In which a duke displays restraint
A lie can become so embedded in one’s own mind that one forgets that it is untrue.
- from Lady Avely’s Guide to Lies and Charms
“Enough!” said Lady Garvey. “Out of my garden, all of you. I cannot bear another minute of this outrage.”
Georgina flew to her side, taking her hand. “Indeed, Grandmama, we have tired you. I am sorry.”
Lady Garvey did look rather frail, sitting hunched in her cane chair, her skin in a waxy pallor despite the warmth of the brazier. An ugly cough now wracked her thin chest. “Even you, child. Begone, leave me in peace! You have what you want now.”
Georgina’s profile crumpled a little, but she backed away. “Yes, Grandmama.” She turned to the assembled company and put on a brave, polite voice. “Everyone, please leave us now. Grandmother must rest.”
Another paroxysm shook Lady Garvey as they all trooped out of the glasshouse. Judith’s worry renewed, and she glanced at Mrs Froode. The housemaid’s arms were akimbo and her expression grim and unreadable as she herded everyone out.
It was a relief to pass Dacian at his post by the door. He gave Judith an expressive look as she passed, and followed at her heels as she marched up the stone path and through the house. Isobel and Biscuit came close behind him, though Judith saw that Kenneth had elected, despite orders, to stay behind in the glasshouse.
Faske informed them that the Garvey carriage would take Judith home, then return for his master in due course. The butler shut the front door behind them with a bang, not even bothering with the courtesy of waiting with them for the carriages.
It began to rain, and they cowered in the portico. Judith’s head ached a little. She was Bemused from following the conversation so closely. Her blood bond with Marigold kept the effects of Musing somewhat at bay, but untangling all the lines of deceit in company was exhausting, and, furthermore, confusing. Which lies were trivial, and which covered a larger, nefarious plot? At the moment, her mind was not clear enough to hazard a guess. She felt as if she had imbibed too many glasses of champagne.
Rain continued to slant inwards, angling under the roof and dampening her hem into a deeper lavender.
Dacian stood a few feet behind them. “What the hell was that, Isobel?” he muttered.
Isobel turned her head with a coy smile. “Did you like it?”
“No, I did not,” said Dacian. “Did you really see the ghost? Biscuit? Were you there?”
Biscuit gulped, looking guilty. “Er, well…”
Isobel laughed. “No, of course we didn’t. I was simply trying to help.”
“Help?” put in Judith coolly. This was their investigation. They did not need Isobel throwing rocks into it.
“Yes.” Isobel ignored her and directed a fluttering look at Dacian. “I know something must have happened that night with Lord Garvey, and it is worrying you. I thought to stir the hornet’s nest, to see if it brought anything to light. And if you are to have fun playacting, I don’t see why I cannot.”
This was not the whole truth, Judith detected, somewhat hazily. She clasped her gloved hands together to counteract her own dizziness.
Perhaps Dacian heard the lie too. “Hm,” he muttered. “You do like to perform theatrics.”
“Wasn’t I brilliant?” gurgled Isobel. “The moonlight glinting on his hair, forsooth!” She turned and cast an appreciative look over the duke. “I rather like you as a footman, by the way. I have a position available, if you would desire it.” She pursed her lips into fullness and blinked alluringly. Beside her, Lord Triskett looked forlorn and stared at the ground.
Judith spoke before she could stop herself. “I am afraid that you will find Dacian quite inadequate as a footman. He is not very good at taking orders.”
“Yes,” agreed Dacian, amused. “I lack the necessary subservience.”
If anything, that made Isobel bat her eyelashes more furiously over her shoulder. Judith ground her teeth together.
“Besides,” added Dacian, and Judith could hear that he had taken a step closer to her. “I am content with my current position, as it happens.”
Isobel slid Judith a venomous look. “Really? It seems you have chosen a hard mistress to please.”
Judith stiffened, but before she could respond, Dacian spoke again. “This is not all a game, Isobel, and it may very well be dangerous. You must keep out of it.” He paused. “Judith, you must leave Stokesford too. Both of you. Biscuit and I can handle it from here.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Biscuit uneasily. “Er, what exactly are we handling?”
Isobel sniffed in disdain. “Leave? I don’t think so. Don’t forget your place, footman.”
For once, Judith was inclined to agree with her, even if Bemusement was clouding her thinking. There was nothing that would induce her to leave now. And something was tugging at the back of her mind about the scene she had just witnessed in the glasshouse: something important. What was it?
The carriages pulled up to the portico then, and they bundled into their respective vehicles, Dacian helping Judith into the cab. Despite everything, she was relieved that he sat next to her, rather than hanging off the back in the rain. It was now falling fast, making her mobcap droop damply. She resisted the urge to take it off, in case Dacian interpreted it as a gesture of seduction.
She cast a sideways look at him, and he grinned. With a start, she realised he still wore his enchanted cravat pin; listening to his warm voice behind her, she had forgotten that he was disguised, his moustache still valiantly in place. She shook her head, feeling a little dizzy. She was aware of a desire to climb into his lap, snuggle into his arms, and give him her wrist to kiss again.
Cursed Bemusement.
“Harold,” she said firmly. “We will need chocolate upon our return.”
“Harold?” Dacian raised his brows. “Did you just call me Harold ?”
“Oh, sorry,” she corrected. “Bartholomew.”
Suddenly, Dacian loomed closer. She edged away, and found herself pressed into the side of the carriage. She stared into his amused, black eyes.
“I think I know why you call me Harold,” he said dangerously.
“Oh?” Her voice was faint.
“It is so that you are less inclined to kiss me.”
Her throat was dry, and she tried to moisten her lips. He was right, damn it. “The moustache is repellant enough, believe me.”
At the same time her fingers itched to grasp his shoulders and pull him close. The moustache, after all, she considered distantly, was an Illusion. It would vanish at the touch, and she would have his firm lips on her own, his thick hair entwined in her fingers, his warmth against her breasts…
He grinned. “There is a remedy for that, Judith. Simply close your eyes.”
She stared at him for one, long moment. Then she fluttered her lashes closed.
She heard his breath catch. Parting her own lips in anticipation, she tilted her head back. A warm finger brushed down her cheek, and she quivered.
“Judith,” he breathed. “I am not made of stone. If you keep your eyes closed, I will kiss you, Bemusement be damned.”
She smiled and kept her eyes shut, waiting.
Yet when he next spoke, she could hear his voice had moved further away, grim and hoarse. “No, Judith, I won’t.”
She opened her eyes, adrift and wanting. Dacian had retreated to his side of the carriage. He cleared his throat and fiddled with his cravat pin. “We are almost returned to Stokesford,” he said tersely. “You need a nap.”
“A nap ?” Judith sat up. “I thought you said I am not a matron.”
“Even a young maid sleeps off intoxication.”
“I am not drunk! I am perfectly able to understand that… I want you.”
“God, Judith.” He groaned. “Don’t say that, or you’ll find yourself in a very compromising position, very shortly.”
She stuck out her chin. “A widow can’t be compromised. She can dally with a rake if she likes.”
A cloud suddenly darkened his brow. “Oh, is that so? You’ve taken a fancy to be ravished by a libertine?”
She stared at him. “And why not? You have bedded many other widows.” She paused, her eyes tracing the long length of his body. “Perhaps I don’t mind, after all, being added to the list.”
At that moment, the carriage came to a halt. Scowling, Dacian said nothing. He leapt out and held the door. He put out his hand, playing the role of a footman, stiffly helping her descend. But she could tell that, bewilderingly, he had retreated behind a stony wall.
He followed her inside. She led the way to her room, hopeful. But when she reached her door, she turned to see that he had vanished.
Judith stumbled into her room and lay down in a daze. Annoyingly, she felt herself drifting off into asleep almost immediately. It was vastly irritating when Dacian was right.
When she awoke, her mobcap was pressing into her cheek. Yawning, she sat up and undid the ribbons, casting it aside. She rubbed her temples. God, what had she done?
She had humiliated herself, and probably Dacian too.
Yet the memory of his deliberate, possessive kiss from earlier threatened to undo her again. If only he had followed her into her bedroom, and laid with her. If only he was now tangled in the blankets with her… Why had he not?
Restlessly, she went to her window, staring out at the grey landscape, now awash with rain. Had she offended him somehow? How could he possibly be outraged by the truth? He was a rake; it was undeniable. Why on earth was he being missish about it now? The man was infuriating. Did he want her to be desperately in love with him? She wasn’t going to admit that!
Except to herself.
Staring at the endless grey sky, she could allow the truth in the silence of her room. If she Discerned her own heart, she knew that she loved him. She was dreadfully, irredeemably, appallingly in love with him.
God. She clutched at her own face. The pain that had lurked deep within her for so many years now threatened to overspill. Of course she was in love with him. She had been in love with him since she first knew him. Yet every step of the way he had hurt her, pushed her away, and consigned her love elsewhere. So she had pretended to herself that it did not exist.
She swallowed down the dizzying ache that swept through her, and gritted her teeth. Surely she was too old for this sort of tumult? Infatuation was an affliction usually reserved for the young. So why did every glance and touch from him send her into such agitation?
Enough about Dacian. Much better to think about the scene in the glasshouse, and Isobel’s dramatics, and Faske’s amusement, and Kenneth’s repudiation. Something still bothered her about the whole performance. Some detail that rang false, and tugged at her mind, demanding to be acknowledged. What could it be?
Her eyes traced the path of raindrops down the pane. What did Faske know? His barely concealed smugness indicated that he knew quite well that the ghost was a farce. Or perhaps, even, that he was the prankster behind the performance; or that he knew who was. Mrs Froode had looked like she was about to have an apoplexy. Was she outraged by his antics, or was she part of them, and afraid of exposure?
Isobel had claimed that she was trying to help Dacian, but did she have some other motive for her theatrics? Perhaps to muddy the waters, and throw up the spectre of Lord Garvey again? Yet a female Illusor could easily conjure the image of a man. Just broaden the shoulders, lengthen the legs, sculpt the jaw…
Judith found herself thinking of Dacian again and shook the thought away. Her feelings for him were too tumultuous, too unbridled, to dwell upon them now. Or indeed ever. She was not accustomed to being unbridled in anything. She was a matron in her fifth decade, for God’s sake; she was past the age of being in love. It was unbecoming. It was foolish. It was an invitation for a broken heart, especially when it came to Dacian.
She sighed. She needed something to distract her. Knitting stockings was not going to cut it this time. She needed something more…enthralling.
Her fingers tightened on the windowsill, with a sudden thought. A ghost hunt might do the trick.
Yes, she could accompany Marigold back to Garvey House tonight. She could prowl around the maze, just like Isobel had claimed to do. Secrecy was not even essential. Indeed, an overt, matronly nosiness might summon the Illusion just for Judith’s benefit.
Then Marigold could ferret out the source of the Musing - and thereby lead them to the master villain.
It might just, Judith told herself, work sufficiently to distract her from Dacian’s sudden coldness.
At supper, Dacian was distant, avoiding her gaze. Robert was present, so she dared not broach the subject of their misjudged intimacies. When she airily announced her plan to visit the maze again that night, Dacian was predictably and staunchly against it.
“You want to creep around that godforsaken maze after dark?” He put down his knife and fork, and glared. Robert watched with interest from the door.
Judith calmly continued cutting into her steak. “How else are we to find the Illusor and catch them in the act? All we have now is conjecture and flimsy theories.”
“I doubt the ghost will make an appearance, not after today’s discussion.”
“The ghost doesn’t strike me as particularly shy,” she observed, “And it might be my last chance to witness his perambulations and curtail them. I should leave Stokesford tomorrow. If I draw the Illusion out tonight, it will allow Marigold to track the source.”
Dacian frowned. “Then I will come with you.”
“And I too,” put in Robert.
Judith glanced between their determined faces, and saw that she would be unable to dissuade them. “Very well. But you must wear a different disguise, Dacian, if Robert is to accompany me as my footman. I can’t possibly have two footmen.”
“Is that so?” He leaned back and folded his arms. “And what would you have me be, then?”
Judith shrugged. Then an idea of manifold brilliance occurred to her as she speared another piece of steak. “I know. You may be a piece of shrubbery.”
“ What? ”
She turned to Robert. “You are very good at landscapes, are you not? You could make Dacian into a yew tree.”
Dacian spluttered. “You cannot relegate me to the landscape!”
Robert was hiding a grin, but Judith persevered. “It is an excellent notion. You can be part of the maze itself: if you keep perfectly still, no one will even know that you are there. Robert is particularly adept at sketching trees.”
“Then he can be a tree!”
“Nonsense. You are the right height for a maze shrub, and you are the one that might be interrogated and arrested, if someone suspects you are the duke. Whereas no one will suspect a bush.”
“Oh, so now I’m not even a tree?” Dacian let out his breath in a whoosh. “Are you trying to punish me, Judith?”
She felt heat rise to her cheeks. “There is nothing to punish.” She cast her eyes down and added, “I am trying to protect you.”
There was a skeptical silence. Chewing on her steak, Judith admitted to herself that in the guise of a topiary, Dacian might be less of a temptation. Though he would probably remain attractive even as a yew tree, curse the man.
Robert, laughing, professed himself eager to cast the necessary Illusion. Dacian sulkily allowed that he might try it after supper. Once the plates had been removed, Robert set about conjuring a wall of greenery, the yew leaves thick and judiciously interspersed with tiny red berries. Dacian only sighed as his face and figure became concealed.
“Will that do?” His voice came disembodied from the bush that had sprung up in the parlour.
“Very nicely,” said Judith. “Well done, Robert. Most realistic.”
Wooten pursed his lips from where he sat upon the mantlepiece, fully dressed in gentleman’s clothes. “At least you do not have to contend with bosoms this time, your grace, as when you pretended to be Lady Mary.”
A long-suffering sigh drifted from the leaves. “I am not certain which is more emasculating. Here I do not even have legs.”
Robert grinned. “Yew is a symbol of transformation, I believe.” He clicked his fingers for effect, and the bramble vanished.
Dacian scowled. “I thought it was a symbol of doom.”
Judith ignored that. “You’d better put the Illusion into a charm, to be safe, Robert. Then we can leave the duke in a bush if we have to. We don’t want to rely upon your presence all the time.”
“Within your ring?” suggested Robert, glancing down at where Dacian now wore his topaz ring.
Grudgingly, Dacian held it out, like a prince proffering a languid hand to be kissed.
“Is that safe?” asked Judith. “The ring already holds a charm. We do not want to overburden it.”
“The Travel charm is in the topaz,” replied Dacian wearily. “Robert can ensorcel the silver. That way I can turn into a hedge whenever it pleases you.”
Robert grinned and slid the ring off the noble finger. There wasn’t enough time to do more than a rudimentary casting, but after seven repetitions the ring could conjure a fairly respectable bank of yew. Judith examined it critically. In a dark, moonlit night, it might pass very well to hide the duke from hostile eyes.
“You are invaluable,” she said to Robert. “You could very well be saving the duke from a frightful end.”
Robert was a little flushed from the effort of Musing, but he gave a bow. “Delighted to be of service, marchioness.”
Dacian glared. “You and I will have words later, Robert, on the correct order of noble precedence.”
Marigold, when Judith fetched her to the parlour, was far more enthusiastic than the duke about the proposed adventure, and remarked cheerfully that she and Judith were making a delightful habit of ghost hunts.
“Indeed.” Judith busied herself putting on her cloak and gloves. She still wore her gown of pale lavender, but she was not particularly worried about being seen.
“At least this time I don’t need to wear a cloak,” Marigold sighed. “Miss Belfleur appears to have left Stokesford, so I need not worry about offending her sensibilities. That silly cape was most inconvenient.”
Wooten tutted. “What about my sensibilities?”
Marigold shrugged and tossed off her orange cloth. They were subjected to only a short glimpse of her petite, naked form before she leapt off the table and twisted into the shape of a bat, fluttering impatiently to the window.
“No,” said Wooten firmly. “I will not.”
Dacian stood up. “Then you can ride on my shoulder, Wooten. Be part of the hedgery with me.”
“Hedgery is not a word,” said Wooten sourly.
“Bushery then.”
Wooten sighed, but allowed himself to be lifted to Dacian’s shoulder.
Judith undid the window latch for Marigold, and ran a finger over her soft head. “Meet us beyond the curve of the road. And be careful.”