Page 8 of A Duke Under Her Spell
“That can of course be arranged.” The Duke nodded in reassurance.
Marybeth sighed. She knew the Duke was right and that it would be best if she were present to witness the full range of the Duchess’s symptoms, but she did so loath to leave the sanctuary of her forest home. “Very well, then,” she agreed reservedly. “But I must return home today to gather my things.”
“Of course. I will arrange for Oliver to aid you. The maids will have made ready a room for you upon your return. I believe it would be best if you were located near the Dowager Duchess’s room to ensure ease and speed of care.”
“I agree that such an arrangement would be best to provide optimum care.”
“It is settled then.” The Duke smiled warmly. “And might I extend my deepest condolences for the loss of your grandmother.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. I miss her more with each day that passes.”
“I am sure.” The Duke looked down at his mother, and Marybeth knew that he feared a similar loss.
Marybeth’s heart went out to him and she laid her hand on his arm in empathy. “I will do everything within my power to help your mother, Your Grace. Upon that, you have my word.”
The Duke laid his hand atop of hers and gazed down into her eyes with a mixture of hope and sorrow. “By all that is holy, may God himself ensure that your efforts are fruitful.”
Chapter 3
Felix watched as Miss Wright and Oliver rode away, her chestnut hair flying about her shoulders as the horse galloped toward the forest tree line. She sat astride the horse; her skirts hiked up enough to show her ankles and a portion of her lower leg. He raised his brows in surprise at such an indelicate display. He found himself enchanted by her compassionate manner and independent spirit. She was quite unlike any other woman he had ever met.
“Indecent,” he heard his mother’s lady’s maid, Mrs. Snow, gossiping behind him. “Mark my words, that is a wild witch if ever I saw one.”
“How can you be sure?” another woman’s voice asked. Felix recognized it as the cook, Mrs. Morgan.
“Did you not see the state of her? The spitting image of her witch of a grandmother she is. She is the granddaughter of the witch of the forest, didn’t you know?”
“That is Abigail Wright’s granddaughter?” the cook whispered in shock. “There was such a scandal around her birth and the death of her mother.”
“The girl was born quite on the wrong side of the blanket to be sure,” Mrs. Snow spoke as if she were some authority on the subject. “The story is that some lord or other forced himself upon the mother and that after having the child she killed herself.”
“Ladies, is there nothing better that you could be doing with your time than to speak of Miss Wright in such a manner?” Felix chastised disapprovingly turning to face them.
“Forgive us, Your Grace.” Mrs. Snow and Mrs. Morgan spoke in unison and then scurried away like a pair of hens.
Felix shook his head in exasperation. He would never understand the need to gossip about others as a pastime. He found that a busy mind and hands led to a much more fulfilling existence than to sit around a drawing room harshly passing judgement upon the actions or origins of others. He knew he was an oddity among his peers, in England for that matter, but he made it a priority to have kindness be the guiding factor in all of his interactions whenever possible.
Reentering the house, he climbed the stairs back up to his mother’s bedchamber. He found her sleeping once more, exhausted after her brief encounter with the healer. She had not said much during the exchange and he hoped that she was pleased with the arrangement. Closing the door gently behind him so as not to wake her, he returned to his workshop and finished both of the wheeled chairs for his mother.
* * *
Marybeth rode on the horse behind Oliver, her arms wrapped around his middle. She could not believe everything that had just transpired. “The Duke has invited me to stay at Arkley Hall,” she informed the back of Oliver’s head.
“So he said when he asked me to take you home. I am to bring you right back once you have gathered everything that you need to aid the Dowager Duchess and for your own comfort.”
“Do you like working for the new Duke?” she asked curious. She had been struck by the nobleman and wished to know more about him.
“Oh, yes. I could not ask for a better employer,” Oliver cheerfully answered. “I have talked to some of the other lads in the county and they complain about their work, but I am quite content. The Duke and Duchess are most kind to all of us.”
“I loathe the notion of giving up my freedom being imprisoned in such a grand house.”
“You will get used to it in time. It is not as if it is to be forever.”
“True,” Marybeth admitted. “I have never known anything else but my grandmother’s croft and the ruins of Blackleigh Castle. As grand as the castle ruins are, they are nothing when compared to Arkley Hall.”
“That is true to be sure, but it is the people within its walls that make it a home in spite of its imposing opulence. One collects rather a lot of things when one’s family has lived in the same place for hundreds of years.”
“I am sure,” Marybeth murmured in thought. “The same is true of grandmother’s croft, but in a much less opulent fashion.”
