The Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  The only answer that came to her was the cry of a circling hawk far above them, soaring on spirals of air.

  Robert squinted against the sun, looking up at it.

  The fields around them waved with wildflowers and the dusty road ahead curved around the water.

  “You didn’t tell me you live in an actual... castle,” Bel said as her wondering stare followed the sweeping blue-gray curtain wall that defended the steep hill crest, about a half mile off.

  Robert looked askance at her, smiling faintly.

  Hawkscliffe Hall had crenellated battlements and high round wall towers at regular intervals and a tall square keep, from which she could not help but imagine ancient archers firing their long bows, knights charging out on their war horses. Yet the whole scene was idyllic, like a daydream.

  The hawk screeched again triumphantly.

  Bel looked up at the majestic bird, shading her eyes with her hand. “It’s beautiful.”

  “They thrive here. I’ll show you the mews, if you like falconry. Come. It’s been ages since I’ve been home.”

  She followed him back to the coach, mystified. In London, he had seemed to her the ultimate man of the world, almighty in his wealth and influence, possessed of smooth cosmopolitan power, a man whose innate finesse and diplomacy paved the way in the world for his high ideals. Yet here, in the home of his ancestors, she could not help but see him as a kind of strong, rugged warrior overlord in the prime of his manhood.

  The castle came complete with dragon, Bel discovered, as once more her path crossed that of the termagant chatelaine, Mrs. Laverty, but this time, she was not about to let the woman intimidate her.

  Inside, Hawkscliffe Hall was a maze of rambling passages and nooks and crannies in which she could well imagine Robert and his siblings had loved to play hide-and-seek when they were children. While Jacinda told her excitedly about their resident ghosts, Robert led her on a tour through the whimsical, strange, unpredictable place.

  Their mother’s gilded, frothy rococo tastes overlaid earlier, darker, and sturdier Jacobean styles, all within a medieval shell.

  Jacinda could barely contain her enthusiasm as she rushed to and fro, touching everything and reacquainting herself with beloved familiar objects in every room. There was a Venetian saloon, a Chinese drawing room, a ballroom and a billiard room that all bore the stamp of the Duchess Georgiana’s Versailles-inspired decor.

  The most recent section of the castle, airy and tastefully redecorated, led back into a much older, dim refectory gallery, with a long somber dining table. The great hall and the tapestry rooms were the oldest of all. Bel could almost imagine Robert’s forebears making their battle plans against the Scottish border clans. Her imagination ran riot as she stared all about her. She wished Papa could have seen the place.

  Attached to the back of the castle was a winter garden with an orangery. Beyond the graceful glass walls lay topiary terraces with a small knot garden in the center. She realized that beyond the gardens, the thousands of acres of sweeping turf and sloping woodlands belonged to Robert, as did the deep indigo lake, inky where it lay in the shadow of the screes.

  They went outside into a graveled courtyard where Robert pointed out the chapel, the servants’ hall, the estate office and carriage house, and the huge stables and mews set farther back.

  Jacinda and Lizzie dashed off to visit their favorite horses while Bel and he strolled back inside.

  “Your home is a marvel, Robert, truly, a wonder. It is like something out of Walter Scott’s tales,” she said, shaking her head in amazement.

  “And you are most welcome here,” he answered softly, lifting her hand to his lips.

  At a footman’s inquiry, he ordered her things to be deposited in the bed chamber adjacent to his own. He delivered this brazen command without blinking an eye. She looked askance at him, startled but happy with his open attitude about their affair. It seemed they were in accord at last—she had abandoned the safety of the courtesan’s prime rule, and he seemed to have finally, genuinely accepted her into his life.

  That night he took her into the state bed where he himself had been conceived and possessed her with a vigor rooted in the strength this land gave to him.

  In the days that followed Bel discovered that even though Robert had been absent for months, he was one of the pillars of local life, called upon almost daily by people who would come from miles around to ask for his advice or assistance. He always made time for them.

  She occupied herself minding the young ladies. They looked up to her, though she was only Robert’s mistress. Their affection and need of her helped her to heal almost as much as Robert’s love. Each sunny afternoon they went vagabonding across the countryside under wide-brimmed bonnets, in search of scenes to sketch.

  Though Jacinda and Lizzie were both nearly grown girls, neither had known their mothers. Bel was touched by their eager need to be loved and their willingness to accept her guidance. On successive days, over tea and cakes, she soon learned that Jacinda was frightened of making her debut, knowing that the Patronesses and their ilk would be watching her with eagle eyes, looking for any sign of her mother’s flagrancy in her behavior.

  Lizzie, in turn, confessed that her status as a penniless ward had long been a great trial to her pride. She worried what would become of her when Jacinda had her Season and married. Moreover, she was hopelessly infatuated with Lord Alec.

  On Monday of their second week in the country, Jacinda promised Bel a magical surprise. “Today I’m going to take you to see the most spectacular place of all. We’ve been saving it for last, haven’t we, Lizzie?”

  The two girls exchanged a look and giggled.

  “Why, what is it?” Bel asked, as she piled their picnic hamper and sketch pads into the arms of their long-suffering footman.

  “Pendragon Castle,” Jacinda announced in a reverent hush. “Many ancient years ago it was the castle of Uther Pendragon—the father of King Arthur!”

  “Oh, Jacinda, you are full of fairy dust.”

  “It’s true! The place is eerie. Some say that the enchanter Merlin is locked up in the great yew tree that stands over the ruins.”

  “Balderdash.”

  “She’s telling the truth, Miss Hamilton, honestly,” Lizzie attested with a solemn, wide-eyed nod.

  “My brothers used to play knights of the Round Table there when they were small,” Jacinda said with a wide smile, then skipped out into the sunshine.

  They set out on foot and met a number of local people along the way—a trio of shepherd children managing their flock, an old peasant driving his cart of chickens to market, and two weathered, capable-looking men, whom Jacinda introduced as the gamekeeper and the land agent. They said they were on their way back to the hall for luncheon.

  Bel looked on with amusement as Jacinda questioned them about the surrounding fields and woodlands with all the seriousness of the rightful lady of the manor. Their eyes twinkling, the two kindly men indulged her, but Bel sensed their manly interest in her, the “governess,” and shied away from it, saying little.

  The sun-bronzed land agent could not praise the duke highly enough for the prosperity he had brought to his tenants by his forward-thinking uses of agricultural improvements. The big, soft-spoken gamekeeper confided that he had been instructed to turn a blind eye to a certain amount of poaching on His Grace’s lands, which had added to Robert’s reputation as a benevolent landlord.

  Finally they parted ways, with the footman trudging behind them, laden down with their supplies. As they approached Wild Boar Fell they spotted a herd of wild ponies drinking at the River Eden. They stopped and watched the ponies in delight until the herd decided their party was not to be trusted and stampeded off over the rise. Exclaiming happily over the unexpected encounter with the fell ponies, they made their way to the looming, craggy ruins of Pendragon Castle.

  Bel stared in fascination at the ancient stone shell of the fortress. A living fragment of a timeworn myth, Pen
dragon Castle stood tall on one side, where a great, blighted tree hung over its ragged pinnacle, but the other half of its ramparts had crumbled away.

  She walked nearer, exploring it while Jacinda ordered the footman to lay out their picnic. Bel could almost imagine a roguish band of boys playing here at being knights of King Arthur’s Round Table. She heard a shuffle of rock behind her and turned to find Lizzie carefully picking her way through the fallen, mossy stones.

  “I was just thinking that I never did hear about the rest of Lady Jacinda’s brothers,” Bel said to the girl. “I only know Hawkscliffe and Lord Alec.”

  “Well, the second-born is Lord Jack, but he is not discussed in good company.” She sneaked a glance over her shoulder. “I’m afraid he is quite the black sheep.”

  “Is he really one of the Gentlemen?” Bel whispered, invoking the euphemism for smugglers.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past him, oh, but he has a good heart, Miss Hamilton.”

  “Why did Lord Jack become a smuggler?”

  Neither of them saw Jacinda hopping over to them from rock to rock, but apparently, she had heard them. “Because he wanted to rebel against Papa for being cruel to him,” she declared. “My papa wasn’t his papa, you see. Only Robert and I are of the true blood. Robert’s the heir, Jack was supposed to have been the spare, and I’m the kiss-and-make-up baby.”

  Bel gasped and Jacinda let out a peal of laughter. “It’s all right. I don’t mind telling you about my family, my dearest Miss Hamilton. You’re one of us now.” She hugged Bel when she reached her side, then laughed and pirouetted on a rock. “Everybody knows my mama had lots of lovers— and so shall I when I’m grown up,” she said defiantly.

  “Jacinda!”

  She shrugged off Bel’s horrified look nonchalantly. “The only one of my brothers that Papa liked was Robert.”

  Bel debated for a moment on lecturing the girl, then decided Jacinda was only testing her for a reaction. “It’s not unusual for a man to lavish all his attention on his heir and overlook the others.”

  “Papa died just before I was born, so I wouldn’t know what his reasons were, but you must admit it wasn’t very nice of him. All I know is that one day Jack got fed up with it, dropped out of Oxford, and went to sea. After Jack are our identical twins, Damien and Lucien.”

  “They’re unbearably handsome,” Lizzie whispered.

  “Damien is a colonel in the Infantry and a very great war hero, I don’t mind telling you,” Jacinda said proudly. “He once took a French eagle in battle. The officers in his regiment had a copy of it made for him and it hangs in Knight House.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ve seen it,” Bel said, mystified. “And what of Lucien?”

  “We’re not exactly supposed to know where he is,” Lizzie started.

  “But now that the war is over, I’m sure it doesn’t signify anymore if we tell you!” Jacinda looked at Bel with a streak of mischief in her grin. “Lucien’s in Paris. He’s a spy!”

  “Observing officer,” Lizzie corrected, but Jacinda snorted at the polite term.

  “A spy, really?” Bel asked in amazement.

  “Yes, but you must never tell a soul. We’re all supposed to think he’s on an archaeological dig in Egypt for the Royal Society.”

  “Why are we supposed to think that?”

  “As an explanation for his absences from England and the main body of the army. Poor Lucien, I think he really would have preferred to be an archaeologist, but duty called. He tried the army at first with Damien—they asked him to design weapons and work with the military engineers—but he was quite perfectly miserable. He hated taking orders.”

  “Lord Lucien is a scientific gentleman, Miss Hamilton,” Lizzie stated knowingly. “Everyone says he’s a genius.”

  “If you say so, Lizzie. Lord knows I can never comprehend a word he says. I’m hungry,” Jacinda suddenly whined.

  “Then let’s have our feast,” Bel said with a bright smile, still fascinated by the exotic menagerie of Knight brothers, but uneasy at Jacinda’s brazen words about taking lovers when she was grown up. Even if the girl had only said it in an adolescent attempt to be shocking, it did not bode well.

  As they sat down to a repast of sliced ham, cheese, and fruit, Bel passed a searching glance over Jacinda’s pert, elfin features. “Tell me about your mother, Jacinda. Do you remember her?”

  “Some. She was ever so beautiful and clever and fearless,” she said, looking away wistfully toward the babbling river. “Everyone was jealous of her, that’s why people hated her—because her spirit was too big for the little box the world would put her in.”

  Lizzie looked uneasily at Bel.

  “Robert is ashamed of our mother, but only because Papa deliberately turned him against her.”

  Bel knit her brow. “Is this true?”

  “Alec says it is,” Jacinda said, her wide, dark eyes unusually somber. “Robert won’t even let me ask him questions about Mama, though he’s the eldest and knew her best. It’s not fair. People talk about her lovers and her salons and her scandals, but did you ever hear of how she died, Miss Hamilton?”

  Bel shook her head, not certain she could bear it. There was something so grim in the girl’s fresh, lovely face.

  “Our mama’s involvement with the French émigrés began at the time of the Terror. She received a plea from her bosom friend, the Viscomtesse de Turenne, with whom she’d studied at the Sorbonne. The lady begged Mama to take her children and get them out of France—her husband, the Viscount, had already been killed by a mob. Risking her life, Mama went straightaway to Paris and from then on became involved in helping the children of the aristocrats escape to England. Over the years that followed, she made several trips back to France, bringing more of the nobles’ children to safety each time. Though the Jacobins finally put away their guillotine, émigrés were still considered traitors to France and aiding their escape was illegal. Mama was arrested in the fall of 1799 in the final months of the Directory. She was charged with being a royalist agent and an English spy and then taken before the firing squad and shot.”

  Bel stared at her. “It’s true,” Lizzie murmured with a grave nod.

  Bel couldn’t seem to absorb it. For several moments no one spoke. This was the woman of whom Robert was ashamed?

  “Jacinda,” Bel said gently at length, “your mother was a true lioness. I never heard of anyone so brave. I know you want to be like her, but for her sake, I hope that you will try with all your might to follow the rules of decorum, at least until you are married, because in truth, my dear, it’s very painful when the whole world disapproves of you. I feel she would want me to warn you of that. I don’t want to see you hurt, and I also hope you’ll remember that if you get into a scrape with a young man, it may well mean that one of your brothers will have to duel to defend your honor. Sweetheart, to see someone you love put his life at stake for some foolish mistake of you own—that is a very dark thing indeed. Take it from me.”

  This, Bel saw, sank in. Jacinda stared at her and nodded, wide-eyed. Abandoning such grim topics, they finished their picnic and then sat for a while, sketching the ruins of Pendragon Castle with the tree hanging over and the river snaking by. Bel was drowsy with relaxation by the time they gathered their things and trudged back toward Hawkscliffe Hall.

  She was lulled by the twittering of the thrushes in the field, when suddenly she heard hoofbeats drumming down the road. The girls and she turned, while the footman got out of the way of an open landau drawn by a team of grays.

  “Oh, Lord,” Jacinda groaned under her breath. “It’s Lady Borrowdale and the milksop sisters.”

  “Jacinda!” Lizzie scolded, fighting a smile.

  “Who is it?”

  “The Marchioness of Borrowdale, our most bothersome neighbor. She’s determined to snare a couple of my brothers for her awful daughters. Poor Robert. He bears the brunt of it.”

  Bel heard this and stiffened as the liveried driver pulled the team. />
  At once a large matron in a plumed hat leaned out of the carriage and called in a thunderous voice, “Yoo hoo! Lady Jacinda! Hallo! Hallo!”

  Jacinda heaved a sigh. Lizzie followed her over to the carriage to greet their neighbors.

  “We were just coming to call on you, my dear! How lovely you look! Why, you are nearly full grown!”

  “Thank you, your ladyship,” Jacinda said in a long-suffering tone.

  “Miss Carlisle,” said the marchioness in begrudging acknowledgment of Lizzie.

  “Lady Borrowdale. Lady Meredith, Lady Anne, how nice to see you,” Lizzie replied obediently, offering them a small curtsy.

  With an air of brisk self-importance Lady Borrowdale turned back to Jacinda and tried to start an exchange of pleasantries between her and her two daughters.

  Bel shook her head to herself. She could spot a matchmaking Society mama at twenty paces. This was without doubt the most unpleasant aspect of her existence as an outsider. Every marriageable daughter of the northern nobility likely burned with ambition to become Robert’s duchess, and there was not a thing she could do about it.

  He had kept their arrival quiet and had simply gone about his business, but word had obviously spread that one of the most eligible bachelors in England was at home. Bel had the dismal feeling that this trio was just the beginning. Fortunately there was no way either of these pasty-faced girls could pose any threat to her place in Robert’s heart. With tense, unpleasant expressions, the girls showed no glimmer of wit, sympathy, or amusing conversation to make up for their lack of looks.

  They just sat there in the landau across from their overbearing mama, sullen, staring at Jacinda as though they despised her for her beauty and spirit and fire. One had a weak chin and lackluster eyes; the other had a pointy nose and looked, in all, like a sly little baggage.

  “And who,” the woman warbled, eyeing Bel mistrustfully, “is this?”

  Having been singled out, Bel approached cautiously, wondering what sort of wicked rejoinder Harriette Wilson would have had for the marchioness of Borrowdale.