Page 33 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)
CHAPTER 33
Charity
P embroke.
Charity could hardly believe that she was home again. Her old home felt as though she had never left it. The same floorboards creaked when she stepped on them, the same rooms were drafty and familiar, and yet so much had changed within. The bones of the home remained, but the furnishings were different. Her uncle had upgraded much in anticipation of letting the place since he did not plan to live here himself.
Everything that was part of Charity’s inheritance had been sent to Hayward now, with the pieces meant for Eleanor having been placed in storage or sent to their mother’s townhouse.
She took time to walk around the house and greet the old servants below stairs. Others had joined them, for many had moved to the townhouse with her mother. However, Mrs. Jenkins remained, as did the butler and many of the footmen who lived in the area. It had been a joyful reunion, and she was happy to be back.
Still, it felt strange. When she stepped into her father’s old study, she found it nearly empty. The shelves had been stripped bare, with whatever was hers sent to Eammon and whatever remained moved to her uncle’s primary residence. The old oak desk was still there, along with her father’s chair.
She walked along the desk, running her gloved hand over the oakwood, her heart heavy with longing for the man who had been her protector all her life, the man who had appointed Eammon to take over that task now.
Walking to the chair behind the desk, her legs felt heavy, as though they did not wish to carry her across the room. She finally sat down, feeling the imprint of her father’s shape still in the chair.
As she closed her eyes, her arms fell into the familiar spot where he had always rested them, pressing her back into the mold made by his form. It was almost as though he were hugging her from beyond the grave. She could almost smell the scent of the pipe he had taken up later in his life and taste the comfort he would sometimes share with her.
When her eyes popped open, she pulled open one of the drawers, but found it empty. She sighed but then, on a whim, placed her hand within the drawer and to her surprise, felt a wooden box at the end. His comfit box. Of all the things to have been left behind…
She opened it and discovered that a few remained inside. Her father had passed nearly eight months prior; would they still be good? Unsure, she placed one in her mouth anyway.
The taste of cinnamon bit her tongue, and she smiled, for it tasted like him. They had sat and enjoyed comfits together many times while reading books—sometimes with her sister and her mother, but most often alone.
Tears rushed to her face. She knew she had to leave; if she stayed there too long, her grief would entangle her, and she would not be able to do what she had come to accomplish.
Stepping out, she called for Mrs. Jenkins.
“I require a horse,” she said.
“Of course, Lady Charity,” the housekeeper replied, but then shook her head. “I mean, Your Grace.”
“It is quite all right. I have not grown accustomed to being duchess. I believe I am much more comfortable being Lady Charity.”
“That may be so, but you are no longer the child I once knew,” she said, placing a hand on Charity’s shoulder as she had done when Charity was a small girl. “You are now married. And I know you will do exceedingly well. I believe your father would be so pleased to know that you have married the Duke of Leith. He was quite fond of him.”
This took Charity by surprise. “I did not know that they knew one another.”
“Not well. He knew him when they were boys. But he was always quite fond of him whenever he did see him, and as you know, the late Duke of Leith was your father’s best friend. He always had faith in the Duke of Leith. I know he often spoke after his death of how he was certain his son would succeed him, and he would be very pleased to know that you had found one another.”
Charity was uncertain what this meant, but her father’s words from his letter still echoed in her mind. Perhaps Mrs. Jenkins was right. But whatever it was, right now she had to discover what her father had left for her.
“I shall return this evening,” she said. “Would you please prepare a chamber for me? I know my uncle is not in residence, but I am certain he would not mind my staying.”
“I know he would not,” the housekeeper agreed, “and your old chamber will be ready for you.”
“Thank you,” Charity replied, and then made her way out of the house.
When the horse was saddled, she took off. She knew exactly where her father meant to guide her. Once, a few years before his passing, he had taken her for a ride. She had been young enough then to still ride on Ambrose. How old had she been? Ten? Twelve? No more than that. Younger perhaps.
As she rode, memories resurfaced from the depths of her mind, and when they arrived at a meadow, she stopped, suddenly unable to focus on the present as her thoughts swept her up and transported her back to the past.
The breeze wafted through Charity’s hair as she sat beside her father under the old oak tree. She looked up at him as he smiled and looked over the meadow where Ambrose now trotted, while her father’s horse rested.
“My grandfather had a bench put here for my grandmother when she was with child. They had already had one child—your grandfather—and his sister was to follow. My grandmother enjoyed sitting out here. She reveled in it so much, but because she was with child, it was difficult for her to sit down on the ground. So, he arranged for a bench to be built here.”
“Is it really so old?” Charity asked, and her father smiled.
“My father had it replaced over the years because of wood rot. I did too, before I brought your mother here on one of the first occasions we went for a walk.”
“Mother?” Charity asked. “I did not know she was fond of walking.”
“She is not. At that time, she was mostly preoccupied with securing a duke for a husband,” he replied, laughing somewhat to himself. “This is not to speak ill of your mother; I adore her, as you know. But we were young, each of us wishing to make the best match. In any case, I brought her here, but she found little joy in the place, especially after our marriage.”
“But you still come here.”
“I do. I visit often, and I am grateful that I brought you, for you seem to enjoy it very much.”
“I do. And Ambrose does, too. Look at the way he dances around!” Ambrose had a habit of moving in a rapid fashion when excited—rather like a cat could—and he presently did just such a motion.
Her father looked up and laughed. “Indeed, he is having the time of his life!” He glanced at her and then stood. “Come, we shall join him.”
“Join him?” she echoed, rising as well.
“Well, yes. You have been taking dancing lessons. Show me what you have learned!”
She laughed and then demonstrated a few of the steps, her father joining in. The two chuckled as they pretended to be in a grand ballroom while Ambrose pranced around the meadow, kicking up his legs in enjoyment. Her father's horse, on the other hand, stood lazily at the far edge of the meadow, grazing on the grass.
Her father laughed, addressing Charity, but then, as she looked up, she noticed dark clouds gathering. It had been such a lovely sunny day, she hadn’t thought it would rain and yet, here they were, a gathering of dark clouds on the otherwise blue sky.
He paused and looked upwards. “We should seek shelter.” He turned and clicked his tongue, both Ambrose and his own horse coming running. They mounted their steeds and rode, though not back toward home.
“Father, Pembroke is in the other direction,” she remarked, concerned they might be lost.
“I know my estate very well, my dear. I also know the weather, and I assure you we shall not reach Pembroke before the downpour. There is another place I wish to show you.”
She furrowed her brows in confusion as to where they were headed when the sky opened and rain began to fall. It started as a drizzle but quickly escalated to a steady downpour, dark clouds continuing to gather, and she knew they would soon be drenched.
“It is not much farther. Over yonder,” he pointed, and at first, she could not discern it, but then there it was: a small hut. Although it was not the sort one would typically expect to find concealed in the woods.
This one was constructed of stone, not wood, and appeared quite old. Her father dismounted, and she did likewise, tying up the horses beneath an overhang to keep them dry.
“Inside the cabin is rustic, to say the least.” He gestured to the few pieces of furniture scattered about—a table, some chairs, a rug, and a fireplace that, of course, was not lit, though she noted fresh wood stacked nearby.
“As you see, it is an ancient cabin. My grandfather built it with his father when he was a youth. It has served as a hunting cabin for only our nearest and dearest.”
“I thought the hunting cabin at Hazleton was the one we used,” she remarked, referring to the fine house on the other side of their estate, renowned for the best hunting.
“Hazleton is a grand house, my dear. In days of yore, this cabin was the preferred abode. I still make use of it on occasion. It brings me solace to go for rides and find moments alone.” He motioned to a chair for her to sit, while he laid a fire.
“It is your secret, then?”
He chuckled. “I suppose it is. After my mother passed, you know that your mother took over the house as her sanctuary. I find this place quite peaceful.” He grew serious, looking directly at her. “Charity, there is something I wish to impart to you. Something of great importance.”
“Of course, Father,” she replied.
“Should anything ever happen to me, and should you need assistance, there is…” He paused, scratching his beard where grey stubble had started to show. “Throughout my life, I have ensured that my family is safe and provided for beyond my death. I have mechanisms in place to continue such protections. Should I pass before you are of age…but should there ever come a time when you feel in danger or ? —”
“In danger?” she interrupted, alarmed.
“No, no, do not fret. I mean only should a dire time arise. Know that there are certain secrets I would never trust to anyone, not even your mother. But here, within this cabin, lie the answers.”
He spoke slowly, and yet it made little sense.
“The answers to what questions?” she pressed.
“Oh dear Charity, perhaps you are still too young to comprehend. Pray do not misread me; I meant to raise no alarm. Merely, should you find yourself at a crossroads, come here, and you shall discover the answers.” He clasped his hands together. “Well, I believe it is time we prepared some nourishment, is it not? I find myself rather famished.”
Though she couldn’t quite fathom how she could eat after her father’s unnerving declaration, by the time he retrieved supplies from the ladder, her stomach rumbled. As they shared a simple meal, she’d almost succeeded in putting aside her father’s peculiar warning, determined to focus on the moment they were sharing.
Yet it remained in the back of her mind, and she already knew that one day in the future, this day and the events associated with it would come to mean something rather profound.