The Lost Duchess of Greyden Castle Read online

  While I sat paralyzed at this astonishing piece of information, he leaped to his feet. “I don't blame you,” he cried, bitterness lacing his voice. “I'll leave immediately. And Vanessa, there's no reason to bother your father with any of this. I should like to keep his good will, at least.” Without looking toward me again, he started for the door.

  It was the darkest moment of my twenty-three years. I willed the life back into my paralyzed limbs and commanded my tongue to obey me. “Richard! Stop!"

  He swung on his heel, his face so hard and grim I could scarcely recognize the man I'd remembered with such longing.

  "Please, Vanessa. There's no need for this. I fully understand."

  I lurched to my feet and stood glaring at him. “No, Richard, you understand nothing."

  His face grew grimmer. “I understand that my trip here was futile. You have refused me."

  The moment seemed to call for dignity. I pulled myself to my tallest. “I have—” My hastily summoned dignity suddenly deserted me, and I became again a thirteen-year-old child. “Please, Richard.” My voice quivered in spite of all my efforts to keep it from doing so. “I ... I..."

  My tongue simply refused to work, but fortunately instinct took over, blind feminine instinct. I literally ran across the library and threw myself against Richard's waistcoat. If his arms had not opened to catch me, I doubt that my legs would have held me, but his arms did open, and I was gathered tightly against a muscular chest where I finally managed to sob, “Yes, oh, yes. I will marry you."

  Chapter Two

  It was not settled quite that easily, of course. Papa had to be consulted. He seemed more than a little taken back when he came home and found the two of us ensconced on the sofa, deep in conversation about the moorlands and the varied uses to which they could be put.

  "Papa,” I cried, quite unaware that my hand lay possessively on Richard's sleeve or that my face shone with happiness. “Look who is here."

  "Richard, my boy,” Papa said, never being one to stand on ceremony, even with a duke. “It's good to see you again. How are things going for you now?"

  Richard turned his smile to me. “Things are going admirably, sir. May I have a word with you before dinner?"

  Papa cast me a quizzical look, but I could only beam in what I feared was a rather idiotic fashion. I knew that Richard meant to ask Papa for my hand in marriage, meant to do it even before the dinner Cook was so expertly preparing.

  Later, looking back on those fateful moments, I wondered at my naiveté. I was no longer a gawking girl. As a mature woman of three and twenty, I ought to have had more sense than to go so giddy over a proposal from a man who had professed no stronger feeling for me than brotherly affection.

  But I was as addlepated as any green girl, hardly even noticing that such a declaration was missing, intent only on being with the man I loved.

  I did admit to myself that I was incurably romantic, and I blush to say that I even congratulated myself for not having settled for second best, never once giving thought to the fact that in me Richard was doing that very thing. Had I had my wits about me, I would have realized that a man who had been besotted by Caroline's charms could hardly find me an object of intense passion.

  But I was too caught up in the fulfillment of my childhood dream to question any part of it. His astonishing words about Caroline's death meant so little to me that I didn't even bother Papa with them. It never even occurred to me to inquire about the other inhabitants of Greyden Castle or even to ask any questions about the place where I was planning to spend the rest of my life.

  I didn't worry a bit when Papa and Richard sequestered themselves in the drawing room. I knew that Papa liked Richard. I knew, too, that my beloved Papa would put my happiness before his own.

  And so he did. As quickly as the banns could be called, Richard and I were married. We left the same morning for Greyden Castle. Ours was a quiet wedding. There was none of the bustle and excitement that had marked Richard's first. He had wanted it that way, and for myself, I did not care. I would have married him any place, any time.

  I was sorry to part from Papa, for I loved him dearly, but I was all excitement about the new life that lay before me and the little daughter that I was soon to meet. Never once did I suppose that before many weeks had passed I would be wishing I had never left my sane, contented life with Papa.

  But leave it I did. The journey was pleasant enough. Richard's carriage was one of the best, and his company made any minor discomforts hardly noticeable. We spent pleasurable hours discussing various methods of land use, but finally the subject seemed exhausted.

  "Tell me about Sarah,” I begged my new husband, placing a hand on the sleeve of his dark traveling coat. I was aware that I touched Richard perhaps a little too often for propriety's sake, but we were alone in the carriage, and we were man and wife, even if we had not yet had our wedding night.

  At the mention of Sarah's name a curious thing happened. I felt the stiffening of the muscles that lay under my hand. His face did not change much. Only one who had studied it as closely as I had in the last weeks could have seen the faint withdrawal of warmth from his eyes. As he complied with my request and immediately spoke, I put what I had observed down to concern over the child.

  "She is almost five,” he said, in the rich deep voice I loved so well. “Her hair is long and fair. It falls in natural ringlets. Her eyes are wide and gray.” He paused. “She looks very like her mother."

  A shadow shivered over me, like a cold draft stealing under my warm furred cloak. There was something about the way he spoke, though his tone was even and his expression bland, that indicated great pain.

  It came to me in a flash of understanding that turned my wildly beating heart icy cold. Richard still loved his wife—not the new one he was bringing home, but the first one whose daughter was a constant reminder of the joy he had lost.

  For the first time I understood the concern I had seen in Papa's eyes. Well, I thought to myself, feeling the warmth of Richard's flesh through his coat sleeve, I am alive and I love Richard. I will make him forget her. I will make him love me.

  I changed the subject then, discoursing on the countryside we were passing through, and Richard gladly joined me, his eyes regaining some of their warmth as we playfully argued over various methods of land use.

  Why I did not think to ask him about his other dependents, I do not know. Why he did not freely tell me, I can now well understand.

  We arrived at Greyden Castle just at nightfall. I must confess that I had fallen asleep, most comfortably, against my new husband's chest. Strange to say, I felt no embarrassment at waking there. However, this meant that I had no opportunity to view my new home from a distance.

  I awoke just as the carriage halted by the great front door. Richard's face looked different in the shadows cast by the torch light—darker and with a sinister cast to it. For a moment I felt my heart pound with something very like fear.

  Then I pushed such juvenile imaginings from my mind and smiled at my new husband. Desolate moors and cold gloomy castles meant little to me, I told myself. I intended to brighten his whole life with the warmth of my love.

  Holding Richard's arm, I ventured into my new home. The entry hall was so huge I felt dwarfed by it. The roaring fire that graced the far hearth seemed too far away to give off any heat. Along the distant walls the flickering flames of many candles fought against the gloom and lost, and far back in the shadows stood the beginning of a great stone staircase, winding upward into encroaching darkness.

  I shivered, and Richard glanced down at me, an amused smile on his dark face. “Don't say I didn't warn you. Castles are inevitably cold, my dear."

  Had he known me better, Richard might have guessed that his casual “my dear” warmed me more than any fire ever could. I took it to my heart and kept it there, treasuring it as I was to treasure each smile, each little endearment, that came from my husband.

  "I will get used to it,” I said, sm
iling brightly and moving slightly closer to his side. “But where is Sarah? I am anxious to make her acquaintance."

  Richard turned an inquiring eye to Gerson.

  The butler's square face revealed no emotion, and his voice was equally bland. “Miss Sarah is in the nursery, milord. Asleep. The dowager thought the hour too late."

  The dowager. I hadn't once thought of Richard's mother. But then I remembered her, and the memory was not an encouraging one.

  I remembered most her steely gray eyes, eyes sharper and more penetrating than any I had ever seen. I remembered, too, her disdainful stare the one time I had chanced to become, very temporarily, an obstacle in her path. My new-found happiness was not to be entirely unchallenged, I thought. But if the dowager lived here, in Greyden Castle, then why did Richard require a wife to care for the child? I turned an inquiring face to my husband.

  His look made me draw a quick breath of surprise. Stark and grim, it seemed as cold and sinister as the castle entry hall. I had known Richard, really known him, only the few short weeks we waited for the banns to be called. Still, I had thought I knew all the moods and expressions of the man I loved so well. Never before had I seen such a look on my husband's face. There was anger there, and scorn. And pain, a great deal of pain. Something inside me curled into a tight ball, and I swallowed my question about the dowager. It was clear from Richard's face that his relations with his mother were difficult.

  All of this happened in less time than it takes to tell of it. Then Richard's face assumed a dark, haughty look. “Send someone to Creighton. Tell her to bring Sarah. The child will meet her new mother tonight."

  "Yes, Your Grace.” Gerson's face was still expressionless, but something in his eyes indicated approval. “Immediately, Your Grace."

  Soon a little noise came out of the darkness at the top of the stairs. “Good evening. Father. I'm happy to see you home safe."

  A small white figure emerged from the gloom of the huge staircase. In the candlelight, her fair ringlets gleamed like spun gold. She paused some feet away, clearly awaiting Richard's reaction. I glanced from her to my husband and was surprised to find no welcoming smile on his lips. He might well have been facing some unpleasant and distasteful task. “You may come here, Sarah,” he said formally, so formally.

  The child advanced, slowly, carefully, putting one small foot after the other. As she got closer, I could see her face. I swallowed quickly. Allowing for the childishness of her features, Sarah was a small replica of her mother. My heart lodged in my throat, and for the first time I considered that this was Caroline's child I had committed myself to love and care for.

  Reminding myself that Sarah was in no way to blame for her mother, I stooped to her level. The child was less than a foot away. Her clear gray eyes stared calmly into mine, and for a moment her lips curved into a tiny smile.

  "Is she my new mother?” she asked. As she looked at her father, the smile faded.

  The expression on his face did not change. Why wasn't he warmer toward his child?

  "Yes,” I said quickly. “Will that please you?"

  She tossed her small head, and my heart jumped. Just so had Caroline been given to tossing her blond curls.

  "I don't know. Grandmother says—"

  "Now that you have met, it really is time for bed.” Richard's voice was not harsh, but it lacked affection. I could not help but wonder what the dowager had said about me and why he had felt it necessary to interrupt.

  The child dutifully dipped her head. “Yes, Father. Good night, Father."

  She hesitated.

  "You may call me Nessie,” I said, sensing that she was fumbling for what to say.

  "Good night, Nessie.” She paused as she reached the bottom step, a small white figure in the gloom. “It isn't true. You aren't like my mama at all."

  She darted up the stairs before her father could reprimand her, and her last words floated out of the darkness above us. “And your hair doesn't look like carrots."

  I turned to my husband with a light laugh. It was abundantly clear to me that his mother disliked the idea of our marriage. “Shall we be seeing the dowager tonight?” I asked, smiling to indicate that the child's words had not hurt me.

  Any mother might well resent being displaced in her son's home, I reminded myself, and I could not imagine that Caroline's mother-in-law had many pleasant memories of her. Caroline had always been sure of her power, and she wielded it without mercy.

  I supposed that the single exception to this must have been the duke. Still, I had read that men could be wrapped around a woman's finger if she knew the proper moves. As undoubtedly Caroline had.

  My husband did not return my smile. “Has the dowager also retired?” he asked the butler.

  "I believe so, Your Grace. The time of your arrival was not precisely known.” This last seemed directed at me, almost as though Gerson were apologizing for his mistress's ill-breeding.

  It was ill-breeding. Or, at least, premeditated discourtesy. The hour was not late, and Richard had sent word ahead of our coming. Still, I could not help feeling a little relief. I was weary, and the child's greeting had been rather disconcerting. I was just as pleased not to face the dowager at that moment, especially as this was my wedding night.

  The duke tucked my arm through his. “I will show the duchess her rooms. Send her up a pot of hot tea."

  "Yes, Your Grace."

  I was glad to have Richard beside me as I approached the gloom of the staircase. He picked a candelabra from a side table and held it before us. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I shall show you the whole place. It's most imposing in the daylight."

  I nodded to this, but imposing was not the word I would have used to describe Greyden Castle. It was cold and gloomy; the very air seemed destructive, seeking to get under my fur cloak and into my bones. I tried to shake such thoughts from my mind. I was merely cold and weary. And I had been a little shaken—just a little—by the dowager's nonappearance and by the child's strange words.

  I reminded myself that Sarah didn't know me. She must have time to become friendly, and the same applied to the dowager. She had only the memory of a carrot-topped hoyden—and the fact that I was Caroline's sister. Neither of which could do much to predispose her in my favor.

  We ascended the great stairs, Richard and I. With him beside me the darkness was not so menacing. Surely in the next day's light, I would find this evening's feelings mere childish imaginings brought on by fatigue.

  "The castle is very old,” Richard said as we reached the top of the stairs. “Fourteenth century, in fact. Greyden's duke sailed with Raleigh against the Spanish."

  I smiled, but momentarily I was thankful for the gloom of the corridor. We were approaching our wedding chamber, and though I knew a great deal about the mating of animals, I knew next to nothing of the first meeting of husband and wife. Even so, I did not suppose most wedding nights to include history lessons.

  Richard pushed open a door and revealed a lovely room. Here the candles almost succeeded in relieving the gloom. A big state bed was hung with pale green curtains. I blushed as I saw they'd been pushed aside and the covers turned invitingly down.

  The room's other appointments were equally attractive. Had Richard had this room redone especially for me? I could not imagine Caroline in a green room. Blue had always been her color. For the first time I considered that I would have not only Caroline's husband but her apartments.

  "I hope you like it,” Richard said softly.

  My eyes looked to his face with longing, and my heart fluttered as I realized that my wedding night had finally arrived. “Did you...” I began, before common sense stopped me from asking the obvious question.

  "I had it decorated with you in mind,” he said. “I hope you won't think it vain. I...” Seldom did Richard falter, but at that moment he hesitated. “I think it was partly to keep my courage up. The way things had been here..."

  I recalled his hastily spoken words about people blaming hi
m for Caroline's death. Of course they didn't know him as I did.

  "It's lovely,” I said, crossing the room to the series of crenellated windows that faced out toward the dark countryside. Through the space where my body blocked the reflection of the candles, I looked out. Moonlight bathed the dark woods below, touching the tips of branches and gleaming off trunks. Everything looked strange to me. The woods seemed different from any I'd ever seen, and the moonlight had a strange, eerie cast to it.

  It must have been weariness that was making me so fanciful. I turned back to my husband. “Thank you."

  He smiled. Now, I thought, now he would take me in his arms. At last I would be his in reality as well as in name.

  But he didn't cross the distance between us. He didn't come near enough to touch me. “The trip has been a tiring one,” he said, “and your welcome was not what I would have wished for.” His face darkened, and I was glad I was not the dowager. “Don't let my mother upset you. She's set strong in her ways, but I handle her."

  He seemed about to say something else, and I waited with bated breath, but he merely indicated a door between two Chippendale side chairs. “My room is through there.” He spoke as though this, too, were a piece of castle history. “Enjoy your tea and sleep well. I shall see you at breakfast."

  While I stood staring in utter amazement, my husband went out, carefully closing the door behind him.

  For a long moment I stood there, my heightened senses still feeling his presence. My first impulse was to throw something. Anything. I reached out toward a vase, then reminded myself that this was a habit Papa had deplored and which I had therefore suppressed. But, oh, how I wished to throw something then.

  Frowning, I closed my gaping mouth and turned toward my boxes. At least the servants were efficient. While we had tarried with Sarah, my boxes and trunks had been carried up. I opened the one that held my nightdresses. A few tears spilled from my eyes as I laid aside the one I had stitched so carefully for my wedding night. Instead, I took out my warmest flannel.