The Trouble with Saving a Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Novel
Page 6
Sensing her distress, Oliver rose.
“I thank you ever so much for the care you’ve provided me, Lady Seraphina.” He bowed deep and she nodded her head in acknowledgement.
“That is what it means to have a friend. I shall leave you to it, Oliver. It appears George has great plans for you.”
He nodded. “Indeed, it does.”
“Well, good day, Oliver.”
Feeling the moment becoming rather overwhelming, Seraphina nodded at him once more and then turned when he called out.
“Good day to you too, Sera.”
Hearing him call her by the nickname she’d made up for herself caused her heart to leap with joy. Without looking back, she climbed down the stairs, a bright smile across her face.
She made her way back to the Castle so light on her feet she felt as though she was floating. Oliver. She already missed their light banter and she hoped to see him again soon. She could not wait to find out how he fared as a stable hand under George’s strict direction.
She wondered if there was a chance he might remember more. But then, to her own wonderment, she found herself wishing that he would not. That he would remain unaware, for as long as he was, he would remain. And she could be near him.
Seraphina Camden. What a wicked thought. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
She could hardly believe her own callousness. For, of course he had to remember. Not only for his own sake but for that of his family. Because of that she was certain. He had a family somewhere. Perhaps a mother, or father, or sister. Somebody who missed him. Somebody who spent their days fretting over the disappearance of their loved one. No. As much as she wanted to keep him close, he had to remember. And be reunited with those he left behind.
And just like that, the smile that had not wanted to leave her face, slowly faded away.
Chapter 8
Liam arrived at the home of the Duke of Emberborough by nightfall, exhausted from the three-day journey. He’d traveled night and day in order to cut the usual travel time from York to Gloucester in half.
He’d stopped only to change horses. He’d taken only his coachman and switched off with him, allowing the man to rest inside the carriage while he took over at the helm.
He climbed out of the carriage and rushed up the steps toward the front door where the butler, a young man named Redding, greeted him.
“My Lord, we had not expected you until the middle of the week.”
Liam nodded, “Yes, well Mr. Redding, I am here now. Would you please announce me post haste? I must speak with my cousin.”
He felt badly about his brash manner. Usually he made a point of being friendly and he always had kind words for the servants. However, today was not a usual day. Time was of the essence.
The butler showed no reaction to his curt manner and set off toward the drawing room, which was to the right of the parlor. Liam followed and quickly found himself irritated at the butler’s casual pace.
I sense no urgency on his part. Perhaps he does not know that his master is missing?
Given the secrecy in Lysander’s letter, he would not be surprised if his aunt and cousin had stuck with the same approach.
After what seemed an eternity, they had made their way down the hall, past the library and dining hall, and finally reaching their destination: Lysander’s study.
Mr. Redding knocked on the door to the music room and opened the double door, stepping inside in one swift, smooth motion. The sounds of music drifted through the doors but stopped the moment the butler arrived.
Liam peeked into the room and saw a young woman seated in front of the piano forte, her hands now folded in her lap.
“Your Grace, Liam Keswick, the Earl of Millsbury has arrived,” he addressed his aunt, the Dowager Duchess of Emberborough, who was seated in an armchair, facing away from him.
“Liam?” Her voice was raspier than usual and when she rose, and he was startled by her appearance. She looked thinner than usual; her face was drawn. Her cheekbones were hollow and her eyes red.
She rushed toward him and embraced him. Liam stood stiffly for a moment, utterly surprised by this show of affection. His aunt was not usually someone who hugged nor had much affection for anyone, except perhaps Lysander.
“I am ever so pleased you are here. I did not expect you to arrive so soon, but I ought not be surprised. You are after all …” she paused; her brown eyes suddenly large as she spun around.
“You are dismissed,” she barked at the young woman who’d provided her music. Her tone was the tone Liam was familiar with. Harsh with a tinge of contempt. The young girl rose, alas not quickly enough for his aunt.
“Go on now, hurry. What is keeping you?” she motioned with her hand as if chasing away a bothersome fly. The girl, who could be no more than nine-and-ten, rushed out of the room, clutching the music sheet to her chest. She did not dare looked at the Duchess as she rushed away.
Then, she turned to the butler. “Make sure the Earl’s horses are attended to and have Belinda ready his bedchamber. The blue room will do. And have someone fetch Harry, wherever he has gone off to. That will be all, Redding.” She gave him a curt nod and was about to turn away when Liam spun around.
“Redding? Would you ensure my coachman is made comfortable as well? He will require a hot meal, if it is not too much trouble.”
“Of course, My Lord,” the butler bowed and flashed the hint of a smile at Liam before departing.
His aunt rolled her eyes. “You are just like my Lysander. Much too kind to the staff. They require a firm hand.” She balled one hand into a fist and raised it as if reading for a fight. “I hope Lorraine runs Horlock Castle with a firmer hand that you seem partial to.”
He smiled. “My wife has firm control of the household, dear Aunt. Now tell me, what has been done to find Lysander?”
His aunt took a seat, her deviate mask falling from her face at the mention of Lysander.
“I have dispatched Harry to make discreet inquiries to our most trusted allies. No word as yet. He set off a week ago. To where, I do not know. He always sends messages when he journeys, for he knows I worry ever so much, especially since the death of the late Duke.”
Her hand went to her necklace where she wore a pendant containing a painting of Liam’s uncle.
He squinted at her. He’d assumed that his aunt at least would have known Lysander’s destination. Even if he had not told her, she was the type of person who would find out.
“He was coming to North Yorkshire, to stay with myself and Lorraine for a spell. You did not know?”
Her eyes widened. “I did not. To Horlock Castle? But whatever for? It is not his usual time to visit.”
Liam wetted his lips and considered his options. He did not want to alarm his aunt further by telling her of the desperate tone of his cousin’s letter. Since she did not know where he had been headed, it implied strongly that his cousin had been more than cautious.
Just then, there was a knock on the door and Harry, his younger cousin, appeared. He too, had the haggard appearance of someone who had not slept well in days. He generally had a much sicklier constitution, and always appeared frailer than Lysander, due to thin stature. Today, however, he looked dreadful indeed.
“Harry,” Liam greeted him with a shake of the hand, feeling the clamminess of his cousin’s hand.
“Liam, I’m glad you could come.” He turned his attention to his mother and back to Liam while rubbing his lips together in a nervous manner.
He is keeping a secret from his mother. Likely regarding Lysander.
“Of course, you know I would do anything for Lysander.”
“I was just telling your cousin what has been done thus far to find your Brother. I supposed you’ve had no news?”
Harry shook his head, leading his mother to sigh dramatically. “Of course not. Well, I do. Liam informs me that your brother was on his way to North Yorkshire to see him! How fortunate I asked you to send a message to Liam.”
Liam swallowed and glanced at his cousin who stood, the rage apparent in his blue eyes.
“Your Grace,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps it is wise for me to see some maps of the area, to familiarize myself with the routes. Given that I so very rarely venture to Gloucester.”
His aunt shrugged. “Very well. I trust you will find what you need in the library. Harry will show you. When you have come up with a plan, please find me. I must be informed of every step of the way.”
With that, the Duchess made her way across the room and out of the door, an air of perfume wavering behind her.
When the footman closed the door behind her, Liam turned to his cousin, arms crossed. He looked his younger cousin square in the eye.
“Now, Harry. Let’s start by being honest with one another. What was Lysander running from?”
Harry swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bopping. Sweat appeared on his cousin’s forehead and Liam knew he’d been right. His cousin was keeping secrets.
Chapter 9
She peered down at him from far above. The face of a young woman. No. She was not woman. She was a child, a girl. No more than nine or ten. Her face was round, with large blue eyes that sparkled with excitement.
She was standing on a platform, above him. No. It was no platform. It was a horse. Yes. A white stallion. And the child laughed with excitement.
Suddenly, the pictures changed, and they were moving. He heard the sound of leaves beneath the horse’s hooves. The giggles of the girl.
Then, out of the blue, a sound. A crashing. Thunder. It was thunder that ruptured the stillness. Thunder in the middle of a clear afternoon, under a blue sky. Or was it blue? Had there been clouds he didn’t see?
A horse–bolting. Then bucking. And the child, the girl calling out for him. Her voice clear as day. “Help me–”
Oliver woke with a start, bathed in sweat, before he could hear the name the girl called. He panted and swung his legs out of the bed. With his head buried in his hands, he tried to calm himself and to catch his breath.
“It was a dream. Just a dream.”
Or was it? How can I be sure? It could have been a memory. A memory of a child. My child? My sister perhaps? Or a stranger?
He rose and stepped to the window, his heart still beating fast. Was it truly just a dream, or was it a memory? Oliver wasn’t sure.
Outside, the sun was still rising but some of his fellow stable hands were already up, moving around the yard. He’d seen some of it yesterday as George had given him a tour. Much of it was familiar to him. He’d seen where the various boxes and stalls were, located the saddle and harness rooms, as well as the wash box. The workroom beyond and the small common area where a dinner had been served to them.
While he’d tried to make himself useful, the day had been spent finding his way. Today would be his first proper work day. Beyond, he saw some of his fellow stable workers already at it. One passed by with a wheelbarrow full of hay, another headed for the stable with a pitchfork. Off in the distance he saw horses being led away on to the paddock, visible just beyond.
The groom, George, rushed between them, barking orders. He’d fallen back into his Scottish accent which Oliver could not make out at all. He’d been grateful that the old man had at last made an effort to speak without it when explaining his duties.
Just as he peered out the window, the groom spotted him and hollered, waving at him with one arm.
“Are ye gaunnae come down, laddie? Plenty work to go ‘round!”
“On my way, sir!” he called back and shut the window. He quickly slipped into the trousers he’d been given and put on the same shirt from the day before. How he was to clean the garments was another matter he had to investigate. Also, where to get food.
He didn’t know how, but he was well aware that the aristocrats were accustomed to eating their breakfast long before their hard-toiling servants, but surely the stable staff had to have access to food somewhere.
His stomach was rumbling. Perhaps there was a way he could keep some food in his small chamber, for moments just like this one.
He quickly rushed down the stairs and was met by George who thrust a pitchfork into his hand.
“Here ye go. I reckon shoveling manure will get ye started for the day. Start with the four loose boxes to the right of the entrance. Won’t put ye out in the sun too much yet. Seeing how ye look a little peely-wally,” he roared with laughter and then took off, leaving Oliver to stand there with the pitchfork in his hand, wondering what the man had just told him.
“He says you look a bit pale. Wouldn’t want to risk exposing you to too much sun so early on,” a voice said. He looked around and saw a stable boy rush past him, toward the same barn he’d been assigned to.
He followed the young boy who was clad in a pair of too-large trousers and a white shirt that hung loose over his pants. He didn’t wear the same style cap as the rest of the stable staff, but instead wore a straw hat with a wide brim.
At least I will not be on my own. If it turns out that I know nothing at all about horses, at least there is someone I can ask.
With a sigh, he marched on after the boy and into the barn to begin his first real day as a stable hand.
Sweat dripped down his forehead and he was out of breath after cleaning out only two of the four stalls he’d been assigned to. He wasn’t sure if it was the unfamiliar work or the fact that they’d spent the last few days sleeping to recover from his injuries.
He stuck his pitchfork into a bale of hay outside the pens and walked over to the wash box and picked up a ceramic container of water. He’d seen the other stable boy using it to rinse his hands earlier. He looked around, saw nobody and quickly leaned forward, running some of the water from the jug over his head.
The splash of water was refreshing. It felt so good to cool off after such a perilous, long ride in the heat and…
He stood straight, dropping the jug to the ground where it landed on the hard floor, breaking into pieces. Rapid footsteps approached from behind him and the stable boy appeared. He hadn’t seen the young boy since their arrival at the stall, and now he understood why. The boy wasn’t assigned to cleaning out pens. He was there to attend to the horses, for he held a hoof pick in his small hand.
“What happened?” He peered down at the broken jug and squatted at once to collect them. “George will be livid,” he muttered. Something about his voice was awfully familiar, but Oliver could not concern himself with the matter right then. He was too confused by his strange thought that had come into his mind when he’d run the water over his head. Somehow, he’d been certain that he was riding, no, resting after a ride instead of in a barn.
Was this another memory returning? It was not like the strange dream, it felt more familiar. Recently.
“Oliver?” the boy’s voice called out, forceful now.
He shook his head and looked at the broken pieces of jug that were in the stable boy’s hand.
“I am ever so sorry, chum. I must have dropped it. I was careless. I will confess to the groom.”
Just then, the boy shook his head.
“If you intend to do that, you might as well ask Papa to re-post you to the gardens at once, for George will indeed be livid. There’s little he dislikes more than clumsiness.”
“Lady Seraphina?” he exclaimed when he recognized her voice.
“One and the same,” she raised her head enough so he could see her pale, angelic face under the large straw hat. “I told you George lets me sneak into the stable to work with the horses sometimes.”
He smiled at her. “Well, I am pleased to see you, Lady…”
She shook her head. “I’m no lady when I’m in
the barn, surrounded by manure. Sera. Just call me Sera.”
He nodded, “Very well. Sera. What am I to do about the jug?”
She considered the pieces in her hand.
“I will ask Lottie, one of our maids, to bring another and replace this one. George will never know. And if he comes in before then, I will take the blame.”
Oliver exhaled with relief. “Thank you, I am ever so grateful.”
“Now, we ought to get back to work. Otherwise we will fall behind.”
He found himself sad at the possibility of her leaving him again so soon. He enjoyed her company, more than enjoyed. He relished in it. However, he had to remind himself that he was not here to keep her company, he was here to work. With a short nod, he turned, picking his pitchfork up and heading into the third box.