by Olivia Drake
“I’m afraid not,” she said, with a consoling pat to his back. “They have an important job to do in getting us safely on our journey, and you might very well distract them.”
“I’ll be good. Please?”
“No, darling. Remember, it’s important for you to be on your best behavior today since we are guests of Mr. Clayton.”
The young footman gave a start, and she glanced up to see his hazel eyes rounded in surprise. He blinked rapidly while his face once again resumed a blank expression.
Natalie didn’t know quite what to make of his reaction. Perhaps it was highly unusual for Mr. Clayton to take passengers. In truth, she felt a little intimidated by all the finely garbed servants in their host’s retinue. She counted seven, including two outriders, two postilions, a valet, a footman, and a groom.
Mr. Clayton must be exceedingly rich, indeed.
That thought was further reinforced as she followed Leo into the chaise. It was smaller than the mail coach, but far more luxurious. The two seats were covered in buttery soft burgundy leather, the walls upholstered in brocade of the same rich hue. Gold tassels dangled from the curtains, which were drawn back to allow an expansive view of the outdoors.
Leo was bouncing up and down on one of the seats. Since there was no coachman, the chaise had the bonus of a front window as well as on the sides. “Look, I can watch the horses from here. Can this be my spot?”
Before she could reply, a baritone voice came from behind them. “Yes, so long as you do so quietly,” said Mr. Clayton.
The boy instantly settled onto his knees, as still as a mouse, while peering out at the team.
From her place beside Leo, Natalie turned her head sharply to look at their benefactor. He’d startled her, for she hadn’t seen him follow them outside. There could be no other reason why her pulse was racing and her cheeks felt warm. It certainly couldn’t be due to the fact that he dwarfed the interior of the chaise, or that he’d changed into a fine claret coat with fawn breeches, his boots once again impeccably polished. Over his arm, he carried a multicaped black greatcoat which he tossed onto the empty seat.
His very elegance unsettled her. Though she’d known well-dressed people in America, Mr. Clayton had an aura of sophistication unlike any man of her acquaintance. In these close confines, he seemed larger and more masculine than ever. What did she really know of him beyond his name? Yes, he’d helped her find Leo, but was one good deed sufficient for her to place her trust in the man? Was it wise to put herself and Leo at risk?
She shook off her gothic misgivings. Clearly, he was not seeking to abduct them for some nefarious purpose. He was a well-mannered gentleman who wished to give aid to two stranded travelers. There was nothing more to it. And she had to admit it was nice to accept his help after handling matters alone for so many months.
As he sat down opposite them, Natalie was glad that she’d taken the time to tidy the boy, coaxing him into his best Sunday clothes and scrubbing the mud off his shoes. Since her hem had been badly soiled, an equal effort had been paid to her own appearance. Her best plum silk gown might not be up to the fashion standards of England, but she was quite pleased with the dramatic way it enhanced the green of her eyes. Luckily, she’d recently refurbished her bonnet with cream ribbons to coordinate with her slate-gray cloak. Between dressing and packing and settling their bill, she’d scarcely had time to grab a quick breakfast and gulp a cup of tea.
As the footman began to close the door, a white-haired gent in a black suit came hurrying up. She recognized him as the cantankerous servant who had been in the private parlor earlier.
“What is it, Chumley?” Mr. Clayton asked.
Chumley? This man was the valet, she realized in chagrin. Heaven help her, he was the one given the task of cleaning that muddy coat? Without a doubt, he would bear a grudge against her for causing him extra work.
Chumley’s upper lip curled as he flicked a glance at Natalie and Leo. Then he bowed to his master. “Your Grace, as you’ve paperwork from Parliament to read, may I mention there is room aplenty for these persons in the baggage coach. I will happily surrender my own seat to them.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
Natalie was discomfited to think they were a bother. “If we are inconveniencing you in any way, sir—”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Clayton said crisply. “The matter is already settled. Now we’d best be on our way.”
That last remark was addressed to Chumley, who bowed again and retreated, though not before flashing Natalie a suspicious stare. Her skin prickled from the force of his disapproval. She remembered him griping about a bevy of girls coming to the parlor to bat their eyelashes at his master.
Chumley must view her as a flirt casting out her lures, although nothing could be more absurd.
The door closed and the post chaise began moving, leaving the inn yard for the open countryside. Though the road was rutted, the vehicle was smoother and better sprung than any ride in her experience. Yet she couldn’t relax with her mind awhirl with perplexing thoughts.
She addressed Mr. Clayton, who was gazing out at the passing scenery. “Sir, I came upon your valet earlier in the private parlor. At the time, he referred to you as ‘Your Grace.’ But I find it difficult to believe you’re an archbishop. Unless the religious clergy in England are very well heeled.”
He turned the full force of his gaze on her, one of his dark eyebrows cocked. “It is the proper form of address for one of my stature. I am Hadrian Ames, the Duke of Clayton.”
Duke?
The news jolted Natalie. Even in America, she’d heard of the highest rank of aristocrats who ruled English society and possessed vast riches, all of it inherited in a long line dating back centuries. Here, one’s class depended upon heredity instead of hard work. The concept of possessing such wealth and power by a mere accident of birth disturbed her innate sense of fairness.
“You’re not Mr. Clayton, then.”
“No. I’m afraid you assumed that, and I saw no pressing reason to correct you.”
Miffed, she sat back and studied him. Of course he wouldn’t tell her, he’d probably deemed her unworthy of the truth. No, that judgment was uncharitable given her scant knowledge of his character. Perhaps it was just that he wished to avoid any more fawning.
Remembering the buzz of interest in the taproom when he’d walked to the door, she realized that all the other guests had been privy to his exalted stature. But for her, there had been no opportunity to gossip with anyone. The previous evening, she and Leo had arrived late and had taken their meal in their room, after which he’d run downstairs to hide in the parlor while she’d gone to the kitchen to fetch his bathwater. Once she’d found him again, it had been nearly bedtime.
That was one mystery solved, at least. It explained why Mr. Clayton—the duke—had appeared disconcerted when she’d offered her hand instead of a curtsy. He would be accustomed to obeisance from all those beneath his lofty rank. Perhaps it was a blessing she’d soon see the last of him, lest such homage be expected of her now, too.
“I cannot pretend to know much about the English aristocracy,” she admitted. “What am I to call you, then, if not Mr. Clayton? I cannot imagine myself saying Your Grace to anyone other than clergy.”
He lifted his hand in a dismissing wave. “Duke will do. Or simply Clayton. Whichever one you prefer.”
“All right, then, Clayton it shall be, though that, too, seems improper without the mister. It appears there are a number of things about the nobility for me to learn. In America, we are more egalitarian, you see.”
Leo had been playing with his toy ship, but he piped up, “What’s egal-i-tar-ian?” He sounded the word out carefully.
She turned her head to smile at him. “It means that we do not have dukes and kings and nobles who inherit their position by virtue of birth. In America, one’s success in life is entirely up to each person. You must work hard to raise yourself to a position of authority.�
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“Like a sea captain?”
“Precisely,” she said with a laugh, combing her fingers through the mop of tawny hair that always became messy no matter how many times she tidied it. “Though perhaps your future occupation will depend in part upon the wishes of your grandfather Godwin.”
Leo shrugged, returning his attention to sailing his ship along the back of the seat, making little sounds that she deduced were meant to be the crashing of waves. Her heart squeezed. At least she could be comforted that he now seemed more reconciled to meeting his grandsire for the first time.
If only she herself could accept the prospect of losing Leo.
When she returned her attention to the duke, he was leaning forward with his hands clasped, his brow furrowed, and his gaze unusually intent on her. “Godwin, you say? The Earl of Godwin?”
“Yes, his estate is called Oak Knoll. It’s located near the village of Whitnash. Do you know him?”
An odd alertness on his face, Clayton didn’t reply at first. He stared fixedly at Leo and then at her as if he were trying to see inside her mind. Without answering her question, he said in a strangely rough tone, “If indeed Leo’s grandfather is Lord Godwin, who are his parents?”
“Audrey and Jeremy Bellingham. They were my dearest friends in America. I taught in their mission school on the frontier.” Her throat caught. “Unfortunately, they’re both gone now.”
“Gone?”
The sharpness in his tone startled her, as did the stark expression on his face. Unwilling to use the word dead in front of the boy, she merely said, “Yes, Leo is an orphan.”
The duke appeared shaken by the news. “May I ask what happened?”
She lowered her voice to a murmur. “I’m afraid it is best not to speak of that at present.”
If only it were so easy to block that horrific day from her thoughts. Though she’d grown adept at locking away the memory, vivid flashes of the scene played in her mind. The surprise attack had happened on a sunny afternoon the previous summer at their fenced compound in the wilderness. She had been teaching a reading lesson to a group of children in the schoolhouse when a gunshot had sent her rushing to the window …
Now, despite the warmth of her cloak, Natalie fought off a shiver. She was hardly aware of gripping her gloved fingers in her lap. The acrid memory of smoke and blood twisted her stomach into knots. Though months had passed, she had not been able to shed the heavy burden of guilt for having survived when so many had died.
“Well,” the Duke of Clayton said, “it seems that destiny has set you in my path, Miss Fanshawe. In truth, our meeting was a bona fide fluke of fate.”
Her attention snapped back to him. His watchful stare gave her the unsettling sense that he’d guessed something of her dark thoughts. “Fate?”
“Yes. As it so happens, we are traveling to the same destination. My father was cousin to Lord Godwin. I’m on my way to pay his family a visit.”
Astonished, Natalie tilted her head to one side. How could that be? His announcement seemed too farfetched to be true. But she could think of no earthly reason why he would fabricate such a connection. Nor could she detect any sign of deception on his strong features.
All other thoughts vanished as she tried to work through the tangle of family relationships. “Then Audrey would have been…”
“Lady Audrey was my second cousin. Which would make Leo my second cousin, once removed.” One corner of his mouth curling in ironic humor, he regarded the boy at play. “Fancy that, the brat shares my blood.”
She was too rattled to chide him again for the name-calling. Besides, the duke’s expression showed a dash of the same amazement that captivated her senses. How extraordinary to think this lofty aristocrat was kin to her best friend. And to Leo.
“Then you’ve met Audrey,” she said, eagerly leaning forward. “You must have known her when she was a girl.”
“We grew up together at Oak Knoll. My father died when I was five, and Godwin was my appointed guardian. Being the same age, Lady Audrey and I were as close as siblings.”
So, the duke was twenty-nine years of age, as Audrey would have been. How strange that her friend had never mentioned the connection. Then again, she’d seldom spoken of her life back in England.
“She never called herself lady,” Natalie corrected. “Titles didn’t matter to her. She once told me how relieved she was to have left all that pomp behind.”
“It was her birthright, nevertheless. You’re in England now, where proper forms of address matter.”
“Not to me.”
“Then permit me to warn you,” he said with a darkening frown. “The Earl and Countess of Godwin will expect you to call them my lord and my lady. As well as to curtsy to them.”
“Bah. In America we bow to no one, not even to President Madison.”
“Here it is considered an obligatory sign of respect.” His face was set in hard lines. “Pray recall the old proverb: when in Rome, do as the Romans. I would strongly advise you, Miss Fanshawe, to heed that advice.”
Chapter 4
The journey to Oak Knoll took a little more than an hour. For that, Natalie was glad. After her expressed disdain of the class system, the Duke of Clayton had assumed the aloof façade of the aristocrat. His manner was polite but cool, indicating disapproval of her American opinions.
If she had a niggling suspicion that he had a valid point about heeding local customs, she set it aside. She had every intention of using her best manners with Leo’s grandfather; rudeness went against her nature. But then, so did genuflecting to people whom she considered to be her equals.
He’d asked no more questions about Audrey, and Natalie had offered no further commentary about her life in America. Instead, they’d conversed for the remainder of the ride on bland topics like the countryside and the weather. He also held a lengthy discussion with Leo about sailing ships, including the mighty English man-o’-war.
That particular topic caused Natalie to grit her teeth, reminding her of the conflict between their two nations that had begun in 1812 and ended very recently. Too many of her fellow Americans had died due to encounters with English ships, and it had served to enhance her dislike of the British.
The post chaise turned off the main road and passed through a set of open iron gates. Earlier, Clayton had informed one of the outriders they were to go straight to the estate rather than stop in the village of Whitnash to drop off his passengers as originally planned. Now, the vehicle proceeded up a drive that wound through a vast wooded parkland.
“Welcome to Oak Knoll,” he said with an inscrutable glance at her.
The early spring landscape was as stark and bleak as her heart. This was where she and Leo would part ways. Natalie fervently prayed she’d be allowed to stay long enough to help him settle into his new life.
She sought to assuage her somber mood by sliding her arm around the boy, drawing his sturdy little form close to her side. “We’re here, darling, we’re almost at your new home,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his sweet head. “It’s the end of our long journey.”
Leo leaned into her trustingly, but only for a single poignant moment. Then he wriggled free to press his nose to the window. “It’s all woods. Does my grandfather live in a cabin?”
The duke gave a low chuckle. “Hardly. Oak Knoll is a house so enormous you may get lost when playing hide-and-seek. But never fear, I’ll show you around the place. There it is now, you can see it through the trees.”
The boy knelt on the padded seat to peer through the front window. His eyes resembled big blue saucers. “Look, Miss Fanshawe! It’s a castle!”
“So I see.”
Situated on a low hill, a great gray fortress loomed ahead of them, complete with turrets and crenellated battlements and towers at either end. Oak trees crouched like trolls around it, poking the dark fingers of bare branches at the sky. Masses of dead ivy, brown from the ravages of winter, trailed over the stone walls. Only the rows of mu
llioned windows and the columned portico kept the place from looking like an evil wizard’s citadel.
Scoffing at her own grim fantasy, Natalie strove instead to imagine the house in the fullness of summertime with flowers blooming and the trees covered in leafy green. The exercise did little to erase her trepidation, though she was glad that Leo didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
While the boy stared in rapt awe at his new home, the duke leaned forward, his granite eyes commanding her attention. “I must ask, Miss Fanshawe. Is Godwin expecting your arrival?”
“I wrote to him late last summer,” she murmured, “and again in December, but I never received a response. I can only presume the war interfered with the mail.”
“Are you saying he might not even know about—” His gaze incredulous, he cast a significant glance at Leo.
She firmed her lips. “I couldn’t delay any longer. I was obliged to fulfill my vow to Audrey. Her last request was for me to bring her son to England with the utmost swiftness.”
Her mind flashed again to that horrific scene, to her friend’s dying words, to the grip of Audrey’s bloodied hands. Please, you must promise to do so, as soon as possible. Leo must go to England where he’ll be safe.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Natalie looked starkly at the duke. “She wanted him to have the protection of his family, you see. So when news of the peace treaty came, I made immediate arrangements for our voyage. Surely Lord Godwin will be eager to welcome such a fine grandson.”
“One would hope so.”
On that cryptic remark, Clayton said no more, and his brooding expression stirred uneasiness in her. What if Leo wasn’t welcome here? What if his blood relatives rejected him? But she didn’t see what other choice there had been. Although sorely tempted to forget the vow, to keep Leo in America with her, she’d felt honor-bound to obey the wishes of her dear departed friend.