Duke of Darkness

by Anabelle Bryant

“If you discover anything of importance, pursue it vigorously. It is inconceivable that Lady Alexandra originated out of thin air one morning on my late aunt’s doorstep. Look harder, Derwent, and uncover the answers I seek. Then act on them. Coming here to report nothing is a waste of time for both of us.” He stood to signal their time was at an end and the solicitor gathered his things and left.

  Devlin returned to the chair behind his desk and sat down with heavy thoughts. He steepled his fingers and stared into the vivid flames ablaze in the firebox. Answers. He needed answers. Perhaps Lexi confided in members of his household. It was a legitimate consideration. She did spend a bit of time with Cook on occasion and although Reeston would never admit to it, the butler had taken a liking to her. They chatted more often than not after breakfast before everyone began their busy day. Would it be so wrong to ask the man for a few answers? Reeston wouldn’t be easy to read, but at this point it was worth a try.

  With his decision made, Devlin stood up and made his way to the main hall intent on finding his butler. Unfortunately, when he arrived the area was empty. He glanced around the room, one dark brow arched at his quick observations, nary a detail unnoticed. A looming hallstand complete with mirror aligned against the far wall. A tapestry chair, overstuffed and upholstered in a faded print shot with sage green and goldenrod, complimented the hallstand’s position. A fringed pillow with a white floral design now graced the seat.

  There was no mistaking a female resided at Kenley Manor. Alexandra had hardly been present during the past few days due to shopping excursions and gown fittings, yet little traces a woman lived in the manor were now evident. Devlin donned a knowing smile at the vase of fresh pink roses gracing the entryway lowboy and summoned Reeston with a bellowing shout.

  “You need me, Your Grace.”

  Cocky fellow. He stated it rather than asked. “Yes, I do. I’ve noticed a few things …” His voice trailed off as his stare rested on the bouquet, two such bouquets actually, placed at opposite ends of the foyer.

  “Yes, the flowers. One of the maids heard Lady Alexandra comment on their beauty as she sat in the garden yesterday afternoon. I believe the maid thought it pleasant to bring them indoors.” When Devlin didn’t comment, Reeston continued. “It is a little thing.”

  “I suppose. But they are pink. Perhaps the yellow or white can come in tomorrow.” He brushed past his butler, slowing as he heard Reeston’s soft spoken enquiry.

  “And did you sleep well, Your Grace?”

  It was so like Reeston to enquire about his health, his sleep habits, the old man a makeshift father to him over the years. In truth, Reeston proved better. His father was nothing more than a source of disappointment.

  “Oddly, I have experienced only one episode since the news of my aunt’s death. It is a welcome respite with all the activity that has besieged my home.” He grimaced and tried to don a look of annoyance, but Devlin was no fool and knew Reeston could detect his reluctant pleasure.

  “She does add a bit of brightness to the manor, wouldn’t you say?” The butler cleared his voice and adjusted a flower in the vase to his right in an attempt to feign disinterest.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He would be damned if he would admit how much the house had come alive with the addition of his ward and her slightly crazed puppy. “Remember yellow or white roses in the future. I won’t have people entering my home and thinking me a Mary.”

  He might have stormed off with that edict, as it was definitely a suitable exit line, but the knocker sounded. Reeston received the caller and several footmen were summoned to accept the multitude of packages flooding the foyer. And there were a ridiculous number. Gowns, shoes, boots, hats, the foyer filled faster than Reeston or any other servant could manage to pile them in order.

  “I would venture to say Lady Julia has been successful in aiding Lady Alexandra’s shopping expeditions.” Reeston grabbed a hat box as it teetered precariously atop a high pile of packages ready to tumble into disarray.

  “Indeed.” Devlin smiled. He liked the idea of Alexandra enjoying a little extravagance. If her luggage had been any indication of her belongings, she scarcely had anything at all. Thank heavens, she’d taken to wearing simple day gowns at the insistence of Lady Julia, and vanquished those horrid black mourning frocks. It hadn’t been necessary for her to wear them in the first place, but he appreciated her devotion to Aunt Min.

  “Lady Alexandra didn’t strike me as a spendthrift, Your Grace.”

  He chuckled aloud. Reeston was one of a kind. Any master of the house would dismiss their servant for his bald insolence, but Devlin considered his staff as family, and Reeston was correct. Alexandra only ordered eight gowns at the modiste and that again under the duress of Julia’s insistence. It was a very good thing he’d visited the shop not an hour after the ladies departed. He had tripled Alexandra’s request, choosing the finest fabrics and styles, and taken his time with the ordering of an assortment of under things. Then he had continued on to his tailor and purchased himself an ensemble worthy of social functions. He enjoyed a well-cut coat as much as a well-aged brandy. If he was going to be forced to endure a limited thrust into society, he would need his armour. Nothing could distract from one’s inner emotions like the fine presentation of clothing. People rarely looked into one’s eyes if they were busy admiring the workmanship and style of one’s waistcoat.

  “No, she is borderline frugal, Reeston. I amended her orders and added to her purchases. She is clearly uncomfortable spending my money, but I’m not. Let’s hope she is having a little more fun on her outing this morning.”

  “Yes, I agree. Would you like me to have the footmen deliver these packages to her bedchambers?”

  “Perhaps you should open the yellow drawing room and have the packages placed in there until she can sort them through.” Devlin flicked his eyes towards the staircase, lost in reflection before he continued. “Actually, have the entire west wing reopened for Lady Alexandra’s use. It is time we aired out those rooms. Do you think they need to be refurbished?”

  “It has been some time, Your Grace.”

  Both men realized more was being discussed than a portion of the manor.

  The west wing had been sealed after his mother’s tragic death. She had loved that part of the house with its early-morning sunshine and unique design. Feminine and fresh, every room –– the conservatory, drawing room, parlour, guest bedrooms and her personal library –– boasted warm, bright colours. The drawing room doors led to extensive gardens lush with rose bushes, imported tulips and rare varietals in every colour. These flowerbeds wrapped around the house and followed a walking path past a small duck pond and further still, to the main gardens behind the estate. There one discovered a fountain, birdbath and collection of small marble statues, complete with ornate sundial, to complement the array of foliage and fauna. It was almost as if the space comprised a little house within a bigger one, and not until this very moment did Devlin question why his mother would desire such a retreat. Wasn’t she content in the main living area?

  Once she died, everything was closed, furniture covered and doors locked. What could have made her so desolate that she took her own life?

  Devlin was a child when his mother committed suicide. His father’s behaviour remained hidden well from him as a youth, but not so much he wasn’t aware of the lack of normalcy in his parents’ relationship. He rarely enjoyed his father’s company even at a young age. His father was short tempered, argumentative and unusually strict. While his mother was apt to intercede, she was not always able to protect him from his father’s anger and certainly not from his cutting deprecation.

  A sharp memory forced its way to mind and Devlin clenched his jaw, the brief remembrance hurtful on some unexplainable level he’d rather not consider closely. Decades had passed, yet the pain existed over a few trivializing moments when his father and not his mother had answered his bedtime plea. Had his father paused, listened to his heartfelt requ
est and empathized with his childhood fear of the dark, his angered perception may never have festered. But no, on a laugh rich with mockery, his father had dismissed his request for a story and confirmed the shadows on the wall were indeed malevolent monsters meant to steal his breath if he did not go to sleep. He had then removed the only lantern and sealed the door tight so not a pinprick of light could be seen.

  How ironic that the darkness provided Devlin more solace than pain now; at least when he escaped the tremors. And where had his mother been that evening? She would have soothed away his concerns and spared him anxiety. Why hadn’t she come at his call? Had his father offended her that evening as well?

  In the morning, things had appeared as normal and Devlin had dared not mention the episode. Yet a child does not empathize with the emotions of their parent, tied too closely to the immediacy that comprises childhood. Instead Devlin lived each day as if separate, never pausing to string together the endless weeks, months and years of his father’s aberrant behaviour or to consider the terrible unhappiness it caused his mother.

  And yet, Devlin had only known happiness in his time spent with her. His mother never allowed her despair to overflow into their outings. He remembered her lovely smile, gentle laughter and comforting hands. Most of all, he missed her innate ability to make him feel extraordinarily special.

  Still he hadn’t been enough to ease her pain or to nourish her desire to continue living. Perhaps that barb cut the deepest. It haunted him over the years without answer and created a well of guilt and vulnerability no matter how hard he attempted to bury his emotions. At times he’d deluded himself into believing she did not take her life at all, that there existed another explanation, some cause still unknown, to explain why she would leave him so utterly alone. As years passed, he discarded the fanciful notion.

  Now painful memories contrasted sharply with the cheerful images of his mother’s rooms. The loss of truthful information concerning her passing festered, bitter and unsettled. For years he sought any tiny fact to lead to a better understanding of his past, but discovered nothing. As a child, he’d missed the moments every child favours: a bedtime story read, a picnic shared. Yet as a man, he mourned not just a life grown without a mother, but a true understanding of what had taken the relationship from him. It cut twice as deep to have the first loss and lack of explanation to follow.

  The maudlin mood could not take hold. A streak of white fur flashed, followed by King’s insistent bark. Not a blink later, the sheepdog lumbered forward and with a clumsy lurch knocked into two large towers of boxes, sending the entire foyer into disarray with nothing more than the bulk of his body. The puppy raced over the boxes in frantic escape, climbing, sinking and struggling to accomplish the foyer floor before King pursued him. Reeston, his butler austere lost, picked his way among the boxes and lids in an attempt to grasp the tiny terrier without disrupting additional piles. Devlin bit back a guffaw and took pity on his old friend.

  “Reeston, get King. He is much easier to catch. I’ll go after Henry, the little rodent.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Devlin bounded up the staircase with the same agility the little pup showed only seconds before. He checked left and right when he reached the top, and after hearing a distant yip, turned towards the west wing. It made sense that Henry should seek his own bed. Only the devil could instigate such havoc as both dogs escaped their confinement in a matter of minutes. At least peace would be restored once Lexi took the offending little pup to her new home.

  He paused with the abrupt conclusion and shook his head in consternation. His lips twisted in grim realization: the thought disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. Besides, the notion was so far away, it didn’t necessitate serious consideration. How foolish to miss something he’d enjoyed such a short time. “Addled-minded nonsense,” he murmured aloud.

  Henry’s insistent barking pulled his attention to the long hall ahead, yet his steps slowed as he entered the west wing. Every door remained locked. How unwelcoming it must be for Alexandra as she ventured to her bedchamber each evening. Without thought, he’d banished her to this part of the house, a wing secluded and unfriendly, while his mother had intended the opposite effect.

  He would ask Lexi if she wished to change rooms. At the root of the hasty decision, he wanted to keep his ward as far from his bedchambers as possible, but now the choice seemed rash and foolish. He was a grown man. Did he not trust himself to keep his wits over the mere slip of a girl? Liar. A persistent reminder of her image amended his conclusion. Lexi was a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

  H reached the entryway of the guest chambers. Henry yipped in agitation near his boots, begging him to open the door and allow access to his little bed. Uncomfortable with the situation, Devlin surveyed the hallway for Tillie. Where was the cheerful chatterbox when needed anyway? Henry grabbed hold of the bottom of his trousers and pulled with the effort of a determined pup intent on gaining his attention.

  “Henry! You will ruin my tailoring.” He reached down and picked up the dog, sure to keep the pup’s white fur as far from his black superfine as possible. Then he turned the door handle and entered the room.

  True to his mother’s design, sunlight flooded the windows in welcome. Devlin stepped inside. He set the puppy down and watched Henry climb into his bed of blankets in the corner. He released a long breath of relief as the anticipated onslaught of emotions did not come. Advancing a few steps to the largest window, his eyes scanned the gardens below. Abundant roses bloomed in every colour. A fine London day took shape. A rarity, for certain. The sky, cloudless and clear, shimmered as blue as Lexi’s eyes. He smiled with the thought, aware of the faint fragrance of lemons in the room, a scent he knew as undeniably Alexandra.

  He crossed with hesitant steps to the four-poster bed, covered with a plain counterpane done in ivory muslin. Lexi deserved something decadent. Velvet, satin, lace and silk. He imagined her there, the luxurious waves of her honey blond hair spread enticingly across the white pillow cases; her eyes closed in sleep; her lips parted as if waiting for a kiss.

  A surge of passion jolted through him and he spun away. Beside the bed he noticed the small leather bag Alexandra held during the entire coach ride from The Willows. A sketch pad leaned against the furniture at an angle. He bent and picked it up, dismissing his better judgement. Turning aside the cover sheet, he exposed the pages beneath.

  The first few sketches showed Henry in a variety of poses. Her hand must be very good, the images held a remarkable likeness. Entranced, he continued to leaf through the book. Drawings of the manor house followed, roses in the garden, and even Reeston, if only he knew. Had Alexandra drawn the stoic servant from memory, or slyly done so when the unwitting butler never realized he posed a subject for her artistry? Set to replace the book, he paused as his mind overruled his curiosity. The annoying quality continued to goad him: he should not be in Lexi’s bedchamber rummaging through her personal things. A visceral longing caused him to turn one more page and his brows shot high in surprise. His image stared back. There was no mistaking it was he. Lexi captured his likeness as clearly as if he looked in a mirror. Yet somehow, she’d made him appear kinder, more human. His lips quirked in a half smile. He rarely allowed emotion to reach his eyes, but Lexi, on whatever chance occasion she read his feelings, remembered it, and captured it here in her drawing with remarkable precision.

  He replaced the sketches and walked to the cheval glass over the mahogany dresser. His reflection stared back at him, cold and void of feeling; a stark contrast to the image in the back of Lexi’s book.

  He cast his eyes to the dresser top in a curious glance assessing the sparse articles found there. For a female, she certainly possessed few belongings. A silver brush was accompanied by the combs that refused to tame her glorious head of hair. He wondered at how she might have worn it today. Julia’s rigorous schedule precluded him from so much as a good-morning before Lexi left for her outings.

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nbsp; A length of blue velvet ribbon spiralled on the dresser next to her pin jar. Devlin lifted it, remembering the first time he saw her wear it. She walked in the garden, her back to him as he viewed her from the terrace. Her hair was gathered together with the wide ribbon and the sudden desire to reach forward and untie the velvet, to thread his fingers through the lengths, overcame him with such urgency, he’d whacked the golf ball with such intensity King searched for it still.

  His fingertip traced the velvet, as lush as her pink lips, as soft as her skin, as enticing as the slim body she kept hidden under too many layers of clothing. His body reacted with the same condition he found impossible to avoid whenever he considered her. Since as far back as he could remember he’d always kept a close rein on his emotions, but passion, lust … he’d used those as an excuse to purge his soul. Now the two intertwined.

  Foolish of him.

  Lexi was nothing he deserved and everything he desired. He took one more look at the length of ribbon across his palm, then slipped it into his pocket, and left the west wing.

  Chapter Eleven

  The last threads of afternoon sun waned as the ladies returned to Kenley Manor, a shopping expedition having monopolized the better part of the day. Alexandra was thankful for Julia’s sudden friendship despite times when she struggled against feeling overwhelmed, confused, and more than a little beleaguered by her friend’s eagerness.

  “You certainly know your way around elegant ballrooms and decadent tea parties, including every level of aristocracy and all the annual events that comprise a successful season. I doubt there is another debutante in London who can boast your credentials in reference to societal news and guest lists.” The words were intended as a compliment and Julia smiled, a testament to the easy bond they’d developed. Still Alexandra could discern few areas where their upbringing coincided.

  “Nothing proclaims accomplishment like a sought-after invitation or the perfect pair of new slippers.” Julia patted the side of her coif, ensuring each hair followed her rules and stayed in place. “Today was a huge success. I imagine I sounded like a magpie going on about my friendships and invitations, but you really must know every snippet. It’s of the utmost importance.”