Page 12 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
“Utter rubbish,” Jules muttered, lowering the third scandal sheet she’d been reading on the uneventful journey from London to Hertfordshire to meet the new Duke of Wulverton, who had earned the moniker of Wolfe in his earlier days at Eton. Or so the scanty report the duchess had put together for their study claimed.
The carriage lurched on one of the ruts in the country road and she scowled. For a man who believed in progress, her father still did not trust traveling via train. If he had, they would have arrived at least four hours ago. Jules and her father had been traveling for the better part of the morning and afternoon.
She was more than ready to meet the duke and direct the nameless energy inside her into something more worthwhile. She did not like being confined in the carriage with her father. The temptation to try and probe his mind and past was too pressing. At times she caught him watching her, and more interestingly he would quickly glance away once their gazes collided. Perhaps much had changed in the years she had been away at university.
“What are they saying now?” her father asked, jutting his chin to the newssheet. “Is there anything new, or is it the same nonsense?”
“London has chosen to recall the famous case of the boy found in the woods after supposing he had been lost for over fifteen years. He was christened Peter by King George I and was paraded at court for the amusement of others. This newssheet dares to wonder if the duke might entertain them by walking on all fours as Peter had done! How disgraceful they are!”
Her father pushed the spectacles up his nose. “Is it not possible?”
A jolt of shock went through Jules. “I hardly think it might be, Father. Surely the duchess would have mentioned such observed conduct.”
“If I recall it correctly, Peter also walked upright at times but under extreme circumstances devolved into the behaviors which had enabled his survival for many years. The duke has been lost for a similar period of time. We have no notion of his mental capacity. If he had been alone all this time and what he had to do to survive. All those probabilities will have had a significant impact on his development and behavior going forward.”
Exasperation and concern rushed through her. “The duke was lost at eighteen years of age. It should not be possible for the character which had formed since birth to that age to disappear. This situation would either build him or break him, and that he is here now…he was not broken. Father, it is the theory of survival of the fittest.”
Her father nodded thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming with thrill and speculation. “We must tread with care at all times. Keep a careful distance but assess him keenly.”
“The queen expects a direct report from you, Father,” Jules murmured, brushing aside the carriage curtain to peek at the impressive manor they approached.
An avenue of beech trees lined the long driveway, and in the far distance behind the lake, the sunlight dappled through the thick leaves. The forestry to the right was dense and lush, and the four-story house as it came into view was simply breathtaking. The exquisite mansion was surrounded by lawns, rolling down on one side to a large lake. A massive woodland lay beyond the lake, carpeted with dark moss, and a thick foliage of the trees where the sun would no doubt penetrate in uneven patches.
“I do not want you alone with the duke, Jules.”
Her gut tightened and she turned her regard to her father. “What are you thinking?”
“Do you recall the case of Victor Aveyron?”
Jules frowned. She and her peers had intensely studied that case in her final year of studies. “I do. He…he was violent and given to aggressive outbursts. He did not speak, rejected all physical contact and attempts to re-civilize him into society.”
Her father folded his arms across his chest, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Yes, Mr. Aveyron was considered quite feral and beyond redemption by the best doctors of the mind. Reports indicated that even those Mr. Aveyron allowed some closeness, he attacked at the slightest provocation.”
“Is this a concern of the duchess?” Jules asked, recalling the long private meeting her father had with Her Grace. A conversation he had not mentioned to her in any detail, and Jules had respectfully not pried. “Has the duchess said anything more, Father?”
Her father reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a letter, handing it to her.
Jules quickly read it. “The duchess anticipates results in time for the duke to present at her ball in London, but also asks for you to stay longer if necessary.”
“Yes. She fears it might take months.”
“Surely Her Grace cannot expect us to be her guests for so long. You have other obligations that need your attention, and mother will miss you.”
He agreed with a slow, thoughtful nod. “However, if the duke needs us for that length of time, we will have to compromise. Do we have any choice but to?”
Jules arched a brow. “The duchess promises a very generous compensation.”
Five thousand pounds. It was a fortune they could not afford to refuse. Jules had noted the threadbare cushions in the drawing room, the simple way they ate of late, and that her mother wore dresses from at least two seasons before. The estate Papa earned his living from was not as profitable as it had been before. Nor did he make much money from the practice of aiding those with mind maladies, and he was far too proud to ask his brother for a loan. “We cannot afford to look down on the duchess’s generosity, Papa.”
“I am more interested in finding out how the duke survived in such a harsh environment for over ten years. It…it is nothing short of incredible, Jules. The duchess’s aim is to find her son a wife this season. It seems to be most important. Her Grace stressed repeatedly that he must be ready to enter thehaut ton, meet the queen, and secure a respectable and influential lady to walk by his side.”
Jules’s heart ached for the duke. To have possibly been isolated and away from human contact for several years and to now be bombarded with such demands. Did he long for a wife himself?
“Is the duke of the same mind?” she softly asked. “Does he too wish to marry?”
“Her Grace seemed to believe he is amenable.” Papa cleared his throat. “Have you…given any thought to that state yourself?”
Jules’s heart twisted. “I beg your pardon, Papa?”
