A fraud.
Brione stood back, wondering if she would be expected to offer her services, aware that she would be more of a hindrance than a help. She would never admit it, but she hadn’t even the first idea how to make a cup of tea. Glanville cast her a bland look when he saw her, just as he seemed to see everything in his domain, but otherwise ignored her. Everyone else seemed too busy to spare her more than a passing glance.
‘Breakfast is ready in the senior servants’ hall,’ Joseph told her as he rushed past her carrying a jug of coffee. ‘We eat when we can and take advantage of the fact that them above stairs won’t be stirring for a while yet. Well the ladies won’t, and the gents help themselves from the breakfast parlour. I have to go and stand duty up there now.’ He glanced over his shoulder at Glanville, who was scowling at him. ‘Best get along before old misery guts has something to say on the matter. I’m already in his bad books after last night and he’s not above docking a shilling from the wages of anyone he thinks ain’t pulling their weight.’ Joseph dropped his voice and winked at her. ‘If you ask me, I think he pockets the difference himself and knows that none of us would dare to squeal on him. Anyway, hope to see you later.’
Brione returned the sentiment and wandered into the senior servants’ hall. No one sat down as they had at dinner. They made do with grabbing food as they continued with their duties. Brione hadn’t realised quite how much work a party of this nature generated, and felt appreciation for those who made it run like clockwork. She nibbled at a slice of toast and made do with a glass of milk to wash it down. Small beer didn’t appeal to her and there was nothing else on offer. Tea and coffee would be too expensive, she knew, to waste on servants, even though they probably did more to earn it than their masters ever would.
She managed to slip outside and wandered around the kitchen gardens, enjoying a respite from the frantic activity and the opportunity for a little fresh air. As a servant, she couldn’t walk in the formal gardens, nor could she wander too far in case her absence was noticed and remarked upon.
She gasped when she noticed an isolated paddock in which a magnificent black stallion pranced, tossing his head and sending his thick mane tumbling over his shoulders. Why had he been turned out alone? Presumably because it wouldn’t be safe to let him anywhere near the mares. He was the duke’s personal mount, she imagined, and the horse that she had heard talk of below stairs, upon whose back all the servants confidently expected the duke to win the annual race.
Pausing to admire the animal, Brione could quite see why. His majestic head, superb conformation and the manner in which he carried himself with elegant disregard for anything or anyone spoke of true class. He trotted along the fence line, drawn to it by her presence.
‘Why do you allow any man to tame you?’ she asked.
The horse snorted at her, turned away at a canter and twisted his hindquarters into a massive buck. Brione laughed, filled with an irrational desire to ride the animal, despite the fact that he was clearly irascible and she would likely be thrown.
‘No one likes a show-off,’ she admonished.
Brione moved away and wandered in the castle grounds for half an hour, during which time she managed to approach the outside of the south turret by keeping close to the castle walls. She found a path that was obviously used by the gardeners, enabling them to carry out their duties without being seen from the principal rooms. She let out a little cry of surprise when she reached what had to be the duke’s library; the room that most interested her. She touched the exterior walls. They were thick and felt cool and smooth after centuries of withstanding whatever the elements threw at them. Smooth in most places, but there were indentations that were out of place when compared to the rest of the weathered stone.
Brione glanced up, gulping as she absorbed the visual reality of the daunting task she had set herself. The place appeared impregnable, even though she would have access from the inside. Before reminding herself that she could do anything she set her mind to, a window was thrown open immediately above her head and she heard a deep voice issuing curt orders; something about fishing poles. Even if she had not been aware that the duke was arranging a fishing expedition that morning, and leaving aside the fact that she had never heard his voice, she would still have known that it was him speaking. His deep, velvety tone resonated with a combination of authority and an earthy vibrancy that made her shiver with the awakening of awareness.
‘This is madness,’ she muttered, feeling discouraged as she flattened herself against the wall, her heart palpitating when the duke leaned out the window, almost as though he had sensed her presence and intended to ask her what business she had loitering outside his room.
She mentally berated herself. There was absolutely no way that he could have seen her, and he would not as long as she remained flattened against the cold wall. Then she glanced up and gasped. From below she caught a clear sight of his strong jaw and the dark stubble covering his chin. She could see the bottom of the scar she had heard about curling beneath that jaw and recognised an impressive strength of his will. His thick hair lifted in the breeze as he let out a long breath. She sensed his preoccupation and felt drawn to him in incomprehensible ways that both excited and infuriated her.
Brione had loved her husband deeply, had not recovered from the devastation of his loss and likely never would. She felt disloyal and completely out of charity with the duke for distracting her and causing her to forget momentarily her reason for being here. He was a handsome man who wore his authority like a second skin and she was obliged to embrace the disquieting possibility of his being untouchable. It would be best to give up and admit defeat.
Then she reminded herself that the man above her head, giving orders left and right and living in the lap of luxury, was still just that—a man like any other. Although, of course, that wasn’t strictly true. But he might only be living high on the hog because he had used Evan as a scapegoat whilst blatantly lining his own pockets by selling English secrets to the French. With such sobering thoughts running through her mind, Brione’s senses were restored to her and she felt more like herself again.
When she heard the window close, she moved away and cautiously retraced her steps. Back inside the castle, she made her way up to Rachel’s room and found her sitting up in bed.
‘Did you ring for me?’ she asked, pulling back the curtains. ‘Sorry, I slipped out for a walk. It’s such a lovely day that I couldn’t resist.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of ringing for you, my dear. You might be playing the part of a servant, but I know you are not one and refuse to treat you as such.’
‘It will look odd below stairs if you don’t. Brione sat on the edge of Rachel’s bed. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I did actually.’
Brione smiled, aware that she and Rachel had both suffered from insomnia following the deaths of their husbands. ‘Then I am glad. The country air must be beneficial. Perhaps you should consider selling up in London and settling somewhere less busy. Unless, of course, you intend to embrace society again. Perhaps this gathering has refreshed your appetite for its delights.’
Rachel flapped a hand. ‘Hardly. But I might very well sell up. I have been considering doing so for a while now, and coming here to this rural haven might just be the impetus I need to do something about it.’
‘Are you joining Lady Murray’s shopping expedition today?’
‘Yes, I suppose I should. Shall you come with me?’
‘Thank you, but no. I don’t think any of the other ladies are taking their maids. It will require too many carriages. Don’t worry about me. I shall find plenty to occupy me.’
‘Don’t take any risks, darling,’ Rachel said, covering Brione’s hand. ‘I couldn’t bear it if I lost you too.’
‘I don’t think infiltrators caught behind castle walls are put to the sword anymore,’ Brione replied, laughing off Rachel’s concern and pretending to be more self-assured than she actually felt. ‘Anyway, all
the gentlemen are spending the day attempting to catch harmless fish. Don’t worry about me, I promise not to do anything that will embarrass you.’ Her brief exposure to the duke’s strength and character had affected her self-confidence. The desire to clear Evan’s name had helped assuage her grief and given her a purpose, but Alford’s ability to make her doubt herself annoyed her almost as much as the man himself agitated her passions. Suspecting and actively disliking him had given her a focus. He was someone to blame, and being beneath his roof ought to have strengthened her resolve in that regard. Instead, her sub-conscious wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
‘How can you think I am worried for my own sake?’ Rachel squeezed Brione’s hand. ‘It’s more a case of knowing how impetuous you can be, how badly you want to prove to the world that Evan was a man of principle and a true patriot. Don’t let your suspicions blind you to the facts, darling. I know that Evan was loyal, but it doesn’t necessarily follow that the duke is the traitor. You are not acquainted with him. If you were, if you had agreed to come as my companion and I had been able to introduce you, I think you may have formed a different view.’
‘I promise not to jump to conclusions,’ Brione said, hugging her friend. ‘But now, if you are planning to get up, I shall go and fetch your breakfast and some hot water.’
Resigning herself to two trips up and down the treacherous stairs, Brione went off to do precisely that.
An hour later, Rachel was turned out in a smart walking gown, her hair impeccably coiffured, and Brione waved her off. The gentlemen had left on their fishing trip a good hour before and the castle seemed unnaturally quiet, although the guest wing bustled with activity as servants took the opportunity to sweep and clean and relay fires.
Brione went downstairs and poked her head around the drawing room door. The room was enormous and very tastefully furnished, with exquisite ornaments and priceless works of art adorning the walls. Four maids were cleaning and polishing while a footman laid the fire. No one took any notice of her. The situation was the same in the formal dining room, and in all the other ground floor rooms that she glanced into. Mercifully, there was no sign of Glanville, who appeared to have eyes and ears everywhere.
Brione wandered casually towards the duke’s library, aware from her earlier external sortie of its exact location. From the inside it seemed even more extensive, occupying the entirety of the southern turret and a considerable amount of wall space on either side, she assumed, given there were no other doors leading into that part of the castle.
‘What are you hiding in there?’ she muttered.
One or two servants bustled past, pausing to give her odd looks that reminded her that it would be unwise to linger indefinitely. Her presence would soon be noticed, and would eventually be remarked upon. If the duke realised that anyone had entered his private domain, questions would be asked and the finger of suspicion pointed her way. The desire to avoid that embarrassing possibility galvanised her into action. She moved closer to the door, pressing her ear against it in the hope that she would be able to hear if anyone was inside. The only sound to reach her was that of the servants spread over the rest of this floor going about their duties. No sound at all reached her from behind those strong oak double doors.
It was now or never.
Never suddenly seemed like an attractive option, but Brione didn’t lack courage and was not about to turn back from the opportunity she had created for herself. If there was the slightest possibility of finding any evidence, she would take the risk. She took a deep breath and turned the handle with an unsteady hand, thinking that if she was discovered she could pretend to be looking for a book for Rachel. It was a paltry excuse, but she knew that Rachel would support her story. Only then, to avoid causing Rachel further embarrassment, would she give up on her desperate search for the truth.
Slowly she pushed the door open, to be confronted by an empty sitting room with tall windows that gave out onto the keep. She quickly closed the door behind her and leaned against it, breathing hard. When her heart returned to a more natural rate, she took a moment to assess her surroundings. The library was on two levels. She suspected that this large room was a place where the duke came to be alone—or to plot the downfall of dispensable junior officers. That very real possibility created fresh anger and gave her the courage to continue with her reckless quest.
She glanced at the wide opening reached by a dozen steps that led into the library section of the duke’s private domain. She walked up those steps, breathless with anticipation, and found herself in a haven created to satisfy the most dedicated of bibliophiles, with books reaching from floor to ceiling on three sides. There was a large desk and a bewildering number of drawers that probably contained his private papers. Brione felt a little overwhelmed, unsure where to look first, or even what she hoped to find. This room faced the other way, she realised, and the window in the bookless wall was likely the one she had hidden beneath that morning.
‘Now, where to start?’ she asked herself, swirling in a circle and adjuring herself to make a plan. It would be far too easy to get side-tracked by all those tempting books, but she knew that she couldn’t linger indefinitely. Someone was bound to come in at some point, if only to clean. Commodious though the two rooms were, they provided few hiding places large enough to conceal a full grown woman. ‘The drawers in his desk,’ she added decisively. ‘Anything sensitive he would keep close at hand.’
Thus resolved, she started a methodical search. None of the drawers were locked, as presumably they would be if they contained secret documents or anything to lend a clue as to the duke’s true political leanings. Even so, she searched them all methodically, attempting to put everything back exactly as she had found it.
‘Does the man throw nothing away?’ she demanded as she sorted quickly through estate reports dating back a decade, plans for the creation of his lake and other dull documents written in a neat spidery hand that was difficult to decipher.
‘Bother!’ she exclaimed after an hour of fruitless searching. She stood upright and swiped the back of her hand across her forehead, feeling hot and discouraged. ‘Another half-hour and then I shall have to think of another way to expose his treachery,’ she muttered, bending to her task with renewed determination and impatiently pushing aside a long strand of hair that had escaped from her cap. She would make sure to put it back in place before she left this room but had no time to bother about it now.
‘Find what you are looking for?’
Brione’s heart leapt into her mouth. Bent over when the voice intruded, she banged her head on an open drawer as she stood up too quickly at the sound of the same authoritative tone she had heard earlier that morning.
‘She’s just left the kitchens and taken herself off for a wander,’ Kensley told Troy. ‘Saw her by the paddock admiring your horse.’
‘I see.’
Troy opened his library window, wondering where the mystery woman planned to go. Her options were limited since a servant couldn’t be seen strolling about the formal grounds. He gave Kensley instructions regarding the morning’s fishing trip and then peered through the arrow loop that looked down on the gardeners’ path. Useful things, arrow slits, Troy had good reason to know. Strangers to castles didn’t stop to consider that they made excellent observation points without there being the slightest possibility of the viewer being seen.
The maid wandered into view, sticking close to the wall, clearly thinking that she was invisible. Then she muttered something to herself, touched the walls and flattened herself against them when Troy went on the offensive and leaned out the window, embracing the fresh morning air. She didn’t move but Troy realised he could hear her breathing and sense her fear and determination. She was leaning perilously close to his secret entrance but even if she noticed the slight difference in the structure of the stone, he felt assured that she would never find her way inside.
Eventually, he withdrew his head from the open window and watched thro
ugh the arrow slit as she scampered back the way she had come, glancing up at his window occasionally, her mouth moving as though talking to herself.
‘She’s got to you, ain’t she?’ Kensley remarked.
‘I’m certainly keen to know who she is and why she’s here,’ Troy replied. ‘And I have a feeling that all will be revealed later today.’ Troy fell to momentary contemplation, but no answers presented themselves. ‘Right, come along then. I suppose we’d better get this fishing business under way.’
Troy met with the rest of his guests and they made their way to the lake, an expansive area of water that had once formed a part of the original moat. Troy had ordered the area to be excavated and had the streams and surface water that had once served the moat diverted to fill his lake. He had introduced trout and other species of fish and the lake now abounded with an abundance of game, as well as aquatic birds and all manner of pond life. Troy was inordinately proud of this haven of tranquillity and would have enjoyed whiling the day away with his friends under ordinary circumstances. But today the circumstances were far from ordinary.
He had a potential spy to catch.
He and Kensley slipped away after an hour, Shadow living up to his name by sticking close to Troy’s heels. Their departure went unnoticed by the rest of the party, some of whom seemed less than enthusiastic about the sport and had already dozed off.
They entered the castle through the concealed door outside his library. The one that the maid, for all her inquisitiveness, had failed to notice when standing virtually next to it earlier that morning. It led directly into his private sitting room; a useful escape from and means of entry into the castle in circumstances such as today’s, when he wanted to move about unobserved.
To Desire a Duke: Dangerous Dukes Vol 8 Page 5