Jane summoned her courage and tiptoed down the hallway, the candle casting her shadow against the wall. Then another cry made her jump, and she paused to listen again. Her hand trembled and the shadows moved at strange angles, but she continued her trek, stopping before what she understood to be the door that led to the rooms belonging to the Duke. Again, she listened into the dark but the voice did not return.
Chastising herself for a fool, she turned and started back toward her rooms. Who was she to be walking through the hallways of the home of a Duke, especially on her first day in residence?
“Oh, Elizabeth.” This time the voice was clearer and came from inside the room on the other side of the door where she currently stood—the Duke’s bedroom. Jane knew that the Duke’s wife, who had died in the fire Anne had mentioned, was named Elizabeth, and she wondered if she was the woman to which the Duke now referred. And why was he calling out her name?
Although Jane should have returned to her room, she chose to stay. Moving closer, she leaned her ear toward the door and held her breath, waiting to see of the man repeated his previous words. Her heart pounded behind her ears and she held her breath as she listened in the silence around her. Then the Duke spoke again.
“Elizabeth, I am sorry for what I did.”
***
When she returned to her room, Jane sat in bed, the pillows propped up behind her. She should have been asleep, but she found it difficult to do so. By all accounts, the Duke had killed his wife, but she had refused to believe it. If he had, he would have been prosecuted and sentenced to death; even a Duke could not get away with such an act. However, he had confessed as much in his sleep, and she wondered what she should do about it. Perhaps there had been insufficient evidence to convict him, yet if the magistrates had his confession, would they then prosecute?
Her eyes darted to the door. Would the man realize that she had overheard him and come to her room to murder her? Or would he choose to simply take out his anger and guilt on the governess? Those thoughts led her to wonder why the previous governess left the position. Had she been forced to leave because she feared for her life?
Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to remain calm and explore her options. She could slip away now, or in the morning, and return to Anne’s, but the thought of intruding on her cousin’s life once again made her stomach ache. She did not wish to become a burden to anyone, even someone who had given her so much already, no matter how bleak her current situation appeared.
When she opened her eyes, she felt a bit more relaxed and the panic had subsided considerably. Perhaps the Duke was truly sorry for what he did, thus the confession. Or maybe what had happened had been an accident after all.
This conundrum intrigued Jane for some odd reason. She knew all too well that rumors oftentimes were untrue. The Duke could have easily started the fire by mishap, which would explain both his facial scars as well as the guilt he felt.
Feeling much better, she leaned over and blew out the candle. Then she slid down into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She had made a decision to remain at Wellesley Manor, but she would remain vigilant, keeping her eyes and ears alert. A smile came to her face as her eyelids grew heavy, and within minutes sleep overtook her.
Chapter Five
“Elizabeth, I am sorry for what I did.”
Michael sat up straight in bed, clutching at his chest in an attempt to keep his heart within the confines of his sternum. His breathing was ragged and he was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Tears stung his eyes, the pain of the memories of that fateful night still eating away at him. How long would these dreams continue? he wondered.
The sound of a floorboard groaning in the hallway caught his attention, and he noticed a weak light leaking under the door. Perhaps Jenkins was moving about the house as he was wont to do, or one of the scullery maids was about her business before the household awoke. It could be any number of scenarios, but Michael would not allow his imagination to run wild.
Rising from the bed, he went and threw open the window to allow the night air to cool the room and his skin. Although the nightmare had ended, the guilt remained in its stead as it always did. No matter how much money he earned or the love he had for his son, his conscience was never cleared. At one point in his life, he had not been a madman. As a matter of fact, quite the opposite was the case. He had fallen in love with Elizabeth and their wedding had been a grand affair, rivaling even that of the Prince himself. His wife had been a gracious and kind woman to everyone she encountered, a light that gave him strength even in his darkest times. Then, before he knew it, Samuel had come into their lives bringing them a joy neither had ever known, and happiness surrounded them at every turn.
However, that light Elizabeth emanated had been snuffed out that fateful night, and his strength, his love, was gone forever, leaving behind a motherless child and a husband who had become the husk of the man he once was.
Shaking his head to rid himself of the thoughts, he walked over to a stand that held a pitcher of water. He poured himself a glass, splashed what remained into the matching bowl, and then washed away as much of the sweat as he could. Skin pebbles dotted his arms, and he shivered. Drinking of the cool liquid rewarded his parched throat.
He returned to his bed and lay on top of the covers, his thoughts going to the new woman in the house, Miss Harcourt. She was beautiful, far more beautiful than most women he had encountered in his life. Yet, she was unaware of her beauty, her silky brown hair, her clear, gray eyes. To his astonishment, she was ashamed of those eyes, the eyes that, when he gazed into them, brought forth a feeling he had not experienced for many years—not since before losing Elizabeth.
Then there was the woman’s spirit. The immediate liking she took to Samuel was much too authentic to have been staged, and Samuel had seemed to take her just as easily, which pleased Michael no end. For Samuel’s happiness was of the utmost importance, and he would do anything to protect the boy from harm.
For a moment, he considered what it would be like to hold the dark-haired beauty in his arms. To press his lips to hers as he tightened his embrace. Then he shook his head. He was Master of this house, and it was not right for him to look at a servant—be she scullery maid or governess—in such a way. While other men looked upon those of lower class as property, Michael could do no such thing. To him, even servants deserved to be treated fairly, and that meant not thinking of them as something other than real people who happen to be in his employ.
Letting out a sigh, he brought his hand to his face and caressed the scars that disfigured his once-handsome features. Besides the madness that grew stronger every week, his face was such that no woman would wish to marry him, at least not for love. Plenty of women would endure his presence to obtain the title of Duchess and to dig into his deep coffers. However, he would rather live alone than to share a bed with a woman whose heart was closed to him, a woman who chose to use him for what he could give her monetarily and socially.
None of that mattered, for there were more important things to consider at the moment. His first priority was Samuel’s education and watching the boy become a man. What Michael wanted above all else was that Samuel became a man of integrity, a man who was honest and forthright, and a man with a strong sense of right and wrong. That would be followed by a great understanding of business so he would be able to continue the legacy that had been passed down to him.
Despite these goals, Michael’s greatest fears remained. Would he be sane enough to witness his son reaching greatness, or would the madness that threatened him at every turn take him completely before then?
***
Saturday afternoon, Miss Harcourt was in the garden with Samuel. The boy’s lessons would not begin for another two days, and the woman had insisted that she use the time until then to get to know the boy. Michael had thought the idea wonderful; what other governess would take such time to become acquainted with her ward when she could simply take her leisure until the studi
es were to begin?
“I must ask, my dear brother. Why would employ a governess who has no references for the past year?” Robert asked as the two sat in the drawing room.
Michael turned and studied the man beside him. Unlike Michael, Robert had light hair and eyes, having inherited their mother’s features. Beneath the fine cut of his coat were a mass of well-defined muscles which Michael envied, for it meant that Robert had more opportunities to be outside, working those muscles—although not as much as those in his employ—while Michael spent his days indoors, the majority of his days spent at his desk working numbers and entering information into his ledgers. It was not that he did not enjoy his work, for he did, but he wished he could be more involved with the day-to-day workings of the business like his brother was.
Robert was not finished with his assessment of the new governess. “Surely you understand that she was more than likely doing far more than educating children.”
Michael knew his brother meant well, for he cared very much for Samuel and had always had the boy’s best interests at heart; however, the man spoke his mind all too freely as far as Michael was concerned.
“I see you have purchased another fine coat,” Michael said in an attempt to change the subject. Although he rarely left the house, he was no stranger to the latest fashions, and what Robert wore this day was most definitely new.
Robert looked down. “Oh, yes, I do allow myself fine clothes from time to time,” he replied, his voice carrying a note of humility that his eyes did not show. “Now, concerning this woman. Do you trust her?”
This made Michael laugh. “As much as I can trust anyone I allow in my home, I suppose. I care not why she left Henry Clarkson’s employ, but I would assume the man’s hands still wander where his eyes have been?”
Robert snorted. “You speak no lie, Brother, for Clarkson has been known to bed more women than I dare count.” He took a sip of his brandy and set the glass on the table. “Michael, I worry about you. I know at times it seems I ridicule our decisions, but I am only trying to be sure you and Samuel are safe…from those who mean to do you harm.”
Michael considered his brother’s words. “Who would wish to do me harm?”
The man’s eyes wandered to the large window that overlooked the gardens. “Take the woman out there with Samuel at this moment,” he said, pointing with a jut to his chin. “As an example, not the woman in particular.”
“Very well, then.”
“A person such as she would love nothing more than to find solace in her life, but it would not be in your arms but in your coffers.” Robert placed a hand on Michael’s arm. “I realize the pain you feel over the loss of Elizabeth.” Michael winced, not from the man’s touch but from his words, and Robert removed his hand. “I only pray you are careful.” He let out a small sigh and lowered his head.
Michael took a drink of his own brandy and thought about his brother’s words. His brother was right. Michael had thought often about the type of people Robert mentioned, and he knew the risks of bringing someone as beautiful as Miss Harcourt into his home, but the pool had been shallow, at least for someone with the history of the Duke of Fire, and beggars could not be choosers, or so the saying went.
At least he had his brother to look out for him, and for that he was grateful. The man had a heart of kindness and always had Michael’s, as well as Samuel’s, best interests in mind. If it had not been for him, always beside Michael and never once complaining, Michael knew not where he would be today.
“I have no concerns when it comes to Miss Harcourt,” Michael said finally. “She is a kind woman. The fire did not take away my judgment of people. However, I do appreciate not only your wisdom this day, but everything you have done for me.”
Robert rose from his seat, his drink in hand. He walked to the window and looked out into the garden. “Good,” he replied. “I know your judgment is sound.” He sipped his brandy, never taking his eyes off the garden. “How has your mind been as of late?” he asked.
The question caught Michael off-guard, though he had suspected it would come soon enough. “The nightmares continue to plague me, and the guilt of that night is still fresh.” He shook his head. “I wonder if it will ever leave me. Then I worry…”
Robert turned toward Michael. “Worry about what?”
Michael shrugged. If it had been anyone other than Robert, he would not have answered, but this was his brother, the man who cared for him despite his face, and his mind. “My mind. I fear it is worsening. Just yesterday, I came here to the drawing room to find Elizabeth’s pillow, the one I would take in my carriage. I always returned it to that chair.” He pointed to the chair Elizabeth had favored before her death. “However, yesterday it was in the far corner on the floor. I would never leave Elizabeth’s pillow on the floor.” Shame and sickness overwhelmed him.
His brother walked over and knelt down beside him. “Guilt can cause the nightmares, so that can be answered quite easily.” He placed a hand once again on Michael’s arm. “However, I hate to say this, but it can also produce the bouts of madness you are showing.”
The words pained Michael. “It plagues me, for I fear I will go mad before Samuel comes of age. I worry about his future. If I lose my senses too early, what will become of him?” He downed the measure of brandy remaining in his glass in one gulp, the fiery liquid relieving his pain, albeit temporarily.
Robert stood and poured himself another brandy. “I must admit that I worry watching you slowly deteriorate. I have already spoken to Catherine concerning this matter.”
This caused Michael to gasp. “Surely you did not…”
However, Robert did not allow him to finish. “No, I did not tell her of your troubles exactly; you know me far better than that.” He placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “I merely asked her, if anything was to happen to my brother, what would become of Samuel? Her response made me the proudest man in England.”
Michael looked up at his brother. “What was her response?”
“That we would raise the boy as our own and that she would stop at nothing to make sure the boy was happy.” Robert returned to his chair and placed his hands on his knees. “We are to have our own children one day, but she even said that she wishes they would be as wonderful as Samuel. Her words, not mine.”
Michael smiled. What his brother said soothed his worries. If he did go mad, which he no doubt would eventually, at least Samuel would be left in good hands, with family he could trust.
“I am sorry I was unable to attend your wedding,” Michael said. Robert and his wife had married only two weeks earlier, but anxiety and fear had kept Michael from attending. The thought of people staring at him on such an important day made him decline his brother’s invitation, although it truly did make him sad that his illness kept him from attending such important functions.
“As I have told you many times, it was not your fault. We knew you were with us in spirit. Let us speak no more of it.” He rose and went to refill Michael’s glass. “Now, you relax; you are much too agitated. It cannot be good for your current state of mind.” When he returned the decanter to the cart, he turned to walk toward the door. “I believe I will go speak to my nephew before I leave. Unless you need me to stay longer.”
“No, I feel much better, thank you.”
“Good. I will leave you to it.”
As he placed his hand on the door handle, Michael said, “Robert?”
Robert turned back to Michael. “Yes?”
“Thank you for all you have done—and continue to do—for myself and Samuel.”
“But of course,” Robert replied with a wide grin. “I would not have it any other way.”
Chapter Six
The blue sky was filled with white, fluffy clouds. Birds sang their joyous song from the branches that hung overhead. A slight breeze helped cool the air heated by the sun above. All these things made for a wonderful afternoon as Jane learned about Samuel.
However, despite the lo
veliness of the day, the words she overheard the previous night still plagued her mind. She had hurried back to her own room, the sound of floorboards creaking beneath her small feet echoing off the walls, or so it seemed in the otherwise silence that surrounded her. She had imagined the Duke chasing her down the hall and, once he caught her, setting her on fire. Thoughts products of her wild imagination, to be sure, but there nonetheless.
By the time she had rushed into her room and closed the door behind her, the conjecture fled, replaced by rational thought. The Duke would gain nothing by killing her, and he would only draw more attention to himself if she were to go missing, or worse, be found dead.
She smiled as she thought of Anne. If anything happened to Jane, Anne would break down the doors of Wellesley Manor in search of the person who had wronged her. Yes, although the Duke might be a murderer, Jane knew she was safe. At least for now.
“Do you think rabbits understand what we say?” Samuel asked, breaking Jane from her thoughts. The boy was playing with a long stem of grass, rolling it between his fingers as he scrunched his brow.
“To be honest, I do not know,” Jane answered. When she saw the disappointment on the boy’s face, she quickly added, “But I believe that all animals do hear us.” She gave Samuel a smile as she smoothed her skirts that rested on the blanket on which the two sat.
“Oh, that is brilliant,” Samuel said in awe. “I talk to birds sometimes.” He threw the blade of grass away from him. “Sometimes they talk back to me.”
“Is that so?” Jane asked with amusement. “And what do they say?”
“They say, ‘Samuel, you are such a good boy.’” The boy gave her an endearing grin that made her laugh until she cried.
“Well, although I have not known you very long,” she said as she wiped away tears, “I believe you are a very good boy, as well.”
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