A Duke Too Far

by Jane Ashford

  “She doesn’t like being left alone. She’ll be good.”

  Aunt Julia stared at Ella. Ada was surprised when her little dog stared right back. For a moment, it appeared that they were locked in a battle of wills.

  “Pfft,” said Aunt Julia then. “Keep the creature out of my way.”

  Ella couldn’t really look smug, Ada thought as she went to fetch the housemaids. Except that it certainly seemed she did, just now.

  Returning with the servants, Ada saw that Charlotte was wildly impatient. She wanted to be off poring over the house plans, Ada knew, and trying keys in locks. Sarah appeared merely resigned. Harriet gave Ada a sharp glance, which she evaded.

  “Take us to your linen store,” commanded Aunt Julia.

  Rose and Tess, the two older maids, led the way upstairs to a small room, or very large closet, with shelves on three sides piled with folded bedding and toweling.

  “We cannot all fit in here.” Aunt Julia shooed them back into the corridor. “We will take one shelf at a time.” She pointed at the younger maids. “Bring out the contents of the highest on the left.”

  “I could help reach things down,” said Tom. Despite his youth, he was the tallest of the younger set.

  Aunt Julia nodded, and the lad began handing linens to Marged and Una.

  The first piece, a bedsheet, was unfolded in the hallway, held up, and evaluated. Rose wrung her hands over the patches. “We’ve done our best to keep things up, ma’am.”

  “The mending isn’t bad,” Aunt Julia pronounced. “Neatly done, in fact. I commend you. And the cloth hasn’t yellowed.” Rose and Tess looked startled, then pleased.

  Ada’s thoughts drifted off to the feel of the duke’s fingers warm on hers. Or his lips, deliriously rousing.

  “Ada,” said her aunt. “Ada!” She started, brought back to the present moment with a thud. Aunt Julia sighed. “You are keeping the list. Note, one bedsheet with three large repairs. Write it down. No woolgathering!”

  “I’ll do it,” said Sarah, taking the paper and pencil. “My handwriting is much better than Ada’s.” Sarah clearly wanted more to occupy her mind as well.

  It seemed Aunt Julia might object. But then she gave in with a wave of her hand. “Fold that up again and place it there,” she told the maids, indicating an open space by the door to the cupboard. “We will establish categories and reorganize the shelves.”

  Rose started to speak. Possibly to mention that they had a system already, Ada thought. But then she caught her remark behind tightly pressed lips.

  “Next piece,” said Aunt Julia. Another bedsheet was brought out, unfolded, and held up.

  This was going to take a long time, Ada realized. All afternoon, perhaps. She met Charlotte’s burning gaze and wondered how she might rescue her friend from a task that was obviously driving her mad. After all, Ada had brought her here, and into the clutches of her dictatorial aunt.

  “I need to write to my parents,” said Charlotte. “Perhaps I might be ex—”

  “Commendable,” interrupted Ada’s aunt. “You may do so before dinner.”

  Charlotte growled, but too softly to be heard by their chaperone. Ella’s ears perked up, however, and the dog came over to sit at Charlotte’s feet. Harriet hid a smile. Sarah attended to her list.

  And so they looked at linens—large sheets and small, pillowcases, toweling, tablecloths and napkins. Some pieces were set aside for mending. A few were consigned to the rag bin. It seemed a long age of the world before they had seen them all and returned them to the shelves in the order Aunt Julia decreed. “Good,” she said then. “A job well done.”

  Ada could feel the others come alert, poised to flee, like a herd of deer when some sound disturbed the forest.

  “The room needs better airing, however,” her aunt went on. “You should keep those windows open.” They followed Aunt Julia’s pointing finger to the small two-pane windows near the ceiling.

  “We was worried the bats would fly in,” said Tess. Marged stifled a giggle, Rose a shudder.

  “Ah. Well, I suggest you arrange for wire screens to exclude them. Surely there is someone about the estate who could produce such things.”

  “The duke could do it,” said Rose, then flushed as if she’d said something shocking. Ada wondered what that might be.

  Tom stepped in front of the maid, a touch of kindly shielding, Ada thought. “I reckon I could make up something,” he said. “If they have the materials about.”

  “Good,” said Aunt Julia. “Find them and do so.”

  Charlotte was already turning away. She’d taken several steps along the corridor when Ada’s aunt spoke again.

  “The linens would benefit from some sprigs of lavender or perhaps rose petals. We will go out to the garden and see what we can find. Though from what I’ve seen out the windows, I am not optimistic.”

  Charlotte groaned. She didn’t even bother to keep it quiet this time. Ada’s aunt either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the protest. Instead, she pointed at Una. “You will accompany us. Find a good-sized basket and meet us in the front hall.”

  The youngest maid gulped. Her dark eyes were wide as she nodded.

  “The rest of you can be about your duties,” Aunt Julia said to the other servants, waving them off. “You girls, go and put on your hats. And if you have any sturdy gloves, you will likely be glad of them.”

  “I’ll get Ella’s lead,” said Ada.

  “Splendid,” answered her aunt, her tone desert dry.

  “I hereby consign all linens to the nether regions,” muttered Charlotte. “And their sprigs of lavender may go with them.”

  “Did you say something, Miss Deeping?”

  Charlotte was apparently too irritated to be cowed. “I don’t think I have the patience to be a proper chatelaine,” she replied.

  “In fact, you see tasks such as the one we just completed as a waste of time.”

  Ada’s friend half shrugged. She looked sulky as a child.

  “And yet you expect to be comfortable in houses you visit, and in your own home, presumably. Someone sees to that. Your mother, I suppose. Do you think yourself above the work she does?”

  “No!” Charlotte shook her head. “Not above. Only that my…skills lie in a different direction.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Ada would have subsided at this crisp question, but her friend was made of sterner stuff. “I like solving problems,” said Charlotte. “Through observation and analysis.”

  “Well, if you think that managing a large household is not solving problems, you are a sillier girl than you appear.” Ada’s aunt pointed down the corridor. “Hats. And gloves.”

  A few minutes later, their party walked out into Alberdene’s gardens. Ada’s aunt tsked at the state of them. “What a shame. I hate to see such neglect. Overgrown flower beds. Shrubbery run rampant. Compton ought to see to this.”

  Ada was moved to defend him, but she knew this would be a mistake. Aunt Julia would not be convinced. And she didn’t want to draw her aunt’s attention to her…keen interest in their host.

  Tom, tagging along at the rear of their group, pointed. “There’s an herb garden over there.”

  “Indeed? How would you know that?”

  “I like to walk about a place when I arrive, get to know it, like.”

  “And you can recognize herbs?” asked Ada’s aunt.

  “Yes, your…ma’am. The lady at a dame school where I lived for a bit grew all sorts.”

  “Show me.”

  Tom led them to the proper section of garden. A row of raspberry bushes had sent thorny canes twisting across it. “Lavender there,” said Ada’s aunt. “We must have that. There are even a few flowers left. Cut all of these stalks, Una. And orris root. Splendid! We may hope that whoever planted this dried some. That takes a long
time.”

  “My head is going to explode from sheer frustration,” hissed Charlotte.

  “I think it’s interesting,” said Sarah.

  “You would.”

  “So do I,” said Harriet.

  “Don’t tell me that you agree,” Charlotte said to Ada. “I do not care.”

  Ada caught movement in the corner of her eye. Looking up, she saw the duke standing at a window, looking down at them. He raised a hand in greeting. Ada felt a flush of delight. She waved and turned back to find all three of her friends watching her. Fortunately, her aunt was bent over a row of plants. “Did you notice any roses in your rambles?” she asked Tom.

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s an avenue of ’em over that way.” He pointed.

  “Splendid! Do you know, girls, I think we may be able to assemble a potpourri.” Enthusiasm lit the older woman’s face. Ada had never seen her so pleasantly animated. “With this garden, I believe someone here was doing that once,” she continued. “Depending on what we find in the kitchen, I can teach you my special method.”

  “Now?” The word burst from Charlotte.

  “No, Miss Deeping, not now. The process will require preparation. You may go and write your letters.”

  Charlotte didn’t wait for further permission. She rushed away.

  “I’d like to learn how to make it,” said Sarah. Harriet nodded agreement. “Do you use rose petals and lavender?”

  “I do,” said Ada’s aunt. “There are many recipes, some of them quite ancient.”

  “They used potpourri in medieval castles,” said Sarah. “Some scents ward off insects, I think.”

  “Lavender, lemon, and cinnamon,” replied Aunt Julia. “Well dried. All the plant material must be dried before you add spices and the ground orris root to fix it. Then you place the mixture in a dark, dry place for a month or two, to form a mature fragrance. Shaking the container daily for the first week.”

  “We won’t be here that long,” said Harriet. She sounded firm.

  “No, but we can instruct the servants in my method.”

  “Will the duke even want it?” wondered Sarah.

  Ada’s aunt waved the question away. “That is not my concern. I am teaching you.”

  “We could leave it like a gift,” said Ada.

  “Indeed. The fragrance will continue to strengthen if left in a sealed container.”

  Sarah and Harriet nodded. Ada said nothing more. She was lost in the idea that they would soon be gone from Alberdene, and she might never see the duke again.

  * * *

  Ada lay in bed staring at the dim ceiling. Sarah slept peacefully on the other side of the big bed, a champion sleeper. Waking Sarah in the morning had been a sort of game at school. She’d had to be dragged, and not always metaphorically, from her slumbers.

  Ada had locked the bedchamber door as she’d promised, but she hadn’t given Sarah the key. She wasn’t ready to explain about the sleepwalking. She’d put it on a high shelf instead. If she could climb up on a chair and reach above her head in her sleep… Well, she didn’t think she could do that.

  Of course she hadn’t known she could prowl through a house in darkness, while sleeping, either. Sleepwalking was such an odd thing. Almost a kind of magic. As if strange powers wafted one from place to place. And then one woke and found the fairy-tale prince and kissed him and all difficulties disappeared. Ada sighed. She hadn’t quite managed that last part. But she had the aid of her friends instead of a magic wand.

  She turned over, too restless to sleep. She must stop sleepwalking, of course. Compton was right; it could be dangerous. And she didn’t want to feel quite so out of control. She would stop. She already had, she vowed. She’d commanded her dreaming self to stay in bed. Otherwise she would have to confess to Sarah and endure her friends’ anxious pity. More of it; she’d seen signs of worry in their eyes already. As for Aunt Julia, she would have her in a chaise going home before Ada could even try to explain.

  A longer sigh escaped Ada. This determination put an end to her secret rendezvous with the duke. There would be no other opportunity to see him in such thrilling circumstances. He thought clandestine meetings improper, and of course he was right. Why must he be? They would be limited to the snatches of private conversation allowed by polite society. And she would have to watch him talk to her friends as well. Tonight at dinner he’d burst out laughing at something Harriet said, and he’d sung a duet with Sarah in the drawing room afterward. She’d barely spoken to him all evening.

  Ada squirmed into a more comfortable position under the bedclothes. She’d never been jealous of her friends before. She wasn’t now, exactly. They hadn’t been setting their caps at the duke. Far from it. They’d behaved correctly, as they had innumerable times before. She was the difference, the turmoil inside her. Here was a sign of the change in their lives that Harriet had talked about. Harriet, who was a great heiress, which Compton might have heard.

  With a tremor of chagrin, Ada faced the knowledge that she was fiercely jealous of her friend’s money. If she had a fortune… Her dream of a wedding wavered in her mind. She’d thought Compton was the groom when she half woke from it. If she was an heiress, that might have been a prophecy. Those delirious kisses might have led to a real altar. A bolt of desire for him and for that future flashed through her.

  But she had no fortune. Not to speak of. Her family was comfortable, not rich. The marital vision collapsed around her ears, a victim of the unfairness of the world.

  Ada turned over again. She was never going to sleep now. How could Sarah be so oblivious? Not that she wanted her to wake. She wanted to see the duke. She needed to.

  An outrageous idea bloomed in Ada’s consciousness. Her face grew warm at the mere thought. Of course she couldn’t go downstairs when she wasn’t sleepwalking. All alone, in the middle of the night, looking for her host. Shockingly improper! The idea would never have occurred to her if she hadn’t done it already.

  But once planted, the thought would not go away. Compton had begun checking the house at night; she knew that. He would find her. They would find each other. Perhaps just one last time she could have this.

  Ada slipped out of bed. Now she was sorry she’d put the key away so securely. Glancing at Sarah, she shielded a candlestick with her body and lit the candle. She would never be able to retrieve the key without light. Sarah didn’t stir. Ella did, however, rising from her spot on the hearth with a curious little woof. “Guard,” Ada whispered. It was one command her dog knew. She gave it every night. Ella would stay in place until released, as she had during the sleepwalking. Which just showed how wrong Aunt Julia was about her training, Ada thought.

  Gathering her nightdress in one hand, Ada climbed up on the chair and groped for the key. Her fingers closed on the bit of metal and she stepped back down. She unlocked the door. But when she set her hand on the knob, she realized she couldn’t take the lighted candle with her. It would be like a beacon pointing her out, and also prove that she wasn’t sleepwalking after all. She’d have to move through the house in darkness, which was daunting. “Well, if I can do it in my sleep, I can do it awake,” she murmured.

  She put on her dressing gown and slippers, snuffed the candle, and left the room. Outside, she stood still for a bit, allowing her eyes to adjust. Glimmers of moonlight from the window at the end of the corridor outlined the hall. Slowly, she moved toward the stair.

  It was both harder and easier than she’d expected to navigate to the drawing room. With a hand on the banister, carefully sliding her feet, she could feel her way without trouble. But the eerie emptiness of the house was oppressive, which she hadn’t felt when sleepwalking, of course. Solitude seemed much…thicker now that she knew everyone else was asleep. She trailed a hand along the wall of the downstairs corridor as she walked, avoiding a small table that sat in the hall.

  At last she reac
hed her goal. Moonlight poured through the drawing-room windows, lighting her way to a sofa. Ada sat down, pushing aside the unsettling idea that something might look in through the panes from the darkness. She had only to wait for the duke now. And if he didn’t appear soon, she would knock something over.

  That ploy proved unnecessary. After a little time, light wavered in the doorway, and he came in carrying a lit candle. Ada rose. The duke started and strode toward her. “You promised this wouldn’t happen again. We must tell your aunt as soon as she wakes—”

  “I’m not sleepwalking tonight,” Ada said. “I just came down.”

  “What?” He looked shocked.

  He also looked like a Renaissance painting, with his dark hair tousled from sleep, in his strange Egyptian robe, candlelight shining down over his figure. This was probably her last chance ever. She couldn’t let it pass. Ada stepped forward, slid her arms around his neck, and kissed him.

  Peter’s body responded like a racehorse at the gate. He could feel the lithe softness of her under his hand. He held her like a lifeline, her body a blazing benison against him, and kissed her with all his heart. Her eager response was sweeter, fierier, than anything he’d felt in his life before. He wanted it to go on forever.

  Hot wax dripped onto his hand from the wavering candlestick, a burning reproach. He pulled away. “We can’t do this.” He heard anguish in his voice and knew it was perilous.

  Miss Ada put fingertips to her lips as if feeling for the lost kiss.

  The gesture nearly undid Peter. “I have nothing to offer but the scraps of a noble house going down into ruin. You see how impossible—”

  “Nothing is impossible if you put all your heart into it,” said Miss Ada.

  “Nonsense.”

  She blinked as if he’d shouted at her.

  “I beg your pardon, but that sort of sentiment sounds noble and isn’t really true.” Peter hated the way she was staring at him, as if he’d disappointed her. At least she’d put on her dressing gown this time. He wasn’t driven distracted by the near-transparency of her nightdress.