The Duke and the Lass by Jessie Clever

Chapter 14

He was growing accustomed to waking with her in his arms.

He lay there, holding as still as possible so as not to wake her. He wanted to enjoy the feel of her for just a little longer. Much like everything Della did, she woke with an enthusiasm that could not be stopped, but he wanted to linger in bed with her.

He had never told anyone of his love for repairing furniture. He had been telling Della the truth. It had largely happened by accident and all because he had been trying to escape his sisters. It had started with the usual things. Rosewood and walnut, although he preferred the sturdier grains of oak. He’d sanded and finished the things that Manford, his father’s gardener, repaired, and he’d watched while he worked, learning the precision it required to do such tasks.

It had been thrilling, and more, he discovered that when he bent his mind to the wood, it freed him of the pressures he had as the Duke of Ravenwood and the caretaker to so many sisters. When he worked with wood, it was his only opportunity to relieve some of the burden he carried.

But he was always careful never to lose himself in the making of furniture. He knew Della would ask the question, and she had. But he had been firm in his resolutions. He could not make his own furniture for it would require too much from him, and he couldn’t risk losing focus. Not ever again.

But now Della had him wondering.

She had noticed the work he had completed on the dressing table in the duchess’s rooms at Ravenwood Park. No one had recognized his work before, and for some reason, receiving her praise had shifted something inside of him. It was as though he suddenly wished for recognition for his work, but that wasn’t quite it. It was as though she had shown him there was more to be done. There was more he hadn’t considered.

He had thought he would continue to tinker with furniture, enjoying the cathartic nature of it, but now he wanted more. If he were being truthful, he could admit he had been feeling that way for some time. It was as though he were holding himself back when he knew he was capable of doing more, and he didn’t like that feeling. It was as though he were leaving things undone.

But then Della stirred against him, and he remembered how much weighed on him. The responsibility and the severe nature of what might happen should he let down his guard. He pulled her closer against him and tried to memorize how it felt to hold her.

Something had changed for her yesterday, but she had yet to tell him what. Part of that was likely his fault. He had distracted her terribly after dinner the previous evening, and she had hinted that tea with the viscountess had been enlightening in some respect. But the best evidence he had that something was different was that damn blue gown she had been wearing.

It was the color of a slumbering sea, and it turned her blue, blue eyes to gemstones. Gone were the hideous frocks that made her look like a deformed and overstuffed pillow. The sapphire gown had put her on display like the crown jewel she was. But no, it wasn’t that at all. Because somehow Della managed to make the gown appear inferior. It was just a base on which she showcased her best features.

To him that was all her features, but it was more than the physical. Her attitude had changed when she’d donned that gown. Back was the lass he had encountered at MacKenzie Keep in Kettleholm, practical and strong and determined. He knew it had to have been more than the clothes, but he wondered what it was that had made her disappear in the first place. He worried it was something he had done, and he hoped she would find the courage to tell him.

He knew he was falling in love with her. He had been for weeks, and for so many reasons, he continued to deny it. But when she had charged into that workshop in that sapphire gown, he could no longer deny it. He could only work harder to protect himself against it. For if he let himself love her, it would put them all in danger.

She stirred all too soon, but before she could fully awaken, he slipped his hand beneath the hem of her nightdress and proceeded to distract her for several more hours.

It was late in the afternoon when Mallard interrupted him in his study as he went over estate reports from his steward to inform him he had a visitor. Andrew was somewhat surprised to find the Duke of Raeford’s card on the silver tray with which he was presented.

He stood as his oldest and dearest friend swept into his study. It was evident from the mud on his boots and the wrinkles in his jacket that Ben had only just arrived from the north.

“I trust you bring news,” Andrew said without preamble.

Ben had not relinquished his hat in the hall and now drew it from his head. “The MacKenzie has been to Ravenwood Park.”

This news was not unexpected, but it still rocked Andrew enough that he sat down, indicating for Ben to do the same. He scrubbed his face with his hand before meeting his friend’s gaze.

“When?”

“Little more than a week ago. We left Raeford as soon as we could to get here. I would have sent word by messenger, but the message was too important to leave to a service.”

Andrew studied the man who was now his brother-in-law and who at one time had caught newts with him along the stream that separated their properties in Yorkshire.

“I don’t deserve a friend like you,” Andrew said now.

Ben laughed. “I beg to differ, mate. I think the universe had something greater in store for both of us, and we’ve nothing left but to let fate have its way.”

Andrew laughed now. “I suppose you’re right. I take it my sister accompanied you.”

Ben understood the unasked question. “She’s at Raeford House having it opened and aired. She thought it best to give you fair warning that she had returned to town, and that she had no intentions of causing further harm to your wife.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“I will refrain from commenting,” Ben said with an obvious smirk on his face.

Andrew leaned his head back against his chair. “The MacKenzie has found his way to my door. What do you make of it?”

Ben settled back in his chair. “He either knows that you’ve absconded with his daughter, or he is merely pursuing every gentleman who attended the stalking party to see which one may be housing her.”

Andrew eyed his friend. “Which do you think it is?”

“I should not like to underestimate the cunning of a man who is dastardly enough to sell off his daughter so I would assume the first.”

Andrew’s hands curled into fists. “I have ascertained the legality of our marriage, and while I do not doubt its validity, I worry the MacKenzie may try to cause trouble. I will die before I allow him to hurt Della.”

“I hope it does not come to that.” Ben’s smile was lopsided.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t wish to leave you with sole responsibility for my sister. That’s a fate crueler than most.”

Ben’s expression folded into a look of concern. “Do you really believe your sisters to be so much trouble?”

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

Ben swallowed. “I’ll admit they’re not the easiest of companions, but I daresay you make them sound a great deal worse than they actually are. All of them have made incredible matches.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Some better than others.” His smile was cocky. “But yet you continue to assert they require your protection. Why is that?”

Andrew straightened. “Because they do. I’m their brother. I must look out for them.”

“But they have husbands now. Good ones. Shouldn’t you leave it up to them to see to the care and comfort of their wives?”

Andrew shook his head. “The last time I did that—” He stopped and shook his head once more. “Needless to say, I don’t feel comfortable leaving them to their own decisions.”

Ben gripped his hat in both hands. “As one of those husbands, I must disagree. Your sister is more than capable of making good decisions. She saved Raeford Court, did she not?”

Andrew remembered how only months earlier Johanna had stormed into his study at Ravenwood Park demanding Louisa’s unused dowry to save Raeford Court from devastation.

“She’s made a couple of good decisions, but she also married a fortune hunter.”

Ben had the decency to look guilty. “Be that as it may, she trusted her instincts, and it worked out in the end. Why must you continue to think you know better?”

“Because I do.”

Ben shook his head. “That’s something one of our fathers would have said, Andrew.”

His friend had the power to unsettle him with a single statement like no other could. Well, perhaps Della could now as well, but he clung to his conviction.

“It may seem draconian and archaic, but I just can’t let anything happen to them. I’m the only one left to protect them.”

“No, you’re not,” Ben said softly, and Andrew realized he was right.

He held his friend’s gaze even as something shifted around him. Andrew thought of the way Dax and Sebastian had stepped in that night to save Della from a social faux pas, but then he remembered what Sebastian had said to him that day on the pavement. He and Louisa had not married of their own free will. Andrew had suspected but then…

Louisa was now the Duchess of Waverly, well respected and admired for her design work. She had a beautiful son and from what he could tell a loving marriage.

And Ben had only just reminded him of what Johanna had achieved.

Both sisters had obtained their current situations through their own instincts and cunning. He could take credit for very little of it, but he held on to the fact that he had played a role in it no matter how minor. He wanted to tell Ben as much, but he knew he would never tell another soul.

He wouldn’t be able to protect his sisters if they knew just how much he continued to meddle in their lives. But it was for their own good. He had to remind himself of that.

Andrew stood and rubbed at the back of his neck as he paced away from his friend and to the windows that overlooked the gardens.

“Do you think the MacKenzie will come here next?”

He heard Ben get to his feet behind him.

“He might. I made inquiries at the inns in the village before we left. Discreetly, of course. The MacKenzie still had a room at the Bull and Anvil when we left.”

Andrew turned. “He’ll be at least a day or two behind you then if he’s headed here.”

Ben nodded. “It could be argued he won’t be here before the end of the week. The road is growing firmer though as the temperature gets colder. Travel was relatively easy for us.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Ben fingered the brim of his hat. “Andrew, what will you do if the MacKenzie does come for Della?”

“Nothing,” Andrew said, his smile slow. “I won’t need to. She’s my wife. The law is on my side.”

“And what if the MacKenzie doesn’t care about the law?”

Andrew’s gut churned at the thought. “Then I will teach him to respect it.”

* * *

Della returned homefrom luncheon just as the clock in the vestibule of Ravenwood House chimed the hour. She wasn’t sure how it had gotten to be so late. When she had sent notes to Eliza and Louisa requesting their help, she hadn’t expected such a clamorous response.

Eliza had invited her and Louisa to luncheon, and the rest had rather escalated from there. While Della had hoped to merely bend their ears on duchess matters, the sisters had plunged in with a full curriculum on duchess schooling.

Della had thought she would feel somehow lacking or ill prepared when she left for Eliza’s, but she found the truth to be rather the opposite. Eliza and Louisa strategized as if this were a military coup and Della the prize.

They analyzed every angle, unearthed every topic, and uncovered every possible snare Della may encounter as the Duchess of Ravenwood, and it was all far more entertaining than a book would have been.

She hadn’t really thought to ask her new sisters for help until the day she’d taken tea with the viscountess. Della had grown used to having only herself on which to rely, and she was glad now that she’d written the letters to Eliza and Louisa in the fit of enthusiasm she’d developed after leaving V’s and Madame Beauchamp’s.

Della shed her cloak and warm gloves and pressed her fingers to her cold cheeks. November had descended on London with a bitter cold she was told was unusual for this time of the year. She welcomed the cold and only wished she’d be allowed to take some exercise in it. However, Andrew was still adamant about her leaving the house with an escort and a carriage.

She handed her things to the footman by the door and stepped farther into the house, only to stop. She had no further plans for that afternoon, nor did she know where her husband was.

She turned back to the footman who was busy hanging her things.

“Excuse me,” she said, still unsure how she should address the servants. That was another topic for her to go over with Eliza and Louisa. “Would you mind telling me where I might find the library?”

The footman gave her clear directions and within moments she found herself standing in a room that rivaled the library at Ravenwood Park. She went about the room lighting lamps in the fading afternoon light to better see the towering shelves of books. Unlike the library in Yorkshire, this room contained a great deal more seating arrangements and a small desk pushed under one window. She was disappointed to find there were no window benches, but this was made up for with the plethora of overstuffed chairs.

She rang for a maid, but Mallard himself appeared.

“Your Grace.” He gave a small bow.

She smiled. “I was only hoping to get some tea and biscuits, but would you also happen to know where His Grace might be?”

She was somewhat wary of having to always ask about the whereabouts of her husband, but Mallard straightened, giving no sign that she should already know where he was.

“His Grace has stepped out. He instructed me to tell you he truly has gone out this time, and he is not hiding below stairs.” Mallard raised a single eyebrow, and she realized this was the only sign he would give to indicate he understood the joke. “He said he would return in time for dinner.”

“Oh, that’s very good,” Della said. “If you please, just the tea and biscuits then.”

Mallard gave another bow and left.

While she waited, Della scanned the various shelves haphazardly. There were the usual classics she’d expected as well as some plays, books of poetry, and even some treatises on farming. She was delighted, however, to find an entire shelf devoted to novels. While none of them were her beloved Melanie Merkett novels, they would do.

She selected one at random and chose a chair by the window. It had been weeks since she’d last been able to sit and read a book, and it felt glorious to sink into the chair, the fading afternoon light spilling over the pages of the book in her lap. A maid appeared with her tea and biscuits, and Della settled in for the afternoon.

The novel was rather dry, but the tea and biscuits made up for it, and in all, she was pleased to spend a couple of hours there. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but the tea had grown cold, and the plate of biscuits was nothing more than a scattering of crumbs.

She contemplated summoning a maid for replenishment, but she found she was not very hungry. She hadn’t eaten much at Eliza’s. She’d been too busy talking with her sisters, the subject at hand too engrossing to have bothered with the cold chicken and salad. And now she found herself rather distracted as the novel had finally grown interesting.

She closed the pages of the book and stood, taking herself over to the desk in the corner. She rummaged about in its drawers until she located a scrap of paper. She was unable to find a pen or ink, but she was successful in unearthing a length of pencil. She sat down at the desk and tapped the pencil against the sheet of paper.

It was always best to have a plan, she thought, and if she were to make the most of her time with Eliza and Louisa, she wished to ensure they covered all the topics over which she was concerned.

She held the pencil poised above the paper for several seconds without writing, and then she set the pencil down.

Who was she fooling? There was too much she didn’t know. She let her attention drift out the window as she pondered her status as the Duchess of Ravenwood.

She couldn’t help but to recall what Andrew had said when she’d discovered him in his workshop the other day. Such manual artistry was not expected of a duke, and so he had kept this woodworking a secret. It seemed entirely rubbish to her. Why couldn’t he repair furniture? He was a duke after all.

She realized the double standard in her thoughts. Why was she so quick to find herself lacking and yet was adamant in bolstering Andrew in his endeavors?

She picked up the pencil again and thumped it against the surface of the desk. How was she to ever overcome the voice of doubt in her head? It had been there for so long, it was hard to believe anything else as the truth.

But she must overcome it. It was one thing to acquire nice dresses and another to learn the social protocols required of a duchess, but if Della didn’t conquer the thing inside of her, the echo left from so much neglect and scolding would all be meaningless.

That much had become clear to her.

For why would Andrew love someone who didn’t love herself?

The thought cut through her with the precision of a knife. She wasn’t sure when it was that she’d fallen in love with him, but she’d suspected it all along. And somewhere in the past few weeks she had realized being the perfect duchess wasn’t it at all. When she got to the heart of it, she knew what she wanted.

She wanted to be loved.

As soon as she thought it, she felt immense guilt. Who was she to think someone like Andrew could love her?

And wasn’t that the very problem.

The pencil stilled against the surface of the desk, and she watched it settle against the wooden top.

To be loved.

It seemed like something so simple, and yet it was something that had been denied her for the entirety of her life. If things were to change now, she had to start with herself.

She picked up the pencil again, ready now to formulate a plan, when a sharp knock came at the door.

A footman entered and bowed, but before he could speak a man blustered through the door, nearly knocking the poor footman off his feet.

Della stood, the muscles of her fingers going lax until she dropped the pencil at her feet.

“Ye think ye could hide from me, lassie.” Her father’s laugh was raw and crass, and suddenly the walls of the library were too close as her father’s harshness seemed to echo back at her.

She froze in place, her hand curling reflexively around the back of the chair she had occupied.

The MacKenzie’s red beard was wild about his face, his eyes almost manic. She could smell whiskey on him even as he stood several paces away, and she willed herself not to wretch.

“I understand ye think yerself wed. Well, I’ll be having none of that.” The bit of his cheeks she could see through his straggly beard were ruddy, and she wondered if it were from the cold or from drink. He advanced, his footsteps heavy and menacing, and vaguely, she was aware of the footman slipping out the door. “I dinnae care what that Englishman thinks he’s done. I’ll find a way to break this union.” He was atop her now, and he gripped her arm in one meaty hand. Pain shot through her arm, but she was too frightened to cry out. “I will have what I want from ye, lassie. And what I want is an ally. Ye won’t be takin’ it from me.”

He dragged her toward the door.

She hadn’t spoken a word. She hadn’t called for help. She hadn’t told him no. She’d said nothing.

What a coward she was. What a—

She stopped the litany of self-recriminations because it would do no good. She had to think. What could she do? Her arm ached from where her father kept her pinned in his vise-like grip, and she knew she was no match for him physically. She didn’t know where in the house a servant was to whom she could call for help, but even then, what was he to do? A servant was no match for the MacKenzie either.

This was her fate. She had come all this way. She had pushed herself so far beyond where she found comfort, and this was how it would all end.

Her father would take her back to Scotland, and she would not utter a single word in protest.

Of course she wouldn’t.

She never had. She had never told her grandmother how awful she was to treat her granddaughter with such disdain. And Della’s mother? Ha, there was a joke if Della ever saw one. The woman was more enamored of fancy dress than of her own daughter.

And yet Della never said a word.

She simply went along.

Just as she went along now, letting her life be dictated by others.

She dug her heels in. “Wait.” The sound of her voice was shrill in the quiet room, and the MacKenzie stopped so suddenly he nearly pulled her over.

He stared at her, but her mind was a scrambled mess.

Think, Della. You must do something.

“I must…I must…” She licked her lips, her eyes casting about the room. They fell on the desk and the book she had left there. Her eyes snapped back to her father. “I must return the book I’ve borrowed from a friend.”

The Mackenzie sneered. “Ye have no friends, lassie, Yer nothing but a—”

“I am sure the end of that sentence is stunningly poetic, but I believe you are in a hurry, are you not?”

Her father blinked.

“I’ll take that for the affirmative. If you do not mind, I’ll just gather the book and ring for a footman to see it returned.”

“We’ve no time for ye to be bothering with niceties, lassie. I want to be far out of London before that bastard of a husband of yers returns.”

He knew Andrew was gone. Had he been watching the house?

A shiver passed through her, and she used the opportunity to pull her arm free.

“There is always time to show respect,” she said coolly, and without waiting for permission, she marched back to the desk.

Her back was to the MacKenzie, and it shielded her movements from him. Quickly, she snatched up the pencil from where she’d dropped it and scribbled on the still blank sheet of paper. She tucked it into the book even as she turned.

She didn’t bother to ring for a servant. She marched in front of her father in the direction of the front door. He followed, nearly catching the hem of her gown in his thunderous footsteps.

She found the footman at the door, pretending to look anywhere but at her and her glowering father.

She presented the book to him. “Please see that this is returned to Her Grace, the Duchess of Ashbourne. It’s most urgent. Can you see that it gets to her within the hour? I had promised to return it to her today, and it slipped my mind. I shan’t wish for her to go another moment without it.” She forced the footman to meet her gaze and all but shoved the book against his chest.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“The Duchess of Ashbourne. Return it to her within the hour. Do you understand?”

The footman nodded, his gaze sliding warily to the MacKenzie.

She could feel her father behind her, almost as if his brooding gave off a foul stench.

He didn’t allow her to gather a cloak or gloves and simply took her by the arm and forced her out into the cold. A carriage was waiting on the street, and he shoved her into it.

Only as it pulled away and Ravenwood House grew smaller and smaller in the distance did she think for the first time that she may never see Andrew again.

She closed her eyes and prayed for she knew she could not let that happen. She simply couldn’t live without him. Not anymore. She opened her eyes and looked at her father to find him wrestling with the stopper of a glass bottle half-filled with an amber liquid.

She returned her gaze to the window as the carriage rocked on and prayed Eliza would get her message.