Page 3

three

A ll the years spent fencing, boxing, and marching at Sandhurst had made Anthony restless when he was inactive. The day at Dockerly Castle was too clear and unseasonably warm for him to remain indoors.

After working for several hours with his secretary and reviewing the ridiculous amount of documents he had to read and sign, he opted for a walk before dinner. He hadn’t seen his guests yet, but they would be busy refreshing themselves, and to be honest, he wasn’t eager to talk to Helen.

He remembered her to be pretty, quiet, and sweet. Not much else. End of story.

In a plain but robust tweed suit, he started to trek uphill.

The crisp air was thick with the scent of pine resin and wet soil, a good change from his stuffy room that smelt of centuries of power, intrigues, and bloody battles. The path through the forest was steep but empty. Solitude and the sounds of the forest, exactly what he needed.

As he climbed, he wondered if Helen would be happy with him. An arranged marriage was one thing, but a miserable life was another. If he couldn’t have passion, at least he wished for a friendly relationship with his future wife, companionship and who knew, perhaps something deeper. He had the last word, though, as much as he respected Grandmama. And he would like to?—

“Hullo!” a feminine voice called. “Hey, you! Over here!”

He turned around. A dark-haired young woman waved to him from the trees lining the path.

“Me?” he asked.

“Yes. Would you come, please, sir? It’s an emergency.”

“What sort of emergency?” He strode off the path towards the woman until he understood what the emergency was.

A fawn had got itself tangled in a thicket of cleavers and other vines. Its large eyes were filled with terror. The more the young deer struggled, the worse it got tangled.

“I’ve been trying to rip these stems for ten minutes,” the young woman said, “but they’re too thick. Do you have a blade?”

He knelt. “Yes. Keep the vines lifted so I won’t hurt the fawn.”

He used his Scottish dirk to make short work of cutting the stems. The fawn let out long bleats while trying to kick its long legs.

“Calm down,” she said. “Your mother must be close, right?”

“Likely. It’s better not to touch it. The mother won’t like our scents.”

He ripped the last vine, and the fawn sprang out of the bush, bleating louder. It vanished into the forest with quick leaps. At least it wasn’t hurt.

The young woman exhaled. “Thank you. I didn’t know what to do.”

He put his blade in the sheath, wincing as a few bristles stung his hands. “Bloody thorns.”

“Let me. I’m an expert in removing thorns. I deal with thorns on a daily basis. I’m fairly quick, too.”

Before he could utter a word, she grasped his hand and used her half-moon-shaped fingernails to extract the thorns with deft moves.

He got lost in the sensation of her soft hand on his and her focused expression as she pulled out the biting spines.

“And the last one, I think.” She removed another thorn and then stroked his hand with gentle fingers. “I don’t feel any more of them. Do you?”

“No, I don’t.” He withdrew his hand, annoyed by a flutter in his chest.

“I’m Isabella. I’m from London, but my family have been invited to the castle. Do you work there? Goodness, there are so many servants it’s like a small village, and I’ve already forgotten their names.” She laughed. “I mean, we have servants in our house in London and our manor in Devon, but here there is a small army of people, and the castle is huge! What’s your name?”

He was tempted to lie, just to listen to her chatter for longer, but since she had to be Helen’s sister, she would learn soon enough who he was. “I’m Anthony Beaufort, Duke of Gloucester.”

Her rosy cheeks turned crimson before paling. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” She shot up to her feet and brushed leaves from her skirt. “I had no idea. I mistook you for a servant, sir.”

“Do not worry.” He rose as well. “And you can call me Anthony.”

“I can’t. It wouldn’t be appropriate. Your grandmother won’t be pleased.”

“You must be Lady Isabella.”

“I am she.” She bobbed a curtsy. “Your Grace, please don’t mention this meeting with anyone.”

“Because it might be considered compromising?”

“Oh, no. I wish it were only that. I mean, I don’t.” She rubbed her brow. “Helen warned me not to do anything odd.”

“You saved a poor, scared fawn. That’s not odd.”

“I should return to the castle before Mother realises I went out. I wasn’t supposed to leave my room. I wasn’t supposed to meet you here…informally. It’s all wrong.”

Somehow, he disagreed. “I’ll escort you.”

She pressed her lips together. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”

“We won’t. I’ll show you the safest and most secluded way to enter the castle unseen.”

Her obsidian eyes flared wide, glowing. “A secret passage? That’s a treat. I bet the castle holds many secret passages and nooks.”

“When I was ten, I got lost in the eastern wing. They found me the next day.”

“How exciting!”

He laughed and wondered when the last time he’d laughed so heartily had been.

“My lady.” He offered her his arm.

She slid her arm through his, seemingly not at all intimidated by his build or his title. “Your grandmother told us you went to Sandhurst. Did you enjoy it?”

“In a way, yes. I like order, discipline, and rules. I like being busy.” The busier he was, the lesser he thought.

She twitched her nose. “Heavens. That’s what my sister would say about being a proper lady. She’s so clever. You two are going to get along just fine.” She clamped a hand over her mouth. “Apologies. That was too bold.”

“No, say what you think. I’m surrounded by people who say only what they think I want to hear.”

“Not the Dowager.” She scrunched up her face. “Too bold again.”

“Not at all. That was accurate.”

He led her to the rear of the castle and opened a narrow wrought-iron gate half hidden by the English ivy.

She tilted her head back to stare at the turrets. Her sable curls fell back, stroking her cheeks. “I’ve never stayed in a castle so ancient, so big, and with so much history.”

“We had another estate close by, Maiden Hill, connected to Dockerly Castle through an underground tunnel.”

“I would love to see it.”

“The tunnel is closed now. Maiden Hill had belonged to my family since the eleventh century, but we lost it.” He held the gate open for her.

She brushed past him, and he caught a whiff of her rose scent. “How did you lose it?”

“My father spent the summer in Maiden Hill.” He made an effort to control his voice. “He met my mother in the forest where we’ve been. She was dancing and singing and he was struck by her voice…I’m digressing.”

“It sounds like a beautiful story.”

No, not so beautiful. “When my father died, my grandfather came to hate the house so deeply he broke the entail through a long and complicated process, angering Grandmother. He sold Maiden Hill to a foreign buyer, unaware of his identity. My grandfather was furious when he learnt an Austrian count, von Gruner, had bought Maiden Hill.”

“Why?”

“Von Gruner had a dispute with my father years ago. He bought Maiden Hill out of spite. I want Maiden Hill back. It belongs to my family. It’s our soul.”

He had no idea why he was blathering about his family to a young woman he’d just met, although his family’s tragedy was no secret.

But there was something in the way Isabella listened and paid attention to him that calmed the constant turmoil within him. Maybe because she treated him like a normal person and seemed genuinely interested in knowing him.

She paused. “Why did your grandfather hate the house?”

“My father died in it. He spent his last days there after my mother’s death.”

“I’m sorry.” She seemed about to say something else but pressed her lips together.

“What did you want to say?”

“I’ve already been too bold.”

“I insist.”

She trapped her bottom lip between her teeth. “How did your parents die?”

“My mother contracted typhoid fever while volunteering at a children’s home. She died in a matter of days. My father never recovered from the loss. Grief became his disease. It ate him from the inside out. There was nothing we could do to help him.” Not even his love.

She touched his arm gently, her eyes shining with compassion. She didn’t say anything, and he was grateful for that because he felt oddly vulnerable, and a word from her might hurt him too much.

“I’m sorry to have made you sad,” he said.

“I asked.” She removed her hand. “And when you share sorrow, it weighs a little less.”

They walked side by side in silence until they arrived at the end of the path.

He opened another gate, revealing a dark passageway. “We’re almost there.”

She peeked into it. “That’s one frightening tunnel.” She glanced at him. “Please, don’t tell my mama we were alone in a tunnel.”

He smiled. “This conversation never happened.”

The passageway was so narrow his arm brushed against hers, and he had to squeeze his shoulders.

Her steps became hesitant when they walked along the constricting hallway. “The walls must be thick.”

“Five feet, give or take. Dockerly Castle was mainly a fortress. My ancestors lived in Maiden Hill but would find refuge here from the many Viking raids, fleeing to the castle through the underground tunnel.”

“Five feet. We could scream at the top of our lungs, and no one would hear us. I don’t hear any noise coming from the other side of the wall.” She paused and tilted her head. “Nothing.”

“I’ve never noticed that.”

“That would be the perfect place for me to practise singing.”

“Do you sing?”

“Not well. Do you want to hear me?”

“By all means, go ahead.”

She cleared her throat and made a few gurgling noises. “Just so you know, I don’t speak French. I’ll make up the words.”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

Then she drew a deep breath before starting an aria from Carmen . She wasn’t terrible. A few passages were too high-pitched. Very high-pitched. And off-key. She fared better with the low notes.

In retrospect, he should have told her not to do it. Likely, his eardrums had been permanently damaged. Having nowhere to go, the sound of her loud singing bounced off the walls, getting amplified and punching everything in its path.

They both laughed when she finished. When he burst out laughing, his throat burned, so unused it was to laughter.

They resumed walking down the tunnel.

“Blimey.” He touched his ears. “That was powerful.”

“And only you heard me.” She had barely spoken before voices came from the other side of the tunnel.

“Did you hear that?” a man said.

“A woman was screaming.”

“It sounded like she was being murdered.”

“We must check the grounds. Find the gamekeeper. Tell him to bring the rifle.”

Isabella clamped a hand over her mouth. “And now what?”

He wanted to stay serious, but another laugh burst out of him.

“This way.” He took a lateral passage and guided her up a flight of stairs.

As they went to the upper floors, the voices of the servants came muffled until they died down.

She was breathing hard when they arrived at an arcade. “Silly idea.”

“No. I think I was mistaken about the width of the walls. Anyway, now we know the walls don’t block the sound.”

“Mother would kill me if she knew.”

“I promised you no one would see us, and I always keep my promises.”

He stopped in a dark nook when footsteps thundered from around the corner. She pressed herself against him, and he didn’t mind. He liked it.

He glanced at her flushed face and the excitement radiating from her. She was brimming with life and happiness with her curious attitude, and her energy was contagious. For the first time in years, he’d laughed and been excited. He’d forgotten how excitement felt. The rush of blood through his veins was foreign to him.

“I think they’ve gone,” she whispered.

He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“I feel like a spy.”

He shuddered when she held his hand in a casual gesture. He had no explanation for the flutter in his chest or the sense of dizziness taking him.

Through yet another door, they arrived at an anteroom behind one of the cloakrooms, far from the drama unfolding on the other side. She released his hand, and he nearly snatched her hand again as a moment of nonsensical panic hit him. His chest heaved with a breath.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Are you worried?”

“No.” Yes, but not in the way she meant. He was worried he would never be as happy as he’d been with her.

“I hope I didn’t cause you trouble. Well, aside from…” She waved in the opposite direction. “…the fact your servants now believe a woman has been murdered in your castle.”

He chuckled, and the oppressive feeling left him. “I’ll manage. Through that door, you’ll get to the corridor where your room is. If you’re careful, no one will see you, and anyway, at this time, the servants should be downstairs in the kitchen and the dining room, getting ready for dinner.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She smiled. “The afternoon has been most exciting.”

And he found himself smiling, too. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry about me.” A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Somehow, he doubted that.