The Duke's Secrets

by Abby Ayles

  Mary stared at her cousin, wide-eyed. “Surely there must be some mistake... why would a Duke have any interest in the daughter of a minor noble? And why would he be so secretive?”

  “I do not understand it myself, but it is very clear that it is he, the recent heir to the Duchy of York.” Antoinette practically swooned. “If you do not wish to have him perhaps I shall persuade my parents to invite him for tea,” she remarked.

  Mary shook her head. “I very much like him, thank you.”

  “More so now than ever, I suppose?” Antoinette hinted in a whisper.

  “I simply cannot believe it!” Mary replied. “Why, if I had known he were a Duke all along I... I am not sure what I would have done but I am certain that I would have done everything better.”

  “Perhaps you ought to ask him yourself, then,” Antoinette said. “During tomorrow's lesson. I am sure he has his reasons.”

  Mary nodded. “That I shall.”

  * * *

  Mary felt her stomach turning as she waited for Mr. Haskett... no, His Grace Duke Christopher Haskett of York, to arrive for their lesson. On the one hand, she was excited and ready to confront the man and persuade him to confess his secret. On the other, she was afraid of being in a position to confront such a high ranking noble, and was not sure of how he would react.

  As the Duke walked in through the door and bowed lightly to her, she curtsied deeply.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Mary said, not looking up from the floor. Now there was no opportunity to pretend she did not know. It felt somewhat wrong to her, to change their relationship so suddenly when it was going so well. But it was also wrong to base a relationship on a lie. He may be happy to court her pretending to be someone else. But she would not play along with his little game.

  He was silent for so long that she stood up straight, blushing slightly awkwardly. “You know?” he finally asked her.

  She nodded. “I do, Your Grace.”

  He sighed and avoided eye contact. “What am I to do now? Who told you? Your mother?”

  Mary shook her head. “I... I discovered it on my own.”

  He sighed again and walked over to the window seats, where he sat down. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Your Grace was being so secretive, I... I could not bear it any longer. I do apologize.” Mary felt a sensation wash over her as though she had done something terribly, horribly wrong.

  “What am I to do now? All that I wanted was to become familiar with you in private, without you knowing my title, was that too much to ask? And stop calling me ‘Your Grace.’ I cannot abide it.” He rested his forehead into his hand and rubbed his temples.

  “Y-You did not wish for me to know? How come?” Mary asked.

  “Why of course I did not want you to know. A young woman such as yourself, daughter to a struggling Lord and a woman who gave up the title of Baroness. Why, when girls like you find out who I am...” Lord Haskett shook his head. “How am I to know what you truly think of me? How am I to know whether you are truly the woman you present yourself as, or a wolf in sheep's clothing, reaching for my title, my wealth and my lands?”

  “You knew me before I knew who you were,” Mary replied.

  “Not well enough. Your attitude has already begun to change and you have barely just discovered my identity. Where is your wit, your burgeoning defiance? If this is how you are today, what will you be tomorrow?” Lord Haskett looked out the window.

  “I suppose you will no longer be courting me,” Mary realized with some dismay.

  “I... I am not sure,” Lord Haskett replied. “I find you a very attractive young woman. And I wished to cultivate your genuine interest and fascination. But, knowing who I am, I cannot be sure if you are interested in my status or my person. To what end would we be courting? To allow you to put on an act, to present yourself in the best possible light with the hopes of marrying a Duke and saving your family's reputation and lands?”

  “I can assure you that I am most decidedly not that way inclined, Your Grace,” Mary protested.

  “Then why, pray tell, are you so interested in courting me all of a sudden now that you know I am a Duke?” he contested.

  “I am merely afraid that I could lose your company following this... confusion,” Mary replied.

  “And lose my status, and my money, and my hand in marriage?” Lord Haskett said with an eyebrow raised.

  Mary clenched her fists. “If that is what you will believe you are at liberty to do so. Forgive me for at any point holding the belief that you may be an attractive, intelligent, talented man. Forgive me for believing that you were truly coming to love me.”

  His eyes met hers. “I could love you, Marianne, but... I am no longer sure if you will ever love me.”

  “Then give me time, to show you who I am,” Mary replied. “To show you that I will be a good wife to you, that we make a fine pair.”

  Lord Haskett shook his head and sighed. “Very well, Miss Elridge. I shall give you an opportunity to show me that you are not like the countless women who request my courtship, in writing and through their parents, every single day. I shall give you the opportunity to be a good and decent woman, to be genuine, and to be yourself.”

  Mary curtsied. “I am glad of it. Although I do hope you will cease pretending to be a piano forte teacher.”

  Lord Haskett forced a weak smile. “I fancied myself a rather good teacher.”

  “Your Grace, I have not learned a single thing since you have taught me.” She smiled.

  He laughed. “Perhaps you are a terrible student?”

  “Perhaps I am,” Mary conceded, “perhaps you ought to return tomorrow and continue to attempt to teach me Lully anew?”

  “That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Lord Haskett replied. “But for now, I must away. I have... many things to consider.”

  With a curtsy and a bow, they parted ways.

  * * *

  That evening, Mary felt lost and confused. He had sworn that he would return the next day and carry on as before. However she knew, deep down, that things were about to change. A letter arrived the next morning.

  My Most Esteemed Hosts, Lord and Lady Elridge, and Miss Marianne Elridge,

  I must apologize, but I shall not be available to see your daughter for some weeks. There has been an unforeseen event and I am required at home. I advise that you hire a new tutor in the time being.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mr. C. Haskett.

  Chapter Five

  Mary sat at the writing desk in the study, looking at the letter. She ought not have opened it. It may have been addressed to her, but it was addressed to her parents first. But now that she had opened it, she felt compelled to at least do something.

  She ought not be in the study either. That was why it was the perfect place to hide. Her father was away on business once again, the servants only ever cleaned this room when requested, and her mother never entered. Lady Elridge constantly expressed that the study was a place for men, not women or children. But Mary wanted to hide. She knew that this letter could tear into the heart of her mother's hopes and dreams for her. Mary was not certain she could remedy this… why had she confronted Mr.—Duke Haskett about his true identity? Now he had fled.

  Of course, it was possible that Duke Haskett was being honest. It was possible that he genuinely had been called away on urgent business, and that he would return in under two months to resume courting her. That is what Mary kept repeating to herself at least. But the timing was just too precise. Mary felt as though she was to blame.

  And how could she face her mother after such a disaster?

  But, after half an hour of fretting, Mary knew full well what she ought to do. Because, for a young woman in her position, there was nothing she could do. She sighed and returned the letter to the envelope. She then warmed a letter opener over the candle, before lightly melting the back of the seal and closing the letter once more. There was nothing she could do but pretend she h
ad never opened it, make sure her parents read it, and hope that Duke Haskett was being truly honest, and not merely evasive.

  Peering out into the hallway, she observed that she was alone, then slipped out of the study and quietly shut the door. Now just to find my mother...

  “Good morning Mistress,” a woman said, “Oh, Miss—Ma’am, Miss Elridge.”

  It was Miss Ramsbottom. How long had she been there? Mary smiled. “Good morning.”

  “Are you looking for your mother? You know she does not frequent the study, she is at her toilette.”

  Mary nodded. “I shall go to her, then, thank you.” Mary could not help but feel as though something was amiss then, but still, she was simply glad that she was not questioned any further... but of course she wasn't. She was a young woman, not a child any more. Gone were the days of being scolded and blackmailed by senior housekeepers. Now she would be taken more seriously than any member of staff, even than her father's butler. It was at once a relief, and a slight shock, to reach this realization.

  Her mother was, indeed, still busy applying her make up. Fashion demanded a lighter powder and a softer eye, but her mother was dated in terms of appearance. She insisted on thicker powder and a good smudge of rouge. The door stood slightly ajar, no doubt left that way by busy staff. For a moment, Mary stood in awe of her mother.

  Here was a woman who represented everything Mary admired. Sure, she was no romantic heroine, but she was a beautiful, proud, capable woman, happily married and managing a reasonable estate. Lady Elridge considered herself to have suffered a great loss in marrying down, but she could not be blamed for her own parents' lack of judgement, and she had handled her life well. Mary hoped that she could maintain the same decorum and strength when she, too, was married. She knocked at the door lightly.

  “Oh, Mary, how lovely. Do come in. I require assistance with my hair,” her mother said with a smile.

  “We have received a letter,” Mary said, passing it to her mother as she looked for the comb. Her mother, much like herself, kept her hair very long and liked it done up quite high. To Mary it had always been a treat to comb her mother's luxurious locks, ever since she was little.

  As she drew the brush through her mother's hair, she heard the letter crinkle open and braced herself. Lady Elridge gasped. “No... this cannot be...”

  “What does it say, mother?” Mary asked as innocently as she could manage.

  “That he cannot continue to see you... provisionally of course but...” Mary's mother sounded quite flustered, “but I have heard these same words before. Oh, Mary,” she said with a sigh.

  “Whatever do you mean, mother?” Mary asked.

  “I do hope that I am wrong, but I fear for the worst. Mr. Haskett may no longer be interested in wedding you,” she replied.

  Mary felt her chest and stomach tighten a little. It was one thing to assume this herself. But if even her mother, who knew about such matters, could detect some hesitance in Duke Haskett's letter, then it almost certainly was there. “Surely not, mother?” Mary asked. “Men of his status do have much work to attend to. He is probably away on business of an importance we can not even imagine.”

  “I hope so, I hope so,” Lady Elridge replied, taking a small phial of salts from the table and uncorking them. The powerful scent reached even Mary, and tickled her throat. But Lady Elridge seemed relaxed after a few breaths. “In any case, I shall write to him and request absolute clarity. Until then, we must take his word as true, and continue as if your wedding were certain.”

  Mary nodded, but she could see the distress in her mother's face, and it made her heart heavy. And yet... she could not reveal that she had confronted Duke Haskett about his true identity. What would her mother think? What would she say? She may even deem Mary too young and too foolish to marry altogether. Mary bit her lip and resumed combing her mother's hair.

  * * *

  Two days later, Mary's mother was pacing the front room. Although she had replied to the letter the same afternoon, they had yet to receive a response from Duke Haskett. Mary had been attempting to reassure her that it was just he was away from his country home, or too busy to receive letters. But Lady Elridge's mind was running away with her.

  “I simply... I must write him again. Perhaps he did not receive our last letter?” she pondered.

  “If you believe it necessary,” Mary replied, watching her mother pacing back and forth.

  “And yet... if he has received it then my writing may be an intrusion on some serious affairs, and most unwelcome. I could turn him from you unnecessarily,” she mused, pausing before suddenly pacing again.

  Mary wasn't sure what to say anymore. It was her mother who knew of such things in the first place. Ordinarily, in such situations the husband would be the first person to ask. But Sir Elridge was, and always had been, a Knight, a common minor noble. He did not know the ways of the upper classes, let alone how one goes about joining them. So it all rested on Lady Elridge's shoulders. And she was stuck.

  “Oh, Mary, what are we to do?” she asked.

  Mary shook her head. “I do not know. I suppose we can only wait.”

  “But if we do choose to wait, and some other young lady's family approached him in that time, then we lose our one good chance at marrying you. Such opportunities rarely arise.”

  Mary nodded. “I do not know what we ought to do, mother. I trust whatever you decide.”

  Lady Elridge sat down in an arm chair and shook her head slowly. “I do not know, Mary. I do not know the right thing,” she raised her fingertips to her temples as her other hand uncorked the small phial of salts. Mary sat down on the chair beside her mother and they held hands as Lady Elridge sighed and inhaled the fumes.

  Then, it happened so suddenly that Mary could not think to do anything. A hand slipped out from under Mary's, the phial clinked on the floor, and Lady Elridge collapsed from the chair, hitting the ground with a thud.

  Wide-eyed, Mary stood up from her seat. “Help! Someone, send help! Call for a doctor!” she cried, dropping to her knees beside her mother. She slipped an arm under her mother's armpit and pulled her up against her own body. Noticing that her mother's skirts had crumpled, she quickly pulled them so that they covered her legs, before reaching over for the phial of salts. It was barely out of reach. “Help! Please!” Mary cried out again. Her fingers wrapped around the phial. Some salts had spilled, but it was still half full and pungent. She wafted it below her mother's nose.

  A maid appeared in the doorway. “A doctor is on his way, Miss,” she said, panting slightly, “may I be of assistance?”

  Mary nodded. “Yes, we must move her to the chaise longue,” she nodded towards where it sat, by the window at the far side of the room, “and have her recline there.”

  The maid nodded back and swiftly marched to the chaise longue to clear the pillows and books that had been placed there.

  Lady Elridge groaned. Mary stroked her mother's hair and face. “Do not worry, but you must rest. A doctor is on the way. Shall we go to the chaise to recline?”

  Lady Elridge looked around, confused, and slowly shook her head.

  “Come, mother, you must rest,” Mary insisted.

  Mary and the maid each took one of Lady Elridge's arms and lifted her to her feet. She wobbled, but with support from the two girls she was able to remain upright and slowly but surely made her way to the chaise longue, where they turned her around, helped her to sit down, and lifted her legs up so that she could recline. Mary sat beside her mother, preventing her from falling from the chaise longue, but also to gently waft the smelling salts below Lady Elridge's nose in the hopes that the fumes would assist in her recovery.

  It felt like hours before the doctor arrived, and in that time Mary's mother made no further recovery. She simply lay there, staring up at the streams of light descending from the window, gripping her right hand in her left one, her face was pale, her eyes glassy and her breathing was fast and shallow.

  The doct
or shook his head as soon as he saw her. “Let us get to the bottom of this, shall we?” he said in a tone of voice which at once suggested he had a vague idea what the problem was, and was also persuaded he could not help with it.

  After a brief examination, during which he checked Lady Elridge's pulse, eyes, and attempted to persuade her to talk, he took Mary to one side, leaving the maid applying a cold compress to Lady Elridge's forehead. “Ordinarily I would explain this to the husband, but as he is not here, and time is of the essence, I must defer to the person who presently holds the most authority in the home... yourself.”

  Mary nodded sternly. Inside, she was petrified, but she knew that right now everything depended on her, and she had to carry herself properly, and make all the right choices, otherwise her mother's health, and perhaps life, would be at risk. “I understand, do go on.”

  “Your mother is in a state known as dementia—or at least the early stages. Put simply, she is not reacting to the world outside her. I do believe this was brought on by an intense level of emotion which, as a woman, she could not handle. She appears to be under some form of great duress at the present moment. Now, if this were left unattended she may be, and please do not be alarmed Miss, but she may be sent to the asylum—”

  Mary let out a gasp, feeling sick to her stomach.

  “Please, do not be alarmed, breathe, Miss,” the doctor insisted.

  Mary nodded slowly and drew a couple of deep breaths. “Please, continue,” she said.

  “Now, if this were to continue, an asylum might be necessary. However I see no reason why this ought to continue. She has no family history of madness, in fact her line is very strong and healthy. I believe that if she receives good rest, away from her social and home duties, away from books and with good seaside air, she might make a full recovery in a week or less,” the doctor continued, “I am sure you have heard of seaside resorts? There is an excellent one at the Isle of Wight, where I believe your mother would recover quite well. She would be treated with the upmost of care. At that point she will exit this state and become herself once more.”