Page 14 of The Hidden Duchess

Caroline cursed herself. She had been looking straight at him and speaking with as much wry confidence as she would have as Miss Caroline Graves, or moreover the Duchess of Manchester.

“My apologies,” she murmured and turned to make a silent retreat like a dutiful maid.

He stepped in front of her before she could slip out of the room.

“You’re new,” he noted. “I don’t remember you. I’ve been distracted of late but I’m certain that even a blind fool would have noticed a beauty like you.”

Caroline could not believe it, but she blushed.

“I should have come around the house sooner,” he teased. She wanted to school him, as she would if they were equals, but knew that it was better to keep her tongue tied and face demure. The gentleman was possibly flirting with her, a maid, and to make it all the more absurd she was technically his stepmother now. Men, she thought with a mental roll of her eyes.

He touched a stray lock of hair and for a moment, her heart beat rapidly. He was very handsome, and he knew it. A rake, she realized. A charming rake, but a rake nonetheless. Even with that knowledge she found herself thinking that if she had had to have been married into this blasted family, she would have much rather have had the son than the father. Lord Edward seemed the complete opposite of his conniving, foul father. In fact, she felt somewhat bad for him and his plight. He certainly had not had an easy upbringing, what with knowing his father disapproved of him and always living in the shadow of his brother’s successes. Yes, she much preferred Lord Edward, she decided. That is, if she did not have a choice and had to marry a Bennington, she had amended. It did not really matter now, she laughed to herself. She was either now a widow or free of the contract entirely since the marriage had never been consummated. She only prayed that the knowledge of her father’s actions had died with the duke. She suspected that they had, for the duke had seemed the sort of man to keep his aces close to his chest. All she had to do was survive until she could be ransomed and return to her quiet life in the country. The country which seemed not only miles away, but a lifetime away.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss…” He took her hand and bowed to her, playacting as he waited for her to provide her name and she automatically dipped into a curtsey as she might have done if they were introduced as equals at a ball.

He chuckled softly, and she realized her mistake. He thought she was playacting too. She froze in terror as he pulled the pins from her cap and her hair fell about her shoulders.

“Baker,” she said hastily. “Miss Baker.” Her hand went to the crown of her head, trying to gather the silken sheet of her hair.

“And your given name?” he asked. His eyes were hot upon her.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord,” she curtsied again leaving the cap behind as she fled, “I believe that I am needed in the kitchen,” she threw over her shoulder as she ran. His laughter followed her and for some reason she was reminded of his wretched father, the dead duke. Even though Emily was not her true name, she had not been able to bring herself to offer it. It seemed far too personal in Caroline’s mind. She realized that she did not know much about the personal lives of maids but as a lady, there were only a handful of men that she had permitted to call her Caroline alone. With no title to tie down that formality, a single name seemed strangely intimate.

She heard his deep, masculine chuckle follow her from the room and for some reason it frightened her to her core.

Yes, she decided, he was charming to be sure, but more than that, dangerous.

Newsof the Duke of Manchester’s demise rocked London the following morning. The bodies of the duke and his men had been found floating along Brackenbrush creek outside of a small farming village. How far they had drifted from the site of the murders Caroline could not glean from the random tidbits that she picked up as the servants all chattered in frenzied whispers.

It did not take long for it to come to light that no female forms had been found.

“Poor lady. They think that the Duchess might not have drifted downstream as far,” A pert brunette named Mary had told the other servants at their afternoon tea, “perhaps her gown got caught on a branch. Perhaps she was swept even further if she was petite. Or, she might not have been with him at all. No one seems to know but the local constable is searching the river banks for ten leagues in either direction.”

“Poor lady,” said another. “No doubt she has been subjected to a fate worse than death.”

Caroline could not add that was far more close to the truth than she would have liked. She shuddered remembering the whorehouse where she and Marilee had first been taken. Poor Marilee. Where was she now?

“To think,” a young scullery maid chimed in, “She’d only been married for a handful of days at most. It’s bad luck to be sure.”

“Her bad luck began when she married the duke,” Mrs. Reilly scoffed. “I’ve never heard of her. Probably an upstart marrying his Grace for title and coin.” She harrumphed. “The one I pity is her maid. No one speaks of it, but there should have been two women at the least. A duchess does not travel alone.”

Caroline wished nothing more than to defend her own honor, but there was no way to do so without sounding too smoky by half. Besides, she still did not know who in this room was in league with her captors and dared not risk a word getting back to the Madam. She opted for attentive silence.

“They must have been set upon by brigands,” a young footman, named Charles, added. “I heard tell the duke was shot straight through the heart.” He made a cross over his face. “And you all know Jerry. He might have been a bastard, and a mean ‘ol drunkard, but he was a fine shot and a better brawler. He wouldn’t have gone down easy. I suppose someone should carry word to his mum.”

Caroline caught her breath. She had not thought of the coachman and his family. More than the duke had died that day.

The others all bowed their heads respectfully as well. Caroline was reminded that these people had known the duke and his men, likely quite well. None seemed overly upset about their master’s demise. Few had cared for the man, she had learned. Still, it was a voracious piece of gossip that had them all in titters and making concerted attempts to get into the good graces of Lord Edward, no…Lord Manchester, their new duke.

A few hourslater the house received a visit from one Lady Lydia Blackwell, who had come to pay her respects.

“That’s Lord Robert’s betrothed,” Lizzy had whispered as she and Caroline had peered out from behind a tapestry at the beautiful lady who was shaking the damp from her cloak in the hall. “Or, she had been. She must have really loved him to have waited so long.”

Lady Blackwell was unnervingly tall, nearly standing equal to the gentleman. She was willowy and so graceful that her height only enhanced her beauty. She had raven black hair and eyes the same color blue as her cerulean gown. She really was striking.

“Oh, Edward,” Lady Lydia held out her hands and gave the only remaining Bennington a sad sigh as he approached her. One lone tear trickled down the impeccable smoothness of her cheek. “Your Grace,” she amended. “My heart is broken. It’s as if I’ve lost my own father. Who could have guessed we would lose him so soon after dear Robert’s passing?” She wiped at her eyes and Lord Edward patted her on the shoulder.

“You’ve had more than your fill of tragedies these few months. With Robert lost,” Edward said.

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