I do not believe in ghosts, and yet Falwell Castle is plagued by eerie sounds that cannot be readily explained. Hopefully the mystery will provide a distraction for me should Rotham arrive, as he threatened to do.
—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard
The dull ache in Tess’s heart only intensified two hours later. She was packing her trunks yet again, this time for a much longer journey, when she spied the Devil Duke and his young ward from her bedchamber window. The two were bundled up warmly against the chill, tramping across the immaculate west lawns toward a verge of mostly bare-limbed woodland.
A large pile of autumn leaves awaited them, along with a wheelbarrow full of objects that Tess couldn’t quite make out from such a distance.
Halfway there, Rotham swung Jamie up on his shoulders and carried him the rest of the way, but upon reaching their destination, tossed him gently into the mound of dried leaves. Tess could almost hear the child’s delighted shrieks of laughter as he struggled to extricate himself from the slippery pile. However, she could clearly see Jamie’s happy grins as he ran around wildly, kicking up leaves with his small boots while his guardian inspected the contents of the wheelbarrow.
Eventually Rotham allowed himself to be pulled down into the pile by the joyful child, and they proceeded to roll and wrestle with abandon in the soft bed of leaves. For the life of her, Tess couldn’t look away.
Her gaze remained riveted on the pair, even when they began the serious business of constructing their fort. Apparently a leaf fort entailed making a sort of low tent out of several blankets and wooden staffs, and then covering the tent with leaves and crawling inside, so that only their faces showed.
For one wistful moment as Tess observed their frolics, she had a poignant flash of a possible future with Rotham. She could envision him playing with their own children, lavishing the same heart-melting affection on them—
Crushing the notion, Tess forced herself to turn away. Making a family with Rotham would be impossible when they only had a forced marriage of convenience, and watching him with his young ward was too painful a reminder.
Determinedly, Tess returned to her packing with her maid. Fortunately, she had just heard back from Fanny, who claimed to be thrilled to accompany her to Cornwall, so in a very short while she would make her escape from Bellacourt.
Tess knew without a doubt she had made the right decision to leave this very afternoon. The sooner she put some distance between her and her damnedly endearing husband, the better.
The journey to Cornwall was uneventful, chiefly because it was made in easy stages over three days. Tess’s coachman and footmen took excellent care of her and her fellow passengers, Fanny and Alice. They changed teams at regular intervals and laid over each night at small but comfortable inns along the route.
Thankfully, Tess found her frayed nerves easing the farther they got from Richmond. It was impossible to quell her memories of Rotham and his unforgettable lovemaking, but at least she was not locked up at Bellacourt with him, having to face him over the breakfast table, or worse, sharing a nuptial bed with him.
It was easier also, Tess knew, to defer dealing with her unsettled emotions aroused by Rotham’s adorable little ward, who might very well be his son. She needed time to come to terms with the situation—or at least enough time to discipline her outward demeanor. The last thing in the world she wanted was to make the darling child feel spurned, and Tess feared her distress might convey itself unwittingly to the young boy, no matter how earnestly she tried to conceal her reactions.
She hadn’t had much difficulty persuading Fanny to accompany her to the wilds of Cornwall. The denizens of Falwell Castle had likely never heard of the notorious courtesan, so Fanny’s worry about tarnishing the new Duchess of Rotham’s reputation was not a significant risk. And Fanny relished the opportunity for Basil’s courtship to blossom under more favorable conditions. Thus, she was both anxious and hopeful about Tess’s matchmaking scheme.
Tess was mutually glad for her friend’s support. She disliked taking Dorothy Croft away from her beloved painting. And if Rotham did join them at Falwell as he’d pledged, her sweet, gentle companion would offer her little protection from her irresistible husband. Fanny’s extensive skills and knowledge of men, on the other hand, could be her best defense.
During the first evening of their journey, when she and Fanny dined alone in her hired parlor and Tess confessed what had happened on her wedding night, she received a thoughtful frown from her friend.
“It is unfortunate that you didn’t complete the consummation,” the ever-practical beauty responded. “Now you will continue to fret over what is still to come.”
Yet Fanny heartily approved of Tess leaving Bellacourt and likened her battle with Rotham to military action: Retreating temporarily would provide her the chance to regroup and rearm herself before returning to fight another day.
The temperate weather also helped lift Tess’s spirits. They left behind the cold, dreary dampness of Richmond and found more and more sunshine as they traveled south.
“The warmth is remarkable,” Fanny commented on the second afternoon as she lowered the coach window a few inches to let in the fresh air. “I have never visited Cornwall before, have you?”
“No,” Tess replied. “I have been to Bath and Brighton several times, but never Cornwall. I understand the climate in the lower reaches of Devon and most of Cornwall resembles the Mediterranean more than England. It is balmy enough even in winter that palm trees grow.”
They rode through wooded river country, a lush patchwork of thick forests and verdant valleys. Reportedly, Rotham’s castle was situated partway down the eastern coast, near the small port of Fowey. By noon of the third day, they could smell the salt-fresh scents of the ocean and were occasionally afforded glimpses of vast silvery-blue waters.
Because of the convergence of rivers and creeks, Tess’s coachman, Spruggs, took a circuitous route for a time before making several turns to approach the estate from the south. Then, halting the carriage a few miles from their destination, he pointed out the distant castle above them.
Situated on a low bluff stood an enormous edifice of gray stone, complete with towers and crenellated battlements, set off by a backdrop of dark woods. To the southeast, Falwell boasted a breathtaking view of the sea and overlooked a lovely cove and golden sand beach below.
A bit further up the coast was a headland that formed a small bay. From the coach window, Tess saw a charming fishing village perched on the steep hillside that was crowded with whitewashed, thatched-roofed cottages.
They drove another ten minutes through a hilly woodland park, then along a sweeping gravel drive, before coming to a halt at the front entrance of the castle. The main wing was recessed around a paved courtyard, Tess saw, and flanked by two octagonal towers. The lichen growing on the granite walls gave the gray stone a slightly rose hue. Clearly older than Bellacourt by a century or two, Falwell Castle was not as splendid or impressive, but still striking.
Miles, one of her two strapping footmen, handed the ladies down, while Fletcher—the former pugilist—ran up to the ornate front door to seek admittance. Both servants had shadowed Tess during the journey. And since Rotham knew her coachman and footmen by name, she suspected he’d charged them with closely protecting her. When asked directly, Spruggs had confirmed her suspicions, saying that the duke had ordered them to take special care of her and her friend, Miss Irwin. Once more, Tess didn’t know whether to be piqued or touched by Rotham’s continued interference on her behalf.
She and Fanny stood for a moment, drinking in the magnificent vista. The sparkling blue-gray expanse of ocean seemed to stretch to the ends of the earth. A soft breeze blew from the sea, amazingly warm for early November.
Tess reluctantly turned away when her attention was claimed by the castle’s massive front door opening. Evidently Rotham’s introductory letter had already arrived, for an elderly couple emerged, bowing and beaming.
&nb
sp; They made themselves known as the Hiddlestons, steward and housekeeper for the castle. Both husband and wife were plump and ruddy-cheeked with a lively, informal air that was quite different from the dignified formality shown by the head retainers at Bellacourt.
Mrs. Hiddleston, apparently, was also far more outspoken. She seemed excited to have a new mistress and claimed to have been preparing for the new duchess’s arrival since yesterday.
“Oh, your grace, do forgive us for not greeting you the very instant you arrived,” the woman gushed. “We were polishing the silver to make ready for you. We had such short notice, you know, but we wish to make you welcome. We never expected his grace to wed, to be truthful—” After a warning glance from Hiddleston, his missus clapped a hand over her mouth. “Not that we mind his marrying, certainly, and not that it is our place to judge his affairs.… Listen to me running on so. You must be weary after your long journey and in need of rest and refreshment. If you will come this way, your grace.…”
Tess liked the Hiddlestons at once, she decided as she and Fanny followed them inside and handed over their bonnets and pelisses.
“I fear we have only a small staff serving here,” the housekeeper chatted on. “The new duke never visits this big pile—well, almost never.… Oh, that was not a criticism, my lady, no indeed. I am sure the duke is exceedingly busy. I only meant there is little need for a multitude of servants with no lord or lady in residence. But yesterday I hired some girls and lads from the village to help out during your visit.”
Over the course of the next two hours, Tess and Fanny were served a hearty tea and then given a lengthy tour of the castle. Falwell was originally built in the 1500s, they were told, but refurbished extensively in the middle of the last century by the current duke’s great-grandfather, who added the battlements and the two flanking towers.
The castle supposedly had over twenty bedchambers, as well as a great hall and portrait gallery, with many of the main rooms decorated with tapestries and paintings and even armor and weapons. The towers had several small chambers each, and were four stories high.
“I understand you also have a large dungeon,” Tess prodded for Fanny’s sake when Mrs. Hiddleston ran out of praise for the living quarters. “We would like to inspect it, if you would be so kind.”
The housekeeper first looked surprised, then made a face. “Well, to be truthful, it is more a monstrous wine cellar, my lady. But of course Hiddleston will gladly show it to you, although you may be offended by so much accumulated dirt. We do not go down there much, except on rare occasions. Are you certain you wish to see it?”
“Quite certain. Miss Irwin is a novelist,” Tess explained, “and so has a particular interest in such things as dungeons. She also has an avid interest in ghosts. Is it true that Falwell is haunted? We would enjoy hearing anything you can tell us.”
Both upper servants frowned, before the housekeeper smiled weakly. “Aye, we have a ghost that is said to be the duke who built the towers during the renovations. By all accounts, his grace came to an untimely end when he fell from the west tower, although some say he was pushed.”
“So the Falwell ghost may be the spirit of the current duke’s murdered ancestor?” Fanny interjected.
Mrs. Hiddleston looked to her husband, who had not been given much chance to get in a word edgewise, and then fell oddly silent.
“We have heard some disturbing noises,” Hiddleston answered for her, “since the beginning of summer, but it is only now and then.”
“What sort of noises?” Tess asked.
“Oh, a few bumps and bangs and whatnot—something like the rattle and clank of chains. But it is likely the wind. And in any event, the castle has been silent for the past fortnight at least.”
His wife clearly looked uncomfortable, perhaps even afraid, but she held her tongue.
Deciding not to push, Tess said they would save a tour of the dungeon for the morrow. For now, she thought she should comply with Rotham’s demand that she let him know they had arrived safely.
Thus, she penned a letter to his town house in London and had Hiddleston post her missive in the village of Fowey.
That evening, she and Fanny dined in a cozy parlor rather than the enormous dining room. And when they retired for bed, Tess chose a bedchamber just down the corridor from her friend, saying she wanted to be close to her guest as an excuse to avoid sleeping in the lord’s chambers.
The first two nights, there was no sign or sound of any ghost. During the days Tess and Fanny settled in the library, which had an inspiring view of the sea cove below the castle. While Fanny wrote on her manuscript, Tess saw to her extensive correspondence; she had brought her large case of files pertaining to her charities. Although she had no official role in any of the organizations except that of chief advocate, she wouldn’t shirk her responsibilities simply because she was two hundred miles away.
Nor would she abandon her work merely because she had married into the aristocracy. She’d seen too much poverty and hopelessness to turn a blind eye now. There were still countless families in need, many to the point of desperation. Women and children and elderly parents especially, who were barely surviving after their men were killed or maimed in nearly two decades of war.
Tess also made an effort to learn about her nearest neighbors, particularly those who would expect a formal call from the new duchess. There were several nobles in the district, plus a dozen families who could be considered gentry, but since she was of higher rank now, she would have to initiate any visits.
Her first meeting would be with the local vicar, Tess decided. And she would have Alice accompany her instead of Fanny. For years Tess had futilely battled society’s strictures regarding ladylike conduct, but she had to agree with Fanny’s assessment—that flaunting their friendship could be detrimental to the very causes she was urgently trying to promote. Her neighbors, including perhaps even a man of the church, would likely be appalled to know she was associating with a lightskirt, even a reformed one.
Tess hoped her friend’s prospects for acceptance would improve shortly. If Fanny could marry Basil, she would automatically gain a measure of respectability. Marriage covered up a multitude of sins with the ton, and associating with the Duchess of Rotham would increase her gentility even more.
Beyond wanting to help Fanny, Tess welcomed the challenge of matchmaking for personal reasons. From long experience, she knew that keeping busy was the most effective way to avoid dwelling on her troubles. Unfortunately, her strategy of occupying every waking moment did not seem to work very well with the problem of her marriage. To Tess’s frustration, shutting out her memories of Rotham proved impossible, particularly at night when she lay alone in her bed.
By day, however, her efforts at distraction were more successful. She took long walks with Fanny, strolling along the bluffs and breathing in the marvelous sea air or exploring the surrounding woods that were only now showing significant signs of autumn. They had yet to attempt the steep footpath that led down to the village, but on their other sojourns from the castle, Tess’s footmen always accompanied them while keeping a respectful distance behind.
Tess was also glad to serve as literary advisor to her friend. She had read Fanny’s first manuscript and offered her thoughts then, and was now reading completed pages of the current novel. Usually they spent the afternoons discussing plots and protagonists while taking tea.
The courtesan hoped to become as popular and prolific as Mrs. Ann Radcliffe, Frances Burney, or Regina Maria Roche, who were great favorites with patrons of booksellers and circulating libraries.
“I don’t aspire to be a star in the literary firmament,” Fanny contended, “but only to make a comfortable living.”
Her publisher was the Minerva Press, a printing establishment that had successfully capitalized on the lucrative market for Gothic romances. “Horrid” novels, as they were frequently termed, often featured wicked villains and hapless young damsels chasing each other about gloomy man
sions or drafty castles.
Fanny insisted on holding her characters to a certain standard, however. “It is all well and good to have lovelorn, romantic innocents for my heroines,” she explained, “but I won’t have them swooning at the slightest provocation. They must possess a modicum of wit—at least enough to be instrumental in their own salvation.”
It was a common fallacy that romance novelists could scribble cheap Gothics in their spare time, but having watched Fanny’s labors, Tess knew the process was much more difficult than she’d imagined. Besides, this was only Fanny’s second attempt at fiction, so it was not unreasonable that the manuscript was progressing in fits and starts.
The principal reason, however, was that Fanny had her own distractions to deal with. On the second afternoon at Falwell Castle, she admitted that she had grown too nervous to write much or well. “I cannot stop thinking about what I shall do if Basil comes,” Fanny confided.
“When Basil comes, you mean,” Tess said in a bracing tone. “I have faith that Rotham will get his way and send Basil here to us.”
“But what do I do once he is here? How should I behave? I don’t want to be too forward with him for fear of reminding him of my wicked past.”
Tess smiled teasingly in an effort to reassure her friend. “You conquered the entire London demimonde, Fanny. Surely you can charm one single, eager gentleman. I’ll wager that by this time next week, you will have Basil eating out of your hand. You may very well even be betrothed by then—and you will be, if I have anything to say to the matter.”
Fanny’s expression turned hopeful. “Do you truly think so, Tess?”
“Yes, indeed. You may have more experience in carnal matters than I do, but I know more about matrimony. I have had two proposals of marriage, remember?” Catching herself, Tess gave a soft laugh and wrinkled her nose. “Although the second offer was entirely unwanted … and I suppose I cannot call Rotham’s arrogant declaration that I would have to wed him a true proposal. Nevertheless, you need to quit fretting, dearest Fanny. Your romance with Basil will work out, I am certain of it.”
To Desire a Wicked Duke Page 12