The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

O utside her chamber, Elsie could have sworn the world was being flooded. Overwhelmed and seized. Perhaps even the entire manor house was simply engulfed. It probably was not best practice, but when the little spaniel climbed up onto the bed with her, she wrapped her arms around him, and held on to him tight. He made a soft whining sound and licked her nose, and relief bounded through Elsie’s chest.

How was she to explain any of this to her sensible sister Margot? It would sound utterly macabre if she tried to put the series of events to pen and paper. But how could she convince the rudest and most obstinate man she had ever encountered to come to London? She doubted anyone would ever be able to convince the new duke of anything he did not wish to do. To her mind, it was madness to stay in such a windswept and dangerous location, and as for poor Lady Flora, she needed all the help she could get.

Curling up closer to the spaniel, she pulled the rough blanket over the pair of them, trying her best to shield them both from the sound of the windows rattling and whatever else was echoing around the house. As for poor Samson, hopefully, Elsie’s little maid had found somewhere to bed down as she doubted the girl would wish to be inside the actual manor.

Elsie stroked her hand over the dog’s coat. She wanted a distraction. Why not name the pup? But every time she let her mind quiet it turned back to the inevitable presence of the duke.

The heir who she’d been sure she could sweet talk and convince to come with her up to Town. She had assumed he would be of an age with the previous duke, but no this person was younger, more energetic, more… well, something. She could not put her finger on precisely what the new duke of Ashmore was, but whatever it might be, Elsie was not comfortable about it. Compelling, she thought for a moment before dismissing this idea as too much of a compliment.

There was something about this man which made her extremely aware of the breath within her chest, the hair on her arms, and how she was standing. She had never considered herself to be self-conscious before, but around His Grace, Elsie wanted nothing more than to shrink away from him, and that was before he fixed her with his unnaturally pale-blue eyes. It wasn’t right for someone with dark hair to have such light-coloured eyes.

“What shall I call you?” she whispered to her rescued pet. She needed something appropriate, a name which would somehow purge the memory of being fixed with those perceptive, all-knowing eyes and drive the memory out of her. “Lancelot?” It was humorous she reasoned to call the dog this name, given she had been the one to rescue the hound. But somehow it seemed to suit the little pet. And to this suggestion the spaniel nestled in closer, and Elsie let out a sigh.

Rolling over, telling herself to sleep, although as she tossed and turned, she came to a disturbing realisation that even with her lids sealed shut the duke’s domineering stare, continued to chase after her. Even when she finally fell into a restless slumber, the blasted man followed her through her dreams.

There came a knock at her door, and Elsie forced her face out of the pillow, hair sticking to her mouth. From a partly open curtain, faint light poured in, and sadly, even from here came the definite sound of rain. Presumably, the blasted duke would therefore think it wasn’t worth them leaving the manor, and the idea of having to stay another night in this strange, lonely place?—

The knock sounded again, and this time there was the sound of Samson’s voice. “Miss… Miss Elsie, are you awake?”

“Yes, yes.” Elsie struggled out of the sheets and bedding as the bedroom door opened, and Samson pushed it wide. Her maid slipped into the chamber with a tray balanced in her hands. Elsie fully expected the girl to be as scared as she had been the previous day, but surprisingly Samson smiled broadly as she set the tray down.

“Isn’t it a strange little place?” She asked as she looked over the bedspread at Elsie.

“I would hardly call it little,” Elsie said. There was an awful lot of bizarreness about the manor. “I do hope we will be able to depart back to London shortly.”

“Oh no miss, I heard them talking in the kitchen that the weather is dreadful. That’s why there’s that crying noise—it is the wind. Doesn’t echo so? One of the footmen said, the main road is even flooded and all the side ones too, no one could get through. He was amazed we managed it.” Samson almost looked impressed at the sheer scale of the problem. “He said it would take days to clear. It happened before, in November…” Here Samson stopped. She looked as if she wished to add something else but couldn’t find the right words.

Elsie smoothed down her nightdress and then set about righting her hair. Everything it seemed was going to annoy her—whether it was the frightful house, the unpredictable weather, her host. Wholeheartedly she wished her mind did not keep snagging on him. Turning a forced smile to Samson, she looked down at the tray the girl had brought up.

“Thank you for seeing to my comfort with the breakfast.”

“Of course, miss.” In a confiding manner, she leant closer and said, “I hear the duke’s sister… that she’s mad. Is it true that you saw her?”

Moving closer to the tray as the sweet scent of the chocolate wafted over to her, Elsie took hold of the cup and sank into the nearest available chair, which happened to be a rather moth-eaten but comfortable red velvet. As she sipped the drink, she dwelt on what to say… or even whether it were her place to comment. She certainly didn’t want to stir any rumours, or gossip about poor Lady Flora. Yes, the girl had seemed very unpredictable, but perhaps with the right care and attention she might recover. Lifting her gaze up, Elsie said, “I did not see Lady Flora for very long. She is a young girl. Perhaps she has read too many gothic novels. I would imagine she has been isolated, perhaps between us we can talk to her about London and encourage her to journey to Town with us.”

To this suggestion, Samson did not look remotely convinced. “Clary—that is our driver—he overheard one of the maids saying the lady hasn’t been the same since last year after the accident. He told me that the servants here say before the crash she was…”

What accident, Elsie wondered. Could it be recent? Where did His Grace’s injured arm come from? As much as Elsie would love to know what rumours the servants had overheard, as in her experience the staff were normally the ones who had the right to it. “We must endeavour to care for her ladyship.”

With a slight gesture of annoyance, Samson pulled the cover off the tray and Elsie was rather pleased at the array of sweet pastries that lay before her. Thick round white rolls, yellow butter, and colourful marmalade would make for a delicious breakfast. Even if the manor was cut off, at least the food left nothing to be desired.

“Oh,” Samson said, her attention snagged by Lancelot. She bent down and ruffled his ears affectionately, any of her fear of what he might be gone now that she could make out his shiny eyes and some of his coat. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Indeed,” Elsie said, both annoyed and relieved at the change of conversation. “This is Lancelot. I thought if you could this morning, we might try to give him a proper wash.” Elsie had patted the dog down, and presumably rather a lot of his muck had ended up on the bedding last night, but at least this task would give her something to occupy her time.

“Certainly miss, although a lot of the staff have been called away.”

“All of them?”

“Well, Clary and all the men, they’ve gone with the master—His Grace, I should say—to see what can be done about the roads.”

The idea of staying cooped up in the lonely house, with only Samson and Lancelot for company, did not strike Elsie as especially enjoyable. She lowered her cup and said, “Perhaps we can take the puppy down to the stable and find some way of cleaning him ourselves?”

A bit reluctantly, Samson agreed and set about getting Elsie ready and into one of her two day dresses, this one was her favourite, a cheerful buttercup yellow. Then the two of them made their way, with Lancelot in their wake downstairs and towards the stable.

The journey through the house reminded Elsie of all her original discomfort in this place. For whilst it was a touch brighter now, and it was daytime, there lingered throughout the place the heavy unpleasant smell of dust, and even through the parted curtains, the light hung in a dull quiet haze. She was grateful when all three of them stepped outside .

“Here, miss.” Samson snatched up an umbrella, a rather faded old looking one, and lifted it over both their heads. “You think we’ll have a tub outside?”

It had been Elsie’s hope, and besides, she reasoned if it wasn’t, then at least she was outside. Despite her uncertainty about the place and the heavy wave of rain, there was a crispness to the air, a familiar saltiness that reminded Elsie of home. “We can but look. Besides”—she pointed towards Lancelot who was frolicking about in the puddles nearby, —“we may not even need it.”

Happily, Lancelot pranced this way and that, hopping and splashing his way through the small pools of water. His brown fur was soon wet, and Elsie noticed there was some white fur mixed in there too. Whilst she watched the dog Elsie did her best to ignore how quiet the stable were, and yet there was the feeling from somewhere close by that they were being watched. When she raised her eyes, she scouted along the windows, looking for who was following them. Yet she could see no sign of a person despite the hair raising on the back of her neck, which made her want to run.

A desperation took hold of Elsie. She couldn’t linger here; she needed to move. “I swear I can smell the sea. Can’t you, Samson?”

Her maid seemed confused, her wide-eyed, perplexed expression was no help. “I’ve never been to the sea before, miss. But,” she added helpfully, “the butler said there was a sea cove close by, and one of the maids said…” She giggled at the mention of it.

“What is so humorous?”

“I don’t have the right of it, miss, but they were saying there’s a cottage in the cove or by it, I think, that apparently affairs… or assignations used to occur in.”

A vivid image of the new duke leading some willing lady, or tavern wench to this forbidden cottage flared through Elsie’s mind… Did His Grace indulge in such affairs?

“Isn’t it amusing being here,” Samson added, her face bright in heavy contrast to the previous night .

“I would have thought you were keen to leave here?” Elsie asked her maid quickly.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Samson blushed, and Elsie had a sudden idea of what might have occurred that had softened her maid to their surroundings. Either she had met someone down here, or the driver had caught her fancy.

“Which way is the cove?” That urgent sensation was still holding on to Elsie, and she could not shake it. She had to get to that cove, whether it was a mile off or a great deal farther—clear, wet air and then the scent of the seaside would help. Bring back the memories of home and chase away the sheer oddness of this manor.

Again, Samson looked uncertain. “I think that way.” She pointed out the stable, her hand gesturing towards what looked like an unbroken stretch of wildflowers and sky-reaching grasses that reached an out group of trees merging into a wider forest. “At least the men went the other way. I assumed the cove wouldn’t need clearing so…”

It was a good step of logic on Samson’s part, and Elsie nodded. “You’re correct. Let’s go.”

“Oh no miss, I wouldn’t want to get lost.”

“I’m sure it’s not far, just past those trees.”

But Samson looked stubborn, so Elsie shrugged, patted her damp skirts, and called to Lancelot, before hurriedly leaving the stable, heading with purpose towards the trees.

“Hush, boy,” Elsie said affectionately as Lancelot bounced along next to her. Clearing the manor house and stable did bring a sense of relief. A warm, cosy feeling to put space between the building and her.

Lifting her arms as she walked, Elsie hugged herself. It seemed no matter where she went, no matter her optimistic attitude, she never could find somewhere she felt at ease. Mayhap she was reading too much into it, but after London and several Seasons in Edinburgh… Even though she hated to admit the idea to herself, in her home in Berwick-upon-Tweed, there was that sensation of not being entirely comfortable. If she was being honest with herself, it was that she was searching for something or someplace she could find that elusive fulfilment.

Striding onwards through the thickening grasses, Elsie swiped at the wildflowers, gathering blooms to her, a futile gesture at being more ladylike. The pretty purples of the wild blooms, with their little white centres filled her hands but Elsie only gave them a cursory glance, before continuing onwards to the tree line. The scent in the wet air was growing stronger, the smell of the sea. High above her were the branches of the trees, and Elsie walked through the forest, keen to be nearer the water or the cove, whichever awaited her.

The overhanging arches of the trees created a lovely, lush canopy high above, shielding Elsie from the downpour. Inside the woodland it was quieter, and finally that sensation of being watched left her. Lancelot and she made excellent progress, and with each step, Elsie told herself that she was getting nearer to the cove.

Quite why it mattered so much was beyond her. But it did. Having the reassurance of something she could count upon, perhaps, when her sister and parents were so far away. She was not her normal self—quite why that would be could hopefully be explained by the strangeness of the setting and had nothing to do with the new duke. The memory of his gaze, his presence, the flex of his jawline, the injury or when he’d stepped close to her at the dining table. It had felt intimidating but in the clearer light of day, Elsie was not sure if that was his intention—she wondered if he was, in fact, trying to warn her.

Light from the edge of the forest emerged from behind dense greenery and Elsie quickened her step.

The cliffs at the end of the forest were sheer, but magnificent. The views of the cove below showed a jutting cut into the land, which was filled with shallow sea water. Despite the overcast skies, the water far below still looked appealing as it washed over the sands. The sand rose at one point, giving way to higher ground and then changing to rocks. Placed atop of this outcrop was a cottage, accessible if one did not mind wading through the shallow waves to reach it. If it were sunny and the tide was out, Elsie could easily imagine this would be picturesque.

The question was how to get down into the cove.

Carefully, Elsie made her way along the cliff’s edge until the natural incline of the cliffs led her down slowly towards the water. Beside her Lancelot was making excited noises. The pathway was not the smoothest, but Elsie ignored any worries, she was too eager for the refreshing feel of the water on her toes.

“Yes, I will be taking off my shoes,” she said, partly to the dog and partly to herself, and laughed as her rescued hound barked back. “Yes, Lancelot lets go have a look.”

The last few steps were the hardest but when Elsie reached the sand, she felt triumphant as she stared around the cove, taking in the beauty of high cliffs, dotted with greenery, and hard chalk. If nothing else could remove the memory of feeling overwhelmed by the duke, then surely it was the greatness of nature.

Lancelot took off along the seam of the water’s edge, giving the wholehearted appearance of a dog laughing as he darted in and out of the water. His evident joy raised Elsie’s spirits.

“I won’t be bullied,” she told herself, dismissing yet again the memory of the duke. She would enjoy herself as much as Lancelot. In defiance of propriety, Elsie bent and undid both of her boots, eased her stockings off too, and spread her feet into the welcoming cool sand. Lifting her skirts up, Elsie felt the rush of water over her toes, and giggled at the coldness.

“Come on, boy.” Elsie slapped her hand against her day dress. Lancelot rushed back as Elsie waded farther into the water, her intention to explore the distant little cottage despite the uneasy feeling someone was watching her once more.