Page 29 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“No, I do not.”
“That is most wise,” Marybeth murmured in appreciation for his lack of superstitious beliefs.
“It certainly simplifies things,” the Duke admitted.
“What is life without a bit of fantasy?” Oliver replied, caressing the tower’s stones, his voice taking on a dreamy note as if he were imagining himself the lord of the castle.
The Duke chuckled at his groomsman. “I suppose a bit would do no harm.”
Oliver smiled back and the three of them finished their decent of the stairs. Upon reaching the bottom, they began the long walk back to Arkley Hall. “Mr. Wheatly will be wondering what has befallen us. I would not put it past him to attempt to climb down in the tunnel himself if we do not return soon,” the Duke remarked pulling his watch from his vest pocket. “The entire household will be awake by now as breakfast is to be served shortly.”
“And us without a wink of sleep,” Oliver noted. “’Twill be a long day indeed.”
“In light of the night’s events I grant both of you the time to rest upon our return. It has been a long night. I will set men to repairing the holes in the walls immediately, but we are still none the wiser as to our intruder’s identity or method of disappearance. I presume he is using the passageway between the walls as he was a man small in stature, but I found no proof of that in the limited space that I could see.”
“I found no evidence of him either, Your Grace,” Oliver answered just as bewildered as his master.
“Nor I,” Marybeth agreed. “It is a conundrum to be sure. I am not at all certain I feel safe enough to rest with any great success,” she admitted remembering the feel of the man’s eyes upon her. The hairs on her arms stood up just thinking about it and she shivered.
The Duke reached out and wrapped his jacket about her shoulders. “I will keep you safe,” he promised, his eyes looking into hers with such fierce protectiveness that she nearly lost her footing. “Upon that you may depend.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to look away.
When she nearly stumbled upon a root in the path, the Duke reached out once more to steady her. His eyes turned tender with concern. “Are you well?”
“Yes, thank you,” she forced herself to turn away from him and watch the path in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Oliver smirking in self-congratulations for his previous insight into the Duke’s affections.Perhaps Oliver is right.
Chapter 11
When the trio of errant explorers returned to the house, they found Mr. Wheatly in a frantic state of worry. “Where have you been? I have been pacing the floor in fear and concern the whole night through. The Dowager Duchess is upstairs beside herself, Your Grace, out of worry over your wellbeing.”
“My apologies, Mr. Wheatly. I will go up immediately and reassure Mother. I would like for you to arrange for the repairs to the walls to be done today. I would also like to establish an around the clock guard for Mother and Miss Wright until this matter has reached a satisfactory resolution. Please see that Oliver and Miss Wright’s needs are cared for and then see that you find your own bed. As you have pointed out, it has been a very long night indeed.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. Wheatly bowed and then scurried away ringing his hands and murmuring to himself. The poor man was in a fractured state. Oliver followed.
Felix climbed the stairs to his mother’s bedchamber with Marybeth in close pursuit. He knew that she would wish to see to her patient before retiring herself. He admired her greatly for her diligence, skill, and compassion. When he entered the Dowager Duchess’s room he found her sitting amongst her pillows, white as a sheet, her face drawn with worry.
“My apologies, Mother,” he murmured coming over to place a kiss upon her forehead.
“Where were you, Felix?” his mother asked taking in the state of his dirt smeared clothing. “What happened?”
“There is a tunnel beneath the house that runs from Arkley Hall to Blackleigh Castle,” he answered. He did not sit at the edge of the bed as he normally would have done for fear of dirtying her sheets.
Marybeth came around and began mixing his mother’s medicinal herbs. “How are you feeling, Your Grace?” she asked, handing her a cup of soothing tea.
“My nerves are in a state,” the Dowager Duchess admitted, gratefully taking the proffered cup of tea.
“I understand the feeling. It has been quite the eventful night,” Marybeth commiserated.
Felix and Marybeth took turns informing his mother of all that had transpired since leaving the manor house. Had he not lived it himself he would have doubted its veracity. The sound of hooves and carriage wheels upon the drive ended the conversation. “I had completely forgotten that Lady Cordelia was to come by for breakfast this morning,” he groaned, closing his eyes in fatigue of body and spirit. “I am not at all in a state to be receiving guests.”
“We are all exhausted and in need of sleep. Can she not be sent away to return another day?” Marybeth inquired. “Your mother is not at all up to having visitors.”
“It cannot be helped,” the Duke answered resigned. Ringing for a maid, he gave instructions for a bath to be brought up to his room and for his valet to arrange a fresh set of clothes. “I will see to Lady Cordelia, Mother. You just rest. Thank you, Miss Wright, for seeing to my mother in spite of your fatigued state.” He bowed in gratitude for her selflessness.
He was not sure what had made him address her so formally, but he suspected it had something to do with how he had felt every time that Oliver had touched her. Their affection for one another had caused Felix to feel envious of their close relationship. He knew that they had been friends since childhood, but he found himself hoping that friendship was all it was. With every moment that passed, he felt himself more and more drawn to Marybeth, even when he was angry with her for her disobedience.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She curtsied in reply.
