Regency Romances Page 28

  There was no need.

  He forgot entirely about hunting, finding himself drawn into looking at Rebecca’s curly hair, the way the riding jacket suited her perfectly. Her bright eyes, her smile. He hadn’t felt himself drawn to any other woman this way. He wanted to impress her. He felt foolish, like a boy. He wanted to shoot a white doe for her. He wanted to catch stars for her. He contented himself with picking her a white rose and distracting his butler. She seemed surprised by the gesture but accepted it gratefully. He loved making her smile.

  Chapter 6

  A Frightful

  Realization

  Sofia woke to the morning light. It rippled through the window and lay on her bed like a third blanket. Her memories of the day before had been wonderful. Despite her father’s death, she wondered if this wasn’t fate. The dowager had been striking, Lady Emily seemed quiet. Those characters did nothing to diminish her view of the duke, however. During dinner the dowager had been quieter, talking only of her own staff and friends in London, no more was said of Sofia or Lady Emily. Sofia wondered if the duke had talked to the dowager, regarding her speech. Sofia decided she neither wanted to know nor cared.

  The duke had been almost a fairytale prince the evening before. They had ridden into the forest; the duke stating that the dowager and Lady Emily both needed some rest. Sofia had spied three rabbits and a fox on their hunt, but no sight of that angry stranger who had killed her father. Sofia hoped that he had ran, left, deserted the country for fear of hanging. Her stomach hurt when she hoped for that though. The longer she stayed here, the better off she would be, she decided.

  The duke had given her a beautiful white rose. Sofia had held it close to her for the rest of the ride. It was charming of him to have done, Sofia loved it. She spent the remainder of her ride wishing with all her heart that she could tell the duke the entirety of the truth, from the beginning until the end. Would he love her, knowing that she had lied to him from the start? Somehow, she doubted it. As she twirled the rose in one hand, all she could think was,

  Would a rose by any other name still smell as sweet?

  The duke had surprised her with a picnic, in the deep of his forest woods. Sofia felt so exposed, she could barely focus on her conversation. The more withdrawn she seemed however, the more eager the duke seemed to be to try to catch her in conversation. It was hard not to let all of her guard down, to tell the duke everything of that fateful night. She didn’t know if she could trust him fully, however.

  After their ride back, Sofia had requested a vase for her flower, which Mary brought gladly. She placed it on a dressing table in the bed chamber, looking at it thoughtfully. Sofia thought she noticed Mary give her a long lingering look before the maid returned to her duties. Sofia wondered for a while about her maid, she had the distinct feeling that Mary and Smith the butler had previous relations. Sofia knew the staff gossiped, all staff do, and she found the thought of Mary and Smith together romantic. When she was younger, she had sometimes wished finding a suitable husband could be as easy for her as it was for common folk.

  Sofia’s mind tossed and turned, for the hours she stayed in her room. She couldn’t stop thinking about her dead father. She had prayed for him the last several nights, but she wished before he had died he could have told her what she should do. She didn’t know now. She couldn’t stay here, in this duke’s house, with nothing to her false name but lies and deceit. It took her hours to decide, but by the end of it, she had. She prayed and thought and by dinner time she had realized. She would tell the duke everything after dinner. She would tell him what had happened for her to be in this situation. If he threw her out of his house, Sofia deserved it. She wouldn’t go on living a lie.

  Despite being dressed in a slightly worn stay, Sofia felt liberated. Coming down the stairs into the dining hall it was as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. Walking with Mary (the maid still ghosted her every step) she felt as if she was walking on clouds. Her feet hadn’t felt as light since before she had sprinted through the forest. She asked Mary about her parents, if she had a husband, talking more than she had since she’d arrived. The dining hall had begun to feel familiar, walking down the stairs she was excited to see the duke. Excited for after dinner, for her to tell him everything.

  The dining hall was impressive, once again, she was the last person to be seated. This time however, she saw a strange man seated to Devon’s left. Sofia tried to get a better look at him as she walked down the stairs. It felt like everyone was staring at her as she walked down the stairs, the gentleman in the chair turning to look at her as everyone else did.

  He looked awfully familiar. Then her stomach dropped. She recognized his face. It was the man who had killed her father. Her head felt light as she fainted.

  Chapter 7

  Yet another stranger?

  Duke Devonshire found himself, once again, staring into his glass of whiskey. This past week had been a whirlwind. In the last five years nothing had caused him this much difficulty. He tried to run through the nights events again, in his head, for the third time.

  His day had been wonderful, riding with Sofia. After lunch he had a private correspondence with the dowager. He had expressed to her that he wished to court Rebecca.

  The dowager had sighed as she said, “There are a hundred girls in London, alone, more suitable than her, my son.”

  The words cut. They were truthful, but that made them cut all the more.

  “Mother, I know that, but you must understand, I must try,” The duke said. He knew that his mother would never understand. She had only married his Father for his estate, he knew. She had bought her own family fortunes to the estate as well however, and her crafty business mind. The duke knew that his sister, and himself were the dowager’s only children, and her only disappointments.

  The duke had sat there, in the sunroom, the wall made of glass. The dowager sipped her tea delicately. He had tried to think of ways he would be able to explain to his Mother that he wanted to pursue this girl, but all his imagined scenarios ended up with him putting his foot down.

  Therefore, it was a great surprise, when his mother said,

  “Son, if it makes you happy, I give you my blessing.”

  He had looked up, slightly in shock, trying not to let any of it drip onto his face.

  “Mother, I thank you.” The duke said. He stayed seated in his chair. Now he had this blessing, he was to pursue Rebecca. His mother leaned forward then, holding his arm.

  “There’s something this girl isn’t telling you, Devon,” Devon despised her for that, but he knew her words rang true. There was a lot that he had to find out about Rebecca.

  He went and visited his sister, who seemed better despite their mother’s harsh words. Lady Emily said that their mother had apologized, even going so far as to serve her tea and read to her. She was so near to giving birth, the duke knew. She had flushed motherhood glow. The duke even stopped into the nursery next door, talking with the children’s nanny and playing with the children for a while. He knew that he coddled them. He spent quite a bit of time with his nephew, the boy being the age a father’s teachings were important. Devon had given the boy a train set when he had arrived, every time the duke entered the little boy said “Choo, Choo, Choo!” It was always endearing.

  With that in his mind he retired to his study, his letters flowing effortlessly from his hand. He had been neglecting his duties slightly, he knew. He spent four hours making up for it, letter after letter being penned to this duke and that lord and such. He read all he could on the news of the war and spent an hour trying to figure out how to talk to Rebecca carefully.

  Smith walked into the study, quietly.

  “I’m sorry for interrupting you, Your Grace, but you have another visitor,” Smith said. Devon’s eyebrows knit together. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not this close to supper time.

  “They remain at the front door, in the entryway,” Smith said, his hands behind his back, f
eatures perfectly smooth.

  “Fine,” The duke said, rather brashly. He was getting quite sick of unexpected visitors. He stood up, walking to the doorway. Smith coughed, a rather unusual habit for him, and the duke stood still in his tracks.

  “Are you sick, Smith?” Devon asked.

  “No, Your Grace, there’s something else,” Smith said.

  Devon nodded, “Fine, what is it?”

  “You might want to sit down first Your Grace.” The way Smith had said that surprised Devon, and he went back to his seat at the desk. The guest would wait for Devon, he knew. He felt little guilt sitting back into his leather study chair.

  “There’s been rumors, Your Grace, in the nearby village.” Devon had no Idea why this required him to sit down.

  “There was a carriage, a robbery the police think,” Devon nodded, listening to all Smith had to say.

  “The carriage was found not far from here, overturned, with two men shot dead.” Devon looked up at Smith in outrage.

  “That’s shocking. What treacherous dogs would attack their own countrymen in a time of war?” Devon looked at Smith. He seemed quite uncomfortable.

  “There… there’s more Your Grace. They’re seeking a girl in relation to the murders. A girl who... well… matches the exact description of Rebecca.”

  The duke didn’t know what to think.

  “How long until dinner?” Devon asked, for little else came to his mind.

  “Two hours Your Grace,” Smith replied.

  “Bring me a brandy, please,” Devon said. He leaned back in his chair.

  That was when his day started getting a lot more difficult.

  He couldn’t believe that a woman, especially a woman as gentle and kind as Rebecca, could have performed this monstrosity of an act. His mother’s words rang in his ears though. It would explain the whole situation, the fact she seemed so secretive. He couldn’t imagine that Rebecca would be able to do anything this horrible without provocation. By the end of the night he had decided, he would ask her once and for all. He would make her tell him, and if not, bring the police. He had a hard time believing that this girl, who he was falling for, would do this act.

  He didn’t want to leave his guest waiting, so he sipped his brandy until it was just a few drops in a glass. He left it on his desk, above his letters he had wrapped so nicely. He didn’t want to leave his guest waiting too late. Smith had returned and after putting Devon’s tailcoat on, Smith led him to the foyer.

  There was a young man waiting there, dripping water everywhere. Mary rushed around, mopping up water. The duke was only slightly peeved.

  “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Your Grace,” the young man said with a smile. Devon instantly liked this young man. He reminded him of his driver, a hardworking young soul.

  “My name is James Wilcock,” the man said, bowing slightly to Devon.

  “Unfortunately, my carriage’s wheel broke off, not far away from here, I was wondering if I could seek shelter from the rain for the night?”

  Devon’s guard was instantly up. After hearing of the carriage, and the deaths of two men, he would have been suspicious of his butler. Devon was not one to deny anyone sanctuary though, it was the duty of a lord to look after all his landowners and visitors. It wouldn’t do to have people call him cruel. He nodded, slowly.

  “You may stay, for one night,” he said, firmly.

  The young man’s face broke into a grin, his shiny teeth showing.

  “I thank you forever Your Grace, you truly are a hospitable duke.” Devon called over Smith, asking him to organize a room and clothing for their guest for the night. Smith nodded slowly. Not for the first time, Devon thanked God for his capable butler.

  Rubbing his face, Devon seated himself at the head of the dining table. He called for more brandy, which an under-butler delivered quickly. It didn’t take long for the dowager to arrive. He inquired about his sister but was informed she was feeling under the weather and would take her dinner in her chambers. Devon nodded, aspiring to see Lady Emily after dinner. Next to arrive was the strange young man.

  “Another stranger!” The dowager announced loudly, at the man’s arrival.

  Devon waited, allowing the young man to announce his presence. He smiled sheepishly.

  “I’m sorry for intruding on your hospitality, Your Grace, I am a delivery driver but unfortunately my wagon has broken down nearby,” he said, taking a seat to Devon’s left.

  “Unreliable contraptions,” The dowager grumbled. She had a long list of technological advancements that upset her. James looked at her, seemingly enraptured by her conversation. James was obviously a commoner, and he probably didn’t get many opportunities to talk to dowagers and dukes, Devon mused.

  Then he heard Mary and Rebecca talking softly. They walked down the stairs, Mary the maid contrasting next to Rebecca. Mary was slim, mousy, tan. Rebecca was tall, pale with dark hair. The woman dressed beautifully, every gown seemed more of an extension of herself than anything else, flowing as she walked. The high empire waist complemented her tall frame beautifully. Her pale skin offset beautifully with a navy dress, embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of flowers.

  Could this woman have murdered two men? The duke couldn’t comprehend that thought. He couldn’t believe it. He realized he was staring at Rebecca, and the dowager and James turned to look at her too. She walked slowly down the second flight of stairs towards the first. The duke tried to meet her eyes. There was a flash, something he couldn’t quite place. Then Rebecca was melting, her dress flowing out as she fell, billowing into the air. Devon pushed back from his chair roughly, running towards Rebecca. He started yelling.

  “Bring the smelling salts!” Devon shouted. He knelt on the floor, holding Rebecca by the shoulders.

  “Rebecca? Rebecca?”

  She wouldn’t wake. Devon was terrified. He looked up, no one was moving. He felt like he was the only person who wasn’t a marble statue. He suddenly realized his sister had bought a doctor to the manor.

  He shouted again, at Mary, “Call the doctor”.

  There was a man standing, right beside Devon.

  “What’s happened? Who is she? Is she okay?” James knelt next to Devon.

  Devon’s initial feeling of fondness towards this man seemed twisted with something else. Intense, sour, dislike.

  “A guest, such as yourself, sir,” Devon said roughly, “Please return to your dinner.”

  Devon returned his attentions to Rebecca. He hoisted her up, carefully, carrying her to her room. He lay her down, gently. How could this soft woman have murdered people?

  He couldn’t believe that thought, so he pushed it from his mind. The doctor came with Mary, bringing smelling salts. Devon left Rebecca to the attention of the doctor, feeling safe that she was in good hands. Once again, in the doorway, James Wilcock was there. Devon had a horrible feeling in his stomach that this common man had caused Rebecca to faint. He had no reason to think this, nothing but a gut feeling. Devon walked to the doorway, squaring his shoulders and pulling back his chest.

  “Sir, you must leave.”

  The man gasped.

  “Why is that, Your Grace?” The last two words came out like a curse. Devon was slightly surprised that this seemingly kind young man could have changed demeanor so quickly.

  “I do not have to offer you any explanation sir, I insist you leave.”

  Their voices were slightly raised, Devon didn’t want to cause any more distress to Rebecca, so he moved to walk forward, into the offending young man.

  Thankfully Devon’s staff had all come running when Devon shouted for the doctor. James seemed to be aware he was surrounded. He took a few steps back, with Devon still walking forward, until he closed the door. Smith was outside the room, Devon looked at him and said,

  “Please see this man out. Never let him in to this house again,” Devon said firmly.

  Smith nodded, glowering. Devon watched, angrily, as the man was led out of hi
s house. When he went back into the bedroom, Rebecca had stirred. She seemed even paler, sick and drained. The doctor moved from Rebecca’s bedside and came to Devon. His grey hair and mustache matched his pale blue eyes. He put a hand on Devon’s shoulder.

  “She just needs some rest and food. I’ll come and see her again tomorrow morning.”

  That was good news for Devon. He looked at Rebecca.

  “Sleep well, please,” was all Devon said. He wanted to say a lot more.

  Chapter 8

  Unwanted Visitor

  Sofia was told, by Mary, that the man who had killed her father had been taken from the premises. She had briefly seen an altercation between Devon and the stranger in the doorway. She had seen through slit eyes, blinking through her dizziness. She felt sore, like she had been hit by a carriage. She was glad he was gone, but he had sparked something awful in her heart. She no longer felt safe.

  She returned to sleep easily, somehow. She woke in the dead of the night, however. She could hear an owl howling and the fire crackling. That wasn’t all she heard. She heard a scratch, something she couldn’t quite place. She tried to settle back into sleep, closing her eyes and wriggling gently back into a more comfortable position. She felt herself drifting away, back into sleep. Then, the noise again.

  She opened her eyes. A dark figure emerged.

  “Devon?” She stuttered. Had he come to talk to her? Like she wanted to talk to him?

  The figure moved forward. Her bed hangings blew in the wind. Wind? It was freezing. Why was the window open?

  The figure moved forward.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  That voice… that wasn’t Devon.

  The last thing she saw was something flash towards her face.

  She woke up to the sounds of birds tweeting. The sun fell across her face. The bed wasn’t as comfortable as she remembered, however. She opened her eyes. She was greeted with the sight of wooden slat roof, sun leaking through a massive hole in the corner. She sat up, quickly. It hurt, her hands were tied. Literally. She realized she was tied to the bedhead, thick hessian rope rubbing against her delicate wrists. Her bones felt like they were rubbing together.