Page 12 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
If sacrifice was necessary, so be it.
At last,there was a break in the dense trees. They swung off the road and the gatekeeper hurried out. As they passed through the tall iron gates, the man looked boldly at the carriage. His eyes met Rosamund’s and he did not turn away.
Audacious! But I suppose even dukes mightn’t have so many visitors when their home is buried in a remote spot such as this,thought Rosamund.One can hardly blame the gatekeeper for his curiosity.
Pom Pom stirred, clambering over Rosamund’s lap to look out, replacing his mistress’s face at the window. His tail wagged uncertainly at the sight of the staring stranger, but then they were on their way again, continuing through oak and beech and chestnut.
After some time, these gave way to a neat avenue of limes beyond which lay open parkland. The long drive climbed, taking them past orchards and a walled garden. The grand vista was then revealed: a lake, a little building that looked like one of those Greek temples on the far side, and the house itself, rising upon the crest of the hill.
Her mother craned her neck. “Well, chickadee. If that doesn’t fire you up to claim the duke’s favour, I don’t know what will!”
Hewn from honey-coloured stone, the abbey was breathtakingly beautiful. Turrets reached skyward above crenelated towers.
Monks had lived here?
It seemed strangely grand as a place for men of God, but Rosamund supposed the building had been smaller then. It was customary to extend old buildings, or so she’d read, each generation of owners keen to make their stamp by adding and improving.
The sun caught the leaded planes of the narrow, mullioned windows, set deep in stone. If anyone were there, looking out, she couldn’t tell.
Crunching upon the gravel, the carriage came to a standstill and the driver descended. He lowered the step before offering his hand to her mother, and then to Rosamund herself.
Rosamund’s heart gave a tremulous leap.
She would see Mr. Studborne again. He’d surely be here to welcome them. It was his invitation, after all.
However, it wasn’t he who opened the grand doors.
A figure dressed in black—somewhat stooped, his hair thinning, his face sunken and grey—stood on the threshold. For one horrible moment, Rosamund wondered if this were the duke.
But, of course, it was the butler. Having greeted them, he shuffled to one side.
Tapestries of hunting scenes graced both sides of the hall, overlooked by lines of fearsome stags—their heads mounted alongside vicious-bladed weaponry. Within the circle of a long-chained chandelier, candles flickered.
Tall windows rose above wide stairs and a galleried landing yet there was an oppressive air, as if the oak-panelled walls pressed too close. The closing of the doors behind them only confirmed the feeling.
The butler’s fingers jittered as he took their cloaks. His hands veined and tinged purple, swollen at the knuckle, were those of a man surely too old to be working. But such faithful family retainers were kept until they dropped at last. A kindness of sorts, or a cruelty, depending on how one viewed it.
Eyes pale from age met Rosamund’s, and the butler inclined his head. “In the library, Madam. The master is waiting for you.”
Chapter 5
They were struckby the smell of leather. The walls, at least forty paces long, were lined with books—endless volumes ranged floor to ceiling on dark oak shelves.
There were two fireplaces and, leaning upon the mantle of the first, was their host, staring into its bright flames, a huge dog at his feet. Only when the duke straightened did his imposing stature become apparent.
His features were strong: a nose of which Caesar would have been proud, a high brow, and deep-hooded eyes. His hair was silvering at the temples, as was his moustache, but his vitality was evident.
“Welcome to my home.” The duke gave a slow smile, looking over both Rosamund and her mother.
In the gloom, the fire’s glow lit his face. The dog lifted its head and Rosamund had a sudden notion of looking upon Hades himself—the King of the Underworld, flanked by Cerberus.
Rosamund was rather glad the butler had suggested Pom Pom be taken to the kitchen for something to eat. The poor little thing would have been all atremble at the sight of the Great Dane.
“Oh, Your Grace. It’s a privilege to be sure.” Mrs. Burnell gave a wobbling curtsey and tugged at Rosamund to do the same.
“Please, there is no need for formalities.” With an expansive gesture, the duke bid them sit. “The pleasure is mine. It was most fortunate for my nephew to meet you.”
He lowered into the armchair beside the hearth. “Cornwort will see to your bags and you will want to settle in but you must first take something restorative.”
