The Duchess and the Dragon

by Jamie Carie

  She stared out the window at the now-familiar streets, the shops and houses, as they crossed London, a city she had never dreamed she would ever see.

  “Why me?” she whispered aloud. She talked to God often these days, almost exclusively. She sought Him as she had never known she could, and she knew deep within her one thing: She must fight for Drake’s life. It was her destiny to be his help and his hope . . . his petit chevalier, as he’d called her so long ago. If she never did another thing for him for the rest of her days, she would know that she had carried out her mission on earth concerning Drake Weston.

  They swung up to the entrance where the guards tipped their tall hats at her with something like respect from their stolid posture. She nodded at them, no longer fearful in the familiarity of such routine.

  The anteroom was also well-known, now crowded with members of the ton. Here, too, Serena rarely found a friendly face or heard an encouraging word. They all seemed hungry for the downfall of one of England’s greatest. Serena knew they hated what Drake had done, making them believe he was someone worthy of their respect because he held the title of duke. She knew they remembered how they had acquiesced to him and could only imagine how bitter that memory must be now. They’d bent their frame to an illegitimate son.

  Albert and a friend or two of Drake’s were sometimes present to lend her support, but as she looked around she realized none were present today.

  That suited Serena’s mood. Today she felt the stirrings of a battle within her. Her eyes swept over the people of the room, flashing in her conviction, silencing a few and challenging others. With regal ease—learned from Drake, yes, but rooted more in the rightness of her mission—she approached the king’s inner chamber.

  “I would request audience with the king.” She stated it in a firm voice to the standing guard, ignoring the vicious chuckles in the background.

  He nodded, as he had nodded to her every day. “Yes, my lady.”

  She wandered away from the door, toward a window alcove. The request could take some time to issue, so she sat on a cushion and closed her eyes, blocking the room and focusing her attention on the only other thing that mattered these days: her baby. As she thought of the babe inside her, she placed one hand on the small mound hidden beneath her voluminous skirt, drawing comfort and strength. The warm sunlight filtered through the tall window at her back, warming her with its intensity, relaxing her with its heat. Suddenly, she felt movement. A fluttering on the inside of her like a leaping heart, but lower, deep in her belly. She smiled with the joy of it. She had never felt the babe move before.

  “Something funny, Serena?”

  The voice cut into her dream world, and her eyes fluttered open and focused on Lady Chamberlain’s smirking face.

  Serena dropped her hand, not wanting to reveal her pregnancy. Drake had told the king of their situation, but she did not think the entire court had learned of it. Just as well. She could withstand their scorn but didn’t want any of it to sully their child.

  When she didn’t immediately answer, Lady Chamberlain lifted her chin. “I would not think you would have anything to smile about, my dear. Such a tragedy your life has turned out to be.”

  Serena didn’t want to use any of her resources crossing verbal swords with this woman and so only nodded. “As you say,” she returned with gentle dignity, borrowing the phrase from her husband.

  The woman huffed and, thankfully, strode away.

  A commotion at the door gained the crowd’s attention. Voices could be heard inside the king’s chamber. The guard searched for and found Serena’s gaze. With a hand he beckoned her forward.

  “The king will see you now,” he murmured when she reached him. She could feel those behind her straining to hear every word.

  “Very good.” She gave a confident nod, then swept into the chamber, a richly appointed room that she had never been allowed to see before. As she did so, the strange, confident fight stirred within her.

  The king sat on a raised dais, upon a throne of gold. The chair beside him was empty, but the king’s advisors and attendants stood about him in differing postures. Serena approached the throne and immediately sank into a perfect curtsy. She waited, as she had been taught, for the king’s permission to rise.

  When it came, she stood silent while the king studied her. She knew she looked fine, being dressed every morning in the elaborate manner of full-court dress. She was accustomed to the styles now and felt more natural in them.

  “You are a most persistent wench.”

  Serena dipped her head at the king’s forceful comment. “My cause is great, Your Highness.”

  “Well, I can see why he married you. The talk of your beauty was not exaggerated.”

  He seemed to be talking to himself in the matter and Serena remained perfectly still.

  “I suppose you have come to beg for your husband’s life, eh?”

  Serena again nodded. “With thy permission, I would like to put the begging into words, sire.”

  He chuckled and waved his hand at her. “Yes, yes, go on.”

  She had practiced what she would say, but as she opened her mouth, new words sprang to life. “When I first met Drake Weston, he was not a duke. He was barely alive and a haunted man. I did not understand at the time the demons he fought, but in the time since, I have become intimately acquainted with those demons. They are the ones who say a man’s worth is based on the status of his birth, not his character or being one of God’s creation. Drake suffered from the belief that without his position in society, he was as nothing.”

  She took a breath. “Sire, I have not known nobles and kings before now, but I have known noble men. My father is one such man, and even though he is to the world a silversmith, I must tell thee that there is no other man on earth that I would value as highly as a worthy man and friend.” She allowed a little smile, then paused. The king smiled back, though whether from being drawn into her words or from the shock of them she didn’t know. Still the action bolstered her courage.

  She sank to her knees. “My husband, Drake Weston, may no longer be a duke, a member of nobility by birth, but please hear me say that through his trials he has faced his demons and become a noble man. Sire, I plead mercy on his behalf. Please spare his life.”

  The king studied her, his face stern. “As you have so little admiration for the nobility, I assume you plead only for his life.”

  “Yes.”

  He paused, steepling his hands to his chin, and then smiled, a mischievous light in his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he nodded to himself. “Lady Weston, you have suffered much through this ordeal. I understand he lied to you, and you only recently learned of this will and the plot to outmaneuver it—” the king waved his hand in circles—“etcetera, etcetera.” He paused, letting the moment loom over them. “If the choice were yours, what punishment would you give your husband?”

  Serena paused, hearing the suspended breath in the room. She knew that to all present she was only a commoner. What the king had just asked was unheard of. She opened her mouth to answer as she knew Drake would want her to answer, taking full advantage of the opportunity for reinstatement, and then found she could not say what was not in her heart.

  “I wish to live in Bristol, by the sea, as it reminds me of my home in Philadelphia. I wish to raise our children together, near their grandfather, whom I have grown to love and respect. I wish my husband to do what he has told me is now in his heart: to help the miners and their children and bring reform to laws that allow such innocents to work in appalling conditions. I would not ask for titles or wealth, sire, just the opportunity to live out our lives together.”

  There was a flutter of activity and excited voices when she ended her impassioned speech, but the king silenced all with a raised hand. His eyes seemed to pierce into her, seeking to burn away any untruth.

  “And do you think this would be Drake’s request, if given the choice?

  Serena couldn’t lie. “Nay, sire. I think he m
ight prefer death to such a quiet life as I’ve described.”

  The king laughed again, long and loud. Waving over a tall man in a green velvet costume, he commanded. “See that it is done exactly as Mrs. Weston requested. I have a feeling she is aright, and this will be more of a punishment than death.” With that he dismissed her.

  Serena rose and walked out of the palace for the last time, slightly stunned. And confused. Had she just gained an enormous triumph . . . or a life sentence for a husband she was no longer certain she knew.

  SERENA HAD RUN to the townhouse window every time she heard a carriage clatter by, hoping it was Drake’s. They had told her he was to be released straightaway, that he could return to her, a husband reclaimed. But as the shadows grew deeper in the room, her eyelids fluttered closed.

  She jerked awake at the creaking of the front door. “Drake?” She rushed into the foyer.

  Then into his arms.

  Serena broke into sobs, her shoulders shaking while he crushed her to him. She could feel his tears dripping into her hair.

  “Oh, Serena.” He cupped her face with his palms.

  She looked up into his eyes, those blue eyes that she hoped so long ago would wake up and look at her just so.

  Just as they looked at her now. “You saved me. Once again.” He laughed a little, the crinkles around his eyes deeper, his face thinner.

  “No. God saved thee.”

  Drake looked to the ceiling and then back into her eyes. “Yes. But you helped Him.”

  They walked into the sitting room, hand in hand, lingering, touching, making it real that they were together again.

  “Was it terrible?” She sat down close to him.

  “The image of your face kept me sane. I thought of you when I couldn’t bear it.” He paused. “And I prayed. I prayed constantly.”

  She could see it in him, a strong rooting having taken place.

  “So,“ he studied her, “we will live in Bristol?”

  “Art thou disappointed? I could have asked for anything, but I found only one thing in my heart.”

  “No. I am thankful to be alive, with you in my arms again. Nothing else matters.”

  Serena hoped that would remain true when the shock of being set free wore away. And when she told him what else was in her heart: that she was not ready to be his wife in truth yet. That she needed time to heal, to trust again.

  “Drake . . .”

  Alarm rose in his eyes at her tone.

  She breathed deep, praying for the words. “I need time.”

  “Time for what, sweetest?”

  “Time for all this to settle. For my heart to heal.”

  His brow furrowed, and a glimmer of fear entered his gaze.

  “When we return to Bristol, I am hopeful that thy father will allow me to stay with him for a little while, until I have sorted this out within myself.”

  His eyes widened. “What are you saying, Serena?”

  “Just that . . . I love thee, but I am not ready to live with thee again. Not yet.”

  Anger settled on his brow, but he held his silence.

  Mustering courage, she went on. “I know it will be difficult. For me, too.” She lifted her chin and gave him a melting smile. “But we have dealt with difficult things before. At the end of this, I will know how to truly become thy wife. Please, Drake, I need this time.”

  She could hardly bear his sadness as he turned away from her, and it took all her will to stay seated as he rose and left the room.

  She slept alone that night, wanting so much to go to him, but knowing that she couldn’t let herself. Because more than one night was at stake. Their lives, their happiness . . . it all rested on one thing.

  Serena’s holding to what she knew was right.

  EPILOGUE

  Drake stood on the threshold of his father’s house, a bunch of wildflowers in his hand, the brim of his hat gripped in the other. She had hinted to give him an answer today. It was a question he asked since that first week after being back in Bristol.

  Was she ready to be his wife again?

  His initial response to her demand to live without him had been anger and disbelief. He had thought to convince her otherwise. It hadn’t taken him long, though, to realize how serious she was. After leaving her with his father, whom Drake resented for having urged Serena to follow her heart in this matter, he retired to the lonely, if sometimes crowded, bed of a local inn. With that one decision she turned the tables on their relationship, and they’d begun a lengthy and—if Drake was to be honest—most illuminating courtship.

  He came every Friday, spending the weekend with them after a long work week as a partner in a new bank that he founded. He thrived on the challenges of turning a silversmithing business into a clearinghouse, securities investor, and lender to the community.

  Now he was fast becoming a political voice in the community, having taken up the cause of the miners and child labor. Robbie was his personal assistant, valet, driver, and anything else the lad seemed able to do. He was so eager to learn, his body now healed and filled out with good food, his language taking on Drake’s cultured, clipped tones. The boy was forever making Drake smile or laugh out loud with his quick wit. It was humbling, having Robbie at his side when the boy was not in school—a practice the lad resisted and Drake insisted upon.

  Now, as Drake banged at the door of his father’s home, he smiled. The last year in Bristol had wrought such changes in them all. It had been hard, but well worth it.

  The door opened to reveal his father’s butler. The man rarely remembered who Drake was these days, so Drake reintroduced himself each time he called. “Drake Weston to see Serena.”

  He watched while the man thought through the names and then nodded, his eyes bright with humor for some reason.

  “Into the blue drawing room with you, then,” he intoned, motioning the way to Drake as if he had never stepped foot into the house and didn’t know the way.

  Drake handed over his hat and strode for the door. It was closed. He suddenly felt nervous. What if she rejected him? What if today, when asked the question, she turned him down forever?

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and then stopped. The room was so dark.

  “Surprise!”

  “Happy Birthday!”

  Calls and happy voices rang out toward him. Candles were brought forth, and suddenly the room was ablaze in soft light.

  He turned this way and that, seeing his father, new friends and business associates—and her.

  Serena stood to one side, their three-month-old daughter in her arms, a broad smile making her face glow in the candlelight.

  Today was his birthday. In his eagerness to see her he had forgotten!

  She swept over to him, trading baby Hope for the flowers. “For me?” Her smile deepened and she buried her face into the sweet petals. “So many beautiful colors! I shall paint them tomorrow before they fade.” She had just finished a portrait of Drake cradling Hope in the crook of one arm. It was one of the many paintings she had completed in the last year.

  He shook his head at her. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

  “And why not? ’Tis a special occasion, a birthday.” She winked at him, and he accepted this new, flirtatious side of her with growing amusement. It had been showing itself more often since Hope’s birth.

  His longing for Serena rose until it was almost painful. Blocking it out with a bark of laughter, he stared down at his daughter, kissing the top of her downy blonde hair. “How is my sweet one today?”

  “Smiling all of the time, but she misses you.” Serena had dropped most of the thees and thys from her speech. As she became more of herself, she left anything false behind.

  Drake looked deeply into his wife’s eyes, aware how closely they were being watched. “I hope to remedy that soon.”

  Serena answered back with a knowing smile. “One must never lose hope.”

  THE PARTY LASTED for hours, and while Drake enjoyed himself,
he was glad when the last guest had left. His father, a man he’d grown to love over the past year, had taken the baby upstairs to her cradle.

  He finally had his wife all to himself. “Thank you, Serena. It was so . . . surprising . . . and wonderful.” He stood with his back to her, pouring punch into a small, delicate cup. He felt her come up behind him and press into his back, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against him.

  “You are welcome.” The words were a soft purr—and a shock rushed through his body when he felt her lips at the back of his neck.

  Growling, he turned and swept her into his arms. Bending low, he devoured her mouth. She held nothing back, returning the kiss with equal passion—which spoke well of a year of hard-won trust between them.

  Gasping, she pulled back, laughing up into his eyes. “Are you going to ask me?”

  He was almost afraid. What if this were some cruel setting for his downfall? But no, Serena would never do such a thing. She may not be a Quaker or a duchess, but she was a warm, wonderful woman of many hidden depths and talents and kindnesses. If Drake knew anything about her at all, he knew she would never be cruel.

  He took a deep breath. “Will you come home with me? Be my wife in truth?” He had asked it before, but this time his eyes filled as if he anticipated her reply. It was in the air—a feeling of triumph—as though he had climbed a mountain and now stood at the summit overlooking a new world.

  “The house is ready?” Her smile teased. “No half-built cabin in the wilderness?”

  Drake laughed, squeezing her tight. “Your palace awaits you. And might I add, it is perfect.” It was. He had overseen every detail of the three-story brick home and was inordinately proud he had earned every cent for it from his own careful investments.

  “Then I think—” she paused, and he could see her battle sudden tears of her own—“that I am ready to love the dragon again.”