At the chapel, the Duke actually joined us for the entire service! Afterward, he spoke with the rector for several moments before offering me his arm again. He then turned to Mrs. Kirke.
"Mr. Adamson has informed me that the services in the village will conclude after we have finished our luncheon, Mrs. Kirke. We shall hopefully not be in the way if we call on your son and his family at that time." Mrs. Kirke stared at him in amazement, along with Papa and the other servants. I found myself trying to suppress a smile.
Our visit to the village was most interesting. Eliza Kirke's expression on seeing the Duke of Stirling at her door was truly a sight to behold: equal parts astonishment and disbelief. James was also surprised, although he managed to hide it better. As Papa had come with us, I was able to cover for everyone by making introductions. Eventually we settled around the fire and Eliza brought out tea. It was quite a sight to see the Duke in all of his brooding refinement, sitting in the faded armchair and looking so very uncertain of himself. Again I found myself wanting to smile, especially when the Kirke children came in. The older two seemed a little awed at the magnificence of their visitor, but the younger ones did not care who was in the room. At one moment, when the others were discussing the recent bad weather we have been experiencing, I noticed the baby of the family had toddled over to the Duke. She reached out and placed both of her hands on his knee for balance. The Duke's posture stiffened slightly, as though he was uncertain what to do. Then slowly, as if the movement was instinctive but long forgotten, he moved his hand and gently placed it on the child's head. The baby was busy playing with the button on the cuff of his breeches and did not notice, but I saw everything.
After we finished our tea, Papa expressed an interest in visiting the village. Naturally Mrs. Kirke asked to be excused from the excursion so that she could enjoy more time with her family. James Kirke offered to join us; the Duke said nothing. No one else seemed to notice his silence, but I glanced at him and saw that his expression had darkened. At first I could not think why this would be, until I recalled my first visit to the village and the shopkeepers’ reaction to any mention of the Duke. It seemed the feeling of enmity was mutual.
If we did go into the village, courtesy would require the Duke to accompany us, regardless of his reluctance. Not wishing to put him in an uncomfortable position, I tried to find a way to dissuade Papa without seeming too obvious. "I am certain you would much rather visit with your mother, Mr. Kirke. We would not wish to inconvenience you. We are perfectly capable of going on by ourselves, or we may come tomorrow."
"No Miss, I would not ask you to walk about without help, injured and all. It would not be proper."
Before I could think of another excuse, the Duke spoke. "As to that, I think that between Mr. Copley and myself, Miss Copley should not require more assistance." His voice startled me, for he had not said much during the visit. In truth, I am always startled when he speaks, perhaps because I do not expect it. He has quite a low, resonant sound that seems to carry even without being loud. You would likely be most impressed; I know you have always appreciated lower voices. Until I met the Duke I never understood why, but I believe I now understand the appeal. There is something warm about a deep voice that is pleasant to the ear. If a mountain had a voice, it might sound a bit like the Duke.
But I am rambling now and forgetting my story. Papa agreed heartily that James should not worry about us, and that a little exploring would do him good after being ill for so long. With that we rose and donned our outer layers. The Duke had helped me to my feet again, and I took advantage of his closeness to speak. "You need not join us in the village if it will be distressing to you. My ankle is quite recovered enough for Papa to help me. I would not want to cause you any discomfort." The Duke did not respond immediately, just looked down on me with an intensity that was familiar, if still incomprehensible.
"You are very kind," he said at last, "but you need not worry. I think the villagers and I have been discomfited by one another long enough."
"Why is—," I began but stopped, remembering my manners before my curiosity could make me appear rude. My face warmed with embarrassment and I looked away. Thankfully the bustle of leaving was enough to keep anyone else from noticing, and soon we were in the carriage and rolling toward the center of town.
We left the carriage near the village square. Once again, the Duke offered me his arm for support. Papa chatted amiably as we strolled along, smiling at the people we passed. I did my best to ignore the obvious staring we received in return. The Duke kept his expression blank, and only spoke when a direct inquiry from Papa made it necessary. But under my hand I could feel the tension running along his arm, and could see the tight set of his jaw when I looked at him.
Looking forward again, I caught sight of a familiar figure: Mr. Scott, the bookseller. “Oh, Papa, there is the gentleman I told you about, the owner of the bookshop,” I said.
“Indeed? I should very much like to speak with him. Lord William, do you think you could provide me with an introduction?”
“Certainly,” the Duke replied. His tone was steady, but it growled so in his chest that I could tell he did not wish to speak to anyone beyond ourselves. To his credit, though, he directed our steps toward the bookshop, where Mr. Scott was engaged in speaking with an elderly gentleman and a boy I took to be the gentleman’s grandson. Mr. Scott was turned away from us, but the boy noticed our approach. His eyes widened as he looked at the Duke, and he reached over to tug on his grandfather’s sleeve. The elderly man broke off his conversation and frowned deeply at us as Mr. Scott turned around. He managed to keep his countenance better than his companions; he excused himself from them and stepped forward to receive us. He looked slightly nervous to me, as though he was uncertain how to proceed.
“Mr. Scott,” the Duke said in his blunt way, inclining his head slightly. “It is some time since we last spoke.”
“Indeed so, Your Grace. It is a pleasure to see you again,” the little man replied, polite but cautious.
The Duke gave a wordless grunt at this, then cleared his throat. “I find that you have already met one of my visitors, but Miss Copley’s father has requested to be introduced to you.” As the Duke continued the introduction and Papa began speaking excitedly with Mr. Scott, I busied myself with discreetly observing the other villagers. Many had stopped and were watching the interaction between the Duke and Mr. Scott, and it was clear the reaction was mixed. Two young men standing by the well were nudging one another in the ribs and seemed somewhat in awe to see the Duke on foot and not wrapped in his usual cloak and low-placed hat. The little lady from the tea shop stood with another lady outside her establishment; both wore expressions of mingled shock and scorn.
Through it all, the Duke kept his eyes focused on the conversation happening before him. Mr. Scott seemed slightly less nervous, though that was most likely due to Papa’s friendly manner. All the same, it was a relief to return to the relative privacy of the carriage. Another brief stop to retrieve Mrs. Kirke (and to arrange another visit for the following Sabbath), and we were on our way back to the castle.
“Your son and his family are a credit to you, Madame,” Papa said politely to Mrs. Kirke as we drove. She thanked him most gratefully; then Papa turned to the Duke. “And Mr. Scott is a most agreeable gentleman. I found him quite knowledgeable on scientific texts, removed though he is from the larger towns and cities. He must be a valuable resource to you, Lord William.”
“He was, once… but it is some years since I have done business with him. He was a great friend of my father’s before he passed.” And with this enigmatic statement, the Duke fell silent and did not speak for the remainder of the journey home.
I find myself feeling sorry for the Duke. The village is technically under his protection, but the people seem angry with him, as though something unforgivable occurred to separate the master from his stewardship. It is not a secret anyone seems willing to divulge, but the results are most unpleasant t
o witness.
20 May
Today I managed to make it downstairs without any assistance. It is a wonderful feeling to have full power over one's own extremities after a lengthy recovery. To celebrate, I proceeded directly to my favorite room in the castle: the Duke's library.
It is a truly beautiful room, located along the south wall of the castle, with windows overlooking the magnificent roses. It is rectangular in shape, running nearly the entire length of the outer wall. On the east end a pair of stone columns and a heavy stone arch support the ceiling and divide a quarter of the room from the rest. It gives one the impression of two rooms having been joined together. Indeed if I were to guess, it seems as though the larger part of the library might once have been a grand dining or ball room that was altered to create more room for the library. As the room is located over the kitchen, it also features fireplaces on the west and east walls. In between are tall shelves that run around the perimeter and in great rows through the whole of the room. Leather armchairs, tables, and carpets help to make the space feel comfortable. A large globe of the earth stands next to one of the windows.
The Duke's collection of books is quite impressive and widely varied. I feel as though I am surrounded by the knowledge of centuries whenever I am there. His interests extend beyond chemical science into every field imaginable: philosophy, history, geography, linguistics, and literature. It would take me more than a lifetime to completely search every volume.
I was in the mood for something entertaining, so I selected a volume of comic plays by Shakespeare and settled into one of the chairs by the fire. All was quiet for a quarter of an hour before I heard the Duke's step in the hall. He entered the library and proceeded straight to one of the shelves containing scientific volumes. His appearance was somewhat unorthodox, for he had removed his coat and rolled the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. My hands lowered to my lap unconsciously as I studied him. He stood with one hand tracing the spines of the books, the other gripping his chin in thought. He did not look angry or disgruntled, even though his brow was contracted. He looked thoughtful, as though trying to solve a difficult problem. The sunlight coming through the windows made his thick hair glow with a slightly ruddy hue. His profile is quite regular, though his jaw will forever be hard in my mind. Suddenly he seemed younger than his five and thirty years, and I realized that I was so accustomed to seeing lines of trouble in his face that I had never seen who he truly was. This was the man my father called Lord William, a man with a real name, not simply a title; a man who enjoyed solving problems and discussing science. A man who did not know how to be himself unless he was truly alone. The sadness of it touched me deeply. How could someone as brilliant as this man lock himself away? What had caused him to become so reclusive and disgruntled? I could no longer imagine that he had always been so, but I could not fathom what might have effected such a drastic change.
The Duke found the volume he had been searching for and removed it from the shelf. Opening the book as though to read, he turned to leave but stopped when he saw me. He nodded slightly, clearly feeling self-conscious about his lack of proper attire. For my part, I became aware of how openly I had been staring at him. I nodded back before hastily returning to my book to hide the furious blush that was warming my cheeks. I did not intend to look at him again, but I could not help glancing back up. He was still standing there, and our eyes met again. Several moments passed with us looking at one another and not speaking. Then the Duke came to some sense of himself and left the room. It was only after he was out of sight that I noticed my pulse was more hurried than it had been.
Eventually I was able to return to my book. I was still reading several hours later when, to my surprise, the Duke returned. He had rectified his wardrobe and now wore a blue coat that made his brown eyes glow with warmth. At his entrance, he came directly toward me and offered an elegant bow (in spite of his brooding presence, he has always been a thoroughly elegant gentleman).
"Miss Copley, I came to apologize for my intrusion on you this morning. Your father and I were in the middle of an experiment in my laboratory, and I needed to retrieve a volume for reference."
"Indeed it was not an intrusion at all," I said truthfully. "I was only enjoying the change of being in a room other than my own chamber or the upstairs sitting room. And I do so love the library. You have a marvelous collection of books."
"It is the work of many generations. My grandfather specialized in collecting the linguistic and geographical works, while my father preferred historical and philosophical texts. The science volumes are largely my own additions."
"My interest is particularly in the literature portion of the collection. Whoever selected those volumes had a refined taste."
The Duke cleared his throat slightly but did not speak, and I suddenly felt foolish. It was quite clear that the wealth of literature was also part of his addition to the collection. The blush I had experienced earlier returned. You see, I had never complimented him before, even indirectly.
"What are you reading?" he asked, turning the subject before I could feel more embarrassed. I lifted the book to show him the cover. He grunted his approval and held out his hand to take the book. I gave it to him and watched as he sat on the chair opposite me, turning the page over as he determined at what place I was in the collection.
"Are you fond of Shakespeare?" I asked to fill the silence.
"Very much, though you may be surprised to hear it."
"Indeed! I cannot think why you should think that," I said, though I was a bit surprised.
The Duke looked at me over the top of the book. "I am fairly confident in saying that an enjoyment of fine literature has not been part of your assessment of my character."
I could not help smiling a little. "Perhaps," I replied, "but even if it was, it is clear I would have to amend my opinion." His mouth twisted up slightly; a rare smile. That small smile made me feel suddenly bold. "Would you read some?" I had an odd desire to hear that rumbling voice repeat the flowing Shakespearian text.
A moment passed while the Duke looked at me with a slightly questioning expression. He looked down at the book in his hand, found a particular passage and began to read. Just as I had been surprised at the gentleness with which he had interacted with the Kirkes’ child, I was surprised now by the way his countenance changed as he read. I saw him again as I had that morning before he noticed me; he seemed younger and more alive than usual. His voice became less rough, and a light slowly came into his eyes which I had never seen before. It was quite the most astonishing and entrancing thing I have ever seen. I sat and listened to him read until we were called for tea.
I have just read over what I have been writing the last few days, and I find that I have been most shamefully rambling about. This certainly comes from being confined to the house so much over the last week. I shall have more sensible things to write after Helen and her family return on Thursday.
25 May
The Potter family arrived yesterday and it was quite a joyful reunion. Between my injury, her journey, and Lieutenant Potter’s recent time in the West Indies there has been much to discuss in the drawing room. Arthur Potter makes an excellent addition to our circle, for he seems to bring the wind and sun with him from the sea whenever he enters a room. Helen cannot seem to keep the smile from her face; it is clear she missed him dreadfully while he was at sea.
Henry and little Arthur have spent the day running about the castle, dragging their father along in their wake as they show him everything they discovered on their last visit. The halls fairly ring with their delighted laughs and calls. Papa is very happy to have the little boys back again (he dearly loves children), and has been eager to encourage their exploits. Even the Duke seems to welcome their return. I did wonder how it would be when he first extended the invitation for them to return to the castle. It had not occurred to me at the time that he might just be fond of noisy children after all.
I must set aside my pen soon; the Duke i
s to join me in the library for our afternoon reading. We seem to have fallen into a habit of reading to one another over the last few days. I find I am quite enjoying the companionship, especially as our taste in books seems to run in a similar vein. Love Papa as I do, he is hopelessly devoted to scientific texts and does not make for the most interesting reading companion.
Your letter from Augsburg arrived while the Duke and I were debating the merits of iambic pentameter in Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I am delighted beyond expression to receive it, for I feared you were enjoying yourself too much to remember your poor, invalid cousin. (Hopefully you know me well enough to recognize when I am teasing you.)
I am overcome with jealousy for your railway journey. It sounds quite thrilling! Perhaps I can persuade Papa to travel by rail when we return to Kent. Your description of the German countryside is utterly charming. How is it that the sight of wildflowers in a field in England is commonplace, while the same scene in Germany becomes the height of picturesque? If you discover the answer, you must tell me. In the meantime, I shall strive not to be too envious of your travels. Write to me again soon!
Love,
Isabella
31 May, 1845
Warnerhaus, 9 Salztorgasse, Vienna
Dear Isabella,
Vienna is utterly delightful in every particular. Every moment of the day is full of some new enchantment to enjoy, and the company of the Warners and their set only adds to my pleasure in being here. Papa shares my enthusiasm; I do believe that if the matter only involved the two of us, he might really consider leaving Kent and settling here instead. I would not complain in the slightest, I assure you.
Every morning begins early with a lovely breakfast; the morning pastries, buttered toast, and chocolate are always divine. Then Papa and I take a stroll through one of the parks or along the Donaukanal that runs close to the Warners’ home. Sometimes we venture to a part of the city we have not yet explored and admire the many grand cathedrals or other sites. The city is quite beautiful. London is dirty in places, and the air is not always very clean, despite the parks. Paris is much the same, although the architecture is grander: the Arc de Triomphe, the Notre Dame cathedral, and the numerous lovely bridges over the river Seine. Comparatively, Vienna is just as grand, but with less in the way of city grime. The parks are all spacious and lovely, and there are many small green places besides. The avenues are broad, and the Austro-Hungarian rulers have spared no expense in erecting the loveliest statues, fountains, and other such things in almost every square of the city.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 15