A Duke Too Far

by Jane Ashford

  “You said my hands were like ice,” Ada added.

  “And you said you were perfectly well,” answered Harriet.

  “To you.”

  “Your aunt is difficult to fool,” said Charlotte. “More so than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  No one could dispute the truth of that.

  “But it’s better than nothing,” she went on. “We’ll spend every waking moment going over the things in that room.” She scowled. “If we can dispense with the tedious household management. You must see to that, Ada.”

  “I?” How did they imagine she could do that?

  Her friends simply nodded.

  It was fair, Ada acknowledged. They were banding together to help her. She should do all she could to smooth the way. But she had no notion how to convince her formidable aunt.

  * * *

  When Peter woke in the night, his thoughts were full of the way Miss Ada had looked when they found her in Delia’s old room. Wild, desperate. His heart had gone out to her. She shouldn’t be so burdened with grief. If there’d been anything he could do about that… Well, he would have done it by now, of course. A variety of improbable heroic deeds ran though his mind. Unfortunately, there were no evildoers to challenge or mythical beasts to vanquish at Alberdene. And those sorts of tales had no bearing on her plight in any case. The sense of helplessness that descended on him was hatefully familiar. Nothing to be done, no way out, he was sick to death of it.

  He lit a candle, put on his father’s old robe, and walked through the house. It was dim and empty, as it always used to be. No delectable sleepwalkers to kiss and then escort back to bed. And he was glad of that, he told himself. Miss Ada should be nestled upstairs, serene, safe from nightmares. But he was sorry, too. With her here, the whole character of his home changed. She brought excitement and freshness and the promise of happiness.

  And she would take them away with her in two days’ time. “Stop being a fool,” Peter muttered to his plummeting spirits. “You’ll be no worse off than you were before she came.” But that was a lie, and he knew it. He went back to bed. After a while, he even slept.

  The next morning, when he entered the breakfast room early, as was his habit, Miss Ada was already there waiting for him. She looked weary, with smudges under her eyes, as if the experience of yesterday still weighed on her. He wished with all his heart that he could remove her burdens. Yet he didn’t even know what to say.

  “Yes, we are alone together,” she declared. “But I don’t care. I need to speak to you whether you want me to or not.”

  “I’m sorry that I spoke so abruptly yesterday. I often manage to use… What is the opposite of the mot juste?”

  She brushed his apology aside. “Aunt means to take us away as soon as she can arrange for post chaises.”

  “So she said.” Peter saw the pot of coffee the servants left for him at this hour. He moved toward it.

  “I’m going to try to stop her. I’ll tell her I’m feeling ill after yesterday.”

  This stopped him in his tracks. “Are you?”

  “No. Not particularly. No more than would be expected.”

  “And how much is that?”

  “I’m only tired. It doesn’t matter.” She sounded impatient. “I only have to convince my aunt.”

  “Exactly.” He started toward the coffee once again.

  “You don’t think I can?”

  “I wouldn’t want to try.”

  “No, you would just slink off in defeat.”

  “Slink?” He turned, wanting to argue about the unfairness of this characterization. Her questioning gaze silenced him. He wanted her so. And at the same time he wanted the very best for her. She wouldn’t find that at Alberdene. “It’s probably just as well that you go.”

  “Just as well.”

  She could mock his phrasing, but he was right. Her aunt knew it. Her friends most likely did. He’d be surprised if they hadn’t told her so. The idea was unappealing. Peter moved toward the coffeepot.

  “You don’t care?” Miss Ada’s eyebrows came together, but she looked more forlorn than fierce.

  “Care?” He nearly choked on the word. He hadn’t really known the meaning of it until he met her. How it could include desperate desire and acute sympathy and a determination to protect someone at all costs. Which was why he couldn’t let her know how much he did care. “That reminds me. I hope you’ve told someone about the sleepwalking. You said you would. When I saw you in Delia’s room, in the darkness, all I could think of was—what if you’d stumbled down those stairs.” He pushed away that lethal picture.

  “I didn’t stumble anywhere in the house,” she replied. “Which is odd, isn’t it? It’s as if I already knew my way around it. How could that be?”

  “I have no notion. And that is not the point. You should inform—”

  “And I haven’t gone sleepwalking again since I came downstairs on my own. And found you.” Her eyes were steady, not pleading or accusing, but demanding nonetheless.

  Kisses, thought Peter. How was he to think of anything but kisses when she looked like that? And more than kisses. If he’d had only himself to consider, he would have consigned propriety to the devil and swept her away. But Ada’s future was at stake.

  “So you will simply let me go,” she continued. “Watch me drive off knowing that we will probably never see each other again.”

  “What would you have me do?” It burst out of him.

  “Fight for something different. More hopeful. But you won’t fight.”

  Anger surged through Peter. “Every minute of my life is a fight. A relentless rearguard action to preserve my family heritage. And a perpetually losing battle, I might add. How much fighting can one man do?”

  Miss Ada gazed up at him. Emotions seemed to move in her dark eyes. After a bit, she nodded. “Yes, I see. Well then, I will fight for us both.”

  “You… No. That’s not what I meant.” Yet her determined tone touched his heart. “You mustn’t do that.”

  “You can’t stop me.”

  “Ada.” He savored her name. “Ada. I really should try.”

  “There’s only one way for you to do that.”

  “What?” With every encounter he was sinking into a deeper fascination with this resolute young lady, Peter realized. Soon he would be lost.

  “Tell me that you don’t wish to be with me,” she said. “That I mean nothing to you.” Her voice trembled a little on the last phrase.

  Peter nearly tried. It seemed to be his duty to deny his feelings, to send her off to an easier, happier life somewhere far from his deteriorating acres. But he couldn’t lie to her. He would never be able to lie to her. “I can’t say that.”

  “I see.” The corners of her lips turned up. The glint in her eyes brightened.

  “But you know that I have—”

  “Nothing to offer me. Piles of debts. Crumbling walls and derelict gardens. Shockingly so, says my aunt.”

  Ada Grandison was the most entrancing person he’d ever met. “Yes.”

  “Desperate tenants. Rampant ivy. Mold, probably. Or is it dry rot? What am I saying? Both, of course. Fraying linens and sofa cushions. Draperies in tatters. Huge wild cats who wish to eat my dog.”

  “Terrorize her at least.” He resisted a smile. “You summarize it well.”

  “And I don’t give a…flying fig. Because I love you.”

  The words, and the look that accompanied them, shook him profoundly. How had he ever thought her eyebrows fearsome? They gave her face gravity beyond her years. They made one believe that she knew what she thought and meant what she said.

  “This is the moment when you respond to my declaration,” she added.

  “I love you as well. But—”

  She held up a hand, palm out. “I think that should be said with more…empha
sis, Your Grace.”

  Peter gazed down at her. All he felt and yearned for flooded over him and into the phrase he repeated. “I love you.” The admission was a joy and a relief. “But—”

  “No,” she interrupted again. “We are not venturing into the realm of but just now.” She smiled up at him.

  It was like sunrise and laughter and the first green haze of leaves in springtime. He ached to kiss her, but at the same time, he didn’t need to. The feeling that shivered between them was beyond any single embrace.

  “So that’s all right then,” she said, her voice a bit breathless.

  For this one moment, it was. Peter allowed himself to revel in the fact that he loved and was loved. It felt like the greatest triumph of his life so far.

  Ada let out a long breath. “So, we must get organized. I do think that finding your lost fortune is the easiest way forward.”

  And Peter came crashing back to earth. The shock was almost as painful as a real plunge. “Easiest?”

  “If you have it back, no one could object to our—” She stopped and glanced at him from under her lashes. “You haven’t actually offered for me.”

  “Because I cannot. Because I—”

  “Have nothing to offer,” she broke in. “Et cetera, et cetera.” She gestured as if she could wave this truth into oblivion. “My friends will be spending every minute in the hidden room going through the items there.”

  She was an unstoppable force, racing down a road that led nowhere. Peter felt a growing fascination with her confidence. He didn’t want to puncture it, and yet he had to speak. “You do know that if my father and sister found nothing, your friends are unlikely to succeed. Delia and Papa were…obsessed.”

  “Yes.” She offered him another blithe gesture. “That is why you and I must try much harder to decipher the paper Delia left at my home. I’m convinced it’s the key to everything.”

  “And how do you imagine we’re to do that?”

  “You promised not to be sarcastic.”

  “When did I… Never mind. That was not meant to be sarcastic. I merely wonder what we can do?”

  “We should talk to your servants,” she replied, as if this was obvious.

  “I already questioned them.”

  “Yes, but I would like to try myself.”

  “I don’t see what good it could do.”

  “I am more experienced at interrogation. My friends and I have solved several mysteries, you know.”

  In that instant, Peter believed that she actually might succeed.

  “Shall we go?” Her look was bright and determined.

  “May I have a cup of coffee, and perhaps a slice of toast, first? But definitely the coffee.”

  Miss Ada laughed. “Of course you can. It doesn’t do to hurry too much.” She pointed at his feet.

  Peter looked down, and saw that he’d put on mismatched boots when he dressed this morning. The two were very like—worn brown leather, indifferently polished—but not exactly the same. One had a strap over the instep with a small unobtrusive buckle. The other did not. “Deuce take it,” he said. “Well, my servants are used to my clothes.”

  “Not all of them. Marged thinks you’re a bit soft in the head.”

  “One of the new housemaids?”

  Miss Ada nodded. “But her sister claims that your odd clothes are pranks, meant to catch them out in some mistake. For which they will then be punished.”

  “Good grief! Why would I do something like that? And punish them how, precisely? That’s ridiculous.”

  She smiled, looking as if she was quite enjoying herself. “I told them Una was partly right. That you do enjoy elaborate jokes. But that there was no threat of punishment involved.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” said Peter. “I don’t want you anywhere near my staff.”

  “It’s not as if I suggested the idea.” Ada went over to the sideboard, poured out a cup of coffee, and handed it to him. He drank as if it was a magic elixir and held out his empty cup. She refilled it, elation bubbling through her. He loved her! Nothing mattered more than that. They would find a way to prevail.

  When the duke had finished his toast, they went together to the kitchen. All the older servants were there. Ada supposed they left early-morning chores to the younger staff, which seemed only fair. Gathering Conway, Evan, Rose, and Tess, which earned them a sharp look from the cook, Ada and Peter moved to an empty parlor. “Let us all sit down,” Ada said, doing so.

  The servants exchanged uncomfortable glances, turned to the duke. “Is something wrong, Your Grace?” asked Evan.

  “He’s going to dismiss us,” said Rose. “Now that he has the young ones, he doesn’t want us anymore.” She wrung her hands.

  “No—” began Compton.

  “I can carry the firewood,” interrupted Evan. “Always have, always will. Don’t need some stripling snatching it out of my hands.”

  “He isn’t—” began Ada. But she was also overborne.

  “They’ve no notion how to set a proper table,” interrupted Conway. “That William said the forks all looked alike. Nodcock!”

  “I’m not—” tried Compton.

  “Una has no more spirit than a rabbit,” said Tess. “She doesn’t know how to use a flatiron properly either. And when you try to tell her, she whinges.”

  “That sister of hers is nothing but a bundle of cheek,” said Conway.

  “This is about something else,” said Ada. But none of them listened. She wasn’t certain they even heard her.

  Rose started to cry as the other three threw out more criticisms of the new staff.

  “Stop!” cried the duke. He had to shout to break through their anxious babble. “Silence! I am not dismissing you.”

  The four old servants went quiet, gazing at him with lingering reproach.

  “Not dismissing you,” he repeated. “I never would, unless you should wish to retire.” This threatened to start another round of protests, but he held up an admonitory hand. “How could you think I would do that? When have I ever given you reason?”

  “Things have been changing round here,” mumbled Conway.

  “After a long time when they did not,” replied Compton. “I know.” He glanced at Ada. She was touched by the concern in his expression. For her, but also for them. He had known these people all his life, she realized.

  “Now will you sit down,” he added. “Please.”

  Slowly, with some milling about, they did.

  “We wanted to talk to you about Lady Delia’s foreign governess,” said Ada then.

  The servants looked at the duke. “We don’t know where she’s gotten to,” said Tess. “We said so already.”

  Compton nodded. He seemed to be trying to look reassuring and inquisitive at the same time.

  “Things can come back to you when you talk about them,” said Ada. “Sometimes. That is all we mean to do.”

  “Yes, miss,” said Conway. Possibly he didn’t realize how skeptical he appeared.

  Best to start at the most obvious level, Ada thought. Simple questions could lead to more subtle ones. “What did this governess look like?” she asked.

  There was a short silence.

  “She was small,” said Rose then. “Shorter than me.”

  “And skinny,” said Tess. “Even though she ate like a starving navvy. Huh, I forgot about that.” She turned to Rose. “Remember when she snaffled up half a seed cake? You were that angry.”

  “It was meant for his grace’s dinner!”

  Conway cocked his head, frowning as if he was trying to think of some lost idea.

  “She had light hair,” said Evan. “I thought it was gray at first. But then maybe that it wasn’t. More silvery. ’Cause she wasn’t that old.”

  “How old, do you think?” asked Ada.

 
“About the same as us,” said Rose. “Tess and me, that is.”

  Ada didn’t like to ask for a number. She decided on late forties.

  “She had eyes the color of ice,” said Conway. When they all turned to stare at him, he looked embarrassed. “Just a thing that occurred to me, back then,” he said. “Never seen such a pale blue.”

  “Did you like her?” asked Ada, taking in all four of them with a glance.

  This seemed to be a difficult question.

  “She wasn’t much for chatting,” said Evan.

  “And she spent a good deal of her time with Lady Delia,” said Rose. “Talking the foreign lingo.”

  “When she did speak, it was more like a speech,” said Conway.

  Evan nodded. “That’s right. You didn’t want to get her started on the war. She’d go on and on like a speechifying politician.”

  “She didn’t care for Swedes,” said Tess. “When she first mentioned it, I thought she meant the vegetable. A turnip, you know. Well, they aren’t very tasty. But it was a person from Sweden she was talking about.” Tess shook her head. “We never had any such around here.”

  “No indeed,” said Rose.

  “Did she talk about her life before she came here?” asked Ada. None of this was helpful so far. But she was far from giving up.

  “I reckon she’d seen some hardship,” said Evan. “Made her bitter.”

  “About the Swedes and all,” agreed Tess.

  “And soldiers,” added Rose. “She couldn’t abide soldiers.”

  “How would you know that?” asked Conway. “I don’t believe a military man has ever crossed our threshold. Not in my time at Alberdene.”

  Which was a very long time, Ada understood.

  “I mentioned my nephew, who’d joined up,” Rose replied. “She said he was a fool. We had a bit of a set-to about that, me and the high and mighty Miss Kos—” The maid fell silent, blinking as if surprised.

  “Miss what?” asked Ada, leaning forward. This was the sort of thing she’d hoped for, lost memories popping up.

  “Kos,” repeated Rose. “Her name started with Kos something.”

  “Yes,” agreed Conway. “It was like a singsong when she said it.”