sheet. “I’d predict she’ll spend many years in prison. I had no idea she harbored such animosity for me. Or thought I had abandoned her. We were children. With children’s dreams. I’m as astounded as everyone else. I feel for her family.”

  Everyone fell silent for a moment. Trevor cleared his throat, glanced at Beranger, and lifted an eyebrow.

  “Dowager Duchess,” Beranger began, turning toward his stepmother, “your shenanigans with the invitations to tonight’s ball are unforgivable. I had hoped, for my wife’s sake, you had changed for the better. Sadly, you have not. Your presence here is a stumbling block for Emma. Her happiness is at stake. Since you’re unable to let go and allow Emma her rightful place as Duchess of Brightshire, tomorrow morning you are to move out of the manor and into Lily House.”

  The dowager’s face flamed. “So! I’m to be thrown out of my own home when I only tried to help. I should have expected nothing less from you, you cursed man.”

  The duke straightened his shoulders, and his jaw clenched. “You’ve done nothing but lie and slander Emma. You fired staff without reason or permission. Now own up to your last heartless deed.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Your intention to spoil Emma’s first ball by making sure few lords and ladies would show—an immature action beneath even you.”

  “What on earth are you rattling on about? Everyone was here. You saw it for yourself.”

  “Only because the invitations were discovered in time in the pigeon barn, and a valiant effort got them delivered so Emma wouldn’t be hurt.”

  The dowager swallowed and glanced away. Charlotte couldn’t believe her eyes when the hateful woman actually teared up.

  “I only wanted to save my friends from having to degrade themselves by socializing with commoners. I can’t think of anything more distasteful.” She glanced at Tristen and then Charlotte and lifted her nose. “And I’d do it again if given the chance.”

  Beranger snorted. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Emma’s eyes were huge, confirming Charlotte’s thoughts that she hadn’t known about Beranger’s plan concerning the dowager and Lily House.

  Lady Audrey slowly, and a bit unsteadily, rose from her seat. “I have something I’d like to get off my conscience.”

  “And what is that, sister?” Beranger almost growled.

  There were dark circles beneath the duke’s eyes.

  The cowboys sat in complete silence.

  And Mr. Winters kept his gaze far away from Charlotte, much to her relief. She suspected he’d finally seen the obvious. She couldn’t blame him, given that she’d been so slow to realize it herself. When she looked Tristen’s way, he reached out and took her hand.

  “Duchess,” Lady Audrey squeaked out. “I’m ashamed of myself, and have been, but didn’t know how to put things right. I have the letter from your father. It’s unopened. I went up to your rooms looking for Mother, but she and Carmichael had already gone.” She bit her bottom lip, her eyes blinking in pain.

  “Why?” Beranger demanded. “Why would you do that? She’s been nothing but kind to you.”

  “I don’t have a good reason. Just something moved me because I knew it was special to her. As she is to you. Even though you took the title that everyone thought would go to me, I hadn’t really minded all that much. But I guess I was—am—jealous of how much you love her. Gavin thought me a pest. I had hoped to be special to you, like she is.” She glanced at Beranger and then to Emma.

  “My letter,” Emma gasped and then grimaced, reaching up to touch her forehead. “My letter.” That’s all she could get out before she started trembling all over.

  KT cleared his throat, and Trevor lifted a shoulder in response.

  Beranger lowered himself next to Emma and gathered her in his arms. “Thank God,” he whispered. “Thank God.”

  “There’s more,” Lady Audrey murmured. “I want to start over with a new beginning this night. I don’t like the person I’ve become.” She glanced at her mother. “I’ll have it all out now and be done with it, no matter what my mother will think or do. Thomas Aldridge is not guilty of anything having to do with Gavin’s death. The day my brother died, I was in the forest with Thomas. We were just—”

  The dowager gasped. By her expression, she was utterly appalled.

  Lady Audrey hurried on. “We were just talking—as we often did.” Her face flushed. “We did kiss a time or two, as well. He didn’t speak up because he didn’t want to compromise my reputation. I used to talk to him when he brought the bread. He used to bring me ribbons, or a poem he’d written, or some sweet that had been baked that morning. Sometimes I’d have the carriage take me into Brightshire to see the shops but really go down to the river and sit with him while he fished.”

  The dowager turned on her heel and left the room, her chin held high.

  My Lord! Thomas had an iron-clad alibi! And from Lady Audrey! Relief flooded Charlotte. She was so happy she wanted to cry. But then her gaze slid over to Tristen. Where did that leave his beloved uncle? Had Arson Henderley killed the duke? Could she keep something like that to herself? And if not, what would her saying so do to the feelings between them?

  An hour later, Emma sat in bed, the covers pulled up to her lap, and her father’s letter safely back in her hands, where it should have been all along.

  “Would you like some privacy?” Beranger asked, standing by the window, nothing but darkness on the other side.

  He was dressed only in his pajama trousers, giving her a nice view of his wide, muscled back. When he turned to look at her, the expression on his face tore at her heart. He thought her unhappy here at Ashbury. That she wished to return to America. Nothing could be further from the truth.

  She reached out her hand to him. “No, I’d like to share this moment with you, as I look forward to sharing every other experience with you for the rest of my life. Come sit next to me. I can hardly wait to open my letter. Having you near me will make the reading all that much sweeter.”

  He blinked and then crossed the room in silence, slipping into the bed beside her.

  Without further ado, Emma slid her finger under the tab of the envelope and unsealed the flap.

  My dearest daughter Emma,

  Happy birthday, my sweet girl. I pray that this moment in your life, turning twenty-two, finds you the happiest you’ve ever been.

  Emma stopped reading and leaned over and kissed Beranger. “My father knows so much. I am the happiest I’ve ever been—and it’s all because of you.” She went back to the letter.

  I wish that for each and every one of my daughters, and you are no exception.

  As you’ll learn, your birth was extra special to me because you were the only daughter I delivered with my own hands. After Mavis and Belle were born, I felt as if I was quite experienced with babies, having held, fed, and bathed my girls from time to time. I even changed my fair share of napkins. I figured it wasn’t fair that your mother would have to change them all. And so, I believed, nothing much could rattle my soul. How wrong I was.

  As your due date slowly approached, your mother and I made ready another small bed that would sit next to ours for the first six months. The days kept passing and soon we figured she
must be late, and still no sign of approaching labor. Having expected your birth for the last two weeks, she hadn’t been into Eden for a very long time.

  “Take me to the café for apple pie,” she pleaded more than ten times a day. “Mavis and Belle agree. They’d like some too.” Then she rubbed her large belly and said she didn’t think you’d ever come out.

  What harm could that do, since the midwife we depended on, and who delivered both your older sisters, lived in Eden? We’d actually be closer if her labor were to start. So I agreed, bundled all of us onto the front buckboard seat, and started away, feeling like a king. As you know well now, the ride into town in a wagon takes some time. We hadn’t gone more than a quarter mile when my wheel hit a rather large rut and your mother’s water broke. She was startled. I calmed her, remembering the last two births and the hours she’d labored to bear your sisters. We had plenty of time to get to town and get her settled in the hotel.

  A jittery excitement made Emma gaze over at Beranger, who was listening intently with his head propped on his hand.

  He smiled, but his anxious gaze gave him away. “Exciting.”

  She laughed and smoothed his cheek. “Relax, my love, we know everything comes out fine, because I’m here now.”

  “Yes,” he breathed out on a long sigh. “Yes, you’re right. What was I thinking . . .”

  Even though I had assured your mother we had plenty of time, I slapped the reins over the horses to pick up speed. Her pains started immediately, and not the soft beginning kind. The first contraction made her cry out, startling us all. Tears sprang to Belle’s and Mavis’s eyes, only about one year and two, because their mama hurt. Your poor mother tried to hold out, but the knuckle-white grip she had on the side of the wagon told me I had to pull up. If not, my third child would be born in a moving wagon. Fortunately, I’d brought a blanket to wrap the children in on the way home if they fell asleep. I laid that out in the back of the wagon and helped Celeste over the seat.