Clinton grew sober. “Warwick, ‘twould be best if you did not appear so refined. You might easily make this William Deauveau wary. There’s mud near the tavern entry. Ye need some dirt under your fingernails, at least.”
“Callused and filthy! I will enjoy this,” Justin announced.
Warwick stared at his hands. “There are calluses aplenty on them as it is,” he said.
“Aye,” Clinton agreed, “be grateful for them; were they not there, you’d never pass as a smith.”
Warwick shrugged. “All right; lead me to the mud. Justin, you’ll not be around to see anything. You and Clinton are heading back to court.”
“We are?” Justin asked.
Clinton nodded, watching Warwick, aware already of the workings of his mind. He gazed at Justin then. “We’re to see what there is to discover. Surely someone, somewhere, saw something amiss that day.”
“Don’t go to court, but take rooms in London,” Warwick advised. “I think we need to look among the common folk. Perhaps listen to the gossip in the taverns. Someone might be afraid to step forward.”
“And what of Jake?” Justin asked.
“Jake will stay here, should I need him. He can glean the most from the people.”
“And besides,” Jake added, his wizened gnome’s face crinkling into a smile, “I rather like Molly, meself!”
Laughing, they all linked arms and headed for the mud. Justin seemed most talented at applying it to his brother. No man should go slovenly for such an appointment; he simply should not appear as if he enjoyed bathing and indulged in that habit regularly.
After a time, though, the laughter died again, and Justin tensely queried his brother. “How do you know you’ll earn this fine position? Maybe a number of hearty and better known townsfolk will also be applying.”
“I don’t intend to wait for the interviews; I’ll present myself at Deauveau Place in the morning.” He hesitated. “I can’t wait; I can’t hold my distance any longer. I must be able at least to see her, and see that she moves healthy and well!”
At dinner the following night, Ondine was in a much stronger frame of mind. She had spent the afternoon riding over the snow-covered estate with Raoul. She had been pleasant, and he had not come too near. When they spoke, they talked about things distant: the theater in London, opera, and art. Raoul was an avid admirer of the great painters; he was well read and had a keen eye for talented men and masterpieces.
She had been painstakingly charming and sweet that day, well aware that charming Raoul might be her only hope of salvation if things went too far beyond her control.
Such as being with child!
She lured herself from the thought continually, for there were no answers to the dilemma, but simply more problems. She could not think that she would adore the child, that she would be pathetically eager to lavish upon it all the love she had never been able to give the father. She could not wonder if it would be a husky boy, born with rare golden eyes like his sire, or a wee girl, perhaps, golden blond, lovely, and sweet …
She dared not wonder, even in the depths of her heart, what Warwick would feel. Would he wish her back—should she live to discredit this pair here!—for the sake of a legally born heir? He was ever so possessive a man; lord of his domain! And worse still, perhaps more frightening than even her uncle’s treachery, was a haunting fear that he would be furious that she should have left him so, carrying what was rightfully his. Having stolen gold coins would mean nothing to him; those she had earned. But leaving with flesh and blood, his flesh and blood, an heir …
“Are you ill, Ondine?”
“What? No!” she gasped out, looking from her cousin to her uncle.
“You give no attention to your food,” William commented.
“My sleeplessness last night, I suppose,” she murmured, biting into her fowl. She smiled. “It is delicious, Uncle.”
William wrapped a hand over hers briefly, curiously. “How charming you can be when you so choose, my dear.”
“And I have so chosen, Uncle,” she said softly.
“Umm.” His syllable carried a tone of doubt, but she gazed at Raoul with a smile, and Raoul, it seemed, wanted no doubts.
“What do you think of the new smith?” William asked Raoul.
Raoul thought a moment, his fork delicately poised in midair. “He suffices. Big brute, though, isn’t he?”
“One couldn’t have a weakling for a smith,” William commented, turning to his food. He shrugged. “He’s a surly fellow, it seems. The north country breeds arrogance. He’s powerful, though, with shoulders that do well in a forge. We shall see how he works out.” He gazed at Ondine then, but she did not notice, for this night the fowl was truly tender and delicious, and she was famished. Her sickness had miraculously left her; it was almost like a trick of fate, coming to point out to her what recent circumstances had caused her to ignore.
“Will you play the spinet tonight, as you used to?” Raoul asked her.
“I—” She had thought to escape him early, but she needed to woo Raoul to her confidence, and playing the spinet did not call for much hardship. “If that is what you wish, Raoul,” she finished.
Dinner completed, they entered the ballroom at the left wing of the house, a wonderful vast room with good acoustics. It was chilly here, though, even with a fire raging, for the ceilings were high and the place difficult to heat Ondine played tune after tune, humming at times, singing at others, finding a certain peace in the activity. William sat in a great chair, sipping brandy, quite at home with this pastime that marked him a true gentleman.
Raoul held a glass of port, but did not drink. He stood, leaning slightly against the spinet, and watched her.
This is my home! My heritage! she longed to rage.
But it could only be hers if she eould oust them from it, and that would take time and patience.
At last her uncle stopped her, saying that it had grown too cold for them to remain in the ballroom. He took her arm to lead her from the place. At the foot of the stairs he relinquished her to Raoul.
Raoul made a great display of kissing her hand.
She could not wait to wash it, but smiled and told him sweetly that she would see him on the morrow.
Ah, what glory it was to shut her door upon them! She leaned against it in relief, then started, for she could hear them speaking in low tones just outside in the hallway. She pressed her ear to the door, barely breathing so that she might hear them.
“I tell you, it must be done now!”
“Father! She just comes to trust me, to see my company! If you do such a thing now—”
“Do you want a whore for a wife?”
Raoul laughed bitterly. “If she’s a whore, Father, she might well please me at that. Lady or whore, she is the duchess! Sexual appetite does not change that fact.”
“Well, I would like to know!” William said stubbornly. “If she’s been off with other men—of what caliber we’ve no idea!— I’ll be damned if she’ll stride about this place with her cloak of virtue! I tell you, I intend to send for a physician now, to solve this thing one way or the other.”
“Father! I am the one to wed her!”
“Then discover something of her, or I shall see to it myself. I give you a few days time and that is all.”
Raoul replied, but Ondine could not hear him, for the two men walked away. Worried, she walked into her room, tapping her finger against her chin in vexation. What was she to do now?
Raoul … he was her only hope. Should she throw herself at his feet in some wild scheme, praying that he could stave off his father?
She started, certain that she had heard some sound from the balcony. She moved there, brows knit, and saw that the doors were not fully shut. She stared outside, then shivered, certain that she saw a tall and muscular man below, leaning against an oak. She came nearer, but the figure turned and disappeared.
Wary, she closed the balcony doors against the cold of the night. Aye, would
that be fate, ironic fate, if some petty thief should come and slay her in her sleep!
She turned about, ready to prepare for bed, aware that she badly needed rest. Tomorrow morning she planned to sneak into her uncle’s chambers while he attended to plaintiffs in his office. It would be dangerous, and she would need to take grave care. She must not be skittish and tired.
Yet even as she lay down in her bed with a heavy covering about her, she shivered.
She thought that she would rather some brute strangle her for her jewels, or William discover her searching his chambers, than that Warwick should find she had left him carrying his child!
Nay, he would not even want the baby.
He had announced that he would send her to the Colonies.
“Oh, dear Lord!” she whispered in a weak little prayer, then grew impatient with herself and tossed about. She must worry about this dilemma later; she could not think on it now. She had to get into her uncle’s chambers, she had to think of some story to tell Raoul, and, oh, dearest God, what on earth was that going to be? Think, think, don’t worry. Warwick was miles and miles away, not here to chastise her, not here to hold her …
He was part of another life.
* * *
As several more days went by, Ondine decided that Berta was the least of her difficulties. She would come in with tea in the morning, having learned that Ondine loved to read while she sipped it. She would help her dress* Berta choosing the gown. She would arrange her hair, which was not so terrible a displeasure, but rather an easy thing, then depart. Ondine would wander down the stairs, breakfast with her uncle and Raoul, then wander off so that they might discuss business.
She had to pretend a great disinterest in the estate, lest they worry she should expect to manage her own domain!
But she was glad of that, for one morning when they retreated to the office, she pretended to return to her rooms after agreeing to bundle warmly and meet Raoul at the stables in an hour.
There was no one to disturb her when she sauntered past her own door and through her uncle’s. Once there, she had to pause; these had been her father’s rooms, and once, long ago, her mother’s. The desk was her father’s, the Van Dycks were her father’s, the great claw-footed Italian bed was her father’s. Everything was her father’s, taken over by this horrid—pretender!
She couldn’t let the misery dwell in her. With a single deep breath she moved into the room, reminding herself that she must listen carefully.
She did, pausing every few minutes as she searched the desk, the shelving, the fireplace, the drawers, the trunks, the wardrobes. Nothing, nothing came to light, and once again she felt like weeping.
A clock chimed from below, and she realized that her time was up. Wearily she decided that she must go through everything again; she had been too hasty with the desk.
She opened the door a crack, checked the hallway for servants, and slipped out. She was one step away from the door when Berta, puffing, made an appearance at the top of the stairs.
“Where have you been, Duchess? I pounded upon your door for the last hour!”
Ondine made a great pretense of yawning. “Did you? Perhaps I slept. I’m surprised you didn’t just enter.”
Berta lowered her eyes. “I respect your privacy, madam!”.
Ah, like hell you do! Ondine thought, yet she was filled with a certain elation, for she was certain Raoul had ordered that she was not to be disturbed at rest.
She smiled radiantly. “Berta, would you run for my cloak, please? The silver fox. I’m to meet Raoul, and that is so very warm against the cold.”
Sullenly, perhaps suspiciously, Berta went to obey her. Ondine waited, continued to smile as the woman slipped the cloak about her, then waved a hand in dismissal. “Thank you, Berta! Oh, do please keep my fire burning warmly. I’d not like a chill room for a bath!”
The stables were not far from the house, but still she felt the chill of the cold as she approached them. Snow crunched beneath her feet, and she pulled the silver fur tightly to her throat.
Raoul was outside, awaiting her impatiently. As she reached him he clutched both her hands and kissed them fervently, then frowned.
“You are not dressed to ride.”
“I thought it a little cold,” she told him. “Raoul, I need to speak with you.”
“We’ll go back to the house.”
“Alone.”
” ‘Tis chilly here,” he said, then mused aloud, “ah, there is a shelter behind the smith’s, a buffet from the wind. And the heat from the forge will warm us.”
“Lovely,” Ondine said.
Together they scampered past the stables to the next long building. Behind it they came to an overhang, and there was even a bench beneath it where the smiths could come—away from the heat—to rest a moment from vigorous toil. A door was open behind them, sending out blessed waves of heat.
Still, Ondine was at a loss. Once she started this speech, she knew she must complete it, and complete it well. She did not dare be squeamish!
“Raoul…” she whispered painfully, taking his hand into hers and delicately drawing lines over the slim blue veins on the back of it. “Oh, Raoul …”
“What is it?” he cried to her, turning to see the very real distress in her eyes. He took both her hands in his, holding them tightly as he spoke earnestly. “Ondine … I’ve threatened you only because I must! But I have coveted you forever, my beauty, and will be your husband. If you’ve trouble, you must tell me!”
“Oh!” she cried, and managed to squeeze a tear onto her cheeks. “It’s your father, Raoul, if he knows—”
“Forget Father!” Raoul said heatedly. “You will be my wife; the duchess; I will be the duke—not Father! Tell me, tell me anything, and I will protect you!”
“Would that you could!” she whispered. It was not so difficult to speak; she was merely acting again, and a good performance created its own satisfaction and reward.
“Do you doubt me?” he swore hoarsely. “Ondine, if only you cared …”
She took it a step further, elegantly sliding to her knees at his feet, allowing the silver hood to fall back as she faced him.
“I do, Raoul, oh, I do! I don’t know why I ever ran! I still need to know you … but I am so certain that we can be happy together … could have been happy together.”
“Could have! Come, Ondine, off your knees, into my arms!” He put his arm about her, drawing her to him. He attempted nothing like his brutal, disgusting kiss, and so Ondine rested there, smiling a bit secretively, since he could no longer see her eyes or lips.
“What is this ‘could have’! There is nothing, nothing that will keep me from you!”
“But there might well be, Raoul!” she wailed. “I lied to you, Raoul. You see, my fear is not for my life, but for my immortal soul!”
“What is this nonsense?”
“I do not really know, yet I’m afraid! Raoul, when I ran from here, I hid in the forest. There was a man there who helped me, and I married him. At least, I think it was legal. But then, I left him. I ran, for I realized that he was crude, nothing but a lout of a peasant. But if he still lives, Raoul, then I cannot marry again. Not unless he can be found; not unless—he dies, or the marriage is annulled. We must find him to do that, Raoul.”
Raoul jumped to his feet in a sudden fury, turning to stare at her. “Then you are no innocent! Yet you refuse me—”
“Nay!” she cried in her most pathetic voice. “It is not you I refuse. Oh, Raoul, you know that isn’t so, please, know it! But my soul, Raoul, he must be found!” She bit her lip, amazed that she could make her eyes glitter with tears. “Raoul!” she whispered brokenly, and he was back beside her. “Your father intends to bring a physician. He’ll part us then! I’ll never be able to love you!”
“Love me now!”
“Oh, that I could! But my soul, Raoul!”
“Damn your soul!”
“Ah, my life I could damn! But not my chances for eternit
y!”
“Oh, God!” Raoul swore, clenching his fists.
Neither of them noticed that a tense and haggard face, kept barely in restraint, gazed upon them from the open doorway of the smith. Fists were clenched more tightly than Raoul’s, eyes blazed a fury that well cautioned of eternal damnation.
Barely, barely did Warwick hold his temper. Barely, barely was he able to keep himself from reaching out and wrenching her to his side, slaying Raoul with a single blow from his hammer.
Wait, dear God, patience! he warned himself.
But patience came hard as he gazed upon her, a thing of molten beauty, fire and ice, in her silver fox.
He forced himself to breathe deeply, to loosen his hold upon the hammer.
Lean back, my friend, he cautioned, enjoy the show. Act Two would be his, and it would come very soon.
Raoul next fell to his knees at Ondine’s feet. “I swear, I’ll find this man! And my father will not touch you, that I swear, too. Just keep silent for now, and trust in me.”
“As you say, Raoul.” Smiling, she smoothed back his hair. Then she shivered, and he suggested they return to the house. Hand in hand, they walked back through the snow.
Ondine was so elated and confident that the rest of the day went very well indeed. She called Berta in early so that she could wash her hair and dry it by the fire. Berta chose the most daring of her gowns, one with a ludicrously low bodice, yet Ondine demurely slipped into it without a word.
For the moment it was wise to keep Raoul panting. She could, in fact, almost feel pity for him. He was so weak against her will.
Yet he was weak in the hands of others, too; that above all had to be remembered.
Still …
Ah, it was so much easier to go down to dinner that night. It was easy to smile to welcoming comments, easy to consume her meal with relish, easy, even, to meet RaouFs gaze across the table, to blush and allow her own gaze to fall, then meet his once again.
Even William seemed disarmed that night, glad of the camaraderie between the two. She played the spinet again, shared brandy in the study, and most blushingly accepted Raoul’s kiss on her cheek when she mounted the stairway.
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