Page 30 of The Phantom Duke
“Do you not? That was the reason for doing it, after all.”
“It does not exactly prove causation. It could be a coincidence.”
“I choose to believe it is a consequence. The ghouls realize that the Duke of Winterleigh is just a man after all. Not a phantom.”
He turned away from the mirror, satisfied with his appearance and slightly resentful at the lengths to which he had to go in order to conform to expectations. He did not care how he looked. He certainly had no desire to spruce himself up just for Maria Shelidan.
“Let us go to the chapel. She will be arriving within the hour.” Damien said.
They left his dressing room, and Damien led the way through the castle with the ease of one who had lived in it his whole life.
“You have chosen well, I must say. She is comely,” Simon said.
“She is beautiful,” Damien said, without thinking.
“Beautiful, is it?” Simon said.
When Damien glanced at him, his friend’s face was still and smooth. But he’d heard the smile in Simon’s words.
“Yes, aesthetically pleasing. I would not be saddled with some heifer.”
Those few servants that Damien employed were out in force. Dusting and placing doomed flowers in vases, the house was never allowed to be bright enough for flowers to last long. The two men made their way to the oldest part of Winterleigh.
The floor and walls were stone. Ancient tapestries attempted to soften the outline of hallways but succeeded only in adding the must of age to the air.
“Is your brother going to attend?” Simon asked.
Damien stopped, looking at Simon sharply.
“Unless you know something I do not, no. Do you?”
“Nothing for certain. Rumors.”
Damien stared at him, and he rolled his eyes.
“Very well,” Simon said, sighing deeply. “I debated whether to tell you anything at all about it. I heard that you received a certain letter, and I wondered if it might be true. You have said nothing to me about it, but I know that you are…a private man sometimes.”
“I am disturbed that you have heard of the letter,” Damien said. “As if I need more rumors swirling about me.”
“Then, it is true?” Simon asked, eyes widening.
“The letter? Yes. A brother? There is nothing confirmed for certain. Merely rumors circulating that there is a secondary heir to Winterleigh residing in Northumberland. A story about abranch of the family dating back to King Oswald. Nonsense, in all likelihood.”
“Yes, nonsense,” Simon agreed.
Damien inclined his head. “The letter was unsigned, which makes it impossible the guess the sender’s motivations or veracity. It claimed that I have a brother but offered nothing else. None of the investigators I have employed has found any trace of a brother or of the letter-writer.”
“Unfortunate,” Simon mused.
“Yes,” Damien agreed. “Where did you hear such gossip?”
“One of my patients,” Simon said. “You might be surprised what people will tell a physician.”
“I do not suppose you could learn where the rumor might have originated?” Damien asked, as they entered the chapel. “I had assumed that it was some unsavory individual seeking to ruin me. Or perhaps, someone who disagreed with my marriage to Maria. But if it is local gossip…”
It was attached to the house by a colonnade with an arched wooden roof, dark with age. Daylight spilled between the arches, causing Damien to slit his eyes and raise a hand to shield them.
“I will do what I can, of course,” Simon said.
