Castled: Duke Society Series

by Robinson, Gina

  And I couldn't see Noah living in such a feminine room. Nor did I see any of his possessions around. I was let down. Did he really expect us to basically live apart? The duchess's suite was large enough to be a good-sized apartment on its own. Larger than my condo back home, if my estimates were right. Maybe his things were in the closet.

  "The bath's that way," Olive said, interrupting my musings. "The dressing room there. Rogers has stowed your cases. You'll want to unpack later. There's plenty of space.

  "The cleaning service comes in once a week on Thursdays and strips the sheets and replaces the linens, as well as cleans the private apartment. The fireplace is gas. The switch is here." She showed me, but I felt like she turned up her nose at it being gas.

  I looked around. "This suite is awesome in the truest sense of the word. I'm almost speechless."

  Olive nodded. "It is that. I'll leave you to explore it at your leisure later. I need to be hustling off in a few minutes. But first I must show you a few more things before I take my leave."

  We returned to the ground floor and the more practical living quarters I suddenly appreciated.

  "This time of year, there's no live-in staff at the castle," Olive said with no show of emotion other than professionalism.

  From her brisk manner, I wondered whether she was trying not to scare me or to scare me sleepless. I mean, the thought of being all alone in this enormous, ancient castle was frightening just on the surface of it.

  "But the grounds are patrolled by security twenty-four hours a day, year-round. The castle, as you understand, is filled with priceless heirlooms and valuable objects of art.

  "Fortunately, a castle is a fortress and was originally built to fend off attackers. The courtyard and grounds are filled with strategically positioned security cameras, which are monitored day and night. At night, the courtyard gates are locked and the security system—the very best, most up to date that money can buy—is armed. The main part of the castle's security system is always armed when the castle isn't open. You don't want to try to enter the main part of the castle without disarming the system. The duke will have to show you that. For now, here."

  I followed her.

  "Don't use this door. It goes into the main part of the castle. You don't want the security patrol to descend on you."

  I followed her back into the living compartment.

  "Stay away from the offices after hours as well. I'll set the alarm when I leave. Here's the security system for your living quarters. You can arm it here. There's a safe word in case it accidentally trips and security calls to make sure you're not in danger. And there's a four-digit code to disarm it. Only the duke knows the code. He told me to give you a hint—'the day we met again'? Evidently 'again' is important."

  "Yes," I said. "I know what he means." The day we met again was in college at the week of welcome. We'd both memorized the date. I knew it well.

  "Very good, then," Olive said. "We'll get you into security training and get you briefed on how everything works as soon as we can arrange it. I'll just be off, then."

  I thanked her and locked up behind her. It was force of habit, really, and after her speech on security, it seemed like the wise thing to do.

  Compelled by curiosity, I went back upstairs to my room to take a better look around. In the adjoining turret sitting room, I paused and stood before the imposing doors to the duke's private lair. What did the duke's room look like? What century was it from? Had Hardly furnished it from the modern world? Or was it full of stuffed deer heads and racks of antlers? Paintings of foxhunts, tapestries, and massively sized furniture?

  When I tried the handle, the door was locked. And no amount of rattling shook it open.

  Chapter 10

  Grace

  Why would Noah lock his door? The door to the duchess's rooms, my rooms, had been unlocked. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the castle, but my mind turned immediately toward secrets. Then again, this was Noah. It was equally likely he had a surprise for me in his room and wanted to show it to me himself in person. A love basket of sensual bath products came to mind.

  I went to the window in the sitting room between the bedchambers and looked out over the gardens with the empty suit of armor keeping me company. The sun had disappeared behind a solid mass of clouds. It was sprinkling again. As I stood admiring the new spring growth, I felt a chill, a distinct, spine-tingling chill. Like when you're swimming in a lake and suddenly hit a patch of cold water. I shivered and hugged myself, listening for the creak of a furnace or a rustle of air from a vent. Anything to explain it. Nothing but silence. The chill remained, and I was inundated with a sudden sense of despair.

  Ghosts.

  I looked around, but the room was empty. Not even an orb left by an apparition. My imagination hard at work. I tried to convince myself of that, at least.

  I wandered back into my new rooms to explore them more, wondering when Noah would be home and how long I should hold dinner for him, trying to push out my fears and superstition by hanging on to the mundane and everyday. But I locked my door behind me and turned on the gas fireplace, standing in front of it until the chill passed. My newfound sense of freedom began slipping away. I was beginning to feel the need to look over my shoulder again.

  But inside my room, the sense of despair was notably absent. And despite the eighteenth-century decorations, the room was almost cozy. I turned on every light I could find, and the room became a mild shade of cheery. I proceeded to open every drawer and cupboard, looking for what? A trace of Noah? Something the last duchess might have left behind? A clue to the room's past?

  The suite was luxurious. Made for a duchess of the high realm. Someone who aspired to be queen, not a commoner like me, who only dreamed of crafting a sweet cider and making a commercial success of the castle's catering and events. I was a workhorse, not a princess. I felt almost guilty surrounded by so much wealth and finery. There was a moment where I wondered whether I could actually live the rest of my life like this—surrounded by too much wealth and show, married to my best friend, but not the love of my life. It wasn't what I imagined for myself.

  I hadn't let myself dwell on the snap decision I'd made to marry Noah. But now I began to doubt myself. There wasn't a sign of Noah in my suite. Not one. No toothbrush or razor for overnighting in my suite. No cologne or pair of boxer briefs.

  And no sweet, thoughtful gift from him, either. Nothing that spoke of the romance and passion of our wedding night. Was Noah having second thoughts?

  My dressing room was immense. The closet space was modern and obviously designed by one of those closet-organizing companies. It had a velvet bench and two chairs and a floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror. It was a dream closet, really. But was it my dream closet?

  The bathroom had a claw-foot tub with gold faucets and an immense gilded mirror above the sink. It was outfitted with soft, thick cotton towels and top-end bath products that made it feel more like a luxury hotel suite than my bathroom. I wanted my pink blow-dryer and grocery store bar of fruity soap. How would those look in this place? Would they feel as out of place as I did? I made a note to make a list of what I needed.

  As I returned to my bedroom, my phone rang. I climbed onto the enormous four-poster bed and answered it. Noah. My heart raced.

  "Duchess," he said with a laugh. "Are you home?"

  "Duke. Home is a relative term, I suppose. I'm back at the castle, if that's what you mean."

  "Don't keep me in suspense—what do you think? Are you still dragging your jaw around?"

  Why was it so good to hear his voice? "I think I've sufficiently managed to get it back off the floor. But Noah, this castle is fit for a king."

  "Yeah," he said with pride in his voice.

  "It's almost too much—"

  "No," he said. "Don't even think that. You'll get used to it. Luxury has a way of growing on you. And it's not like we won't be working our butts off to keep that place and keep it going. Don't worry. Soon enough, you'll feel lik
e a caretaker or babysitter. Where are you now? Are you in a room with a moose?"

  That was a joke between us based on a Washington State Lotto TV commercial from when we were kids.

  "I'm in a room from several centuries ago, lounging on a luxurious four-poster bed I need a stepstool to get onto."

  "Ah, the duchess's bed."

  "You jumped to that pretty quickly. You know it?"

  "I've seen it," he said. "I'm hoping to get a closer look sometime."

  I relaxed. He sounded like Noah, and the flirtation made my heart race and my body tingle.

  "Where are you?" I asked. "Give me an ETA so I know when to put dinner in the oven."

  "You're going to cook for me? How domestic."

  "I'm going to reheat, you kidder. Olive left us something in the fridge, purportedly at your request, your grace."

  "You're my duchess. You don't have to call me your grace."

  "I know. But it's so fun. It feels like we're play-acting. It's almost a joke. But if you don't like 'your grace,' how about I call you late to dinner? Which I will do if you don't get your butt here soon."

  "Uh…about that—"

  "Noah," I said in my best impression of his mom. I really had to start thinking of Carol as my mother-in-law.

  "The meetings went late and have sort of slipped into drinks and dinner meetings. The roads are too treacherous to tackle at night, especially with me still getting used to driving on the wrong side of the road and finding my way around."

  Noah had an excellent sense of direction and GPS. He meant he had no sense of anything when he was impaired by alcohol.

  "I'm going to spend the night at our townhouse here in London." He sounded contrite.

  We have a townhouse in London? I let that slide. "Oh." My voice went flat. "I was really looking forward to catching up and plotting our takeover of this quaint little dukedom we call home now."

  He laughed, but sounded suddenly tired. "Yeah, quaint dukedom. Our little empire is turning out to be much more complex and complicated to run than I'd imagined. Sometimes I think starting a company from scratch would be less work. I'd imagined life as a country squire, wandering through my apple orchards and drinking cider in my gardens. But it turns out that most of the business I have to conduct is here." There was a pregnant pause on his side.

  "Noah? What aren't you telling me?"

  "It looks like I'll have to stay in the city for the rest of the week, at least."

  "Oh."

  "I'm sorry about that. You have no idea how much. I have so much to tell you. But Olive will take good care of you in the meantime. That woman is amazingly efficient, smart, and organized."

  "If she were twenty years younger, I'd be jealous about the admiration in your voice."

  "No need to be jealous of Olive. Did she set you up and give you the instructions for the security system?"

  "Yes," I said, suppressing a shudder. "For the private apartments. I guess I need training for the rest."

  "Gray?"

  "I don't know, Noah. I guess I expected Downton Abbey or something, with dozens of people living at the castle and bustling around at my beck and call." I laughed nervously. "The thought of being alone in this huge place at night is kind of frightening."

  "I'm sorry, Gray. Don't think about it as being alone in a huge castle. Think of it as being alone in a nice suburban home. Just imagine our little corner of the castle as all there is. Don't think too big."

  "Is that what you do when you're here alone?"

  "Yeah," he said. "Though I admit I've spent very few nights there by myself. With the state-of-the-art security system, the castle is probably the safest place to be. Safer than your condo back home. To be honest, I'll rest easier knowing you're there and not somewhere where Christopher could surprise you." Noah sounded suddenly, fiercely, and sweetly protective. I relaxed a little.

  "And we have a security detail and several guards on the property at all times. But look, if it bothers you being there alone, get a room in the hotel while I'm gone. Call Rogers. He'll come pick you up and drive you there."

  "Will there even be a vacancy at this late date?" I asked. "That's not good for our business."

  "This time of year, midweek, it's perfectly acceptable. But it doesn't matter. We have a suite always on reserve for us."

  "We do?" I asked.

  "Yeah. To put up any dignitaries or guests, business partners, etc."

  "Don't we have an entire castle for that? It's hard to imagine we wouldn't have enough room. This excess is just gaudy."

  He laughed again. "We have our apartment. There are many types of guests who we aren't intimate enough with, like businesspeople, who we'd both prefer to have a little separation and privacy from."

  "Makes sense, I guess," I said. "One more thing, though. We have a collection of cars. I could drive myself."

  "You could. Assuming you had keys and knew which car to take. We'll get you set up. But if you want to stay at the hotel tonight, call Rogers."

  I took a deep breath. "Noah, when I was standing in the compartment between the duke and duchess's bedchambers before you called, I felt a chill. I mean a deep, sudden chill from out of nowhere. And the furnace or fan wasn't on."

  Noah was quiet a moment. "I've felt it, too. It's an old castle, Gray. It's known for its drafts. I know what you're thinking. But there are no recorded of hauntings in the private bedchambers. That's apparently part of the reason old Hardly insisted on keeping them. Look, just stay in your room or in the more modern guest suite downstairs. Or go to the hotel. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be around people."

  "And have the entire village and estate immediately realize I'm a chicken? How will that look?"

  "Who cares what people think?" he said in typical Noah fashion.

  "I think we have to care now. But I suddenly find myself in a scene from a horror movie—alone at the haunted castle overnight."

  "Just don't go out of the apartment alone after dark."

  "You're some help."

  "I'm sorry, Gray. I'd be there with you if I could. Soon it will be tourist season and we'll have a castle full of staff staying over."

  "Come back as soon as you can," I said with more pleading in my voice than I intended.

  "Absolutely," he said.

  There was an awkward pause where a normal newlywed couple would have said, "I love you."

  "Have Olive give you the tour of the castle tomorrow. Once you see how beautiful and historic it is in the daylight, it will chase your fears away. And meet with Jeremy Watts, the gardener. Get him to show you the gardens and the orchards. He's brilliant with plants and knows all the history of the gardens. But stay out of the woods. There are ogres and monsters lurking in the shadows. We'll can explore them together when I get back.

  "Visit the old cider-making facilities. Have Dan Cross, our facilities manager, show you them to you and give you the tour. Once you get him talking about the estate, you won't be able to shut him up. Stun him with your knowledge and expertise. Wow him with your ideas. That will cheer you up and keep your mind off anything else."

  Will it, Noah? I wondered.

  "Hey, I have to run," he said, as if suddenly realizing the time. "Don't die of fright on me tonight."

  "I'll try not to," I said dryly. "But I make no promises that my hair won't have turned white by the time you return. That all depends on whether any apparitions or ghostly knights decide to visit me in the middle of the long night."

  "Don't take a ghostly lover on me," he said.

  I laughed. "I generally prefer my men living."

  "Good to know. Olive gets in at seven thirty, sometimes earlier," Noah said. "You only have to make it until then. I have no doubt Olive can handle any ghosts who come her way. And if your hair turns white, silver is in right now. Dye the tips lavender or pink and you'll be really fashionable and hot. I'm sure Olive can recommend a good hairdresser."

  Chapter 11

  Grace

  I decided n
o one would know if I spent the night downstairs in the modern guest suite. Maybe the cleaning ladies when they came. But our apartment had a washer and dryer, and I knew how to strip a bed and wash sheets. And how to make a bed. I was a regular, normal middle-class person after all. I hadn't been duchess-ized yet.

  So it was. I stayed in the duchess suite only long enough to grab my pajamas, toiletries, and a change of clothes, then headed downstairs to pretend I was in a regular house in the suburbs. It was dark by the time I got downstairs and settled into my room. I closed the blinds, heated my dinner, and ate by myself. My internal clock was off. I was jet-lagged. I forced myself to stay up as late as possible. The last thing I wanted was to be wide-awake in the middle of the night.

  Fortunately, the guest bed was soft and comfortable. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I was jolted awake sometime later by the sounds of clanking, like the rattling of chains or a suit of armor suddenly come to life, like Night at the Museum. Or like a cranky old furnace being testier than usual. It was hard to say which was the right explanation. I knew what I wanted to believe.

  I should have been a coward and stayed in bed with the covers over my head. But if I was going to be scared to death, I wanted to be scared to death fighting. I didn't have my softball bat or my gun. The bat was probably allowed here, but not my cute pink handgun. I'd left that at home in Seattle. My dukedom for a shotgun or a rifle right now. Those were allowed, especially on an estate. Not that a ghost was likely to be too distraught at facing me while I was armed with either of those.

  I slid out of bed and followed the sound of the clanking out to the living area, where I grabbed a candlestick. The clanking—and I thought I heard moaning—got louder as I let myself out of the apartment and followed the corridor to the locked entrance to the main part of the castle. Somewhere on the other side of that door was the source. But I didn't dare open the door without risking setting off all kinds of alarms. I stared at it, petrified and thinking furiously.

  Damn ghosts. They were like bucks in deer season. They knew where to hide where you couldn't shoot them.