The Hidden Heart

They had traveled throughout the night, stopping only to change the horses at post houses along the way. She and Gabriela slept as best they could in the rumbling carriage, woken often by jolts and jars. Though the carriage was well-appointed and as comfortable as such conveyances could be, it was a hard drive, and it was a relief whenever they stopped at an inn to change horses and could get out a bit and stretch their legs, free from the constant motion of the coach.

Now, having arrived at the duke’s stronghold the next evening, Jessica was swept by a new dismay. The castle did not look like a welcoming place.

“Are we there?” Gaby asked, pushing aside the curtain beside her and looking out. She sucked in a breath as she saw the looming structure. “Oh, my…it looks like something out of a book—you know, the romances Gramps disapproved of my reading. Doesn’t it look as if it holds ghosts and villains?”

“And at least one mad monk,” Jessica added dryly, pleased when the younger girl let out a little chuckle. “Well, shall we venture forward?”

“Oh, yes. It looks most interesting.”

Jessica smiled at the girl. Gabriela was handling everything so well it was amazing. Jessica felt sure that many another young lady would have fallen into a fit of the vapors by now, given the events of the past few days.

She ordered the driver to proceed and settled back in her seat. She hoped that the Duke of Cleybourne would not be too offended by their arrival after dark. It was not the best time to impose on someone, but she hoped that he would understand the exigencies of the situation. It was too bad, she thought, that Gabriela’s father and then the General had chosen someone so lofty in lineage and rank to be the girl’s guardian. She was afraid that he would be so high in the instep that it would be difficult to talk to him. Jessica had been raised in good circles: her father’s brother was a baron, and her mother’s father was a baronet. But that was a far cry from a duke, the very highest title one could have below royalty. Some dukes were even royal themselves. She feared that he might dismiss her, thinking Gabriela’s schooling and training in the polite arts was not good enough for the ward of a duke. She kept such thoughts to herself, however, not wanting to upset Gabriela.

The carriage rolled up to the gates, stopped for a moment, then rolled on into the courtyard beyond. The entrance had once been the outer wall of the castle, Jessica supposed, with huge gates that were closed at night, but in these modern times, the gates no longer stood, only the entrance. Inside the wall lay a small courtyard paved with stones. The coachman pulled up to the front steps of the house, then climbed down to help Gabriela and Jessica out.

The house was imposing, the timeworn stone steps leading up to a large and beautifully carved wooden door. Concealing her nerves, Jessica went up the steps, Gabriela on her heels, and knocked firmly on the front door. It was opened almost immediately by a surprised-looking footman.

“Yes?”

“I am sorry to intrude so late at night. I am Jessica Maitland, and this is Gabriela Carstairs. We are here to see the Duke of Cleybourne.”

The young man continued to stare at them blankly. “The duke?” he asked finally.

“Yes.” Jessica wonderd if the man was not quite right in the head. “The duke. Miss Carstairs is the grandniece of General Streathern. Her father was a friend of the duke’s.”

“Oh. I see.” The footman frowned some more but stepped back, permitting them inside. “If you will, ah, just sit down, I will tell His Grace that you are here.”

It was not, Jessica noted, the pleasantest of greetings. Her unease grew. What if the letter had been delayed and the duke had not gotten it yet? They had traveled very quickly, and it was possible they could have outstripped the mail.

The footman was gone for some time, and when he did return, it was with another, older man, who came forward to Jessica.

“I am very sorry, Miss…Maitland, is it? My name is Baxter. I am the butler here. I’m afraid that this is not a good time to see His Grace. It is, after all, nine o’clock, rather late for visiting.”

“I sent him a letter,” Jessica said. “Did he not receive it? I explained the circumstances of our arrival.”

“I, ah, I’m not sure. I, there has been mail, of course, but I do not know whether he has read it. His Grace did not seem to expect you.”

“I am very sorry if he has not received the letter. But if he has it and has not read it, it would be a good idea for him to do so now. It will explain everything. I am sure it must appear odd to him, but I really must meet with him. Pray go back and tell him that it is imperative that we speak. Miss Carstairs and I have traveled quite a distance. She is the duke’s ward.”

The old man eyed Gabriela somewhat skeptically. “Ward?”

“Yes.” Jessica instilled her voice with all the iron she could muster.

The butler bowed and left, but a few minutes later, he returned, looking apologetic. “I am sorry, ma’am, but His Grace is adamant. He is, um, not one who engages in much social intercourse. He suggested that you contact his estate manager, Mr. Williams, tomorrow.”

“His estate manager!” Anger flared up in Jessica. She was tired, thirsty and hungry, as well as grimy from the dust of the road. She wanted nothing so much as a chance to wash off, then tumble into bed for a long sleep. It was galling that the obnoxiously proud duke did not even have the courtesy to meet her. During the years since her father’s death, she had grown used to slights and snubs, to the small, painful pinpricks of humiliation that the rich and powerful all too frequently gave out. But they never failed to raise her ire, and this one was far worse, because it was a snub and insult to Gabriela, as well.

She glanced over at her charge and saw that Gaby’s pretty young face was pale and apprehensive. She would no doubt worry now that her guardian had no liking for her, that he might refuse to be her guardian or, even worse, be a harsh one. The sight of Gabriela’s small hands twisting together in her lap touched flame to the fuel of Jessica’s anger.

“I am so very sorry that it is inconvenient for your master to come downstairs and meet an orphan who has been placed in his care,” Jessica snapped. “But I am afraid that he has no choice in the matter. He is Gabriela’s guardian, not his estate manager, and I intend to talk to him. We have traveled for a day and a half to see him, and I have no intention of going back to the village at this hour to get a room at the inn.”

The butler shifted nervously under Jessica’s flashing eyes. “I am most awfully sorry, miss….”

“Oh, stop saying that! Just tell me where he is, and I will give him the message myself.”

The old man’s eyes widened in horror. “Miss! No, you cannot—”

But his words fell on empty space, for Jessica walked past him, saying to Gabriela, “Wait here for me, Gaby. I’ll be back in a trice.”

The butler hurried after her, his hands fluttering nervously. “But, miss, you cannot…His Grace is not receiving. It is very late.”

“I am quite aware of the hour. And I frankly do not care whether His Grace is receiving or not. I intend to talk to the man, and I am not leaving this house until I do,” Jessica said as she strode into the huge central room beyond the stairs. “Your only choice is whether you will tell me where he is or let me yell for him,” she informed him over her shoulder.

“Yell?” The man looked as if he might faint from the horror of the idea. “Miss Maitland, please…”

“Hello?” Jessica called loudly, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I am looking for the Duke of Cleybourne!”

The butler gasped behind her. “No! Miss, you must not, it isn’t seemly.”

“And is it seemly for a man to ignore his duties to a dead friend, to tell a fourteen-year-old girl who has just lost everyone dear to her that she should go back to an inn to spend the night and then talk to his estate manager? I may be unseemly, but I am not wicked.”

She walked toward the main corridor leading off from the Great Hall, shouting again, “Cleybourne!”

Down the corridor a door was flung open, and a man stepped into the corridor. He was tall, with an unruly mop of thick black hair and eyes of nearly as dark a color. His cheekbones were wide and sharp, his jaw firm and his cheeks hollowed. He was dressed in breeches and a shirt, his jacket and cravat discarded, and his shirt unbuttoned at the top. He glowered down the hallway at Jessica.

“What the devil is going on out here? Who is making that racket?”

“I am,” Jessica replied, walking purposefully toward him.

“And who the devil are you?”

“Jessica Maitland. The one whose message you just flung back in her face.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.” The butler hurried toward him, puffing.

“Never mind, Baxter. I shall take care of this myself.” The man swayed a little, putting a hand up to the doorjamb to steady himself.

“You’re bosky!” Jessica exclaimed.

“I am not,” he disputed. “Anyway, the amount of my inebriation is scarcely any business of yours, Miss Maitland. I am still not at home to every hopeful debutante who passes through with her harpy of a mother and hopes to put up at my home. Ever since that fool Vindefors married the chit who put up at his house after an accident, every grasping mama in the Ton has tried to emulate her.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Jessica said impatiently. “But it has nothing to do with me or my purpose here, as you would know if you had listened to what your butler said.”

The man’s brows soared upward. Jessica was sure he was unused to hearing anything he said or did disputed, given his rank. “I beg your pardon,” he said icily.

“As well you should,” Jessica retorted, purposely taking his words in the wrong way. “Miss Carstairs and I have had a long and difficult journey, and it is entirely too much to be told to take ourselves off to an inn at this hour of the night.”

“Some might say that it is entirely too much to expect a stranger to take one in at this hour of the night.” The duke crossed his arms, glaring back at her. “And who in the bloody hell is Miss Carstairs?”