A Duke Too Far

by Jane Ashford

  She ought to be full of sympathy for her friend, Ada noted, not thinking of herself. If they’d been speaking of any other young man she would have been.

  “I’m not interested in Compton,” Harriet added. “I mean to stay out of his way.”

  And so now she was an object for Harriet’s charity. Immediately, Ada felt dreadful. Where had that idea come from? And should she be trying to make a match between her wealthy friend and Delia’s brother in some saintly act of self-sacrifice? Like the heroine of a pious tract? A hot surge of denial told Ada that this would always be beyond her. She was no pattern card of goodness. Quite the opposite, apparently.

  “Charlotte is right, you know,” Harriet added. “He isn’t a good prospect.”

  She couldn’t talk about this now. “I should find her, and Sarah, and beg their pardons.” She rose.

  “Ada.”

  “Charlotte was angry. She’ll want me to crawl a bit.”

  “You’re angry with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  Harriet shook her head, clearly skeptical. “You see how things are changing between us already.”

  “We won’t let them!” declared Ada. And then, like a coward, she fled.

  Six

  Peter found it strange to be in his father’s old bedchamber. He hadn’t come in often when Papa was alive, and he’d had no reason to be here since they’d cleared out his clothing and personal items after his death.

  The furnishings were the same, the dark-blue draperies and coverlet familiar. His father had admired the large painting over the fireplace, a Dutch still life of fruits and vegetables. Peter found it gloomy and oppressive. He’d tried to sell the piece a few years after his father’s death, and been told the artist was third rate. A smaller study of his mother had been moved to the gallery with the other ancestral portraits.

  He walked about the room. There was little left of his father’s presence. Except an atmosphere. A wisp of memory perhaps, or an imprint of seven decades of living. Peter didn’t feel as if his father was looking over his shoulder exactly. But he didn’t feel completely at ease either.

  None of the three keys on Papa’s old ring fit the door lock. Peter had known they wouldn’t. They didn’t look right. He was familiar with a variety of keys from his repair work about the house. There was a whole drawer full of unidentified keys in the study. Yet his father had valued these three in particular.

  The largest one on the ring might work in a door in the older part of the house, he thought, though it was a bit small. Another seemed more suited to a cupboard or chest. The third, the smallest, might fit a box or casket. It was too large for a pocket watch.

  Peter tried them all in the wardrobe lock. Without success. He checked inside, and found the shelves empty, as they’d left them. He went to the writing desk, which had two rows of small compartments. He had the keys to several of those, and none on the ring fitted any of the locks.

  He moved around the room, looking for chests or boxes. As he’d recalled, there were none. Finally, he searched the walls and floorboards for hidden spaces. His father had loved that sort of thing. Peter remembered his delight at finding a secret priest hole in the older part of the house.

  But there was nothing. Just a rather shabby bedchamber and a growing sense of melancholy. Peter gave up and left the room, closing the door with a sense of finality. His father was gone and would not be suddenly dropping hints in his ear from the beyond.

  Peter headed for the stairs only to encounter Miss Ada surging up them, her little dog trotting hard to keep up. She looked as gloomy as he felt. “I’ve been apologizing to Charlotte and Sarah,” she said. “Charlotte enjoyed it a bit too much.”

  “Apologizing for what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Ah, bringing me into your golden circle.”

  “Golden.” The word seemed to trouble her. “Would you call it that?”

  He didn’t like to see her downcast. That was his arena. “I would, with my acute sensitivity to atmosphere,” Peter said.

  This won him a dubious glance.

  “A joke,” he added. “Actually, I have very little. Delia found my lack of…er, subtle awareness inexplicable, as she was brimming with it. She called me a changeling once. But we made up after that quarrel.”

  “Oh, good.” Miss Ada smiled at him, almost as if his shortcomings were charming rather than deplorable.

  Peter felt as if he was expanding under her warm gaze. “Are they reconciled to my presence in your midst?”

  “Well—”

  Of course they weren’t, any more than Papa and Delia had ever been. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to that.” He brushed his feelings aside. “There was nothing to find in my father’s old room. Nor was there when we cleared it out, if I remember correctly. And I do.”

  She looked uncertain, as if he’d confused her. “Oh well, there are many other places to try.”

  “Far too many, I fear. There are dozens of locks at Alberdene.” He dangled the keys from one finger. Ella came alert at the jingling sound. She set her paws on Peter’s leg and barked. When he stuck the key ring in his waistcoat pocket, the dog looked reproachful. She went to sniff at the fraying hall carpet.

  “Charlotte won’t care,” replied Miss Ada. “She loves laying out charts and ticking off the boxes. She’ll be delighted to get the keys back.”

  “I have no doubt. It was all she could do to return them to me.”

  “So, you see, you do notice things.”

  Her smile was back, even sweeter. She was teasing him, Peter realized. And it was nothing like mockery. Mockery stung. Made one want to raise one’s fists or to slink away. This was…appreciative not cutting, alluring not contemptuous. He knew this from the lovely way her dark eyes danced. He couldn’t look away.

  Ada wondered what she’d been saying. She’d lost track. Indeed, she’d lost more than that. She was very much afraid that she’d lost her heart to this endearing man. She had to speak or she was going to step into his arms right here on the staircase. No doubt Aunt Julia would appear then. And chaos would ensue. What had they been talking about? Charts! “Charlotte is very methodical. She gets great satisfaction from her grids.” Ada’s cheeks flamed. Why had that sounded improper? It had nothing to do with midnight kisses. Say something else, she told herself. “Like your papa. When he made a list of every bottle of wine in the Alberdene cellars.”

  “What?”

  “And then drew up a plan to rearrange them by vintage.” What had become of her determination not to babble?

  “I never heard anything about that. How do you know?”

  “Delia told me.”

  “Of course.” He looked piqued. “Since Delia knew my father much better than I.”

  “I suppose that happens in all families.”

  Her response appeared to surprise him. Indeed, Ada was rather surprised herself. She hadn’t known she was about to say that. It was odd to be curious about where a conversation was going when you were the one speaking. An image popped into her head, of a performer she’d seen at a village fair, walking on a rope stretched between two poles. Which had nothing to do with anything! “My sister Lily—she’s fourteen—is much closer to my mother than I am,” she went on.

  “Ah.” He looked sympathetic.

  “Which only makes sense,” Ada said. “They’re so alike, you see. If pressed, Mama will go out to evening parties and neighborhood assemblies. But she’d much rather stay home with her family and her embroidery. And Lily is just the same. They always have their heads together over some new pattern or shade of thread. They make the most beautiful pieces. They’re artistic.”

  “One can feel quite left out,” he said.

  He wasn’t getting it. And Ada hadn’t quite realized the truth of this herself until she had to explain. “No, when Lily first showed her t
alents I was delighted.”

  “You were?” It seemed that she’d startled him again.

  Ada nodded. “I always hated fancywork. And I was dreadful at it. I don’t know if I hated it because I was so clumsy, or was clumsy because I hated it. But my family jokes that if I am given a needle and just one strand of thread, I somehow create a snarl as large as my fist.” She held out her hands to show the span.

  “And your mother was disappointed by this.” His tone suggested that he was familiar with this sort of reaction.

  “She was, a bit, and sad. That was difficult. But Lily makes her happy.”

  “And you are shut out of their…magic circle.”

  He still didn’t seem to see her point. “Mama and I were never going to be similar,” Ada said. “She is positively dreading going to London next season. Can you imagine?”

  “I can, rather.”

  She made a face at him. “And Lily begged not to be sent away to school. When I was her age, I begged to go. I couldn’t wait to see new things and people. They don’t understand me in the least.”

  The duke frowned at her. “No?”

  Ada shook her head. “But that doesn’t matter.”

  “It did to my father,” he answered. “He found me quite disappointing.” Compton put a hand to his waistcoat pocket where the key ring lay. “Papa believed that formulating theories and testing them was the highest use of the mind. He could debate a single step in a chain of logic for hours. Then, when he was finally satisfied, he would simply move on to the next point. He never seemed to conclude. It drove me half-mad.”

  Ada nodded to show that she was listening.

  “I remember sitting with him in his study, at an age when my feet barely reached the edge of the chair, and being asked, ‘What do you think comes next, Peter?’ My mind always felt as empty as a dry well when he posed that question.” He shrugged. “I had thoughts, but with him standing over me—”

  “The thread snarled.”

  He gazed down at her. The sudden spark in his dark eyes was dizzying. He smiled. “Yes, I suppose so. And then came Delia, who bubbled with ideas from the time she could talk. She never minded when Papa said one was foolish either. I hated that, but she just brushed it aside and plowed on. She was the most indomitable child.” He shook his head as if mystified still.

  “They were made from the same mold,” said Ada. “As you were not.”

  “Yes.” His smile died.

  “Wasn’t that a relief?”

  “A…?”

  “Your father had someone to his taste,” Ada explained. “And you didn’t have to try to be something you weren’t. As I don’t have to embroider. Ever.” She added a comic shudder for effect.

  “Yes, but…don’t you feel…judged? Belittled?”

  Ada shook her head. “Mama loves me just the same as Lily. I know that. I’m sure your father did, too.”

  “Did what?”

  “Loved you.”

  Compton went very still, as if he’d heard a threatening sound in the distance.

  If only she could take his hand, Ada thought. She so much wanted to. She glanced down the stairs. There was no one about. Ella sat on the top step looking bored. She dared, folding her fingers over his. “Delia certainly did,” she added.

  He gazed down at her, a picture of vulnerability. Ada felt as if all the layers of social convention had been stripped away and she was seeing right into him. It was the strangest sensation—a swooping fall that went on and on.

  “Delia told you—?” He couldn’t seem to finish the question.

  “It was obvious. Just as it is with Sarah or Charlotte or Harriet and their families. Delia didn’t need to say so.”

  “For some reason I believe you.” He sounded puzzled by the idea.

  “Why shouldn’t you?” Ada asked.

  “You’re hardly more than a schoolgirl.”

  “And that means I’m witless?”

  “No, of course not. But one doesn’t expect…wisdom. You must admit it’s unusual.”

  “I’m not fond of the word must.”

  Compton surprised her by laughing. His clasp on her hand tightened. “I never would have guessed. But how can you be so sure you’re right?”

  “I observe, and I pay attention to what I see.”

  “That sounds too simple.”

  Ada started to object. But he spoke again before she could.

  “And yet isn’t.”

  “Most people miss half of what goes on around them,” she replied. This fact continually puzzled her. “Three-quarters. It’s as if they prefer to be ignorant.”

  “As you never would.”

  “No! Why would anyone?”

  “So what do you observe about me?” he asked.

  The words that had been coming so easily dried up. Or crowded forward so thickly that they stuck in her throat. “I…I don’t—”

  A silence fell and stretched.

  Compton looked disappointed. “There’s been very little time, of course.”

  “You’re—”

  Ella gave a welcoming bark. Ada pulled her hand free just before Charlotte appeared at the turn of the stair. “Did you discover anything?” she asked the duke.

  Ada took a step back. So did Compton, as if this had been a clandestine meeting. Charlotte clearly noticed. “Quiet, Ella,” Ada said, even though her little dog had stopped barking already.

  “There’s nothing in my father’s old bedchamber,” Compton said.

  “Right. Shall I take the keys then?” Charlotte came closer and held out her hand.

  The duke took them from his pocket and gave them to her. “That larger one is probably for a door in the older part of the house. From its looks.”

  Charlotte nodded. “Do you have the plans for this wing?”

  “I was just on my way to get them.”

  “Shall we go then?”

  Ada wasn’t surprised when Compton raised an eyebrow. Charlotte sounded more like a sergeant major than ever. “I’ll come along and see so I can show Sarah the records room,” Ada said. And to keep Charlotte from quarreling with the duke. Had Harriet meant that their lives would become far more complicated when she spoke of change? “You’re sure there are no rats?”

  “Utterly,” he replied, leading the way.

  He took them to a room not far from the stair that led up to Delia’s chamber. It held shelves of bound volumes and piles of documents, and smelled a bit musty. Ada saw no sign of rodents, however. The duke found the roll of plans and gave it to Charlotte. She hurried away as if it was a prize she’d won and meant to keep all for herself.

  “I’ll bring Sarah here to look for mentions of the foreign governess,” said Ada.

  “It occurs to me there might be another source of information,” Compton replied. “The servants—the original ones, I mean—were all here when that woman was employed. They might know something about her.”

  “Oh, that’s good idea.”

  “I should have thought of it sooner. Let’s go ask.”

  But before they reached the kitchen, Ada received a peremptory summons from her aunt Julia. There could be no question of evading it. Her aunt’s stentorian voice could be heard through two closed doors.

  “I’ll inquire,” said Compton as she reluctantly turned away.

  “And tell me.”

  “Of course.”

  Ada’s eyes lingered on him as he turned away. Then she heard her aunt again and rushed toward the sound, Ella right behind her.

  She found her three friends gathered around Aunt Julia in the drawing room. Ada’s tardy arrival earned her a sharp glance, which proceeded to rake the other girls, compelling their attention one by one. “There is more to managing a household than being handed a bunch of keys and called chatelaine,” said her aunt then. />
  Charlotte started and shoved the keys Compton had given her into a pocket of her gown. The move was so obvious that Ada expected her aunt to remark on it. But she was apparently too involved with her subject.

  “One must first know what needs to be done,” she went on. “Second, one must have some notion of how best to do it. A lady needn’t possess every skill, but she should understand enough to direct others. Finally, an air of calm authority is desirable.” She stopped and frowned at something over Ada’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  Ada turned to find the lad Tom in the doorway. He didn’t cringe under her aunt’s glare. Indeed, he smiled, which made his homely, round face quite engaging despite the prominent front teeth. His blue eyes were open and friendly, and Ada thought his appearance would probably improve when he grew into his features and the large bones that showed in his hands and wrists. “I like to learn things,” he said.

  “You are proposing to join us?” Aunt Julia looked startled.

  “If I might, your ladyship.”

  “I am not a ladyship. Why should you wish to know about household management?”

  Tom spread his hands. “I like knowing all manner of things. I make a study whenever I can. When I come across a new bit of knowledge, like.”

  “Do you?” Ada’s aunt eyed him as if probing for weaknesses. “Give me an example.”

  The lad nodded as if the demand was only natural. “I know a bit of blacksmithing and how a dame school is run and the best way to pickle eels. I can cook a bit, and I learnt summat about the theater when I was in London. That was right interesting.”

  “You know we are going to be engaged in what is called women’s work?”

  Tom shrugged. “I reckon everything comes in useful. And even if it ai—isn’t, it’s better to know than not, eh?”

  Aunt Julia continued to examine him. It seemed she found no flaws because she said, “Very well. But if you lose interest and wander off, do not expect to return. I am not providing entertainment.”

  Tom nodded as if confirming a bargain.

  Ada’s aunt accepted his gesture and turned back to her charges. “We will begin with linens. Ada, please ask the housemaids to join us. And bring along writing materials.” She looked down. “Must your dog come?” she asked.