Regency Romance: Fallen Duchess (A Historical Victorian Murder Mystery Love Regency Romance)

by Tracey D Morgan

  Lucy couldn’t help but smile at this woman spilling her heart out in front of her.

  “But where’s mah manners?” she interrupted herself. “You must be exhausted from that trip. Let’s get you settled in and then get some food in ya’! Toby! Oh, Toby!” She turned around. “Where’s that useless old man now?” She seemed slightly angry, but Lucy couldn’t possibly imagine this sweet lady getting mad at anyone.

  “Here I am. Whatcha yellin’ for?” A man appeared from behind one of the barns closest to the house.

  “Get this little lady’s cases inside, second floor, right most room.”

  “Yes, dear.” The man winked surreptitiously, and it dawned on Lucy then that the two might be husband and wife. “You wouldn’t believe what a looker he was when we was young. Boy, oh boy,” Betsy said as she watched Toby disappear into the house. She seemed to reminisce for a second, then continued, “But I wouldn’t give ’im up for anyone else in the world.” She smiled at Lucy. “I’m sure that’s exactly how Quentin’s gonna make you feel, child. But, enough talk. Let’s get ya’ inside.”

  She took Lucy by the hand and gently led her inside. Only then did it occur to Lucy that she hadn’t spoken a single word since she arrived. But she didn’t mind. This little warm-hearted woman’s affectionate jibber-jabber actually made her feel more at home, even though the person who was really supposed to do this was nowhere to be found.

  That is until a few hours later, as the two women were sitting at the dinner table, when a strong manly voice echoed through the house.

  “Betsy, fetch me my dinner!” This wasn’t any voice Lucy remembered belonging to Quentin. But, then again, she had very little recollection of him, so his voice would probably be the last thing that would linger in her memory.

  “Quentin!” She stood up to meet him. “We hoped you’d be back sooner. I’ll get you your supper.”

  Quentin entered the room, carelessly tossing his dark brown hat on the mantelpiece.

  “Oh,” he managed to utter upon seeing Lucy, seated comfortably—though now less so—at the dinner table. “You’re here,” he muddled.

  Lucy didn’t know how to interpret this. Was he happy she was here? Or wasn’t he? By the looks of it, it seemed he didn’t even expect her to be here. Did he even know she was coming today?

  All sorts of questions raced in Lucy’s mind until Quentin finally continued.

  “Welcome, Lucy.” He approached her clumsily, solemnly, and kissed her hand, though without much affection. “I trust your journey went well?” He looked in the direction of the door, expecting food.

  “Yes, it was fine. Thank you,” she managed to utter. “I was hoping you’d be here upon my arrival.” She blushed as she spoke the last words.

  “Yeah, that.” He appeared confused. “I had urgent work, but I trust Betsy took good care of you, right?”

  At which point Betsy entered with the food and set a place for him. She was done remarkably quickly, after which she graciously retired, excusing herself to do more work.

  Lucy and Quentin were left alone, facing each other across the dinner table. She felt the need to ask him something but couldn’t manage to muster a word. He seemed to share her feelings.

  “Are your parents well?” he finally asked.

  “Yes, thank you. They send their regards,” she replied, hoping that he would continue this poor excuse of a conversation, but he simply continued chewing his food dutifully, allowing it to offer him the convenient excuse of not being able to talk with his mouth full.

  The time passed in dreadful silence, interrupted only by a few clumsily constructed sentences regarding her trip, her parents, the ranch and the weather. When he finished with his supper, he stood up. She mirrored his actions.

  “I reckon I’ll retire for the night. Ask Betsy for anything you need. Good night.” He struck her with these short, abrupt sentences that marked the ending of their socializing, at least for now. Confused and irritated, Lucy only managed to nod.

  An hour or so later, as she was combing her hair in her new room, she thought she had heard a noise coming from the end of the hall, where she knew Quentin’s room was located. Opening and closing of doors, hurried steps, then silence. She quickly threw on some decent clothes and rushed downstairs into the parlor, hoping to see him there and join him, even if it was in complete silence as before.

  The parlor was empty, save for good old Betsy, who was sewing by the fire. She lifted her gaze, and upon seeing Lucy, smiled.

  “Darlin’, come sit here by the fire.” Lucy obeyed. “You must wonder what happened.” Lucy didn’t understand. Wonder about what? It appeared that her gaze revealed her emotions.

  “Well, Quentin.” Betsy looked at her. “He just left.”

  “Left? Where did he go?” Lucy was astonished. Where could he go at 9 o’clock at night, with a future wife in his home?

  Betsy sighed and left her sewing kit on a little nightstand next to her.

  “The Rusty Nail.”

  “The Rusty Nail? What is that?”

  “A saloon.” There was doubt in Betsy’s voice. Lucy was left speechless. Quentin was at a saloon? Doing what? Drinking? Womanizing?

  However, Betsy’s sweet face prevented her from expressing her fears so openly.

  “I know what ya’ must be thinking, child.” Betsy was an old woman, and as such, knew what someone like Lucy might think of this. “He ain’t a bad man, Quentin. He’s just … broken.”

  “Broken?” Lucy still didn’t understand. “Broken how?”

  “It’s not up to me to tell ya’, Lucy. He will share this with you, in his own good time. I’m sure of this as I’m sure of the sun risin’ up tomorrow. So please, don’t judge him too harshly, child. He’s seen a lot, but he’s not the one to be kickin’ up a row at any saloon. He just likes the noises, the sounds, the people muttering, is all. It allows him to get away from himself, out of himself sort of. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and everythin’ you need, you can find in him. You just gotta keep searching. Do you understand me, sweet child?” Betsy smiled in a motherly gesture.

  Lucy returned the gesture, though her words left her in an even more confused state. What was this journey of discovery that she was on? Why would the heavenly Father choose this path for her? Still, no matter what, she knew that if she was put on this path, it must have been for a very good reason. In the same way, she wouldn’t be faced with something she didn’t have the strength for.

  Suddenly, she was even more happy and grateful to have this motherly figure around, someone who would smile when Lucy needed someone to smile at her, someone who would offer comfort and support when she needed it most—like now.

  Then her gaze fell onto a pink envelope that was situated next to Betsy’s sewing kit. When she noticed Lucy looking at the envelope, Betsy picked it up and offered it to her.

  “It’s a Valentine’s card from Toby. Wanna take a look?”

  Lucy shied. It seemed too personal.

  “Oh, come on,” Betsy urged her sweetly. “We ain’t teenagers no more, none of us.” She sighed. “Gone are those days.” She laughed heartily. “Here,” she offered Lucy the envelope.

  Upon opening it, Lucy found it to be a card of the simplest kind, not one that was adorned with too many ribbons or bows or sparkly things like the ones she would get from boys back home. This one was different from any others she’d ever seen before. It wasn’t how it looked. On the contrary, the packaging itself was simple and unsophisticated. But the words—they seared through her mind.

  Bee-

  We got old. We got used to each other. Your thoughts are mine and mine are yours. You give without me asking. There’s no one who can hold a handle to ya’. You are mine—and that’s all I ever wanted in life.

  Toby

  The words were simple, dislocated even, but the message was clear. She carefully placed the letter back in the envelope and returned it to Betsy.

  “That’s it from me, child. I’d b
etter hit the hay now. It’s getting mighty late.” Betsy picked up her stuff and wished Lucy a good night.

  Upon hearing the closed door, Lucy realized that she had been left all alone on Valentine’s Day. Miserable and desolate, she returned to her room and wrapped herself in a blanket. It wasn’t a cold night, but Lucy was shivering.

  Chapter Three

  The following morning when she woke up and went downstairs, Quentin was already finishing up with his breakfast.

  “Good morning,” she said almost soundlessly. He simply nodded.

  “Did you sleep well?” She tried a question.

  “Yeah, I reckon. You?”

  “Yes.” Both of them looked down at their feet, not knowing what to say or ask next.

  “Perhaps, if you aren’t busy today, you could show me around the ranch? I’d love to see … ” she started, but was cut off mid-sentence.

  “Um, not today,” he replied. “Got lots to do. With the horses. At the barn. Some other time.” He stood up to leave.

  “Maybe I could join you?” she tried again. He seemed surprised.

  “Wouldn’t a city girl like you hate the smell? And the flies? Wouldn’t your shoes get all muddy?” He didn’t appear to say this to be mean, but she didn’t feel like he was saying it to be nice, either. What was his problem?

  “Oh, all right then,” she managed to utter.

  “Yeah, see ya at lunch time.” He threw on his hat and, in a rush, left the house.

  Lucy couldn’t understand it. Why on earth would he agree to marry her if he obviously didn’t feel anything for her—or worse yet resented her, disliked her, felt uneasy about her. Whichever one it was, it was obvious that the two of them simply weren’t meant to be.

  Then why did her stupid heart skip a beat every time he was in the room? Why was she so eager to meet him in the parlor last night, when she heard his unmistakable footsteps? And now, why would she keep pushing on when he apparently wanted to be left alone and do his work? Why, why, a hundred times why?

  But there was no answer to Lucy’s a hundred whys. There were only questions and her silly little heart that couldn’t understand logic.

  Then again, she wouldn’t give up that easily. She had a quick breakfast, and after putting on some clothes that she didn’t mind getting dirty and muddy, she headed toward the stables. She didn’t know exactly what she’d tell Quentin once she got there—maybe that she wanted to help or keep him company? What could he possibly have against that?

  Yes, exactly. To keep him company. That’s a good excuse, she thought to herself as she placed her hand on the stable door in an effort to push inward. It was heavier than she thought. She had to force it, and in doing so, she slammed it open to the inside.

  “What in God’s green earth … ” Quentin yelled from the inside. “Toby, close that darn door. Breeze will run out!”

  Without even going into the barn, Lucy was met by Toby’s sorrowful face, letting her know that this wasn’t a good time to do whatever she wanted to do there.

  “Sorry, Miss, the boss says to close the door.” He disappeared inside, apologetically locking the barn door behind him.

  Feeling a sudden urge to cry, Lucy took a deep breath and tried to prevent the waterfalls from spilling over. She turned around and headed back toward the house. She could find something to do there, something to occupy her mind while she tried to forget this disgraceful attempt at getting close to the man she was bound to share her entire life with.

  Wandering through the big house that she felt would never be a home to her, she noticed that the doors to Quentin’s room were left ajar. Normally she wouldn’t dream of entering someone’s room without permission, but she wanted to get to know him so bad. She wanted to understand why he was so offish with her, why he simply wouldn’t admit that he either liked or disliked her so they could get this whole charade over and done with.

  Perhaps his room would hide something, a key that could unlock his thoughts for her. She promised that she wouldn’t rummage. She’d only touch things that were in plain sight. No rummaging through closets or drawers. That’d be too much, especially under the circumstances.

  Checking one more time for any unfamiliar sounds, Lucy let herself into Quentin’s room and silently thanked Betsy for leaving it open after one of her laundry rounds. His room was surprisingly like her own. There was little to indicate that a man occupied it. It was neat and clean, without too much stuff lying recklessly around for her to take a peek at.

  All of a sudden, there was a stroke of good luck. Peeking from beneath his bed was a little wooden box. It wasn’t covered, so Lucy felt comfortable enough to pull it from underneath and, provided it had no lock, actually open it. Luckily for her it had just a simple cover, making it a dream come true. She took a deep breath, and just in case, listened for sounds coming from the hallway. All was quiet.

  With shaky fingers, she removed the wooden lid. The inside was filled with nothing but papers of all colors and shapes neatly stacked on top of one another. She dug inside and pulled a red one from the middle of the pile. Upon seizing it, she noticed that it wasn’t simply a piece of paper. It was an envelope. It wasn’t heavy, but it appeared to hold something inside, something other than a card or a sheet of paper.

  Unexpectedly, she heard noises coming from the stairs. Dropping the red envelope back inside, she quickly placed the lid back onto the box and pushed it back under the bed. The steps kept moving closer and closer. They seemed to be headed toward Quentin’s room.

  Not knowing what to do but not wanting to be caught snooping through someone’s things, she hid behind the door, hoping that if someone entered the room, they wouldn’t see her there. The steps slowed down right in front of the room and then stopped. It was as if this someone was thinking whether or not to enter. Changing his or her mind, whoever it was went back the same way.

  Once there was silence yet again, Lucy was able to breathe. Making sure that everything was left the way she had found it upon entering, she exited the room, only to find Quentin’s scornful look, reproaching her.

  “What were you doing in my room?” He appeared angry, and with good reason. She knew that whatever happened from this point on, she had only herself to blame.

  “I’m sorry, Quentin. I know it’s rude to go snooping through other people’s rooms, but I was wondering if perhaps there was a small mirror in your bathroom. You see, mine broke and I needed …”

  “You should have asked Betsy about that. She would have given you one immediately,” he replied coolly, looking at her and at the door to his room.

  “Oh, of course!” She tried not to appear balled up. “I knew that. And that’s what I wanted to do in the first place, but I didn’t find her anywhere around the house. And I needed that mirror straightaway.”

  “And did you take it from my bathroom?” he asked.

  She realized that it was obvious to him that he had caught her in a lie. He was just playing a game with her, trying to see how far she would push it. Of course there was no mirror in her hand. She didn’t even know if he had one in his bathroom.

  Perhaps, she should just come clear about everything.

  “Quentin,” she started, “I don’t know how to tell you this.” She started stuttering. “I … I didn’t go into your room for a mirror.”

  She expected he’d comment, but he was as silent as a stone.

  “I went in because I thought I could find out something about you, something that would tell me why you’re treating me this way … ”

  He interrupted her, “And you couldn’t have asked me this? You had to sneak around behind my back, like a common criminal?”

  She was startled by both his tone and manner of address, but she didn’t let it show. “Well, what do you expect when you give me the cold shoulder every time I try to talk to you or do something with you?” she said equally passionately.

  He just stared at her.

  “What do you want me to do?” She took a breath and ca
lmed down. “Do you even want me here?”

  He was still as numb as a second ago, just looking at her with his piercing eyes.

  “Well?” She felt helpless, like a little child begging for answers, from an all-knowing force that was playing with her emotions.

  “Why won’t you talk to me?” she gushed, releasing a flow of tears.

  Without a word of comment, criticism or consolation, he turned his back to her and went straight out of the house.

  For Lucy, it took her a while to calm her nerves, and it was only thanks to Betsy’s tea and biscuits.

  “There, there, child,” She held Lucy in her arms. “Men are strange things, not like us at all. We’re reasonable. We know how things are done. Them’s a weird sort, but we gotta live with ’em.” As she caressed Lucy’s hair, she felt the girl’s body relax.

  “But why is he so cruel to me?” Lucy asked, even though she knew that Betsy couldn’t answer that. Or could she?

  Betsy appeared confused, not knowing what to say at first.

  “Remember me telling ya somethin’ bad happened to him in the past?” Lucy nodded. “Well, he ain’t ready yet to talk to you about that.” She smiled. “But give it time, child. Just give it time, and he’ll come ’round. They always do. In the meantime, be here. Be present. Let him see you here, feel your presence, and he’ll come ’round for sure.”

  Lucy felt comforted, just like with her mother. Once again she was grateful for this caring, enigmatic lady who had all the answers but couldn’t reveal them to her. Somehow, Lucy respected her even more for that.

  “More tea, dear?” Betsy smiled, and Lucy nodded in agreement. That sounded like just the ticket!

  Once cozied up in bed, Lucy couldn’t fall asleep. She knew where Quentin was again. He would return late, exhausted, silent, moody. What he would be like the following morning no one could tell. And she, she would love him even more. As every day passed by, her heart grew fuller and fonder of him. All she wanted to do was to understand, to help, to love and be loved in return.