The Duchess and the Dragon (24 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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ON THEIR TWELFTH day of travel, near dusk, but with enough light to see, they came upon Christopher’s cabin.
Made of stone, dug out and picked up off the surface from the surrounding earth, it was strategically nestled near the Shenandoah River on a small ridge, its backdrop the rising wall of the Massanutten Mountains. Drake took in the grove of poplar and chestnut trees standing to one side of the cabin, providing a warmer shade than the mountains. At their feet spread a carpet of abundant wildflowers blooming with early color. Chicory with its blue-fringed petals stood proudly on long spindly stems, seeming to wave at them in welcome. Purple spiderwort and common mullein dotted the landscape. Nearer the cabin was a cluster of showy orchids, bloomed out in purple and white.
Serena drew a breath of delight.
Further in the distance lay evidence of Christopher’s years of labor. Freshly painted outbuildings, some large and some small, squatted in the background. There was the squawk of chickens in a coop off to one side of the house and fluffy, soft-eyed sheep in a neatly fenced pasture beyond the main yard. It was a picture, really, like a painting come to life.
“This is Christopher’s homestead?” Serena voice was filled with astounded admiration.
“According to the directions in his letter. We have arrived.” Drake’s gaze scanned the area in grudging admiration. Why the man hadn’t asked for Serena’s hand long ago puzzled him. He was obviously well set to provide for her.
Before he could consider this any longer the door burst open and a middle-sized dog bounded out to them, barking. Christopher’s commanding voice stayed him.
“Thou hast come!” he announced with unabashed excitement, his eyes only for Serena as he rushed to greet them.
“Christopher!” Serena ran to him and threw her arms around his broad shoulders. He swung her around in a circle—his joy to see her plain. Finally his eyes came to rest on Drake.
He walked over and shook Drake’s hand. “How was thy journey? The trail can be rough in the spring, I know.”
Drake assured him it was nothing they couldn’t handle. He tried to be generous and likable, but all he really wanted to do was slam a well-aimed fist into the man’s pretty face.
Serena was still smiling up at Christopher. “I had no idea! From what thou described I thought thou wert barely eking out a living here.”
Christopher looked at his feet, a red flush filling his broad forehead—just the right amount of modesty, Drake noticed.
“I did not want thee to be disappointed. ’Tis not town life out here, Serena, though the valley is filling up. There are more and more Friends. We have even built a meetinghouse in town, and the Scots-Irish are flooding into the valley.”
Serena lifted her face to the sky and inhaled. “It may not be civilized—but it
is
beautiful. The mountains, they practically hug thy house, the stream sings closely by, and thou art well protected and provided for by thy hard work.” She gave him a soft, happy smile. “I can see thou hast worked very hard here, Christopher, and I am impressed.”
Drake’s fist curled tightly against his leg. Forcing a nod of agreement, he asked, “How long have you been homesteading your land?”
Christopher shrugged, waving them toward the house. “Three years—a little more. I was one of the first in the valley. Oh, and I am happy to report that a tract of land to the south of mine has been recently vacated. There is even a half-built cabin on it. It is wonderful providence!”
Drake wasn’t sure how fortunate it would prove to be next-door neighbors with Serena’s ex-suitor, but he said nothing. He just endured as Serena was led into the house and shown around. He gritted his teeth during the inspection of the well-ordered kitchen. He ground his teeth and felt the beginnings of a headache as they toured the cozy sitting room that offered an astonishing number of large windows. The light they provided made the room bright and cheerful. Most houses were quite dark, especially out in the wilds. But Christopher had apparently made lighting a priority. Seeing the view from this room, Drake couldn’t blame him. It was stunning.
Next, Christopher motioned them toward his bedroom, insisting they use it, helping Serena carry in her trunk. Drake was about to finally force the word
no
past his restricted throat, everything in him rebelling at the suggestion of Serena in this room, when he heard her cry of delight.
Against the back wall was a large bed covered with a colorful quilt. There was nothing particularly special in the design of the bed, plain wooden frame that it was, but what Christopher had contrived for a headboard was astounding. Three windows hung side by side, making it seem like a wall of glass. On the other side stood nature’s ever-changing, awe-inspiring painting. This evening, the mountains rose majestically with a bluish, purple hue, rising in peaks of haze. Behind them, sinking into their stony depths was the beginnings of a beautiful pink-and-purple sunset. In all his travels, Drake didn’t think he had ever seen anything so lovely—and it must always be so.
Serena ran to the side of the bed to gaze in astonishment out the window. “However didst thou do this?”
Christopher’s face shone. “We Quakers are so plain in all we do . . . but God’s creation is anything but plain. I did not think it sinful to revel in . . . a little. And,” he paused, his voice low and strained, “I thought you might paint from here.”
Serena’s eyes shone with understanding and regret. “Not sinful . . . perfect.” She turned to Drake and held out her hand. “Can we do this? In our cabin?”
Drake could only nod, his throat so choked he feared he couldn’t speak.
She grasped his hand and held it tight, watching the sun sink against the mountain peaks. “Christopher will help. Wilt thou?”
She turned to him, just as Drake did. Drake hoped she hadn’t seen the quickly masked pain on Christopher’s face. The realization that Christopher had made this enchanting place with Serena in mind struck him with a physical force. While he felt some compassion for the man, he also felt the need to do something to brand her as his own in front of him.
“Of course I will help,” Christopher said with forced cheerfulness.
“But if we take thy room, where wilt thou sleep?” Serena asked in concern.
“Come, I will show thee the rest of the house.”
The invitation seemed for her alone, and Drake sensed this man wanted a moment alone with Serena.
“Go on.” He half-hoped she would refuse and stay with him. “I’d like to enjoy this sunset a few minutes more.”
Serena searched his eyes for a couple of seconds, then turned toward Christopher and linked her arm with his.
Drake heard her happy chatter and occasional laugh as they climbed the ladder he had spied earlier to what could only be the loft. He waited while the sun faded into darkness, hardening himself to what he had stolen from this good, honest man.
The strike of guilt was a new feeling, proof he must have changed some, as even a few months ago he wouldn’t have cared how this man felt. Minutes later they called him to the kitchen and the inviting smell of dinner cooking.
The kitchen was spacious. A large worktable stood against the wall next to a massive stone fireplace—big enough to stand in and well stocked with cooking utensils. A smaller table and chairs for dining sat across from the hearth under another window. But the best part must have been the pantry lined with long wooden shelves. Serena went into raptures of delight when she saw it. Drake made a mental note to copy it, too, in a cabin of their own.
Christopher had prepared a meal of venison stew. He served them while asking questions about their trip, Serena’s family, and their decision to become farmers.
Drake sat, ate little, and endured.
After dinner, the dishes were cleaned and wiped, and then Serena stated her desire to wash up before bed. “The river will not be too cold, will it?”
The Shenandoah River was a short distance away, but still Drake insisted on accompanying her. Christopher did not object.
Drake watched in silent absorption as Serena waded into the dark waters, giving a little shriek when met with the coldness. Staying close to shore she quickly scrubbed herself, her teeth chattering so badly she could barely talk to him. Drake had to grin at her stubborn insistence to wash her hair. After her quick bath they headed back toward the enchantment of the stone house.
Night soon enveloped them. Thunder sounded far off in the distance, echoing across the faces of the rocky walls of the surrounding mountains, but there was no rain.
Serena turned to him. “We really made it.” She did a silly little twirl toward him that held him in an enchanted spell. It almost hurt, looking at her so happy and loving her so much.
Wrapping her arms around his waist she hugged him from behind, stopping him. “’Tis a wondrous place. I feel at home here.”
A squeezing took place in the region of his heart.
Christopher’s
home made her feel at home. All he had to offer her was the wilderness and the possibility of a half-built cabin. And that at the invitation of another man’s help.
He wanted to curse. He was bone-weary of taking charity and letting others help and provide for them. He had a sudden vision of his palatial castle in Northumberland, one of many estates he would have inherited as duke and the home where he grew from child to man. He imagined Serena in one of his elegant carriages pulled by plumed horses adorned in the colors of his livery, red and gold. On the sides, emblazoned on the glossy black doors of the carriage, was his crest, a golden fire-breathing dragon set against a field of red—the motto underneath reading “ad defendum praedium”: defender of the treasure.
They would drive slowly up the long hill, flanked on either side by tall, elegant trees that gave way to very formal, very English gardens. His home sat atop a flat hill, beyond which were the steep cliffs leading down to the sea—the sea that had sung him nighttime lullabies, crashing against the rocks, water cascading in a cadence that swept him into boyish dreams.
Alnwick was a massive stone edifice—formidable, condescending, a stronghold against man and any device formed against it.
He would watch Serena’s face in eager anticipation as they swept through the gatehouse and neared the circular drive. He would revel in her look of astonishment. His heart leapt inside him just thinking about it. They would stop and silently behold the splendor of the front facade. He would help her from the carriage with its plush velvet cushions, then lead her up the stone steps to the immense front door. She would be dressed in a jewel-encrusted, French silk gown the color of the green flecks in her eyes. Diamonds would adorn her ears, and one of the many magnificent family heirlooms would encircle her sweet neck. She would reek of his wealth from the top of her upswept hair to the tips of her glittering satin slippers. His riches would adorn her.
His butler would open the door before they even had the chance to reach the ornate knocker. Bowing low and resplendent in the duke’s livery, Crudnell would welcome them into the foyer. Gilt ceilings, so high one had to squint to see the fine artistry, would greet her. A massive spiral staircase to the right, an elegant salon done in pale satiny ice blues and silver beckoning to the left. Speechless in her wonder, Serena would glide through the house, Drake showing her
his
riches, the majesty of a duke’s glory—his provision.
But that was all a dream. A dream that would never come true. His stomach rolled with the crashing of it as he pasted a false smile on his face and reentered reality—the hospitality of a farmer in a stone farmhouse.
A house that enthralled his wife.
THE NEXT DAY they toured Christopher’s land, seeing firsthand all the hard-won improvements. If they had put Drake on the rack, he would have been more comfortable. Fields skirted the rocky edges of the base of the mountain, some newly planted with corn and some furrowed and waiting to be planted. Spring was a busy time for the farmer, and Drake was itching to get started on his own land.
Looking over at his wife, he felt a surge of satisfaction that she was his. She sat atop a pretty gray mare, riding astride as there was no sidesaddle. Surprisingly, she rode well, swaying naturally to the rhythms of the horse. The sunlight shone on her face and the wind whipped her hair loose, letting curling strands roam wild about her shoulders. Her eyes held a sparkle he loved. She fit so well here.

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