by Bryn Donovan
She glided silently by, oblivious to his presence. He caught a whiff of her perfume, as she passed him by, so alluring that he closed his eyes for a moment.
When he opened them again, she was gone. Like a spirit. He wondered, for a moment, if he had imagined her entirely.
He resumed walking towards his own bedchamber, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. But instinctively, he knew that something had, in a profound way, that he could not even hope to fathom.
Chapter Five
Abigail wandered down the grand staircase, trying not to trip on the hem of the gown she was wearing. It was still so very hard for her to walk in the manner of a lady – to take the small, almost mincing steps that all ladies did; gliding, rather than striding. Her impulse was always to move quickly; but then, she had worked for her entire life, after all. If she did not hurry, she would be behind in her duties, and there was always the ever-present threat of a cuff behind the ears from her superiors, if she tarried in them.
She breathed deeply, gazing around the foyer of the house, as she reached the bottom of the staircase. It was simply beautiful, with a patterned blue and green mosaic marble floor, and a sparkling chandelier that hung low, so low, that she could almost reach up and touch it. To think that she was able to wander here, freely, as almost an equal, in this house. It still seemed so fanciful, that every morning when she awoke, she had to pinch herself that it was real. That she did not have to scramble from her bed to start work, but rather linger and wait for her very own maid to come in and open the curtains.
A wave of sorrow swept over her. It was a dream – one that she would awake from, very soon. She was not going to be a lady forever. And then, she would be back to her real life, as if this brief interlude had never even occurred.
She stopped, gazing up at the chandelier, trying to capture the moment. To fully appreciate where she was, the opportunity that she had been given, by Clara. She would probably never experience anything like it again in her life. She must try to remember every detail of this special time, that would soon end.
But as she gazed up at the chandelier, something shifted inside her, quite alarmingly. A strange, almost bittersweet feeling, of déjà vu; that she had once stood here, in this very same spot, gazing up at this very chandelier. It had the quality of a very old, faded memory, only in her mind’s eye, the chandelier seemed so much higher than it was now. So high that it looked like a thousand stars, twinkling in the night sky…
“Lady Clara,” said a low voice, behind her.
She jumped violently, her heart racing, as she swivelled around. The duke was standing there, quite close, gazing down at her with a mystified expression on his face. He was obviously wondering what on earth she was doing.
To hide her confusion, she sank low into a curtsy, feeling her face flame to life. “Your Grace.”
He kept staring at her, quite boldly, as if trying he was trying to figure something out. He had been staring at her in the same way over the last few days since she had arrived. She often felt his gaze on her, across a room. But he didn’t speak to her much at all. The duke was definitely keeping his distance, a fact that filled her with relief.
“It is a fine day,” he said abruptly, looking out the window. “I was just about to go for a short stroll, along the edge of the cliff, as is my morning habit.” He hesitated. “I wonder if you would care to join me?”
Abigail’s mouth fell open. A walk, alone with the duke? The very thought filled her with terror.
But she had no excuse not to, not really. To refuse would appear rude, and churlish. She knew what a great honour it was. Lady Abigail would give her eye teeth for such an opportunity.
Clara would say she should be rude, and churlish. She wasn’t here to charm the duke, after all. She was here to do the very opposite. She fought with it, for a moment, before quickly nodding her head.
“That would be very lovely,” she murmured.
He held out her arm to her. She took it, and they drifted away. That intense, strange sensation, as she had gazed at the chandelier, slowly faded. But the feeling lingered enough to make her very curious about this house. Very curious, indeed.
She resolved to ask someone about it. The curiosity was burning inside of her now. And it would be the only way to put these odd feelings to rest, once and for all.
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and the sky was an intensely dark blue. Abigail felt her heart soar, as they wandered along the top of the cliff, gazing out at the sea. To her amazed eyes, it spread out before her like a skein of blue silk, absolutely endless. She could see waves crashing against the rocks, so elemental, that it took her breath away.
Inexplicably, she felt like bursting into tears, just at the sight of it. A deep ache entered her heart. Why was she suddenly so sad, when mere seconds ago, this had filled her with joy?
“Lady Clara,” said the duke, gazing down at her curiously. “Are you not feeling well?”
She sighed, blinking back the tears. “I do not know,” she said, her voice catching slightly in her throat. “I feel…strange. The sight of the sea gives me pleasure and sorrow, in equal measure. I cannot explain it, in the least.” She bit her lip, in sudden confusion. Why had she been so open with him? He would think her very odd, indeed.
But he didn’t look horrified at what she had said. Instead, he looked slightly pleased. “I have never heard anyone explain it so well,” he said, in a surprised voice. “For that is exactly how I have always felt, when I look upon the sea. An intense joy, that gives way to sorrow.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Perhaps it is just the sight of it makes us realise how small we are, in the great cycle of life. The power, and the majesty, of the ocean. We admire its beauty, but shudder before its might.”
Abigail’s mouth dropped open a little. He was so…sensitive. A far cry from the brusque, abrupt man, that she had encountered so far. A man who had scared her.
This man was different. Was this the real duke, who lurked behind that prickly façade? Or just a mirage?
“Have you always lived in this house?” she asked slowly, truly wanting to know.
He shook his head. “No. My family own a much grander house, Wycliff Abbey, in Cornwall, which is our ancestral seat. But I have always preferred Dudley House and spend most of my time here.” He paused. “It is so isolated, you see. One can feel like the last man on earth, wandering these cliffs, and the shoreline…”
She smiled. “I see the attraction. It is rather magnificent. If I owned it, I would be here all the time, too. I would never leave.”
“You do not like London, then?” he asked, in a curious voice. “The grand city does not hold much appeal for you?”
She shook her head grimly. If only she could tell him the truth, of her life in London. Of growing up dirt poor, as an orphan in the parish of St. Jude’s. Of working her fingers to the bone from a very young age, collapsing into bed of a night, utterly exhausted. And then having to do it all again, the very next day.
Oh, she could talk forever about what her life had been. The housekeepers, who would strap her if she was slow in her duties. The pickpockets and prostitutes that clung like limpets to the corners of the streets she had lived amongst. The petty mistresses in the grand houses she had worked in, who would short-change her measly wage.
But she could tell him none of that. She was supposed to be Lady Clara Nightingale, who had never had a moment’s worry in her life. A young lady who had lived a life of privilege, in a gilded cage. She could never reveal to him who she truly was.
A deep desire to tell him the truth suddenly burned within her. Quickly, she suppressed it.
“I lead a charmed life in the city,” she said, her voice falsely bright. “I do not want for anything. But it grows rather dreary, I find. This is a good change of scene! I must express my gratitude for the invitation, Your Grace.”
He inclined his head. “I am very grateful that you accepted the invitation, Lady Clara,” he said, in
a slow, measured voice. “You are a most intriguing young lady. Not what I expected, at all.”
His coal black eyes were intense, seeming to draw her in. Her heart started hammering violently in her chest, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how they had stopped walking, and were standing close together, facing each other. So close, that she could almost feel his warm breath upon her face.
What on earth was happening to her? She had never experienced anything like this feeling towards a man in her life.
Confused, she broke the contact, quickly gazing back over the sea again. Suddenly, she gasped, pointing excitedly. “Oh, look! Is that a ship, sailing along the coastline?”
He laughed, following her gaze. “Indeed it is. A big ship, by the look of it. They often sail along this coast. I see them all the time.” He paused. “This is a mysterious coast, Lady Clara. They say pirates and smugglers sail these waters, and store their ill-gotten gains in caves along the shoreline.”
Abigail’s eyes sparkled, and she clapped her hands together in delight. “Oh, what a magical place! I have always loved stories of pirate ships. When I was a little girl, I used to imagine stowing away on one, and sailing the open seas, living a life of adventure…”
He laughed again. “What an odd daydream, for a proper young lady!” He paused, gazing at her. “But one that I must admit I shared with you. When I was a lad, I would often dream of the same thing, when I stood along this very cliff, gazing out to sea…”
She laughed, a little breathlessly, gazing up at him. Their eyes caught and held, once again, and this time, she felt a definite spark flare to life between them.
She knew he had felt it, too, by the slight widening of his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, distractedly. She could not help but notice that it trembled.
Suddenly, they were interrupted by Lady Abigail Browning, who was approaching them quickly, with a grim set to her mouth.
“Your Grace,” called the lady, sounding put out. “Lord Merchant and I have been waiting at the stables for you for half an hour, now.” She paused. “Have you quite forgotten our scheduled ride?”
The duke jumped guiltily. “Oh, Lord, I do apologise, Lady Abigail. I bumped into Lady Clara, and then we lost track of the time, walking the cliff…”
The lady’s face tightened. “Indeed. Well, there is still time. Let us not tarry.”
The duke’s face flushed with annoyance. He turned back to Abigail, gazing down at her, as if he didn’t want to leave her, at all.
“I must go,” he said, in a low voice, smiling ruefully. “Thank you for a lovely walk.” He paused, his eyes lighting up again. “But wait. Would you care to join us, for a ride? I have many good horses in my stables. I am sure that Lady Abigail and Lord Merchant will not mind.”
Abigail stared at him, her heart thumping painfully in her chest.
She had never ridden a horse in her life. A fact which would become painfully apparent, if he insisted that she accompany them.
Her mouth went suddenly dry, as he kept gazing at her, expectantly.
Chapter Six
Abigail took a deep breath, her heart pounding. “While I would adore a ride, I find I am a little weary, after so long a walk.” She paused. “I might go back inside, for a short rest. But please, go ahead. I hope that it is as enjoyable as you are anticipating.”
He looked at her a little oddly. They hadn’t been walking for all that long, after all, and it was only mid-morning.
“If you are sure,” he said, frowning slightly. “I do not wish to be rude, and leave you…”
“Lady Clara is obviously fatigued, Your Grace,” said Lady Abigail quickly. “I think that we should leave her to her own devices.” She laughed, glancing at Abigail disdainfully. “Some ladies simply do not have the stamina, I find. But I am very eager to ride with you…”
Abigail’s breath quickened. Why was this lady always so unfriendly towards her? The other two ladies in the house party, Mrs. Colborne and Lady Gillingham, had been warm and welcoming towards her. But Lady Abigail always stared at her quite coldly, and refused to talk to her at all.
Suddenly, in a flash, the answer came to her. Lady Abigail thought that she was a threat. They were the only two single ladies here, and Lady Abigail obviously thought that they were both vying for the affections of the duke.
Abigail sighed heavily. If only the lady knew the truth about who she was, and her orders from the real Lady Clara Nightingale, to put off the Duke in whichever way she could.
The Duke hesitated, obviously torn.
“I shall return to the house, now,” said Abigail quickly. “Thank you again. Enjoy your ride.”
She quickly walked away before they could say anything else. But she felt the duke’s eyes, boring into her back. He hadn’t wanted her to go; he had wanted her to stay with him. Was it possible that he genuinely liked her, even just a little bit?
Her heart soared at the very thought, before the reality of the situation came crashing down upon her, once again.
She wasn’t Lady Clara Nightingale. And she must not encourage him, in the least. It really was as simple as that.
She did feel slightly weary, as she climbed the stairs, heading towards her bedchamber. But she knew that it wasn’t a physical fatigue, at all. How could it be, when she was used to back-breaking work? No, this weariness went far deeper. A weariness of the very soul.
It was hard, constantly pretending to be someone she was not. And now she felt guilty, on top of everything else. If the duke truly did admire her, as she suspected, then she was deluding him. He had gone through so much pain in his life, with the deaths of his wife and child. How could she add to that heartache?
No matter which way she looked at it, the answer was always the same: she must discourage him, as much as possible. No more private walks along the cliff. No private conversations. She must be rude and churlish, just as Clara had commanded. It was the only way to save them both, for he must never discover who she truly was.
Her heart flipped over in her chest, at the thought. But there was simply no other way, was there?
Mary-Anne, the maid that had been assigned to her, was in the room, straightening the gowns hanging in the wardrobe. She looked slightly alarmed when the door opened, and she discovered who it was.
“My lady,” she stammered, dropping into a quick curtsy. “I was not expecting you back, so soon…”
Abigail gazed at the maid, her eyes softening. Poor Mary-Anne. She worked very hard, and the guests in this house obviously treated her poorly. In real life, they would probably have been friends, if they had worked in the same house.
She studied her carefully, for a moment. The girl was around the same age as her, with a round face, and bright brown eyes.
“Do your family live close to this house, Mary-Anne?” she asked slowly.
The girl’s brown eyes widened. “They live in the local village, my lady. I am able to go home to see them every Sunday, on my day off.” She hesitated, proceeding cautiously. “My family have lived in this corner of Cornwall forever.”
Something shifted inside Abigail, at the girl’s words. A yearning, as always, for a family of her own. She always felt slightly envious, when others talked of theirs.
And then, she remembered that strange sensation, when she had been alone in the foyer, before the duke had interrupted her. Staring at the chandelier, feeling as if she had surely gazed upon it before. Her desire to discover the history of this house. Mary-Anne was a local, through and through. Perhaps she would know something?
“How long have you been in service to this house, Mary-Anne?” she asked the girl, staring at her keenly.
“Oh, about three years, my lady,” replied the maid. “Mam would not let me go, before that. She tried to give me an education, while I helped around the house, so she did. But then Dad became ill, and we needed the extra coin…”
“I am sorry for your troubles,” said Abigail slowly. “Tell me, do you know how long Dudley House
has been in the Wycliff family, by any chance?” She paused. “His Grace told me that this is not his ancestral home.”
Mary-Anne shook her head slowly. “I have no idea, my lady. They have been here as long as I can remember.”
Abigail’s heart sank. She didn’t know what she had been expecting the maid to say. But she was keenly disappointed, nonetheless, as if a faint spark of hope had suddenly been extinguished.
The maid stared at her curiously. “Why do you ask, my lady?”
Abigail forced a smile onto her face. “Just idle curiosity, I guess! It is such an old, beautiful house, sitting perched atop the cliff, overlooking the sea.” She hesitated. “Sometimes, I get the strangest sensation that I have been here before, and yet I know I have never visited the duke here. I thought that perhaps I may have come here, as a child, when other people owned it, and that is why it is sparking something, in my memory…”
“Perhaps you should ask His Grace,” said Mary-Anne. “He would surely know how long his family have owned it.”
“Perhaps,” said Abigail slowly. But she knew, in her heart, that she never could, now. She mustn’t encourage their acquaintance anymore. And he would wonder how she could have some vague memory of being here, when she had claimed that she had never seen the ocean in her life… a fact that she had believed to be true, when she had said it.
But now… now, she was not so sure. She wasn’t sure of anything. Gazing out across that ocean had twisted her heart, in some profound way, even as she had gloried in its beauty. She knew, instinctively, that there was some thread of memory attached to it, as well.
Was she going mad? Why was this happening to her?
“Thank you anyway, Mary-Anne,” she said, her heart heaving with disappointment again. “I may rest for just a little while, now. You are excused from your duties.”
The maid nodded, walking towards the doors. But as she put her fingers around the door handle, she glanced back at Abigail, biting her lip.