‘And I wish you had not tried to force my hand earlier, which I know now is what you had been planning.’ Brione sat beside Rachel and shook her head. ‘I know you mean well, but I prefer to make myself useful and repay your kindness in some small way. Besides, I don’t think your friend likes me very much.’
‘Deborah is actually a lovely person. She just has…well—’
‘Pretentions?’
They both laughed. ‘I never knew her mother but I gather she was extremely self-aware, and her standards have no doubt been passed down to her daughter.’
‘Servants were required to know their place.’ Brione flashed a wry smile. ‘Her daughter has indeed followed in her footsteps, at least in that regard. However, I shall not criticise your friend. I am sure she is charming.’ And of no interest to me.
‘There won’t be very much for you to do while you are here,’ Rachel said. ‘Will you not be bored?’
‘A lady’s maid’s work is never done.’
Rachel flapped a hand. ‘I shall not have you pressing my gowns and mending my petticoats, if that is what you mean to imply. My clothing is in perfect order so your time will mostly be your own.’
‘And I shall take advantage of that to explore this wonderful area on foot.’ Brione briefly considered how much more she would be able to see from the back of a horse. She adored riding and was a proficient equestrian, but as a servant that was one passion she would be unable to indulge. Besides, she was not here to sightsee.
‘I hope you are not afraid of climbing hills, in that case.’
‘Not in the least.’ Brione jumped to her feet. ‘Now, what do you intend to wear this evening?’
‘The figured silk, I think.’
‘A very good choice. I shall lay it out and then endeavour to find my way back to the kitchens and bring up some hot water.’
‘My dear, I feel so dreadfully guilty, making you work.’
‘Please don’t. I am very happy to oblige.’
Brione managed to find her way back downstairs and was shown to a small room where several large cauldrons were kept at boiling point, precisely so that the guests could be supplied with all the hot water they required. Brione filled a large jug, cursing beneath her breath when a few drops fell on her wrist and scalded her, and then carried her heavy cargo back up the stairs. She soon realised that it had been unwise to fill the jug to the brim since a little water slopped out with each step she took.
‘If nothing else, I shall be as fit as a fiddle at this rate,’ she muttered, puffing as she climbed the narrow staircase. ‘Here we are,’ she said as she returned to Rachel’s room and decanted the water into a basin.
She helped Rachel into her gown and tidied her hair for her.
‘Thank you, my dear. You do my hair far better than Annie manages.’
‘I’ve always had a way with hair.’
‘Your own is lovely, so it’s easy to understand why.’ Rachel frowned. ‘I hate to see you hiding it away.’
‘I am not looking for attention.’
‘No, of course not.’ Rachel kissed Brione’s cheek. ‘Until later, my dear.’
‘I shall be here.’
With Rachel perfectly turned out, Brione made her way downstairs again and joined the other senior servants in their dining hall a few moments after the appointed time. Glanville frowned at her tardiness, then bowed his head and said grace. Introductions were made as everyone took a seat, Glanville majestically at the head of the table, but Brione forgot everybody’s names almost as soon as she was told them. With over thirty people present, it was no wonder. She did, however, remember Alfred Kensley’s name when he wandered into the room dressed in full evening attire and addressed a question to Glanville, who stood rigidly to attention to answer it.
Kensley was, Brione knew, the duke’s right hand man and one of the people whom she was interested in knowing more about. He was a handsome man in his late thirties, and all the females in the room seemed keen to make an impression upon him when he tarried, settling a disturbingly probing look upon Brione. There was an air about him that was infectiously good humoured. Unlike Glanville, Kensley didn’t appear to be particularly self-aware and seemed well-inclined towards one and all.
As soon as dinner was over, Brione slipped out through a side door unnoticed. She would have liked to walk in the keep but servants, she had been told, couldn’t be seen there at this time of day. Both the drawing room and dining room had French doors that led directly onto that tranquil oasis, but she would be in trouble if she had the temerity to intrude upon the gentry at play.
Instead, without bothering to fetch a bonnet, she wandered through the old portcullis gate and took a path at random. It meandered through a meadow filled with wildflowers in bloom, their blowsy heads swaying in a light breeze. She saw lambs in an adjoining field, their bleats rising up in harmony to compete with the birdsong that rang out in the otherwise serene early evening.
She wondered if the duke knew just how fortunate he was to live in such an idyllic location, but quickly dismissed thoughts of the horrid man from her mind. It was too nice an evening to be miserable. For the first time in as long as she could recall, she had gone for more than an hour without thinking about Evan, lamenting his loss and railing against the injustice of the unfounded accusations that dogged his memory.
‘I will start looking for answers tomorrow,’ she said, throwing back her head and speaking aloud.
Alfred Kensley found reasons to tarry as the senior servants ate their dinner. He studied Mrs Woodley’s maid, as the duke had instructed him to. He could see at once why the chit had attracted his master’s attention, to say nothing of just about every man seated around the table, some of whom virtually had their jaws hanging open. Even with her hair viciously constrained beneath an unflattering cap, the shapeless gown that concealed her figure and her disinclination to talk to anyone, it was obvious to Kensley that she was one of life’s exceptional beauties.
When she couldn’t avoid speaking, her voice was low, well-modulated and cultured. Kensley chuckled to himself. Hell if he knew how the duke did it—he claimed only to have caught a brief glimpse of the romp through his library window—but he had asked Kensley to watch her—and to watch her because he was convinced she was no ordinary servant. Kensley immediately knew that he was right to suspect her. Someone had just asked her if she was acquainted with a person and she had asked to whom they referred. Servants didn’t use words like whom and she had unwittingly given herself away.
The duke was required to be constantly on his guard. There were still pockets of French renegades hidden in England, determined to damage the fabric of British society from within and weaken its position on the world stage now that Napoleon was on the march again. Gaining access to the Duke of Alford’s secrets would be a coup and great propaganda triumph. Sending a beautiful woman in the guise of a servant would be a sneaky way to go about it. Unfortunately for the Frenchies, who had clearly not done their homework, Alford never bedded servants, so there would be no tantalising pillow talk to be had.
Kensley watched Miss Carvell as dinner ended and the servants went back to their duties. Several of the men attempted to engage the beguiling young woman in private conversation, but she was having none of it, even before Glanville curtly reminded them that they had duties to attend to. She muttered an excuse, slipped through a side door and took herself outside. Kensley followed at a safe distance and watched her wandering through a meadow, apparently talking to herself. He considered joining her but decided against it. Until he had a better idea of why she was here and whom she worked for, it would be better to let her think that her presence had gone undetected.
When she turned back towards the castle, Kensley crouched down in a concealed spot as she passed within feet of him. He was obliged to withhold a sharp intake of breath when he looked up and observed that a long spiral curl the colour of treacle that reached almost to her waist had escaped from beneath her hideous cap.
‘How was your dinner?’ Kensley asked, grinning.
‘Tedious.’ The duke rolled his eyes. ‘If I hear one more breathless exclamation about the delights of this castle, I swear I shall not be responsible for my actions.’
Kensley laughed. ‘The remedy is within your grasp. Marry one of ’em and have done with it, then the others will leave you alone.’
‘Not quite the solution I had in mind.’ The duke turned to the sideboard and poured brandy for them both. ‘What did you make of Mrs Woodley’s maid?’
‘A vision,’ Kensley replied, raising his glass by way of a salute. ‘And no more a maid than I’m a Dutch uncle.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s educated. Speaks in a refined manner when she speaks at all and keeps herself distant. Can’t decide how she came to dupe Mrs Woodley though. Perhaps she’s the impoverished widow of a man who gave his life for his country.’ Kensley shrugged a meaty shoulder. ‘Anything’s possible the way the world is now.’
‘My sister mentioned that Mrs Woodley introduced her as a new companion, which would fit with your theory, but the girl insisted that she was a lady’s maid this week, whatever she meant by that.’
‘If she was here as a companion, why come dressed as a maid?’ Kensley scratched his head. ‘The ladies must have agreed beforehand that Miss Carvell—that’s her name—would be discharging the duties of a maid, so why mention to your sister that she was actually her companion? Does she have a trunk full of clothes with her?’
‘No idea,’ the duke replied, ‘but it’s worrying. See if you can get into her room and have a look around.’
‘Fair enough. What am I looking for?’
‘Anything that doesn’t fit with a maid’s lifestyle. Anything that will shed light on her identity. I might be worrying needlessly, but I haven’t lost sight of the fact that my enemies come in all shapes and forms.’
‘As enemies go, you won’t find anything objectionable about her form,’ Kensley said with a chuckle. At a glower from the duke, he downed his drink and put his glass aside. ‘All right, all right. I’ll see what I can find in her room. I’m going.’
‘So too am I, I suppose,’ the duke replied. ‘I shall be missed if I don’t return to the drawing room, and I really don’t want to fall out with my sister on the first night. Let me know what you discover.’
‘You may depend upon it.’
Chapter Three
Brione returned to her tiny attic room, brushed out her hair and tied it back with a ribbon. She massaged her temple with the tips of her fingers, relieving the pressure that was not just a product of her severe hairstyle. She was living under a different sort of pressure by attempting to be something she was not, wondering how long it would be before someone realised the truth. Joseph had sent her odd looks and obviously already harboured doubts.
She settled down to read her poems for an hour, but for once their brilliance failed to soothe her. She threw the book aside with a sigh of frustration and kneeled on the bed to peer out the small window. She was rewarded with a view of the stable block roof and could just make out the form of a man striding towards the castle, looking as though he had arrived late to the party. He paused to glance up at the imposing walls and Brione sensed his hesitation.
‘He doesn’t want to be here,’ she muttered, pressing her nose against the glass. She was intrigued by the man for reasons that escaped her, even though there wasn’t the slightest hope of making out his features from her high vantage point or guessing at his identity. Glanville appeared, they exchanged a few words, the butler conducted the new arrival into the castle and there was nothing left for her to see. She wondered if he was one of the men she suspected of creating doubts about Evan’s loyalty, which only served to increase her frustration and remind her of the hopelessness of the task she had set for herself. But what alternative did she have?
She could either attempt to prove Evan’s dedication to the crown or live the rest of her life being unfairly discriminated against, judged and found guilty without the benefit of a trial, and then ostracised. She cared little for her own sake, but she knew how much Evan’s reputation had meant to him and refused to allow it to be sullied, his heroic death trivialised, without at least making some attempt to fight back.
Sighing, she braided her hair and tucked every wisp beneath her cap. It was time to return to Rachel’s room, and she didn’t want her hair to create unnecessary attention. She made her way down the first flight of stairs and turned into the wide corridor that housed the main guest rooms. Her attention was drawn to the keep, now filled with elegantly attired people enjoying a postprandial stroll in the gardens, the sound of their cultured voices making her feel like an outsider—lonely and virtually friendless. Reminding herself that situation would endure unless she found some answers offered her fresh resolve.
Brione watched as the setting sun dipped below the horizon, its coppery hues giving way to dusty pinks and purples. She breathed deeply, transfixed by the distant skyline silhouetted against a velvety sky, thinking that she had never known such beauty, such complete and absolute peace. She forgot her myriad problems and was absorbed by the moment. Music drifted up to her from the open drawing room doors and the sound of laughter carried on the light breeze.
She was probably not supposed to be standing here, watching her betters at play, but she was anxious to identify as many of her adversaries as possible—not that she had the first idea how to go about it, since she had never actually laid eyes on any of them.
The duke was easily recognisable. He stood a little taller than the other male guests, wore an air of casual authority and appeared to be constantly surrounded by females. She couldn’t tell if their attentions were welcome or if he was indifferent to their hanging on his every word. It irritated Brione when she was obliged to concede that he struck an imposing figure.
Imposting would be a more accurate description, she thought with a disdainful sniff. But men in his privileged position could do and say anything they pleased and everyone believed them because they wanted to be included in his inner circle. To be one of the chosen elite. Evan, in comparison—her brave, highly principled, fiercely patriotic Evan—was not high born and had therefore been dispensable. He was a useful person to take the fall for the traitorous activities of whoever had betrayed his country in order to line his own pockets. That person had either gambled on the wrong side winning or had been desperate to save an ancient and penniless family from social and financial ruin.
Desperation was a possibility Brione hadn’t yet considered, she accepted, brightening as the idea took hold. If she could discover which of the duke’s fellow officers was in dun territory, she might have a better idea who the traitor was. Perhaps it was the duke himself. She continued to watch him, his thick black hair touching his shoulders and lifting in the breeze, discouraged when she was obliged to concede that it was unlikely. If he had betrayed England, he hadn’t done it for monetary considerations. Everything she had seen at his castle had been of the highest quality. But it must cost a small fortune to maintain the place and it would be a constant drain on his resources, and she hadn’t heard any mention of recent renovations being carried out.
There were other reasons why men turned against their countries, of course. Perhaps there would be some sort of evidence in the duke’s library—if not of treachery, then at least of his political leanings. She didn’t suppose that a duke would have any desire to see the order of things altered, but there was a lot of opposition to the Regent and his eventual assumption of the throne. Many saw him as an ignorant and gluttonous spendthrift; a man who would giv
e entirely the wrong impression to the rest of the world if he was allowed to take his rightful place when the time came. A man who in his capacity as Regent had already turned England into a laughingstock.
Now that did give her something to work with!
She noticed the latecomer talking in a relaxed fashion with another gentleman. She couldn’t see their faces clearly, but when the duke joined them and they laughed at something he said to them she sensed that she was looking at the three men who most interested her. The men who were the reason for her presence in this castle.
Encouraged, she was about to move away when she sensed she was being watched. She glanced down and saw the duke now standing alone directly below her, looking upwards. His dark eyes focused on her as their gazes clashed and a slight frown creased his brow—but not, she sensed, because she wasn’t supposed to be watching the activity.
Brione was momentarily frozen in place, unsure why she seemed incapable of looking away. Her stomach lurched and her lips felt dry. The man’s enigmatic charm, she was irritated to discover, held potency even from a distance. After what seemed like minutes but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, a lady inevitably claimed his attention. The duke inclined his head in her direction, moved away with the woman on his arm and Brione’s senses were restored to her.
‘That’s the duke.’
Brione almost jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke in her ear. She turned to face Joseph, her heart palpitating. ‘I assumed as much. He’s hard to overlook.’
‘What the devil are you doing there?’
‘Oh heck,’ Joseph said, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s old misery guts. We’re for it now.’
‘Just pointing out who’s who to Miss Carvell,’ Joseph said.
‘You know very well that you’re not supposed to loiter here gawping at your betters. I am surprised at you, Joseph. If you do not have enough duties, I can easily find you more. And as for you Miss Carvell…’
To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8 Page 3