Once Upon a Duke's Dream

by Ellie St. Clair

  Perhaps, once the killer had been unmasked, he might return to her with true intentions, but, for now, he would keep himself entirely focused on the task at hand. Miss Marriott was a distraction that he could not allow himself to be caught up in. His thoughts were already overrun by her from two dances — this would not do .

  Giving himself a stern talking too, Bradley reminded himself that he needed to focus entirely on Gerard Durand, as well as the two other French gentlemen who would be in residence. He had no idea who the other guests were to be, for Durand had been a little scarce on details, but, for the moment, that did not matter. He would settle himself in, and appear as happy and as unconcerned as any guest might be. However, he would always keep his eyes sharp, his ears listening for any French words that might be spoken. Alastair would be there to help him when it came time to search the man’s home, in the hope that he might find some kind of incriminating evidence. Whether he found anything or not, Bradley was determined to look carefully and methodically, so that he could leave the estate with either an assurance of Durand’s loyalty to the Crown, or evidence of his treason .

  * * *

  T heir arrival went smoothly, with Gerard Durand standing at the front door to welcome them both. The manor was modest but well kept, and Bradley admired the beautiful gardens that began in front and swept around the back of the house. He and Alastair were shown to their rooms, and left for a few hours to rest, with a tray sent to each of them .

  Bradley, having changed and enjoyed a leisurely respite in front of the roaring fire in his charmingly decorated bedchamber, sent both Durand’s maid and his own valet away, telling them that they would not be required again until the morning. Bradley was more than able to look after himself when it came to retiring later that evening, although he could tell that his valet was a little concerned about the state of Bradley’s clothing come the morning .

  Letting his eyes rove around the room, Bradley spotted a small door to the left of the large wardrobe. Wondering if it was his dressing room – although neither his maid nor valet had opened it – he turned the handle, which opened at once. Sticking his head in, he saw a small room with another door just across from him .

  “So it is a dressing room,” he said to himself, wondering why his valet had not seen fit to use it. Perhaps he had simply assumed that the door had been locked. Bradley would have to tell him about it in the morning. However, his gaze was caught by some old trunks in the corner, as well as one large wardrobe. Were there clothes within? Mentally shrugging, Bradley decided that his valet would have to be the one to complete the exploration of the small room, for he quite fancied another of the small cakes waiting for him by the fire .

  He was just about to step back inside, when the door opposite him turned, and, much to his surprise, he found himself staring into the face of a very surprised, and suddenly very embarrassed, Miss Marriott .

  "Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed, her face burning with color. "I am terribly sorry, Your Grace. I did not realize my brother had…." Her hand covered her mouth, her words trailing off .

  Bradley shook his head and tried to smile, wondering what on earth Gerard Durand was playing at, placing him in a room opposite Miss Marriott. He did appreciate the opportunity to see her again. She was wearing a simple blue morning gown, which, along with the braided hair that hung in front of one shoulder, softened her look and heightened the beauty of her face, with its high cheekbones and warm brown eyes .

  “My apologies, Miss Marriott. I am quite sure this door should have been locked and it was my own inquisitiveness that pushed me to open it. I shall ensure not to venture in here for the duration of my stay. Please, forgive me .”

  She shook her head, her hand dropping to her side as she averted her eyes, too embarrassed to look into his face. "Please, do not tell my brother, Your Grace. He will blame the staff and I would hate for them to be punished for what is not their doing ."

  The request had him filled with surprise. She was concerned for the staff, while clearly placing the blame for such a happening at her brother's feet. That was most unusual. "I shall not say anything if you do not wish it," he said, slowly. "But how shall we remedy the situation ?"

  Her eyes met his, opening wide as she realized what she had inadvertently suggested. “I had not meant that we leave the doors unlocked,” she said, in a hoarse voice. “Only that, oh….” Frustrated, she shook her head, her hand curling into a fist. “My stepbrother can, at times, do such things as this on purpose and, should anyone discover it, he will place the blame on my staff and punish them without a moment’s hesitation. I have my own set of house keys below stairs and will ensure your door is locked by this evening .”

  Bradley opened his door a little wider, although he did not step inside. Leaning against the doorframe, he looked at her steadily, hoping his words came across casually. “This is your home, then ?”

  She frowned. “I beg your pardon ?”

  “You said that they were your staff,” he explained, with a soft smile, hoping he might get some more information about Gerard out of her. “I thought this was your brother’s estate .”

  He was surprised at her most unladylike snort of derision, as well as the anger that jumped into her expression .

  “No, Your Grace,” she replied, tersely. “This is my home, not my stepbrother’s. My father’s will made it mine and mine alone.” Her expression took on something of a distant look as she lost herself in memories. “He must have taken a great deal of time to ensure that I was his beneficiary, for I have heard it can be difficult for women to inherit .”

  Bradley smiled at her, thinking that even in her anger she looked quite lovely. The way her eyes flashed added to the intensity of her gaze. “Then your stepbrother is only here until you decide his time is at an end, then?” he asked, softly. “He does not intend to reside here long, I would imagine .”

  Miss Marriott’s eyes jumped back to his and she folded her arms across her chest, looking suddenly wary. “Gerard has lived with me for almost two years,” she said slowly. “He insists he is intent on finding an English wife, and I believe he intends to make this place his home .”

  “His home?” Bradley repeated, his smile gone. “But this is your home, Miss Marriott .”

  She lifted one delicate shoulder but did not say more, though Bradley caught the resolved look on her face. It seemed she had plans of her own, although she was not forthcoming of them .

  “I presume he then must conduct all his affairs from here, then?” Bradley asked, hoping that she would not find his question too impertinent. “Or does he have a place of his own ?”

  Miss Marriott studied him for a moment before answering. "My father's study has now become my stepbrother's," she said, slowly. "However, should you have any questions regarding this place and its profits, I beg you to ask such questions of me rather than Gerard. I keep my own steward, who has been with this house for decades. He is loyal to me, and I know all the goings on of my property." She lifted her chin, as though defying him to think less of her for doing so, but Bradley could only stare at her in admiration. Miss Marriott was an intelligent lady, as well as quick-witted, which only added to his respect for her character .

  “I shall not think you a bluestocking, if that is what you are afraid of, Miss Marriott,” he murmured, feeling a slight stirring in his heart as well as his loins. “Thank you for answering my questions. I hope you do not think me impertinent for doing so .”

  The defiance in her eyes faded away and her arms dropped to her sides once again. “No, not in the least,” she murmured, quietly. “I should return to my room. I look forward to seeing you at dinner .”

  She lingered, not shutting the door as she waited for his response. Bradley smiled at her, enjoying the sight of her standing there. The anger in her eyes had sparked a ripple of warmth in her cheeks, and, were he honest, he found her completely breathtaking. A small strand of da
rk hair was loose from her braid and hung against her cheek. Bradley had to stop himself from leaning forward and brushing it behind her ear, wondering what it might feel like between his fingers. Her skin looked like alabaster, smooth and unblemished, her wide eyes hiding a great many emotions. He wanted to see her smile, unhindered by fear or anxiety, her mouth curving gently. Allowing his eyes to discretely run down the length of her frame, he took in her soft curves and gentle swell of her breasts. What a beauty she was .

  Suddenly aware of his body’s reaction to her, and quite astonished by the swiftness of it, he cleared his throat and gave her a quick bow .

  “Until this evening,” Bradley repeated, waiting until she had closed the door before pushing himself away from the doorframe and shutting his. Leaning against it for a moment, he took a deep breath, finding himself utterly captivated by Miss Marriott .

  “But there is more to Gerard Durand than meets the eye,” he muttered to himself, walking back towards the fire and seating himself in front of it once more. Clearly, he had been given one of the best bedchambers of the home, with its flowing forest green draperies, gold walls, and beautifully painted landscapes that hung around the room. How interesting it was adjoining Miss Marriott’s. “Has Durand taken over Miss Marriott’s home? Her life?” There was certainly some kind of discord in their relationship, shown by the upset and anger in her face when she had explained to Bradley that this was, in fact, her home and not her stepbrother’s .

  “This shall be a very interesting week,” Bradley said aloud, pouring himself a small brandy, as he tried to brush away the thought of Miss Marriott in bed through the unlocked doors, and focus instead on his task at hand. “Yes, indeed. A very interesting week .”

  7

  I sabella found herself once again dressing carefully for dinner the next evening, after spending the day watching the Duke. She had few opportunities to speak with him the past evening, and the men spent most of the day hunting while she entertained the women inside. Tonight she carefully chose a beautiful lavender gown, with cap sleeves and a high waist. Her maid artfully arranged her hair pulled back away from her face, but for a couple of curls to hang down over her sculpted cheekbones .

  She told herself she was being silly. A duke would not be interested in a girl like her, and if he was, it was not anything serious. She may be a bit of fun, but that was it. She was the daughter of a mere viscount, and one that had been scandalized in England. Not only that, her stepbrother was French, and his demeanor cast a pall over the family. Why the Duke had even agreed to come to this house party, she didn’t know, but she continued to tell herself that just because he was here did not mean he had the slightest interest in anything regarding her .

  How awful of Gerand to put the Duke in the adjoining room with the doors unlocked. Isabella kept the room for the lady of the home for herself, but was careful to always lock the door to the master’s suite. What was Gerard playing at? She had been so embarrassed to open the door to find the Duke standing there, and she hoped he didn’t think less of her following the encounter .

  Isabella’s heart fluttered a bit as she stepped into the drawing room. She had taken longer than she had planned on preparing herself, and many of the guests were already inside. She saw Gerard holding court with the Duke, Charles Belrose, and Lady Lydia Fitzgerald. Upon leaving the ball last week, Gerard had invited their hosts to this sudden house party. They had been quite reluctant until they heard the Duke of Carrington was attending. That changed their minds completely, and here they were .

  Lady Lydia was a pretty little thing. Tiny and blonde, she was young but already knew how to charm a gentleman, looking up at the Duke from below long lashes. She pouted at the right moments, smiled when necessary. She may have been young, but she was the type of woman men like the Duke were wont to pursue — pretty, of a good family, with all the right connections. Isabella tried to push down the jealousy that rose to the surface of her mind, concentrating instead on keeping Gerard from causing any further embarrassment to their family as she joined their circle of conversation .

  “Good evening, Miss Marriott,” the Duke greeted her with a warm smile on his face before returning to the conversation at hand. The men were talking war, which made Isabella stiffen. Her stepbrother may have been in England for two years, but she knew that despite his outward appearances and the front he put on for other Englishmen, he was French through and through, supportive of the French Emperor and disdainful of the English. Why he remained here in the country he hated, she would never know .

  “Did you hear the recent news of Wellington’s latest victory?” asked Charles Belrose. “It was in Spain, at Vittoria. He commanded over 80,000 men, taking down the French. He didn’t get Bonaparte though — not yet .”

  The Duke nodded. “He will, though. Bonaparte is sure to make an error at some point that will lead to his capture. He is too arrogant, too self-assured. The time will come .”

  Isabella could see Gerard tense beside her as he struggled not to say anything. He loved the Emperor of France and while he wouldn’t sing his praises in this crowd, he also disliked any ill to be spoken of the man. Please, Gerard, she prayed. Keep your mouth shut .

  “He’s not so bad,” Gerard spoke up, as Isabella sighed to herself. “He’s an excellent strategist, and has won many battles and much land for France, you cannot argue that .”

  “He’s aiming to take over the continent, Durand,” responded the Duke, whose face looked strained. “Is this how all of the French feel ?”

  Gerard bristled, his spine going straight as he realized he had said too much. “I’m not saying he is necessarily in the right in his aims, but he is an intelligent man we should not speak poorly of .”

  The Duke smiled tightly and looked at the women around him. “Perhaps we should save this discussion for after dinner,” he said to Gerard and Lord Belrose. “I don’t suppose the women are much interested .”

  “That is not necessarily the case,” said Isabella. “I have great regard for the Marquess of Wellington. He has a wonderful defensive strategy that has won many battles .”

  She looked around at the way her companions stared at her — particularly Lydia Fitzgerald and her mother, who had since joined them, and her face flushed red. “I — I mean to say —”

  “You are quite correct,” the Duke said to her, the surprise on his face turning into a warm smile that she held close to her heart. “I agree with you, Miss Marriott .”

  She smiled at him in return, her heart beating fast, but she didn’t miss the look the Fitzgerald women sent her way .

  “I heard the Marquess has quite a propensity for women besides his wife,” Lydia Fitzgerald said with her nose in the air, before her mother shushed her. It broke the tension of the group, and Isabella suggested they go into dinner, where the meal thankfully went forward without further talk of French-English relations .

  Isabella, did, however, find herself seated next to Charles Belrose. He continued to bestow upon her a wide grin, though not much else. He had been invited by her brother, of course, and while he attempted to engage Isabella in conversation throughout the first course, their discussions came to a somewhat grinding halt. The man was too overeager to find much to speak about, and Isabella was growing weary of his ongoing attempts at her affections. The man was kind, but vapid, and she was not in the least bit interested in considering him as a potential husband, no matter what her stepbrother wanted .

  Instead, she found her gaze continuing to return to the Duke. He was fairly quiet through the dinner, and instead seemed to be listening intently to the conversations around him. He had seated himself near Gerard, which was quite unusual, but Isabella told herself not to read much into it. She just prayed that her stepbrother wouldn’t say anything to further embarrass her .

  * * *

  D espite what she told herself, Isabella went to bed that night with a song in her heart and dreams of a tall, stoic, dark-haired man dancing in her head. She saw
him not as serious as he always was, but with a smile on his face as he looked down at her. It warmed her heart, and other parts of her that she hadn’t felt before. She woke in a sweat, and yet knowing he was connected to her by just two doorways somehow brought her comfort .

  She chastised herself. She must not be thinking of such a man, one she could never have. Instead, she should be searching for the missing diary. Her grandmother had always loved puzzles and games. Isabella had begun to suspect that the diary was not lost, but rather, that her grandmother had hidden it somewhere specific, where only she could find it. Perhaps it was not in storerooms or trunks or hidden spaces in the house. Could it be somewhere in plain sight? The library? Her rooms ?

  Unable to return to sleep as her mind raced, Isabella got out of bed and began to search around her own room once again. If her grandmother had wanted her to have it — and she really believed she did — then this would have been the ideal room to hide it. She had searched it before, but perhaps the room needed greater inspection. Isabella looked once more between the mattress, behind paintings, and in the dresser, feeling for hidden drawers or recessed areas. She checked the floorboards and looked within some of the books that lined the shelf beside the bed. Nothing. She sighed. It seemed in all aspects of her life, she was continually striving for something that was just out of her grasp .

  She got back in bed and threw herself down on the mattress, flinging her arms behind her in desperation. Would she ever find a way beyond her current state? She just wished she could determine what her next step forward should be .

  * * *

  B radley was growing frustrated. First, with his progress in determining Roger’s murderer. The more he spoke with Durand, Belrose, and Rousseau, the more he determined that Durand seemed the most likely to be the suspect. Belrose was far removed from his French connections, and besides that, he did not seem to be intelligent enough to be any sort of spy, unless he was a talented actor. Rousseau appeared to have remained in England for some time, and in fact brought information to the British. If he was working for the French, he was playing both sides .