The Duke's Dilemma Read online

  Devil take it! What have I done?’ In one stride he was across the corridor and dropped to his knees beside her. Expertly he ran his hands down her limbs to check for breaks, relieved to find they were intact. She was so still, so cold, for a heart stopping moment he thought he had broken her neck.

  Gently he slid his hands along her shoulders, cradling her head between his calloused fingers. He traced the vertebra, checking each was in place, and as he did so he became aware his hands were not around a copse, there was a slow, but rhythmic, pulse beneath his fingers.

  ‘Thank God! She’s alive. And her neck’s not broken. She’s unconscious but I pray, not seriously injured.’

  His exclamation still hung in the air when he heard a roar of rage from further down the corridor. Too late he glanced up to see himself staring down the barrel of a pistol held by a man with murder in his eyes. Not for the first time he was looking death in the face. He knew better than to move a muscle. He merely raised his eyes to hold the stranger’s attention.

  ‘The young lady’s not seriously harmed, merely unconscious.’

  Robin was rigid beside him and the matter hung in the balance. He could hardly protest his innocence for he had thrown the girl against the wall himself. He swallowed, maybe this time his luck had run out. He knew for certainty that if this lovely young woman had been his love, he would not hesitate to kill the man who had caused her harm.

  He dropped his hands and spoke again, his tone unthreatening. ‘May I stand up? If I’m to meet my Maker, I would prefer to do it upright and not on my knees.’ His prosaic speech seemed to register with his assailant; he saw the man’s fury abating.

  ‘What happened here? How’s Miss Frobisher injured? I heard her crash against the wall, she didn’t get there by tripping that’s for sure.’

  Ralph’s stomach clenched and its contents threaten to return. Could matters get any worse? This was not some stranger he had injured but a young woman who had as much right as he to be wandering about here.

  ‘God! What a bloody awful catastrophe! Look, could you put that pistol down, you’re making me nervous. If you don’t intend to shoot me, allow me to introduce myself.’

  The pistol was lowered, but held ready, as the man waited for an explanation.

  Ralph half bowed. ‘I’m Ralph Sinclair that was, now Lord Colebrook, the Duke of Waverley. I believe this must be Hester Frobisher, my distant cousin, Miss Agatha Culley is my great aunt as well as hers.’

  *

  Hester became aware of voices speaking above her. She felt as though she had been thrown from her horse and her head hurt abominably. For a moment she kept her eyes closed trying to make sense of the world. She was obviously lying on the floor; she could feel the cold of uncarpeted boards seeping through her clothes.

  Should she risk a peep? If she glanced through her lashes whoever was there might not realize she was awake. She had been attacked so it would be well to continue to feign unconsciousness. All she could see were a pair of riding boots, extremely large ones. Whoever owned these must be a prodigiously tall gentleman. Slowly her head cleared and she was aware the wearer of the boots was talking. What he said slowly filtered into her muddled senses.

  Quite forgetting she was supposed to be unaware she attempted to sit upright, but the effort proved too much and her head spun. She sunk back clutching her forehead, unable to hold back the gasp of pain.

  Instantly Waverly was at her side and without asking permission slipped his arms under her knees and shoulders and lifted her easily. She was too sick and dizzy to protest. She was outraged the man who had caused her hurt was now acting as her saviour. She remembered quite clearly the moment of terror as a grip of iron had circled her neck and thrown her head first into the wall. This man was a brute, almost a murderer. Perhaps he had done away with Aunt Agatha. These were her last coherent thoughts before a whirling blackness enveloped her for a second time.

  *

  Ralph decided it would be too cumbersome to attempt the narrow stairs the servants used whilst carrying an unconscious girl so he turned and bounded back down the corridor, out into the grand hall, and took the wide oak stairs two at a time. He remembered from previous visits which apartment Miss Frobisher used. His great aunt had indicated their whereabouts and told him about the girl, although until today he had never had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. If he had known how beautiful she was he might have been less reluctant to meet her.

  He smiled grimly; he had hardly endeared himself to her by his monstrous treatment. He shouldered his way into her private sitting room. God, it was cold as ice everywhere in this barracks of a house.

  ‘Robin, go downstairs and find something to light a fire in her bedroom. I’m sure between you, you can rustle up something to burn. If you can’t find any fuel, use a chair.’

  He supposed he shouldn’t be entering a lady’s bedchamber but needs must. He was uncomfortably aware the man with the pistol was shadowing him, a hand’s breadth from his shoulder at all times; obviously a retainer of some sort, he didn’t trust him as far as he could spit.

  ‘Quick man, check if the bed is damp. If it is I’ll wrap her in that comforter and rest her on the daybed in front of the fire.’ The man didn’t argue, just stepped round him.

  ‘The bed’s no good, your grace.’ Ralph watched him remove the comforter holding it to his cheek. ‘This will do, I’ll fetch that chaise-longue over. I reckon there’s enough kindling to start the fire and some coal left in the scuttle.’ The man’s expression lightened a trifle as he added. ‘And if there isn’t, I’ll smash a chair or two, shall I?’

  Ralph stood patiently holding the girl with her face resting against his shoulder; he couldn’t help noticing the length of her lashes and the way they curled enticingly at the ends. What colour had her eyes been? He’d only glimpsed them for a second before she’d collapsed. He rather thought they were a mixture of green and brown, like his own, a perfect complement to her hair, which lay in abundant tresses around her shoulders. It was only then he became aware that her hair was wet.

  ‘Why’s Miss Frobisher’s hair wet?’

  The man, scrabbling away with the tinderbox in the fender, answered without looking up from his task . ‘She fell in the river on the way over here, your grace.’

  Everything about this trip was baffling. Ralph shook his head. First the urgent summons to come to Neddingfield Hall, then the barred gates, the lack of accommodation at the Jug and Bottle, and finally discovering an unknown relative playing hide and go seek on the stairs.

  Where the hell was Aunt Agatha? The place was under covers and there were no signs of recent occupation in the kitchen either. He hadn’t had time to search more than the downstairs rooms. He would need to examine his aunt’s chambers and discover what kind of clothes she had taken with her as it was possible this might give him a clue to her whereabouts. However, it didn’t give him the slightest inkling why he’d been summoned to this place when his relative was absent.

  He heard the welcome sound of crackling in the grate. ‘Good man. Now drag the daybed over. Shall I lay Miss Frobisher down and help you?’

  ‘I can manage, sir.’

  Five minutes later Ralph was able to deposit his burden, mummified in the warm comforter, on to the makeshift bed in front of the meagre fire. He looked round for something else to burn and on discovering two wicker laundry baskets in the dressing room he smashed them and piled them in the grate. Soon the room was warm and Ralph felt it safe to leave the injured girl in the charge of her manservant.

  ‘You didn’t give me your name, how am I to address you?’

  The man nodded briefly. ‘I’m Tom Clark, your grace. I’m Miss Frobisher’s man of business, so to speak.’

  ‘Very well, Clark, I’ll leave you to attend your mistress. Where’s her maid servant, her companion?’ His wits were wandering, his needle sharp intellect not functioning. ‘Presumably Miss Frobisher’s companion, the one she was travelling with, is back at the hos
telry? Is there someone I can send to fetch her here?’

  ‘You can, your grace, but she’ll not be able to come, she doesn’t ride, and the carriage can’t come through closed gates.’

  ‘They’re no longer barred, we scaled the gates and undid them.’

  For the first time Ralph saw the man’s mouth bend; he was obviously impressed by the fact the massive cast-iron gates had been opened by just the two of them.

  ‘That’s great news, your grace. James is downstairs, you can send him. Miss Bird will be here with all the trappings in no time at all. There’s a quack in the town as well - should James fetch him?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Frobisher obviously has a concussion, but the fact she regained consciousness, even briefly, is a good sign.’

  For some reason he was reluctant to leave the bedchamber; he wanted to stay and watch the girl, see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, be certain she was breathing. He strode back downstairs to find Robin on his way up with an armful of logs and a broad smile.

  ‘The range is going, sir. The kettle’s on the hob and young James has found the makings for tea and a decent bottle of brandy.’

  ‘Make sure Clark has sufficient fuel to keep the room warm and light a fire in her parlour as well then come back to the kitchen.’

  He found a young man of medium build, a shock of russet coloured hair and no boots. The stranger was busy warming bricks to take up. Ralph was relieved he hadn’t had to go outside to find James. He had a bad feeling about this; every instinct told him there was danger – from what he wasn’t certain but he was damn sure he was going to find out.

  ‘You must be James. I want you to get back to town and fetch Miss Bird; also get someone from the inn to find the doctor and have him attend here.’

  The young man nodded. ‘Yes sir, I mean, your grace.’

  So used to commanding men Ralph hardly noticed the speed with which the servant moved to replace his boots. It was what he expected. It was a brave man indeed who dared to ignore his orders.

  Chapter Four

  ‘My dear girl, your sickness will pass and the headache lessen. Dr Radcliff assured me that although you have a concussion, it’s not a serious one. You’ll be up and about in a day or so.’

  Hester flopped back on the pillows, closing her eyes to allow the waves of nausea to subside; no sooner had she swallowed something than she cast up her accounts. And it was all the fault of that monster, that arrogant aristocrat, because for some reason he had taken it upon himself to treat her as a common criminal.

  ‘Now, have a little sip of boiled water, my dear, it will take the nasty taste away.’

  She turned her head, childishly refusing the drink. Birdie sighed - she was a sore trial to her. At this moment she felt too wretched to apologize. She heard the sound of someone attending the fire, but didn’t bother to turn her head to discover who it was.

  Presumably the mysterious vanishing act accomplished by the staff here had been reversed and with the touch of his aristocratic hand Waverley had restored things to normal. No doubt the place was teeming with eager servants, Aunt Agatha returned to her apartments and everything as it should be.

  She dozed, letting her thoughts wander. If she kept her head still, especially after the bouts of sickness, the headache was not as bad and her thoughts not as jumbled. She listened to the muted conversation on the far side of the room; what she overheard forced her to pay attention .

  ‘Robin, are you sure about that?’ Birdie was asking, her voice a alarmed. ‘Miss Culley left Neddingfield without taking her things with her?’

  His reply was quiet. ‘Absolutely certain, Miss Bird. His grace and I have gone through her apartments carefully. The trunks are still in the attic so if she’s taken any clothes, then it was in a carpet bag. Also she hasn’t taken her spyglass or carriage clock. His grace says his aunt never travels without them.’

  Miss Culley was the duke’s aunt? How could that be? As far as she knew Aunt Agatha only had two relatives living, herself and Ralph Sinclair. Where had this Lord Colebrook sprung from?

  The import of the information she had heard before this revelation home finally registered. Her aunt never travelled without her spyglass and clock and always took two or three trunks. She would never have gone away in such a manner. Something awful had happened and she was lying half dead, unable to investigate. It was all the fault of the man whose valet was tending to her fire.

  From somewhere she found the strength to push herself upright on the pillows. She waited until her head stopped pounding before attempting to open her eyes. Birdie had her back to her, was standing to one side of the fire whilst a man, in a serviceable brown jacket, did what was necessary in the grate.

  ‘Excuse me, Robin, or whatever your name is, I wish to speak to you.’ Her voice emerged somewhat louder than she’d expected.

  The man crouching at the fireplace was so startled by her peremptory command he tumbled backwards sending the ashes from his bucket and shovel spiralling into the air. The resulting coughing and choking would have been amusing if it hadn’t added to her own discomfort. Eventually the air cleared and the final particles of grey swept away. Birdie came over smiling fondly at Hester.

  ‘I’m delighted you’re feeling better, my dear. Poor Robin’s most upset he covered us both in ash. He says he’ll come back later to speak to you but has duties elsewhere at the moment.’

  ‘Botheration. Well maybe you can find the information I need. I heard him say Aunt Agatha is also this Waverley’s aunt. As far as I know the only relative she has apart from myself is Ralph Sinclair and he is no more an aristocrat and I am.’ She watched her companion’s eyes twinkle. ‘What is it Birdie? What are you not telling me?’

  ‘They are one and the same, my dear. I discovered that soon after I arrived yesterday. Your cousin, albeit a very distant one, inherited a fortune and a dukedom from an even more distant uncle. It seems even your Aunt Agatha didn’t know about this relative, the connection was so thin as to be almost non-existent. However, there was a direct link through the male line down to the gentleman in question.’

  ‘I don’t understand anything anymore, Birdie. Two days ago we were planning the opening of our townhouse; I was eagerly anticipating attending the opera, theatre and visiting the museums. Now here I am cruelly injured by an ennobled relative and my aunt mysteriously disappeared along with all her staff.’

  Birdie patted her hand. ‘Never mind, my dear. You were bemoaning the lack of excitement in your life only the other week.’

  Hester could hear her friend chuckling as she walked back across the bedroom to pull the window closed now the air was clear.

  *

  Ralph was sitting at the scrubbed kitchen table a steaming mug of coffee clasped between his hands. He glanced up perplexed to observe Robin was covered in ash and rather pink about the cheeks.

  ‘Good God! Can’t you manage a simple task like clearing a grate without disaster, Robin?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, your grace, Miss Frobisher startled me and I dropped the bucket. Her companion and the room are in a worse state than I.’

  Ralph was on his feet immediately. ‘She’s awake? Is she well enough for me to speak to me? I have yet to make my grovelling apologies and explain how I came to treat her so roughly.’

  ‘No, your grace. I believe she heard Miss Bird and I talking about your aunt and the news of her having left the premises without her normal baggage that caused Miss Frobisher to call out.’

  ‘Dammit! The poor girl has had enough to cope with this past twenty-four hours, I don’t

  want her worrying unnecessarily about that.’ He settled back in his chair and resumed

  his morose staring. The more he discovered the less he understood. He wasn’t comfortable faced with an unanswerable dilemma.

  His first concern must be the well-being of the two ladies unexpectedly in his charge. He had sent Clark into town to find some temporary staff to run the place. With the poor state of employm
ent in rural areas such as these there might be several families with members eager to come, even if their employment was not to be permanent.

  ‘Robin, has Clark returned? I’m hoping he’ll have arranged for the servants we require.’

  There was no need for Robin to answer as he heard Tom came in the rear porch banging his boots noisily and pausing long enough to hang up his riding coat before entering.

  ‘Good news, your grace. I went to the inn and asked if word be sent out to anyone seeking employment in the area. I managed to engage a dozen women within twenty minutes and half-a- dozen men to work outside; they are on their way as I speak.’

  ‘I hope there’ll be someone who can cook amongst them. Robin has exhausted his repertoire of recipes and hungry as I was this morning, even I could not manage to swallow his attempt at bread.’

  ‘Yes, there’s an older lady and her daughter who come highly recommended.’ Tom walked over to the range and poured himself a mug of coffee before joining him at the table.

  ‘That was the good news, sir. However there’s been a tragedy. A local lady died yesterday.’ Ralph raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘I know it seems hardly our business but from what I hear the lady was returning home in a state of fear because of what she had heard about Neddingfield. The talk is of spirits and ghosts; that the disappearance and the accidents have been caused by supernatural means. The poor lady frightened herself to death; her heart gave up under the strain.’

  ‘Sad, but hardly my concern. Gossips always exaggerate, you know that. Before long we will have mass hysteria all round and some interfering busybody will call out the militia.’ He swallowed the last mouthful of coffee and straightened. ‘I’ve sent young James out to reconnoitre the area and see if he can find sign of men being in the vicinity over the past few days. I’m going to have a closer look round the barns and outbuildings. Robin, you and Clark come with me.’