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

Chapter 27

Jane

T he game is up. My heart pounds rapidly in my chest as I hear Broek’s approach. Soon, he is at our side and reaching over to claim the reins. I do not do anything foolish to stop him. Then once we pull up, he addresses me coldly, “Going somewhere, Duchess?”

I am saved from a reply by Chloe, who cries out gleefully, “Broek!” Then my little minx of a daughter is holding up her hands in the air, in happy expectation of being lifted into his strong arms. This he does, after extricating her from the reins I had tied around her. “Broek,” she says again, clasping her small hands around his neck. “We been on a ‘dventure!”

The coldness disappears briefly from his eyes as he returns her embrace and responds calmly, “So I see. It is time now, Chloe, to go home.”

She does not argue but lets him settle her on the saddle, one arm holding her securely to him. Then we turn our mounts and begin the ride back to Reeves Hall. Chloe chatters blithely with Broek, who listens intently and speaks when required. To me, he does not address a word.

So, my brief taste of freedom is over. Back to my captor I go. What else is there to do? I cannot fight him here on a deserted road while he holds my daughter in his arms. I do not listen to the perfidious voice in my head that is glad he has found us, nor to the throb of my body as it remembers our earlier passion. At least I try not to, but it is no good. Much as I am disheartened that my escape has been foiled, I am also aware of an excitement thrumming through my veins at his presence. It is an excitement mixed with trepidation, for I know he is furious with me. I will have to face his rage once we are back at Reeves Hall and Chloe is no longer present.

We ride on at an easier pace, now that there is no longer a question of escape. Apprehension grips me as I wonder what lies ahead. Shall he tighten the noose around me? Lock my door at night and forbid me to leave the house? In his fury, anything is possible. Yet of one thing I am certain. He will not harm my person. I do not know why I am so sure of this. I think it is because I have come to know him. Despite the surliness of his disposition, violence is not in his soul. I know from the gentle care he takes of my daughter that we are safe, even though we are prisoners.

Nevertheless, I am fearful—not of violence, but of the depth of the betrayal I saw in his eyes. Knowing his history with Tarla and his mother, it must seem that yet again, he has been deceived. Trust, that rare commodity I had been craving from him, is now ever more elusive between us. I wish he could understand that my bid for freedom was not a betrayal but an imperative. There is no way forward for us without free choice.

These gloomy reflections follow me as we ride along the road back to Reeves Hall. We are nearing my old home of Penhale Manor when Chloe begins to grouse. “I need a chamber pot,” she whines, then adds, “Hungry.” She begins to fidget in the saddle, clearly in discomfort.

Broek scowls blackly at me, as if it is my fault that this has happened. I raise a haughty brow in response. His frustration evident, he comes to a decision and nudges his horse into the short drive towards the house. We ride to the front steps and come to a halt, then I am quick to jump down from my horse. I go to him, holding out my hands for Chloe. He passes her to me a moment before jumping off his own mount. A servant rushes over to take the reins from us. There are several of Broek’s people here. A man by name of Stroxol is perched on a tall ladder, repointing the bricks. When we enter the house, I see another, whose name I cannot recall, busy replacing a floor board on the staircase—the one that had constantly creaked when I had stepped on it.

Without a word, I take Chloe to the washroom and put her on the commode. I see it is like the ones at Reeves Hall. Quite clearly, in the month since I lived here, Broek and his people have been busy updating the furnishings and fixtures of the house. I cannot complain about the improvements. Once our business is done, we head back out to find Broek waiting for us in the hallway. “Croris will prepare a light repast for you,” he says shortly, then takes off in the direction of the front parlour. We follow him, Chloe grumbling about her tummy and being hungry.

“Hush now, Sugar plum,” I tell her. “Food is on the way.”

We seat ourselves on the settee in terse silence, broken only by Chloe’s plaintive moans. We are not made to wait long. Soon, a young lad, whose name I now know as Croris, comes through bearing a tray with fresh fruit and Uvonian pancakes. There is fresh orange juice too, a delicacy I have become accustomed to in my time at Reeves Hall. Quietly, we eat our food and drink our juice while Broek watches us with a grim expression. When we are done, I murmur a thank you , then we stand to leave once more.

“I have ordered the carriage for the remaining journey,” says Broek. I nod in gratitude. It will be a relief not to get back on a horse, for in truth my body is sore.

As we reach the hallway, we hear a commotion outside. I knit my brow in concentration. It sounds like a carriage has just come up the drive to the house—surely the vehicle that will take us to Reeves Hall. One look at Broek’s face, though, disabuses me of this notion. This is an unexpected and unwelcome visitor, judging from his expression. There is a tension in him too, and it is all to do with me. Instinctively, I know what he is thinking. How will I react upon coming into contact with a person from outside his household? Will I beg for help in escaping my wicked captor? Of course, since he no longer trusts me, he expects me to tell all.

We make our way to the front entrance and look out to see an older gentleman step down from the carriage. I recognise him instantly. “Mr Oakley,” I say under my breath. Broek hears my words and frowns. There is no time for more speech as the solicitor approaches us and bows gravely. “Your Grace,” he greets.

I curtsy. “Mr Oakley, what a surprise. Please do come inside.”

He follows us into the house, casting a curious glance at Broek. I make quick work of the introductions. “Mr Oakley, may I make you known to Mr Brook Reeves, my neighbour and also now my landlord as he is the one to have recently purchased Penhale Manor.” I turn to Broek. “Mr Oakley is my solicitor,” I say by way of explanation.

Broek exchanges a stiff bow with Mr Oakley, whose expression clears, as he exclaims, “Mr Reeves, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

I guide my guest to the drawing room, and in my capacity as hostess, request some refreshment to be brought to us from Croris. I also send Chloe to keep him company.

Once we are settled in our seats, Mr Oakley explains the reason for his visit. “Your Grace,” he says, “you will pardon me for being a trifle concerned when I learned that you were no longer to purchase the cottage in Frome and wished to remain in the house you had sold to Mr Reeves, especially as I was to understand the difficult situation you were in with regards to funds. It was an unusual request and caused me to wonder if all was well. In the end, I decided it would be best if I came here and discussed these matters with you in person.”

I look down at my joined hands. I could, of course, tell Mr Oakley the truth, or some part of it, though it would be hard to convince anyone that I am being held captive when I am supposedly in my own home. At the very least, I could pretend that I have changed my mind about renting Penhale Manor and ask for Mr Oakley’s assistance in escorting me back to Somerset and securing another home. Mr Oakley is my ticket to freedom, and by the tense way that Broek sits beside me, he knows it too. For a very small instant, I am tempted. This could be the end to my troubles, but this ticket to freedom comes with a heavy price. Trust . It is that word again, that precious commodity that is at stake.

My bid for freedom earlier today eroded the fragile fabric of Broek’s trust in me. Now I must mend things. There can be no possibility of asking for Mr Oakley’s help without destroying this fragile tendril of trust forever. I look up at the solicitor and smile warmly, “Mr Oakley, it is most generous and kind of you to make this journey to ask after me. I do acknowledge that events the past few months have not gone in the direction that I had planned. I must tell you, Mr Oakley, that this house, when first I arrived, was in an intolerable condition—overgrown with ivy, damp and rodent infested. It was a severe blow to my constitution to discover that my new home was in such a shocking state.”

“Your Grace,” says Mr Oakley looking distressed. “I am most grieved to hear this. Had I but known, I would have advised a different course of action.”

I incline my head. “I am sure that would have been so. In any case, shortly after my arrival, I met with Mr Reeves, who made me a generous offer for the house.” I glance at Broek who is staring fixedly at me, bracing himself for the betrayal that he expects but that will not come. Then I resume my speech. “I will tell you now, Mr Oakley, that it was pride that made me refuse it at first. I had an ambition, you see, to overturn this misfortune through my own labours. However, a few weeks into this task, it became clear to me that the transformation of this house with my limited funds was beyond even my strong-willed endeavours, and so I accepted Mr Reeves’s offer. I had also by this time received the particulars of the cottage in Frome that was for sale. It seemed a sensible decision to sell Penhale Manor and move to that cottage.”

“Yes, quite,” nods Mr Oakley. “May I inquire what occurred to change your mind, Your Grace?”

Broek sits up beside me and I can feel the tension emanating from him as if it were a tangible thing. I rearrange the folds of my gown and very subtly shift my legs, tucked most properly under me, an inch to my right until they touch the edge of his trouser-clad thighs. The contact is slight, hardly worthy of attention, but that light touch is enough to send electrifying pulses throughout my body. And judging by Broek’s reaction, he feels it too. His fists clench. His countenance darkens.

With a deep breath, I continue. “I received a letter from Drummonds Bank in London with some new and disquieting information. It seems I was left a significant sum of money when my father passed away. As you may know, Mr Oakley, I went to live with my uncle then, a Mr Robert Price, who was appointed my guardian. I was made to understand that I was taken in as charity and that I had no funds to my name—a false claim as I have now discovered. I have also since learned that my uncle and aunt took the quarterly interest that was paid on my funds and kept it for themselves rather than spending it on me.”

“Oh my dear,” Mr Oakley murmurs, clasping his hands in consternation. “I had no idea. A shocking abuse of trust.”

“You may understand then, Mr Oakley,” I go on, “why I no longer had any wish to reside in proximity to the family that had so abused my trust.”

“Of course, of course,” he nods.

I turn to face Broek with my next words. “When Mr Reeves heard of my distress, he immediately and very kindly offered to rent out Penhale Manor to me until I could make further plans as to my future. And as there was a need for a great deal of building work on the house to make the necessary improvements, Mr Reeves most generously invited me and Chloe to stay at Reeves Hall with his family as a guest until Penhale Manor was in a liveable state. That is where I have been residing this past month, though I shall soon be able to return here as the improvement works are very nearly complete.”

Broek’s dark eyes burn fiercely with a myriad emotions as they rest on mine. His fists unclench. Across from me, I hear Mr Oakley pronounce, “To be sure, that is a generous offer.” But my attention is on Broek. I urge him with my eyes to see the truth of things. I have willingly sacrificed my opportunity to flee rather than betray his trust. Although his stance has relaxed, there is still tension in his body, as if he does not quite believe the danger is over.

I turn back to face my solicitor. “So you see, Mr Oakley, that your concern was misplaced, though it is most appreciated. I do thank you for coming here.”

“Your Grace,” he replies, “I am glad to have my concerns put to rest. I shall set out for London in the morning with my mind at ease, but I will ask you to please write to me should you wish any further assistance with regards to securing another house.”

“Of course,” I murmur.

Mr Oakley clears his throat. “Your Grace, I wonder if I might enquire. Is there a suitable inn I can put up in at Penhale village? I fear it is much too late in the day to journey back to Bodmin.”

It is Broek that now responds. “I am afraid not, Mr Oakley. The duchess and I were about to take our leave, having come to inspect the progress on the house, but you are welcome to stay here for the night if you do not mind a few discomforts. I can have the servants make up a room for you upstairs.”

Mr Oakley smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Mr Reeves, Your Grace, that is most kind.”

The matter resolved, we now stand to take our leave. “Mr Oakley,” I say. “Thank you again for your kind concern. I wish you a safe journey back to London.”

He bows. “My pleasure, Your Grace. Good day now. Good day, Mr Reeves.” Then Broek takes hold of my arm possessively and guides me out. He pauses a moment in the hallway to issue instructions regarding Mr Oakley’s stay and to summon Chloe. Soon though, we are settled in the carriage and on our way to Reeves Hall.

As the vehicle rattles over the rutted road, I soothe a fractious and worn out Chloe, while Broek treats me to his usual scowling scrutiny. Eventually, I face him. The look we exchange is charged with meaning and mystery. I cannot quite fathom what he is thinking. His rage has abated and so has his combative tension. In its place is something else that is difficult to gauge. It is not, as I would hope, a forgiveness for what I have done nor a friendly disposition towards me. A reckoning for today’s events is still to come.