The Duke (41 page)

The hearty fare that Robert had ordered to be brought to their rooms consisted of steaming cottage pies with Yorkshire pudding. Bel took an inexplicable satisfaction in watching Robert eat and wash down his supper with a good dark ale from the tap room. It seemed that the farther they traveled from London, the more invigorated he became.

After the good country meal, Jacinda hugged them both good night and Lizzie made her shy curtsy. The girls retired to their room and Robert leaned back in his chair, watching her with a gleam in his eyes that she had come to know.

He left the candle lighted on the table and soon had coaxed her into the bed. She hit the mattress with her arms around him, smiling to think of how quickly she was overcoming her fears. Then he went about furthering her education.

In the morning they were refreshed and ready to strike out west through the Yorkshire Dales and over the broody moors, arriving in Westmorland County by the end of the day.

“We’re practically in Scotland,” Bel declared, to which His Grace and his sister took offense. She laughed at their indignation as they promised her she had not yet seen the most beautiful scenery in the world. Even the famous painter, Mr. Constable, had said so, Jacinda boasted.

The third day consisted of weaving through the hills and fells and among the sparkling breezy meres. Bel could smell the hint of magic in the air; the hills turned to an emerald so green it made her heart ache. Broad rippling peaks soared around them on every side. The air felt thinner as their elevation rose. Perhaps this was the simplest explanation for the presence of the poets’ muse in these windy haunts, she thought, but beauty greeted her wherever she turned, from the towering magnificence of Saddleback, to the sheep drowsing contentedly next to blue water in the valleys.

When they stopped to admire Lake Grasmere, she glanced at Robert’s hard profile, etched in sun, the breeze riffling his black hair. The rugged hills, brown and green, cloud mottled, were flung out in a panorama behind him, and she realized then that this was his world, his true element—not the stilted opulence of Parliament and Knight House, nor the crowded streets of London under Society’s watchful eye, but these free ranging vistas with their moody skies and rustic comforts.

And when they arrived at sunset before Hawkscliffe Hall, shimmering in the distance, he was the fitting master of the castle they beheld, looming above a mirrorlike tarn. For a long moment, they all stopped and stared at it.

Hawkscliffe Hall possessed such an air of timeless permanency that she recalled again Robert’s whisper on the morning after his duel,
Stay forever.
For the first time since he’d spoken them, it gave her pause to consider what he had meant by those words. Forever was no idle fancy to a man who dwelled in a castle that had stood for centuries, she realized. For a moment her certainty faltered; however romantic, the arrangement between them was temporary. Wasn’t it?

The only answer that came to her was the cry of a circling hawk far above them, soaring on spirals of air.

Robert squinted against the sun, looking up at it.

The fields around them waved with wildflowers and the dusty road ahead curved around the water.

“You didn’t tell me you live in an actual... castle,” Bel said as her wondering stare followed the sweeping blue-gray curtain wall that defended the steep hill crest, about a half mile off.

Robert looked askance at her, smiling faintly.

Hawkscliffe Hall had crenellated battlements and high round wall towers at regular intervals and a tall square keep, from which she could not help but imagine ancient archers firing their long bows, knights charging out on their war horses. Yet the whole scene was idyllic, like a daydream.

The hawk screeched again triumphantly.

Bel looked up at the majestic bird, shading her eyes with her hand. “It’s beautiful.”

“They thrive here. I’ll show you the mews, if you like falconry. Come. It’s been ages since I’ve been home.”

She followed him back to the coach, mystified. In London, he had seemed to her the ultimate man of the world, almighty in his wealth and influence, possessed of smooth cosmopolitan power, a man whose innate finesse and diplomacy paved the way in the world for his high ideals. Yet here, in the home of his ancestors, she could not help but see him as a kind of strong, rugged warrior overlord in the prime of his manhood.

The castle came complete with dragon, Bel discovered, as once more her path crossed that of the termagant chatelaine, Mrs. Laverty, but this time, she was not about to let the woman intimidate her.

Inside, Hawkscliffe Hall was a maze of rambling passages and nooks and crannies in which she could well imagine Robert and his siblings had loved to play hide-and-seek when they were children. While Jacinda told her excitedly about their resident ghosts, Robert led her on a tour through the whimsical, strange, unpredictable place.

Their mother’s gilded, frothy rococo tastes overlaid earlier, darker, and sturdier Jacobean styles, all within a medieval shell.

Jacinda could barely contain her enthusiasm as she rushed to and fro, touching everything and reacquainting herself with beloved familiar objects in every room. There was a Venetian saloon, a Chinese drawing room, a ballroom and a billiard room that all bore the stamp of the Duchess Georgiana’s Versailles-inspired decor.

The most recent section of the castle, airy and tastefully redecorated, led back into a much older, dim refectory gallery, with a long somber dining table. The great hall and the tapestry rooms were the oldest of all. Bel could almost imagine Robert’s forebears making their battle plans against the Scottish border clans. Her imagination ran riot as she stared all about her. She wished Papa could have seen the place.

Attached to the back of the castle was a winter garden with an orangery. Beyond the graceful glass walls lay topiary terraces with a small knot garden in the center. She realized that beyond the gardens, the thousands of acres of sweeping turf and sloping woodlands belonged to Robert, as did the deep indigo lake, inky where it lay in the shadow of the screes.

They went outside into a graveled courtyard where Robert pointed out the chapel, the servants’ hall, the estate office and carriage house, and the huge stables and mews set farther back.

Jacinda and Lizzie dashed off to visit their favorite horses while Bel and he strolled back inside.

“Your home is a marvel, Robert, truly, a wonder. It is like something out of Walter Scott’s tales,” she said, shaking her head in amazement.

“And you are most welcome here,” he answered softly, lifting her hand to his lips.

At a footman’s inquiry, he ordered her things to be deposited in the bed chamber adjacent to his own. He delivered this brazen command without blinking an eye. She looked askance at him, startled but happy with his open attitude about their affair. It seemed they were in accord at last—she had abandoned the safety of the courtesan’s prime rule, and he seemed to have finally, genuinely accepted her into his life.

That night he took her into the state bed where he himself had been conceived and possessed her with a vigor rooted in the strength this land gave to him.

In the days that followed Bel discovered that even though Robert had been absent for months, he was one of the pillars of local life, called upon almost daily by people who would come from miles around to ask for his advice or assistance. He always made time for them.

She occupied herself minding the young ladies. They looked up to her, though she was only Robert’s mistress. Their affection and need of her helped her to heal almost as much as Robert’s love. Each sunny afternoon they went vagabonding across the countryside under wide-brimmed bonnets, in search of scenes to sketch.

Though Jacinda and Lizzie were both nearly grown girls, neither had known their mothers. Bel was touched by their eager need to be loved and their willingness to accept her guidance. On successive days, over tea and cakes, she soon learned that Jacinda was frightened of making her debut, knowing that the Patronesses and their ilk would be watching her with eagle eyes, looking for any sign of her mother’s flagrancy in her behavior.

Lizzie, in turn, confessed that her status as a penniless ward had long been a great trial to her pride. She worried what would become of her when Jacinda had her Season and married. Moreover, she was hopelessly infatuated with Lord Alec.

On Monday of their second week in the country, Jacinda promised Bel a magical surprise. “Today I’m going to take you to see the most spectacular place of all. We’ve been saving it for last, haven’t we, Lizzie?”

The two girls exchanged a look and giggled.

“Why, what is it?” Bel asked, as she piled their picnic hamper and sketch pads into the arms of their long-suffering footman.

“Pendragon Castle,” Jacinda announced in a reverent hush. “Many ancient years ago it was the castle of Uther Pendragon—the father of King Arthur!”

“Oh, Jacinda, you are full of fairy dust.”

“It’s true! The place is eerie. Some say that the enchanter Merlin is locked up in the great yew tree that stands over the ruins.”

“Balderdash.”

“She’s telling the truth, Miss Hamilton, honestly,” Lizzie attested with a solemn, wide-eyed nod.

“My brothers used to play knights of the Round Table there when they were small,” Jacinda said with a wide smile, then skipped out into the sunshine.

They set out on foot and met a number of local people along the way—a trio of shepherd children managing their flock, an old peasant driving his cart of chickens to market, and two weathered, capable-looking men, whom Jacinda introduced as the gamekeeper and the land agent. They said they were on their way back to the hall for luncheon.

Bel looked on with amusement as Jacinda questioned them about the surrounding fields and woodlands with all the seriousness of the rightful lady of the manor. Their eyes twinkling, the two kindly men indulged her, but Bel sensed their manly interest in her, the “governess,” and shied away from it, saying little.

The sun-bronzed land agent could not praise the duke highly enough for the prosperity he had brought to his tenants by his forward-thinking uses of agricultural improvements. The big, soft-spoken gamekeeper confided that he had been instructed to turn a blind eye to a certain amount of poaching on His Grace’s lands, which had added to Robert’s reputation as a benevolent landlord.

Finally they parted ways, with the footman trudging behind them, laden down with their supplies. As they approached Wild Boar Fell they spotted a herd of wild ponies drinking at the River Eden. They stopped and watched the ponies in delight until the herd decided their party was not to be trusted and stampeded off over the rise. Exclaiming happily over the unexpected encounter with the fell ponies, they made their way to the looming, craggy ruins of Pendragon Castle.

Bel stared in fascination at the ancient stone shell of the fortress. A living fragment of a timeworn myth, Pendragon Castle stood tall on one side, where a great, blighted tree hung over its ragged pinnacle, but the other half of its ramparts had crumbled away.

She walked nearer, exploring it while Jacinda ordered the footman to lay out their picnic. Bel could almost imagine a roguish band of boys playing here at being knights of King Arthur’s Round Table. She heard a shuffle of rock behind her and turned to find Lizzie carefully picking her way through the fallen, mossy stones.

“I was just thinking that I never did hear about the rest of Lady Jacinda’s brothers,” Bel said to the girl. “I only know Hawkscliffe and Lord Alec.”

“Well, the second-born is Lord Jack, but he is not discussed in good company.” She sneaked a glance over her shoulder. “I’m afraid he is quite the black sheep.”

“Is he really one of the Gentlemen?” Bel whispered, invoking the euphemism for smugglers.

“I wouldn’t put anything past him, oh, but he has a good heart, Miss Hamilton.”

“Why did Lord Jack become a smuggler?”

Neither of them saw Jacinda hopping over to them from rock to rock, but apparently, she had heard them. “Because he wanted to rebel against Papa for being cruel to him,” she declared. “My papa wasn’t
his
papa, you see. Only Robert and I are of the true blood. Robert’s the heir, Jack was
supposed
to have been the spare, and I’m the kiss-and-make-up baby.”

Bel gasped and Jacinda let out a peal of laughter. “It’s all right. I don’t mind telling
you
about my family, my dearest Miss Hamilton. You’re one of us now.” She hugged Bel when she reached her side, then laughed and pirouetted on a rock. “Everybody knows my mama had lots of lovers— and so shall I when I’m grown up,” she said defiantly.

“Jacinda!”

She shrugged off Bel’s horrified look nonchalantly. “The only one of my brothers that Papa liked was Robert.”

Bel debated for a moment on lecturing the girl, then decided Jacinda was only testing her for a reaction. “It’s not unusual for a man to lavish all his attention on his heir and overlook the others.”

“Papa died just before I was born, so I wouldn’t know what his reasons were, but you must admit it wasn’t very nice of him. All I know is that one day Jack got fed up with it, dropped out of Oxford, and went to sea. After Jack are our identical twins, Damien and Lucien.”