The Secrets of Scorton Hall: An Historical Regency Romance Mystery

by Kate Carteret

  “You will never have cause to crush me, Your Grace.” Anabelle said defiantly, angry with herself for giving him just a moment of her fear.

  “Then you will never have cause to return to your cousin’s house, Miss Brock.” The Duke said and leaned back into his chair. “You have brought your things with you?”

  “Yes, I have all I possess in Mr Ridley-Smythe’s barouche.” She said, reeling from his sudden change of both countenance and conversation.

  “And you have decided to accept the position?” He went on.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Anabelle said, knowing that it was the only decision she could possibly make.

  Even so, she had to admit that she did feel a little better. Notwithstanding his threat to crush her, Anabelle was somehow more settled. His sister had been described as somebody she could likely cope with if she put her mind to it and spent the effort. She was not a poor creature to be chained, her hair wild, her eyes wide.

  Perhaps she was even a young woman who could, in the end, be helped. But that was all in the future, was it not?

  She was aware of the Duke opening a drawer in the large mahogany desk and removing some papers. He began to sort through them and lay them out and she realised immediately that this was yet another round of papers to be signed that would legally mute her.

  She did not care about it, however, for she would never have spoken of the Duke’s personal troubles to anybody anyway. And since she had not one friend left in the world from the time before her father had ruined them, there was nobody to tell.

  As the Duke looked through the papers in front of him, Anabelle looked around the room. As a study, it was the largest one she had ever seen. It was paneled in oak of the same color as in Mr Ridley-Smythe’s office, and yet the ceilings were so high and the space so large that it did not seem at all oppressive.

  The paneling was lined with shelved alcoves, all of them full of books. More books than there had been in the library of her father’s house. She idly wondered how many books there must be in the library of Westward Hall itself.

  “It is time to read through these papers and sign them, Miss Brock.” He said and turned the papers around, gently pushing them across the desk towards her.

  Although she read every word, Anabelle hardly took in any of it. She understood that it was all a most elaborate way of telling her that there would be grave consequences to any indiscretion, certainly nothing that she did not already perceive very clearly.

  But she gave enough time that the Duke would be comfortable that she had read every word before she reached out for the pen, which she hurriedly dipped into the ink pot before signing each of the papers.

  “Thank you, Miss Brock.” The Duke said, taking the pen from her and sliding the papers back towards himself.

  “Perhaps it is time for me to leave you, Your Grace.” Mr Ridley-Smythe said sycophantically.

  “Yes, perhaps it is.” The Duke said and nodded at him. “I will send somebody down with your payment within the week.” The Duke rose to his feet and strode across the room to the fireplace where he pulled one of the bell ropes.

  “Very well, Your Grace.” The man said, his eyes seeming to light up at the prospect of being paid at last for the job he likely thought he would never get off his books.

  Anabelle remained seated, not really knowing what it was she ought to do next. The butler arrived in quick time, ready to escort Mr Ridley-Smythe out.

  “Standish, could you please take our guest back to his barouche.” The Duke began and then held up his hands to stop them leaving. “Oh yes, and if you could have one of the footmen remove Miss Brock’s luggage from the barouche and have it taken up to her room.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace.” The butler said. “And the tea?” He went on.

  “Perhaps we shall leave that for now. Mrs Arklow can arrange something for Miss Brock once she gets settled. Thank you, Standish.”

  “Your Grace.” Mr Standish bowed and patiently waited for Mr Ridley-Smythe to be ready to leave.

  “Thank you kindly, Your Grace. And if there should be anything that I can help you with in the future, please do not hesitate.” Mr Ridley-Smythe bowed so deeply that Anabelle imagined him grazing his nose along the floorboards.

  Still, she was relieved that her belongings would be taken directly to her room and that the Duke would not see how it was she had fled from her cousin’s house in the middle of the night. The cloth bags made her look very poor indeed and she wondered if the staff of Westward Hall would find anything in that to gossip about.

  But she was poor. She had nothing, not even her sixty pounds a year. It was time to concentrate on the life ahead of her, not mourn the loss of the life she had once had.

  “Miss Brock.” The Duke said the moment they were alone. He sat down again behind his desk, only this time he smiled a little. “It strikes me that you have had rather an eventful morning; probably an eventful night too.” He cleared his throat. “I have arranged with the housekeeper that you may spend today settling in and coming to terms with the layout of the building. Mrs Arklow is a fine woman and she will tend to you very well. You will meet Lucy tomorrow when I have had a little time to prepare her for this change and you have rested and are ready for the challenge ahead.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. That is very kind of you.” She said and finally had to turn her attention upon the top of the mahogany desk.

  His fine hazel eyes were suddenly too much for her, too intense, and she thought that he must surely have decided by now whether or not he could trust her.

  “Do you have any questions before I call for Mrs Arklow?”

  “Not at the moment, Your Grace. Thank you.”

  “Very well.” He said and rose from his seat once again to cross the room and pull one of the bell ropes.

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