Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (14 page)

“Quick, I can hear her coming,” Portia said.

Zach whipped away the box containing the rubies. The silver chalice, beautifully studded with emeralds, was left on the table in solitary splendour. Faraday opened the door for the duchess, who gasped when she saw her gift.

“My goodness,” she said. “Those wicked rumours were clearly not true. Mr. Chesney has definitely not lost his touch.” She picked up the chalice and examined it from all angles. “It is better than anything he has ever done before and will make a wonderful addition to the collection. Thank you all so very much.”

Faraday took the chalice and carefully placed it in the spot that had been made for it at the front of the cabinet. A footman circulated with champagne. When they had all been served, Zach raised his glass.

“Mother,” he said. “A very happy birthday. I hope tomorrow and all the years to follow will bring you health, happiness, and everything your heart desires.”

“Thank you, Zach. Seeing you all here together makes me happier than you could possibly know.” She paused to sip at her drink, and Amos was sure she had to be thinking about their father, the one person who could complete her happiness but would never be with them again. “Now, if one of you boys were to find himself a suitable wife and make me a grandmother, my happiness would be absolute.”

“I say, Mother,” Vince replied for them all. “That’s asking a lot. What’s the rush?”

“I shall refrain from pointing out that Zach is now thirty,” the duchess said airily, “but only because it would fall upon deaf ears.”

The brothers instinctively moved closer together, as though there was safety in numbers.

“Given this is a particular milestone in your journey through life, Mother, we, the six of us, thought a more personal gift was called for.” Zach produced the box containing the jewellery from the side table where he had placed it and handed it to her with a flourishing bow. “I hope this will compensate in some small way for the lack of grandchildren.”

“My goodness, I was not expecting anything. Whatever is this?”

“Open it, Mama,” Annalise said, skipping with impatience.

The duchess placed her glass aside and did precisely that. “This is exquisite!” She covered her mouth with one hand, a most unusual show of emotion for their habitually composed mother. “Absolutely exquisite. I have never owned rubies. I wonder how I could have overlooked their brilliance.”

“I knew you did not, and suggested them,” Annalise said. “But I can take no credit for commissioning them, or for approving the design. The boys did all that, proving they do have their uses.”

The duchess elevated a brow. “I knew Mr. Chesney was a skilled craftsman, but I had no idea he was quite so innovative when it came to design.”

“He has a niece who did the design,” Vince replied.

“Really? I had heard something about a young lady staying with him.”

“She will be here tomorrow,” Zach said. “I dare say you would like to meet her and express your thanks.”

“Certainly, I would.”

“Well then, Amos, you must make sure Miss Brooke is brought to Mother’s notice.”

“The rubies are Burmese, which apparently are the best,” Amos said. “They are supposed to ease transition by providing clarity.”

Their mother’s eyes were moist. “Thank you so very much, all of you. It was a most thoughtful thing to do. I never imagined I would own any more jewellery now that…well, your father was the only person who ever purchased any for me, apart from what I inherited from his mama and that which will be passed on to your wife, Zach. If you ever settle upon one,” she added, smiling to take the sting out of her words.

“Now you know why I persuaded you to wear the cream silk, Mama,” Annalise said. “It will make a perfect backdrop for the jewels.”

“So it will, my dear. How clever of you to think of it.” The duchess wiped her eyes and kissed each of them in turn. “My goodness, I feel terribly spoiled. It is almost worth being a year older.”

“We are very glad you like your surprise,” Amos said.

“Come along, Mother.” Zach proffered his arm. “Dinner is served.”

“I hope you do not intend to be at Winchester Park this afternoon, Miss Brooke,” Reece said, strolling into the workshop on the morning of the party, looking as though he was spoiling for a fight. Well, if he was, he had come to the right place.

“Certainly I do. The duchess wishes to meet me.”

Fleeting alarm crossed Reece’s features. “That would not be wise. I forbid you to go.”

Crista bridled at his arbitrary tone, even if she secretly harboured her own doubts about attending. Unlike Lord Amos’s family, who were too well bred to press her with impolite questions about her reasons for being in Shawford, the villagers would feel no such restraint. It would be better to disappoint Uncle Charles than risk more sinister repercussions for the sake of an afternoon’s entertainment.

“You can forbid all you like, but I shall still attend. It is bad enough you control my working hours.”

Every fibre in Crista’s body rebelled when he grabbed her upper arm so tightly it brought tears to her eyes. “Go if you must, but never forget what will happen if you say one word out of place. I shall be there, and I will be watching your every move.”

“I told you never to touch me again, you odious reptile!”

She reached for the nearest weapon to hand, which happened to be a sharp pair of tweezers. She stabbed the back of the hand touching her arm with as much force as she could manage and pinched. He howled and released her, sucking his hand into his mouth. Crista took considerable satisfaction from seeing she had drawn blood.

“Just remember, Miss Brooke. You are only useful to us until those diamonds are set.” Something dark and dangerous flashed through his eyes. “Then my masters will not care what happens to you, and I will have my revenge.”

So saying, he stormed from the shop, leaving Crista to regret her hasty action. She pushed such thoughts aside and ran up the stairs to change. She donned the same gown she had worn for her previous visit to Winchester Park−her only respectable one. She took more trouble than usual with her hair, brushing it until it shone, and asking Kate to help her style it.

“There we are, miss,” Kate said, putting aside her brush. “You look a picture.”

“Hardly, but at least I won’t disgrace the family,” Crista replied, wrinkling her nose at her reflection.

“Here’s your bonnet.”

“Thank you, Kate. Now get off yourself and enjoy the party.”

“That I will, miss. It’s always such good fun, and the duke is so generous.”

With her straw bonnet containing her wayward curls, Crista had run out of excuses to linger and so joined her uncle, who was waiting for her in their sitting room.

“This is actually the back entrance to Winchester Park,” Uncle Charles explained as he drove his curricle, pulled by a reliable old cob, along the same track they had taken previously. There is a similar track that leads from Compton. I have always thought the two paths were deliberately constructed by a previous duke to prevent the two sets of villagers from having to converge.”

Crista smiled. “Surely, they are not so very uncivilized.”

“Not at the beginning of a party. There are always on their best behaviour then. But once the ale flows…well, I dare say you will see for yourself. Someone from one village will make a disparaging remark about the other, offence will be taken, and
that
is when they show their true colours.”

“I wonder the duke allows them on his property if they behave so very badly.”

“Oh, they manage to remain civil while they are at the Park. It’s when they set off for home the trouble starts, which is when the two tracks become invaluable.”

Crista laughed. “Separating the warring factions?”

“Precisely. I happen to know the current duke discretely places some of his strongest footmen along the tracks when the villagers leave, just in case of trouble.”

“I hope you never get involved in these disputes, Uncle,” Crista said with mock severity.

“Not now, but when I was a younger man,” he replied, his rheumy eyes sparkling with mischief, “there happened to be a very attractive young lady residing in Shawford. When she rejected the advances of one of the coves from Compton, he had the temerity to say some rather unfortunate things about her. Well, I could not allow that situation to pass unchallenged. What sort of man would that have made me?”

“You formed an attachment to a lady, Uncle?” Crista looked at him with great curiosity.

“I have not always been old, you know.”

“No, of course not, and nor are you now.” But he had never married. Crista had often wondered why, and hated to think he had lived all these years nursing a broken heart. “What happened to the lady? Did she disappoint you?”

“She had the poor judgement to run off and marry the blacksmith from Compton.”

“Oh dear.”

“Quite. It caused something of a ruckus at the time. Inter-marriage between the two villages is frowned upon. Had she taken up a career as a light-skirt it would have been less shocking.”

“No, Uncle, you are teasing,” Crista said, laughing.

“Indeed I am not.”

“Will the lady be here today?”

“Oh, I am sure she will be. I think she regretted her hasty decision to marry her brawny blacksmith, but there is nothing to be done about that now.”

“Well, it stands to reason she must regret it,” Crista cried loyally. She could have had you.”

Uncle Charles sighed. “It was all a long time ago.”

They drove on for a moment or two in silence. Crista tilted her head backwards to she could enjoy the soft breeze on her face and the sight of a cloudless blue sky on a perfect summer’s day.

“Where is the front entrance to Winchester Park precisely?” Crista had been so nervous on her last visit she hadn’t taken much interest in the geography.

“About five miles in the other direction, on the main Winchester Road.”

Crista smiled, noticing her uncle’s conveyance attracting considerable interest from the occupants of the procession of vehicles they had slowed down to join. He appeared to know everyone, and smiled and waved to those they passed on foot. Crista smiled too but looked directly ahead, thus avoiding the curious questions she could sense the pedestrians formulating as they stared openly at her.

It took another half-hour to cover a distance that should have taken five minutes, but everyone was in high spirits and didn’t mind the delay. It was a beautiful day, and they fully intended to make the most of the holiday. Crista felt herself relax, and she vowed she too would enjoy herself. Let tomorrow take care of itself. She was her uncle’s niece, come from London to visit him, and would admit as much to anyone who asked. It was true, and it was the one connection she had no reason to feel ashamed of.

Freed from the curricle at last, Crista and her uncle headed for the front lawns. She gasped, barely recognising the place she had seen only a week before. It had been transformed into her idea of a carnival, even though she had never seen one. There were clowns, tumblers, jugglers and even a fire-eater who had attracted a huge crowd of wide-eyed spectators.

“Where did these people come from, Uncle?”

“They are a travelling troop of gipsies whom the duke invites back each year to entertain his guests.”

“They certainly do that,” she replied, pausing to watch a juggler whose hands moved so fast she was unable to count the number of balls he kept in the air.

There were people everywhere, all in their Sunday best. Children ran riot, unable to decide which attraction to watch first. Fiddlers played a lively jig that already had people dancing. Long tables groaned beneath the amount of food set upon them, and Crista saw the barmaids from the Crown and Anchor almost run off their feet trying to keep up with the demand for ale. Organised games appeared to be underway already. She recognised pitch-halfpenny and skittles.

“There used to be a tug of war,” Uncle Charles told her. “And wrestling bouts.”

Crista big her lip. “But let me guess. The competition between the villages got too intense.”

“Ah, I see you begin to understand. Now, there will probably be leaping for gloves.”

“I have never seen that.”

“Then you have a treat in store. And later, there will be a cricket match where the men will show off their prowess and the ladies will admire their physiques.”

“Uncle Charles!”

“Don’t pretend to be shocked, my dear,” he replied, chuckling. “There is no sin in appreciating masculine prowess.”

“But this cricket match, surely that creates just as much rivalry between the villages.”

“Ah, but it does not. The current duke’s father instigated it, having run out of entertainments that did not debilitate half the male villagers and prevent them from working for a week after the party. And so, the old duke decided the cricket match would be the gentry against the villagers, forcing the two villages to join forces in their quest for communal glory.”

“How clever. Does Lord Amos play?” she asked, wishing the words back as soon as they slipped past her guard.

Uncle Charles fixed her with a penetrating look. “I dare say he will.”

“Oh look,” she said hastily. “What are those girls doing?”

“Practising their dancing,” Uncle Charles replied. “Each village has its young girls devise a dance in honour of the duchess’s birthday.”

“Don’t tell me, another source of fierce competition.”

“Quite so.” He steered her towards the food. “Shall we have something to eat and drink before we move on?”

***

Amos’s family mingled with the growing crowds, eating what they ate, drinking whatever was on hand to quench their thirst. A duchess rubbed shoulders with a farmer’s wife, a duke chatted on equal terms with an articled clerk. Amos was in debate with a market trader about the possibility of an early harvest and the price of corn. Even so, he knew the moment Crista Brooke set foot on the estate. He sensed her presence and fancied he heard her laughter above all the noise and mayhem caused by Shawford and Compton residents making merry.