My Captive Duchess (The Reeves of Reeves Hall #1)

Chapter 17

Jane

I lie in the plush comfort of the bed, wondering sleepily whether all this is a freakish dream that I have yet to wake from. Memories of yesterday trickle into my conscious mind, but I push them away. It cannot be true. I have imagined it all and soon, I shall waken to the normal course of things.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Broek’s voice, breaks into my thoughts. “Jane, are you up? Hurry and dress, for we sit to breakfast in less than half an hour.”

My heart jolts in alarm. I do not know if I can ever become accustomed to a voice that speaks to me through some devilish contraption in the wall. It is not natural. And also, instantly, I realise that I am not, after all, in the midst of a dream.

“Broek,” I breathe in agitation. “You gave me a fright.”

There is a pause, then he replies, voice rough and low, “Do not fear me, Duchess. You will come to no harm here.”

That is a matter for some debate. “One could argue that it is harmful to lose one’s liberty,” I mutter.

He ignores the remark. “Get dressed and come down,” he instructs me crisply.

“I want to see Chloe,” I say.

“Then you had better hurry,” he counters smoothly. “Horis is with her now in the medical bay. Go see her then come straight to breakfast. And Jane—” His voice takes on a menacing edge as he continues, “Do not make me have to come fetch you.” I shudder in memory at how he carried me out of the medical bay yesterday while I kicked and cried for him to set me down. His meaning is clear. He will do it again unless I bow to his wishes. Why Julius Caesar himself has nothing on this dictator. One, moreover, that is holding me captive in this house. Captive! The very notion of it is preposterous. Surely no one can keep me here against my will.

“If the word offscreen can shut off the picture screen,” I grumble, thoroughly unamused, “then surely there is a way to shut off the sound of your voice.”

“There is, but I would be a fool to tell you,” he replies coolly. “I shall see you at breakfast.” The silence that follows tells me I have been just as coolly dismissed.

Fully awake now, I throw back the covers and rise from the bed. I enter the washroom and make use of the odd commode, then remember to wave my hand under the tap for water to come out. I will concede, privately only to myself, that of all the peculiar contraptions in this house, this one is a useful creation. The voice in the wall, not so.

I hurry back into the room, anxious now to be with Chloe. Betsy has already set my underclothes and gown on a chair in readiness for me, so it is a quick matter for me to dress. Once ready, I go to the door and turn the knob, almost expecting to find it locked. Am I not a prisoner here? But no, it opens, smooth and sleek, with nary a whisper of a squeak. Much good this silent approach does me, for on the other side of the door stands none other than my guard. At least, I believe this person is there to guard me. I am unused to females working in such a capacity, but this one is unlike most females I know. She is a veritable Amazon, standing almost a foot taller, and far broader than me. And from her great height, she gazes at me with contemptuous loathing.

“Good morning,” I venture. “Miss?”

“Call me Catana,” she says curtly. Then she swivels on her heels and strides along the corridor, expecting me no doubt to follow in her train. This I do, for I am keen to get to my daughter. In terse silence, we negotiate the steps down to the ground floor and turn the corner of the corridor until we reach the white door of the medical bay. There, she shifts to one side of it, crosses her arms to her ample breast and glares at me expectantly. I do not know quite what I have done to earn this woman’s ire, but I have better things to occupy my mind than to wonder about it. I reach a hand to open the medical bay door and enter forthwith.

Inside, the room is bright and white, as I remember it. My eyes fly to the cot where Chloe lies, a still, slumbering form. I go to her, my throat tight with apprehension. Loud in my ears is the whoosh of the contraption that, so I understand, flows air into her lungs to help her to breathe. Her mouth is obscured by a mask to which is attached a long tube. Her sweetly long lashes cast a shadow over her pale face. My poor, poor girl. I sink into the chair beside Chloe and take her hand. It feels cool to my touch.

“She has made excellent improvement overnight,” Horis assures me from where he stands by the screen on the wall, reading the strange symbols on it. He turns to smile at me. “If she continues to show such progress, then we should be able to reduce the dosage of her sleeping draught in another day.”

“Will she wake then?” I ask, hope rising in my breast.

“I believe so, though it may take some time. The process of healing cannot be rushed.” I nod my understanding though wish fervently that it could indeed be rushed. I will not rest easy until my girl opens her eyes and speaks her first words to me. With a slight bow, Horis takes his leave, and I am left alone with Chloe. I sit and watch her, murmuring a prayer under my breath.

Without any notice, the door opens, and that Amazon of a guard, Catana, rakes me with her unfriendly gaze. “It is time to go to the dining room,” she says without preamble. Krilea is there too, a reassuring smile on her face as she goes to check on Chloe. I am tempted to protest the summons, but wiser counsel prevails. I nod and rise to my feet, giving Chloe’s hand a final gentle squeeze. Then I am following Catana, having to walk so rapidly to keep up with her pace that I am almost breaking into a run. Well really. Where have grace and manners disappeared to?

A trifle breathless, I arrive in the large dining room, which I remember from my previous visit to Reeves Hall. Several people sit around the table, of which I recognise all four of the Reeves siblings. Their chatter ceases at my appearance in their midst. All eyes follow me as I go to find my seat. There is only one empty space, the same seat I took the last time I was here, beside Broek at the head of the table. With grave courtesy, he rises to his feet and pulls out the chair for me. I thank him quietly as I sit.

Conversation resumes around me, though I am little in the mood to take part in any of it myself. I do not forget that I am here as an uninvited guest. A footman serves me coffee and fresh rolls of crusty bread thereupon Broek dishes up some scrambled eggs for me and passes the butter. What gentlemanly manners! One could almost forget the minor fact of my being held here as his captive. But of course, I do not forget. And being the contrary character that I am, I cannot fail to bring the matter up.

“If I am to remain at Reeves Hall,” I say while casually buttering my bread, “then how is my disappearance to be explained. I am expected to arrive in Frome any day now to take possession of my new cottage, and should I not arrive, questions will no doubt be asked.”

“I have thought of this,” he replies, not in the least disconcerted. “You will write to your solicitor and inform him that you have had second thoughts about purchasing the cottage and that you will be remaining at Penhale Manor as my tenant after I so very generously offered you the property at a most reasonable rent.”

“I will write no such thing,” I reply with great resolution.

“Oh, I think you will,” he affirms calmly. “It is a much better choice than the alternative proposition.”

I regard him suspiciously while my mind races to consider alternatives, with little success. He sees my confusion and almost smiles, the great oaf! Finally, he deigns to explain himself. “If you don’t write the letter, news shall reach society at large that the Duchess of Coleford’s carriage suffered a devastating accident, overturning on the road and falling down a great ditch, thereby mortally wounding all of its occupants. Do not doubt, Duchess, that I have the means at my disposal to create convincing evidence of your demise, and I can do it without harming a single hair on your tiny body.”

I take umbrage at this last remark, for it is much easier to attend to such trivial things than the more serious matter of my demise, real or otherwise. “I may be small, sir, but tiny is taking it too far,” I respond with great dignity.

He huffs, unimpressed, and reaches over to a dish a little further down the table, from which he serves me a flat, pancake-like food that is evidently not any pancake that I know of, given that it is of a purplish colour. I stare down at it on my plate. “Would you be so good as to tell me what this is?” I ask finally.

Broek’s sister answers from where she sits across the table from me, “These are Uvonian pancakes, Your Grace, a great delicacy in the land we come from.”

Uvonian? Might that, or perhaps Uvon, be the name of their home country? I tuck the information away in my mind for later consideration, then take my first, very cautious bite of this purple food. I am agreeably surprised. It is light, with a delicately moist crumb, and slightly but not cloyingly sweet. Encouraged, I take some more. Observing me, Laura Reeves laughs, “I take it our gastronomy meets with Your Grace’s approval.”

“Thank you, it is unusual but pleasantly palatable,” I say, then seeing the friendliness of her manner, I feel bound to ask, “Are you easy with the notion, Miss Reeves, that I am to be held captive in this house?” I cannot quite conceal the bitterness of my tone.

She gives me a nonchalant shrug, but it is Broek that answers on her behalf. “Duchess,” he says, “We do not wish you any ill, but the life of every single person sitting at this table, except for yourself, would be put in grave danger should the manner of how we live ever come to public knowledge. And so to answer your question, she and all of us are very easy with the notion of holding you captive here.”

I bristle. “That is to assume that I would talk about what I have seen at Reeves Hall. I do assure you that I can and will maintain my silence on the matter. You have my word of honour on it.”

He shakes his head gravely. “No doubt you are right, but Duchess, we cannot put your word to the test. The consequences would be devastating, should it be proved false.”

I turn my gaze to the other occupants of the room and see several faces nod in agreement. Horis smiles shyly in my direction then assures me, quite earnestly, “Do not think of this as captivity, Your Grace, but as your new home where I hope we can make you feel very welcome. You will have every luxury here and want for nothing. Chloe will not only have the best care, but once she is recovered, she will have other children to play with too.” He points with his chin to a man, sitting at the other end of the table. He looks vaguely familiar, but I cannot place where I have seen him before. “Wolkan, our chief of security, has twin daughters the same age as Chloe. They will be good company for her.” Oh he is wily, this shy, gentle Reeves brother, thinking to appeal to my motherly nature. I am almost but not quite convinced. Captivity is captivity, no matter how gently couched it might be.

My gaze lands on Simon, the youngest of the Reeves brothers. He it was that showed me great kindness on the evening of the dinner party. I study him now and see him look down at his plate in discomfiture. Of all the people here, he it seems, is not so easy with the notion of holding me captive. I take note of that information for another day.

My eyes are pulled back towards Broek, a silent presence at my side, who is observing me closely. He raises a sardonic brow, telling me in so many words that I had best do as he says. I look down at my food, my appetite gone, and examine my limited choices, coming to a fast decision. “Very well,” I murmur. “I shall write a letter to my solicitor.”