The Secret Duke (49 page)

Bella was suddenly wary. From the Fowler letter she knew Lord Huntersdown was cousin to Ithorne. Might he be there?

“Will this be very grand?” she asked.

Thalia pouted. “Not this year, alas. Because of the baby, only close family are invited. But it will still have all the essentials, I’m sure. Wassail and feasting. Holly and ivy. The Yule log.”

Bella’s head was whirling, which was often the case around Lady Thalia, but now that she didn’t need to fear another meeting with Thorn, she could be easy.

“Then I look forward to it, ma’am. Thank you for including me.”

 

Thorn read the letter, recognizing pure temptation. It was from Rothgar, and it invited him to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas.

Damn the man.
How had he learned about Bella?

That had to be it. The same post had brought a letter from Clatterford with the news that Bella herself was going to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas. That fact played havoc with his plans.

He’d purposefully given her a month to recover her equilibrium in the hope that time with the Trayce ladies would convince her that ducal splendor was tolerable. They were among the highest of the high, and though they didn’t host grand events, she’d learn from them how to deal with the elite.

He would have liked to give her the opportunity to experience court circles, but his patience wouldn’t stretch to January when the winter season began. He’d been planning a courtship visit to the Wells just before Christmas. If he won her, he’d carry her off to Ithorne Castle for Christmastide with some sort of chaperone.

Once he had her commitment, he’d give her as much time as she needed to adapt to his world and learn its ways, but he must have her commitment. He lived in fear of hearing that she’d married another man. She was capable of making a sensible marriage to prevent herself from surrendering to him.

He’d been waiting, keeping his sanity only because of the intelligence sent by Clatterford, but now the solicitor reported that the Trayce ladies were about to travel to Rothgar Abbey for Christmas, and they were taking Bella with them. Even if he raced there now, they would already be on their way.

He’d been attempting to resign himself to more patience, but now the unexpected invitation was hard to resist. It would mean taking what he wanted at Rothgar’s hands, and neglecting his duty to celebrate Christmastide here at Ithorne Castle.

“Your judgment?” he asked Tabitha, who was sleek now that her kittens were less demanding of her. Instead, the kittens demanded a great deal of Thorn and his servants, for they were intrepid seekers of adventure.

The oracle remained silent.

“Dare I wait?” he asked.

“No, no, you will like having her in residence.”

“You will be obliged to like having her in residence.”

“No point in protesting, and I must settle the matter. I can’t bear this torture much longer.”

He considered Rothgar’s letter again, but he could find no malice in it. It annoyed him that Rothgar had learned of his love, but to let that turn him from what he wanted would be folly.

His main obstacle, as always, was duty, damnable duty.

He paced to the window that looked out over the frosty grounds of Ithorne Castle, where he’d celebrated Christmas every year of his life, even in the cradle. Many a time he’d longed to go with Christian to his home, where there were a vast number of brothers and sisters, and merry celebrations for all ages.

He’d always done his duty, however, so as not to disappoint the people here. Without him in residence, why bring in the greenery? Why prepare a grand feast for only the various family dependents who lived here on his charity? His tenants and other local people expected him to join in their celebrations. There were traditions and responsibilities that it seemed only he could perform.

Robin had a mother happy to be his proxy.

He had no one.

Perhaps next year he would have a wife, and in time children.

Bella, and Bella’s children.

His people could celebrate without him one year. This year. He sat to write to Rothgar accepting the invitation.

But then he crumpled it and threw it in the fire.

It would not do. Too many people would be disappointed.

He took another sheet of paper and wrote to Robin asking him to take care of Bella in his stead, and to ensure above all things that she did not form an attachment to anyone else.

Once his Christmastide obligations were over, however, he’d make haste to Bella, wherever she was. If she was still of the same mind, if she could not tolerate the Duke of Ithorne, he didn’t know what he’d do.

 

Bella climbed down from the luxurious traveling chariot at Rothgar Abbey, full of anticipation. The journey had been good for her. In some way it had removed her from her treadwheel of unhappiness, and she felt fresh-made and ready to enjoy herself.

She’d never experienced a merry Christmas. Under her father’s rule Christmas had been a sober affair marked for its religious significance. There’d been no hint of the older practices Lady Thalia had chattered of on the journey—a Yule log, a mistletoe bough, and the Lord of Misrule.

Augustus had added penny-pinching to the tradition. Of course, now she knew he’d needed those pinched pennies for his gaming debts. Bella was still amazed that no one had guessed, and she thought often of the secrets people kept. The Trayce ladies, for example, knew about her youthful scandal, but nothing of Bellona Flint, or of Bella’s feelings for the Duke of Ithorne, and she’d keep it that way.

The dark-haired man awaiting them must be the marquess, but he was dressed very simply, and his smile was so warm Bella wondered why he was sometimes called the Dark Marquess. She was introduced, and then he offered Thalia his arm up the stairs while Lady Calliope was extracted from the ingenious sling seat that had eased the journey for her. Despite his dress and easy manner, his power, his importance, were palpable.

And Thorn was of even higher status, she reminded herself.

It would not do.

It was a lovely golden day, as sometimes came in December, when the low sun struck warmly off bare branches. Bella paused at the top of the entrance steps to look out over the parkland, drawing pleasures into herself. There was so much beauty in the world if one cared to look. A person could make a good life without a husband, without children, without that special kind of love.

Lady Calliope was being carried up the steps now in her big chair. Bella waited and then entered the house with her, for she was still intimidated by this grand establishment.

The house was as splendid inside as out, but she saw no sign of the lavish Christmas ornamentation she’d been promised. She was introduced to the marchioness, who was unconcealably enormous, and who rubbed her belly with a wince. “I think the child’s practicing a jig in there.”

Her glow, her ripe contentment, gave Bella another pang. But then, nearly everything did. She curtsied and thanked Lady Rothgar for inviting her.

“You are most welcome, Miss Barstowe.”

Lord Rothgar came to his wife’s side. “You must excuse us for celebrating quietly this year, Miss Barstowe. We are all at the whim of the littlest Malloren.”

He smiled at his wife.

Stars in the eyes again, even here among such people.

Might it be possible?

That was a question she’d forbidden herself, but it broke through. She shook it away. The Marchioness of Rothgar had been the Countess of Arradale before her marriage—a countess in her own right, having inherited the title from her father. Like should marry like. Wasn’t that in the Bible?

She was given into the hands of a maidservant and taken upstairs, then led through a bewildering maze of corridors to a room that seemed too grand for a mere companion. Bella knew better than to say so, but she asked where Lady Thalia and Lady Calliope were.

“Just down this corridor, miss. You won’t lose them, but everyone new here gets lost. Don’t you hesitate to ring for a footman to guide you. Here’s the bell.” She showed Bella a knob by the fireplace. “Just give it a good hard pull, miss, and it rings down below. I’ll go and get you some hot water so you can freshen yourself after your journey, miss, and soon your luggage will be here. Is there anything else you’d like, miss?”

“No, thank you.”

Bella absorbed the room, absorbed the great house around her, surprised to find that it wasn’t as terrifying as she’d imagined. Despite its size and grandeur and the confusing warren of corridors, there was a comfortable, domestic feel to Rothgar Abbey.

The question poked at her again, and new thoughts began to stir, like seedlings unfurling from the ground in spring. She resisted for a moment, but then relaxed and allowed them.

The journey here had changed her in some peculiar way. Being in a new place, one without any associations, was also having an effect.

To fight her greatest desire would be insane, and if tiny plants could push aside stones, as she knew they could, she would let the seedlings in her mind do as they would.

 

 

 

 

I
n no time at all, Bella felt at home at Rothgar Abbey. Perhaps it was because this was, as said, a small gathering, mostly of family. It being the cold time of year, the dozen or so people generally gathered in modestly sized rooms that were easily kept warm.

She learned that in previous years, Lord Rothgar’s brothers and sisters had always attended, but with their marriages patterns were changing. They were beginning traditions in their own homes. If Lord Rothgar minded, he showed no sign of it. He, after all, was also changing patterns. He had a grown daughter here for the first time in Lady Huntersdown, a lively and lovely Italian lady.

Bella remembered how Lady Fowler had tried to make Petra Huntersdown’s existence a foul scandal and was ashamed of having any association with it. She wished she could apologize, but Bellona Flint was dead, taking all her deeds with her.

Soon Lord Rothgar would have a new child, probably the first of many, and in the future Christmas at Rothgar Abbey would take on a new tone.

There were a few more guests, whom Bella gathered were so accustomed to spending the season here that they’d been invited. A Miss Malloren, who was middle-aged and inclined to gossip. She knew all Bella’s scandals, but must have been warned by someone, for after the first time, she didn’t mention them. A Mr. Thomas Malloren was very quiet, and a Lieutenant Moresby was some family connection and home from sea with nowhere else to go. He was inclined to be pleased by everything, including Bella, which made him an excellent addition. She had no real interest in him, of course, but he became her partner and she enjoyed his company.

Lord Huntersdown seemed to sometimes compete for Bella’s attention, which embarrassed her until she realized his wife didn’t mind.

“Ah, Robin! He flirts as he breathes,” Petra Huntersdown said in her delicious Italian accent, “and indeed, he does it so well. Is not the English Christmas odd? The heavy plum pudding. The gigantic log. Tomorrow the men must cut it. That will be amusing. We will walk down together, for we are the only two young ladies to hold the coats, which I gather is another tradition.”

And so Bella walked with Petra on Christmas Eve to watch the younger men strip to their shirts to wield a huge saw and cut the Yule log. Even Lord Rothgar took part.

She went with Lieutenant Moresby to cut holly, ivy, and mistletoe, and later allowed him to steal a kiss under a branch of it. Or rather, she encouraged him. He was quite shy. Everyone worked together to decorate the hall with the greenery they’d cut, sometimes singing traditional songs.

This was not how she’d imagined the high aristocracy, and among them, she was aware of her small plant growing, of new leaves unfurling.

Oh, she knew the other side, the glitter and formality, the arrogance and distance, but now she knew this too. Simply a family celebrating Christmas—and awaiting, with some anxiety, the birth of an impatiently wanted child.

The doctors had said it might come early, but here it was Christmas Eve, and no sign of labor. A doctor and midwife were in residence, constantly observing Lady Rothgar, who now kept mostly to her room. Lord Rothgar played the host well, but tension grew in him.

“Because he can do nothing,” Petra said to Bella. They were weaving bright ribbons around the railings of the stairs. Others were hanging tiny bells. They rang prettily, but the jingle was beginning to get on Bella’s nerves.

“There is nothing anyone can do,” Bella said. “But how terrible if anything were to go amiss.”

Then she remembered that Petra carried a child, though there were some months before her lying-in, and wished she’d not said that.

“He is used to making things be as he wishes them to be. With a Malloren, he says, all things are possible. It is hard to love.”

“Is it?” Bella asked, tying a holly sprig in with the ribbon. The berries were plentiful, which was held to mean good luck, but she remembered an old song that equated them with blood.

“But of course. When we love, we fear above all to lose our beloved.”

“Perhaps it’s better not to love, then.”

“There is no choice. It is life. It visits us all.” Petra looked at her. “You . . . you have never loved?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then you have not loved,” Petra said with a dismissive flick of her hand.

“Yes, I have!” Bella protested, then sat on a step, despairing at herself.

Petra sat beside her, all eagerness. “Tell me!”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because to speak of it would turn a seedling into an oak in a moment, shattering everything.