The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (16 page)

"Your mother? She's missing?" He took the letter, pulled a wiry pair of spectacles from his pocket, and adjusted them over the bridge of his nose. Peering at the corner of the letter, he nodded. "Yes, indeed. I stamped this myself." His keen eyes studied Alexandria's face. "I remember your mother. Your resemblance is very easy to see." He stared off into space for a moment, thin lips working. "She was with a man."

"That would be my father."

"Yes, she seemed very much in love with him. He made her laugh—a distinctive laugh, that. Loud and happy."

"Did they say anything about where they were going or where they were staying? Anything at all?" Alex strained toward him.

"Hmm. Something about a castle if I remember rightly."

"There's castles a plenty in Ireland, man. Can you remember which one?" Baylor inserted in a booming voice.

"Yes, yes. Now give me a moment. I'm thinking." He turned away from them and paced over to the long desk, stopped, and then tapped his fingers on the top. "That's it! Killyleagh Castle. They asked for directions." He smiled at the three of them in triumph.

"Killyleagh Castle," Alex breathed. They would have to go to Killyleagh Castle. "Was there anything else? Did they say why they wanted to go there?"

"No, no, even though I probed a little." The postmaster grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. "They seemed to be in a hurry. But that was months ago. You don't suppose they are still there?"

"I don't know." Alex's voice turned soft and sad. "But I must speak to whoever lives there. They may know something important."

"Godspeed to you then." The postmaster nodded at her. "If something comes to me, I'll send word to the posting house in Killyleagh. It's not more than twenty miles from here."

"It's close then. Good. Many thanks for your help." Alex turned toward the door, Baylor and Montague behind her.

Belfast was an exciting town and a place she would like to visit again someday. But now it was time to get back on the search. It was time to find her parents.

G
abriel sat in the cramped library at Lindisfarne Castle on Holy Island, leafing through a book that told the story of St. Aiden and the Irish monks who had built the monastery of Lindisfarne and brought Christianity to Northern England. He laid it aside, stopped, and stared at the bookshelf, frustration making his temples pound.

Where was she?

What if she was in trouble?

Feeling restless, he paced to the long, narrow window and looked out. He'd toured the place and surroundings earlier that day and had been astonished that she was living like the people who lived here centuries ago, without any modern comforts. The castle was a cold, drafty hodgepodge of rooms, many of them uninhabitable. There wasn't a nearby water supply and the animal shelters were falling down in disrepair, not that he'd seen any animals aside from some wandering sheep. Her bedchamber was a stark place that somehow made him both angry and appalled on her behalf. There was a small bed with thin, lumpy bedding, a faded coverlet with no pillow, a set of drawers that he'd opened and found empty save for one pair of worn stockings.

Ann had caught him snooping and started screeching, which brought that beast Latimere around. What in heaven Alexandria did with a dog as big as a small pony was another curiosity to ponder. Upon arriving he'd been anxious to meet her. Now he was growing desperate. What if these servants of hers had sold her off to someone? Gabriel turned from the window and scowled. He had to convince them to talk.

Taking a seat at the small table, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the hard wooden chair.
Dear God, please keep her safe.
He opened his eyes and looked up. There, in the dusty light of the library, was a book poking out from among the others on the bookshelf. He hadn't noticed that before. Maybe he'd done that rummaging through their books. He rose to push it back into place and then stopped, his fingers hovering over the spine. It was a book of poetry. There was a scrap of paper hanging out of it. He carefully pulled it free and opened it.

The familiarity of the handwriting slammed into him like a battering ram. Alexandria had written this.

He sat back down and smoothed out the pages, the first words caused the breath to whoosh out of him.

Dear Mr. Duke,

I find myself thinking of you often, wondering about your life and what it must be like. It must be the opposite of mine. You must attend glamorous parties and balls, surrounded by beautiful women and men who are powerful and wealthy. What do dukes do with their days, I wonder? Mr. Meade said only glowing things about you, but there is still so much I don't know. How old are you? What do you look like? I've poured over the copy
Debrett's Peerage
that my parents often refer to in their investigations, but I fear that I cannot find you; perhaps you were not born yet, as it is sadly out of date.

Gabriel's breath paused with the fact that she had thought of him thus. It was how he had been thinking of her. Wondering her age and what she looked like, wondering if the connection he felt for her through their letters could possibly lead to something more. She'd never hinted at it, and he'd tried to ignore it, but now. Now he knew what had really been lurking in her heart. He quickly turned back to the page.

Your tone in your letters makes me think you must be above forty at least, and I assure myself that you are too old and crotchety for my daydreams, but perhaps you are just used to bossing people around? You are a duke, after all, and must be used to people bowing and scraping wherever you go.

I shan't post this, of course. I couldn't let you know how truly alone and afraid I sometimes feel. My parents weren't here very often, but they've never been gone this long. What if I am truly alone in the world? I can't let myself think it. I won't believe it. But I wish I had someone. I wish I could someday meet you and see your face.

It ended there, abruptly, and he was chagrined at how badly he wished there was more. Gabriel turned to the next page where she had started another letter:

Dear Gabriel,

He liked that address the best of all the ones she'd given him so far. Only the nearest and dearest to him called him by his given name—hardly anyone.

I've found this poem of Shakespeare's and thought of you. Have you read it before?

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! It is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

His breath whooshed out of him and he leaned his forehead into his hand, bent over the flowing words. It was one of his favorite poems, a poem he'd studied and memorized the lines of years ago. The beginning spoke of marriage and the wedding vows, and then it went on to describe an ideal form of love that was constant despite changing circumstances, a love that stood the test of time until death parted the lovers. A light, a star, of incalculable worth.

At the end of the poem, Shakespeare bet his entire body of work on his statement of love. And then there was the elegant simplicity of the words themselves. Unassuming words put together in such a way as to state humankind's most complex commission—love. Had Alexandria seen that? That she might have and had thought to have such a love with him flooded his body and mind with warmth and joy. He closed his eyes and let the feeling fill him.

Could one really fall in love through a few letters?

He folded them as if they were made from spun gold and put them into his pocket. He placed the book back on the shelf and walked back to the room's only window, staring out at the rolling countryside. If only she hadn't run off he could have shown her how much he cared, how he only wanted to take care of her and make her life happy. He looked around at the shabby room and curled his hand into a fist.

She deserved better.

Who were these parents who left their only child alone in such a dilapidated home? The tide of anger he felt when he thought of them washed over him again. How dare they leave her here as if she meant nothing to them. What kind of parents could do that?

Meade suddenly appeared at the entrance. Gabriel had sent him to the village to question the inhabitants about Alexandria's whereabouts. Hair askew and cheeks red, he looked as if he'd been running all the way back to the castle.

"Well? Did you find out anything?" Gabriel beckoned him into the room.

"She stopped at the market house just before leaving and posted a letter. The shopkeeper said it was addressed to you, Your Grace. That's the last time they saw her. No one knows where she went when she left the island. They thought she was just going into Beal for something. She often went there to visit or help someone in need, I'm told. And it wasn't unheard of for her to stay several days. No one thought to question her whereabouts until she'd been gone some time, and then her servants would only say what they told us—that she's gone on an exploring trip."

"Rubbish." Gabriel paced back to the window and stroked his chin in thought. "They know more than they will tell us."

"With all the whispering they do, I would have to agree."

Gabriel could tell that Meade said the words louder since he was facing away from him. He turned back toward his secretary. "I will question them again. Ask them to meet me in the great room. I'll beg if I have to."

"Yes, Your Grace." Meade gave him a quick bow and turned to fetch the servants.

The thought of going back to Beal and telling the captain that the Lady Featherstone was missing was not pleasant. The captain would go straight to the prince regent and the regent must not know that his prize had already gone missing. The prince regent would be furious with all of them, including Alexandria, when he learned she had run off by herself, tricking a duke for money. He had to protect her from the prince regent and this little army with which he was currently riddled. He would have to get rid of the army to search for her.
He
would be the one to find her and bring her back safe and sound.

Who knew being a guardian would be so much trouble?

But he couldn't deny that it was a wonderful sort of trouble. The emotions he felt as he imagined finally finding her, seeing her, holding her in his arms—
God help me
—it made his heart pound in an odd way and his body flush with heat as if he'd been standing next to a roaring fire. He needed to get ahold of himself.

A few minutes later he entered the great room relieved to see Ann and Henry sitting in chairs by the fire. He pulled up another chair and sat across from them. Ann had an obstinate fold to her lips and Henry wouldn't look him directly in the eyes.

"Ann, Henry, I understand that you are trying to protect her, but I have a story to tell you. It's a great secret told to me by one of the prince regent's men, and I wouldn't tell it to you if I didn't know from experience how good you both are at keeping important secrets."

Henry flashed a disgusted look at him. "You'll not be tricking us into saying somethin' so save your secrets, Duke."

Gabriel acknowledged the threat with a nod and smoothed back his smile. What he wouldn't give to have the old man working for him. He'd not seen such loyalty since his navy days. "Regardless, I will tell you." He proceeded to tell them about the missing manuscript that Lord and Lady Featherstone had been hired to find. And he told of his guardianship and how the prince regent had given him the task of keeping her safe.

"So you see, Alexandria is in great danger. If she has gone off alone and unprotected, I fear for her life." He let the words sink in a moment, noting the softening of both their faces. "If there is anything . . . anything at all that you know . . . I beg you to tell me. I can't protect her if I can't find her."

The silence thickened in the room. Gabriel waited, watching them by turns, seeing their internal debate. Finally Henry looked at Ann and murmured, "I didn't want her going off alone anyway. Told her it was a fool thing to do."

"She had the coachman," Ann hissed. "When have you known her not to have a plan? She's always been able to take care of herself."

"She ain't had enemies before. Not real ones, anyway. We need to tell him what we know."

Ann gave a great sigh and looked at Gabriel. "It ain't much but she hired a coach to Whitehaven."

Whitehaven. A seaport town. "To leave England?" Gabriel felt a shifting of panic. Had she really left the country?

"She had a letter from her mother . . . last one she ever got from her. It was from Ireland. We figured that's where she'll start her search."

"Her search?"

Henry's voice was full of pride. "For her parents, of course. The girl never believed them dead. She said she'd feel it if it was true."

Gabriel reached up and covered his eyes with one hand. He should have known. He should have read between the lines of her letters and guessed. She'd been redirecting his attention to the state of the castle, fleecing him for funds, not for repairs, but to hie off to Ireland of all places! He had underestimated her. Clever minx. Clever and determined. All she cared about was finding her parents.

Not that he really blamed her—it's exactly what he would have done. He even admired her for it. But the fact that she might be right, that they might be alive, and if they were alive then they were undoubtedly in very real trouble . . . trouble his ward seemed determined to place herself in the middle of, made him groan aloud. Stubborn, impetuous girl! If she had only asked for his help. But she didn't know him. She didn't know about the inexplicable place in his heart she'd already carved out. Now he would have to track her all the way to Ireland.