Ducal Encounters 01 - At the Duke's Discretion (7 page)

Amos rolled his eyes. “Now whose imagination is running away with him? Miss Brooke is charming, but she is not a lady in the true sense of the word.”

“And yet, that is precisely what she appeared to be. She knows how to behave in society.”

“Yes, that thought had occurred to me.” Amos rubbed his jaw. “I wonder why Chesney has kept her hidden away.”

“Probably trying to keep her safe from people like you.” Zach was looking for a reaction, but Amos knew him too well to rise to the bait. “What did you wish to tell me?”

“We could not quite understand why Chesney brought Miss Brooke with him rather than his damned assistant, nor why she drew up the designs for that matter.” Amos scratched the back of his neck. “I felt there was more to it than they let on.”

“Very possibly, but provided they produce the jewellery for us, on time and as shown in the designs, why should it matter to us?”

“I think Miss Brooke is being exploited in some fashion.”

Amos could see from Zach’s expression, he had shocked his brother. “By Chesney? Surely not? They seemed quite close when they came up here yesterday.”

“No, not by him, but by someone. Anyway, I walked past the shop last night and, of course, it was all closed up. So I slipped around the back and observed Miss Brooke in the workshop.” Amos paused and fixed his brother with a probing look. “Making the jewellery herself.”

“Good God!”

“My thoughts precisely.”

“Do you imagine Chesney’s eyesight really has become so very bad that he cannot work himself?”

“To be honest, I am unsure what to think, but my instincts tell me Miss Brooke is being coerced in some way.”

“Because that’s what you want to think. You are attracted to her and want to think well of her. Not that there is any reason why you should not. I hope we are not so unenlightened we would disapprove of a woman taking up such an occupation. Since she is Chesney’s niece, it’s reasonable to suppose she grew up surrounded by jewellery and learned her skill from the cradle.”

“Since she doesn’t share Chesney’s name, her mother must have been Chesney’s brother. I had not stopped to consider that possibility.”

“If Chesney can no longer do close work, perhaps the girl persuaded him to let her try her hand herself. It would explain why she keeps to herself. If Compton village heard of a woman craftsman, or should I say a woman plying Chesney’s trade because he was incapable, they would take pleasure in shouting it from the rooftops, thus taking trade away from Shawford. You know how seriously the two villages take this silly feuding.”

Zach rolled his eyes. “I am hardly in a position to forget it.”

“Do you imagine her uncle trained her himself?” Amos asked. “The name Brooke and jewellery are mixed in my mind. I am sure there is a reason for that, but I can’t think what it might be.”

“Her uncle, or perhaps there is someone else in her family who encouraged her talent.” Zach slapped Amos’s shoulders. “Anyway, I don’t think we should make her secret known. I have no objection to a woman making mother’s jewellery. If her work is even half as competent as her passion for it, then our mother will be delighted with her gift.”

“I am glad you feel that way, but…oh, I don’t know, I am still uneasy in my mind. Something isn’t right, and I have a feeling Miss Brooke is urgently in need of our help.”

“Ours, or yours?”

“I have decided to make her my responsibility.”

Zach flashed a raffish grin. “How very noble of you. But be careful, Amos. Chesney and his niece have a right to privacy, and they may not thank us for interfering. They can’t very well tell you to go to the devil, as they would if it was anyone of the same class as them who interfered.”

It was time for the mares to be covered. The brothers watched as the stud-hands led them into the covering shed. The stallions were eager to perform their duties, and the matter was soon dealt with. Zach wandered back to the house, his dogs loping along ahead of him, but Amos remained behind, unable to dislodge thoughts of Miss Brooke from his head. Still just in shirtsleeves, he came to a decision. And there was no time like the present to carry it through. He saddled his black stallion himself, mounted up, and left the yard at a canter.

“Come along, Warrior,” he said to the horse. “Let us see if we can be of service to a lady in distress.”

He turned Warrior in the direction of the common, hoping to see Miss Brooke walking there. Unless she worked late into the evening again, this was the time when he was the most likely to encounter her.

To his intense disappointment, she was nowhere to be seen.

He rode on to Shawford, and walked Warrior down the main road. All of the businesses had closed for the day, with the exception of the Crown and Anchor which, as always, was enjoying a brisk trade. He was about to head on past Chesney’s establishment when he saw a familiar figure leave the tavern on foot, heading for the common with a purposeful stride. It was the man, Reece, whom he had seen at Chesney’s.

On an impulse, he turned Warrior and followed at a discrete distance behind, curious to know what business such a man could possibly have on empty land.

***

Crista had worked solidly the entire day on the duchess’s suite of jewellery while her uncle concentrated on the silver chalice agreed upon for her collection. Crista would finish the filigree on it just as soon as she could make the time. Thankfully, she had seen nothing of Reece that day, which was an agreeable surprise. Having received no interruptions, she had made good progress forming the gold settings for the stones. Next, she must start the delicate filigree that would decorate the pieces.

“My dear, you have been here all day.” Uncle Charles came into the workroom, his brow creased by a frown. “You will make yourself ill if you continue to work so hard. Allow me to take over for a while. I am not completely past it, you know.”

“I know that, Uncle,” Crista replied, leaning up from her seat to place an affectionate kiss on his wrinkled cheek. “But I am enjoying doing honest work for a change. I can take pride in it and not feel the need to apologise every five minutes.”

“You have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.” Uncle Charles scowled, but she knew his displeasure was not directed at her. “Your father got you into this situation. You and I must now find a way out of it.”

“How extraordinary.” Crista smiled. “I had reached the same conclusion. The more we do for them, the deeper we become involved, and the harder it will be to prove we were coerced.”

“It is time to stand up for ourselves.” Uncle Charles clasped his lapels, his expression grimly determined. “That is why I agreed to do the duchess’s jewellery. It gives us a legitimate excuse to put it ahead of Reece’s demands. I am not sure what good that will do us, but it makes me feel better about myself.”

“I thought as much. What do you have in mind, Uncle?”

“We need to discover who Reece reports to. He is just the messenger.”

“Yes, we have always known that.” She shuddered when she recalled what had happened to her father. He behaved badly in allowing greed to get the better of him. Even so, he had not deserved the brutal punishment that befell him when his conscience tormented him and he could no longer be a-party to the activities he had been drawn into. “Do you imagine there is someone in the village?”

“Reece never leaves the district, and receives no visitors to his room at the Crown and Anchor, so we must assume so. After all, he must get his orders from somewhere.”

“Hmm, so how shall we discover who he is in league with, and what help will it be to us if we do find out?”

“Knowledge is power, my dear.”

“I still don’t see how producing the jewellery for the duchess will help us in that respect.”

“The duke and his brothers are very fair-minded, Crista. I have known them all since they were in short coats, and they have never had reason to question my honesty.”

“You cannot risk telling them, Uncle.” Crista grasped his hand, filled with alarm that he might do something foolhardy. “I understand how you feel, but we must resolve this problem alone. Think of Amelia. Besides, even if we could convince the duke we are innocent pawns, we have still broken the law, and such appetising scandal could never remain secret for long. Just think what the residents of Compton would do with it.”

“I know, but I am at the end of my career, and I’ll be damned…excuse the language, my dear, but I simply will not allow this situation to endure indefinitely. Had they not dragged you into it, it would not have even started, regardless of your father’s stupidity.”

“Which is precisely why they involved me. I just wish I knew how they found out about my skills. That question plagues me, keeping me awake at night. So few people knew.” Crista felt tears spring to her eyes. “Do you have any idea how wretched I feel each time I think of the way you have been used.”

“There, there, my dear, do not distress yourself.” Uncle Charles patted her hand. “Now that we are agreed something must be done, I am sure a means of extricating ourselves will present itself before too long.”

“I so very much wish to see the back of the odious Mr. Reece, but if we do get the better of him, his masters will simply replace him. They will go after Amelia just to remind us what they are capable of and possibly you, too.” She flung her arms around him. “I could not bear it if anything were to happen to either of you. I know Amelia can be selfish and rather silly, but she is still my sister, and I would not have her disappointment on my conscience.”

When she released Uncle Charles, she noticed his eyes were also damp. “You have spent all your life trying to please others, my dear. I had thought with the demise of your father you would finally have the opportunity to live for yourself. I cannot tell you how sorry I am you find yourself in this position.”

“Hush, Uncle, it is not your fault.” She offered him a tired smile. “Together we shall think of a way to get the better of them and expose them for the villains they are. You’ll see.”

“That we shall, but in the meantime there is something you could do for me.”

“Anything.”

“Go out and enjoy the evening air for an hour before Kate has dinner ready for us. You look fearsome pale, and fresh air will revive you. It is a beautiful evening. I know how much pleasure you take from your rambles on the common, and you have not indulged in one for several days.”

At first Crista shook her head. She had planned to put in at least another hour this evening but, now that her uncle had suggested the idea, the call of the outdoors was simply too strong to resist.

“Very well,” she said. “To please you, Uncle, I shall do just that. Let me tidy up here. Then I had best change into a gown, just in case I encounter anyone and excite their curiosity. Are you sure you can spare me?”

“Get along with you, child. I shall tidy up for you. You go and change. I don’t expect to see you again until it’s time for dinner.”

Crista ran up to her room on the second floor and shed her breeches and shirt. She then uncoiled her hair from the tight bun that had contained it for the entire day, aware from painful experience that if she did not keep it clear of her work, it could easily be ignited. She sighed with pleasure when the pressure on her skull receded, brushed it loose and felt the headache that had been threatening diminish almost immediately. With her hair neatly tied back with a ribbon, she donned an old yellow cotton gown, draped a shawl negligently around her shoulders, and didn’t bother with a bonnet. She was unlikely to meet anyone on the common at this hour. Indeed, she had made an art form of avoiding people and their intrusive questions since moving to Shawford. So successful had she become at hiding herself away, few people were aware she was still in residence at her uncle’s establishment. They thought she had come for a visit and then returned to London.

Feeling giddy with relief at having a moment to herself, she slipped back down the stairs and through the back door, from which she was unlikely to be seen leaving. With a light step she headed for the common, determined to make the most of her moment of freedom and not mar it with gloomy thoughts. The air was fresh and warm on her face as she turned it upwards, breathing deeply, happy as long as she did not allow herself to think about Reece. She tried, truly tried, to count her blessing instead. She had an uncle whom she loved and respected, and who loved her in return, a sister on the brink of an advantageous marriage, and she herself was doing what she had always wished to, even if she could not take public credit for it. It ought to be enough she was making jewellery for a duchess to celebrate her birthday. How many men in her position could boast such an honour?

She followed the familiar track across the common, unsurprised no one else was abroad. She failed to understand why they preferred the canal to this lovely wilderness with its wild flowers, trees in full leaf, and birdsong to ease her troubled spirit, but was glad they did. This small corner of Winchester was hers alone, or so she liked to think, and she was familiar with every corner of it. She felt the knots leaving her muscles as she headed wherever her feet directed her, thinking about her visit to Winchester Park the previous day and the courteous manner in which she had been received. She had poured tea for a duke and two of his brothers. Only imagine that!

She buried her nose in a bush of wild honeysuckle, breathing in its fragrant aroma, chiding herself when her thoughts returned to Lord Amos. They had done so with disturbing regularity since the previous day. His disarming smile, elegant manners, and animal vitality had had a profound effect upon her, much as she wished it could be otherwise. If she shared her worries with him, she felt sure he would be able to resolve them for her. She shook her head to dislodge such a whimsical notion. Even if he believed her and took up the cudgels on her behalf, she would have to admit to her culpability, and he would lose all respect for her, always supposing he entertained any. Somehow that thought was more painful than the terrifying prospect of challenging Reece alone.

She left the honeysuckle and wandered on. No, confiding in anyone was out of the question, especially Lord Amos. Damnation, was that a horse she could hear approaching? She looked over her shoulder and gasped. She recognised the magnificent stallion being trotted along the path she had just walked. She also recognised the man on its back. It was as though her thoughts of Lord Amos had summoned the man himself. Like her, he was hatless, hair as black as his horse’s coat blowing in the wind. He was informally dressed in a white shirt and his habitual tight-fitting breeches, controlling the powerful horse with just one hand, shading his eyes with the other as he glanced around as though looking for someone. Eager not to be caught here alone she picked up her skirts and ran towards the trees. As she breeched their leafy canopy a hand shot out from behind a solid oak and caught her around the waist. She cried out before a second hand was clapped across her mouth, stifling all sound.