The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Twenty-One

Ernest’s first instinct was to go charging through the halls, with no plan to stop till he found Christiana and she was safe in his arms again. But, his common sense overrode his instinct as he stared down at the piece of paper.

“I have your wife,’” it said. But multiple maids had seen Christiana just minutes ago, and Ernest was sure she was safe and sound in her chambers.

So, who the hell had sent this?

He turned the paper over, hoping to see a signature, but the paper was bare. Ernest sighed. He had enough to deal with without wondering if Christiana was going to be kidnapped soon. He stared at the words again. What did they mean?

He had a feeling the sender was on to something. But how could the sender have his wife when Ernest knew his wife was in the manor with him? There was something going on, and Ernest did not think he was interested in uncovering it.

He knew Christiana was safe, but he could still feel mild panic at the thought that somehow, this sender was right and she had been whisked away without his knowledge. And so, Ernest strode out of the study, heading to Christiana’s room.

Even though he wanted to make sure she was safe, he had to admit that had he not gotten the letter, he would still be on his way to her room. After the terrible day he’d had, all he wanted was the comfort of her company. He had been looking forward to seeing her since the moment they parted after the lake. It was not just about the fact that he ached to press himself against her body and touch her, but also that he loved spending time with her.

He was so deep in thoughts of Christiana he did not immediately notice that he was about to pass by Paul, his steward.

“Your Grace,” Paul said, bowing deeply.

Ernest nodded. “Paul,” he said. “Who delivered the letter you just gave me?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace,” Paul said. “One of the stable boys handed it to me less than an hour ago. Said a hooded rider delivered it.”

Ernest gave a short nod before he continued on his way. He had received a lot of strange letters since he’d become duke, but this one irked him. He knew exactly why he cared so much; because the writer had involved Christiana.

And Ernest knew he’d do anything to stop her from getting hurt because of him.

He was standing right in front of her chambers in a matter of minutes. He raised his fist and knocked. There was no immediate reply.

Was she still with the boy? Ernest could not say. He knocked again.

This time, the door creaked open in a few seconds. It was Mary.

“Your Grace,” Mary said, curtseying.

“I’d like to speak with my wife,” he said.

“Her Grace just fell asleep now, Your Grace,” Mary replied, moving a foot to the side so Ernest could see Christiana curled on the bed. She looked fast asleep, with her hair spread all over her lovely face, her chest rising and falling.

Ernest wanted nothing more than to join her in bed at that very moment.

Instead, he took in a deep breath, controlling the urge. He was disappointed to know that he would not enjoy the pleasure of her company that evening, but he was also relieved that she was safe and sound, as he had thought.

“I will check upon her another time,” he said, turning away.

It was time to request his estate manager’s presence again, he knew. The fire had also burned some fields, and Ernest knew he had to bear the economic brunt of the damage. He was not certain the estate had funds left over to take care of this, and again his mind went to Paul and wondered if the man was siphoning funds for himself.

He shook his head. He would have ample time to think about that later. Right now, he had to let his solicitor think of reasons why someone would want to burn down a cottage. They were going to put their heads together all night, if it was necessary, until they determined who could be responsible for such a heinous crime.

He turned, heading instead for his estate manager’s quarters. But, before he had taken five steps in that direction, a voice called, “Brother.”

Ernest turned to see his sister smiling up at him. She was wearing a red gown today, and her long black hair had been let loose, falling over her shoulders and back.

“Sister,” he said, nodding at her. “You seem well.”

He had not seen Rebecca smile in a long while.

Rebecca shrugged. “I was overcome with grief over my friends, but I have every confidence their son is in good hands.”

Ernest’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“Your wife, brother,” Rebecca said. “No doubt you must have heard of what she did.”

“You know about her climbing up the tree to save the boy?” Ernest asked. Perhaps that would soften Rebecca’s opinion of his wife, he thought.

“Know of it?” Rebecca asked with a chuckle. “Why, I saw it myself. And I have to say, I have never seen a highborn lady who could climb trees, much less climb them as well as Christiana.”

Ernest felt a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He saw that Rebecca’s perception of Christiana was completely changed by that act.

“I suppose I shall happen upon the both of you chatting away happily and embroidering sometime,” Ernest said.

He expected his sister to shudder at the suggestion, but she merely shrugged. “That could happen,” she said easily. “Although, I rather think your wife is not one for embroidery. She is a good singer, though. I was going to check on Michael when I heard her singing him a song. Perhaps she can play the high harp.”

Ernest was more pleased than he could say. Finally, the two most important women in his life were getting along. It was far more than he could ask for.

“I am sorry about your friends, Rebecca,” he said. He knew how much the people she cared for meant to Rebecca. She had never quite been the same after the loss of their parents. This did not seem as huge a loss, but Ernest knew she was saddened all the same. “Perhaps we should go for a walk in the gardens.”

Rebecca gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry about me, brother. I know how much you have to do, what with the fire and the fields which burned down. I want you to find out who started that fire. I have no doubt that someone did that to them.”

Ernest squinted at his sister. “Why do you think so?”

Rebecca shrugged again. “There is absolutely no reason not to. I am confident that you and Mr Boyle will come to the same conclusion, given what happened. Pat and Gloria loved their son. They weren’t fool enough to allow a fire start in their cottage.”

Ernest nodded. He knew Rebecca was right. Still, he did not want to discuss the details of her friends’ death with her.

He took her hand in his and looked into her eyes. “I will find whoever did this and bring them to justice, Rebecca,” he said gravely.

Rebecca nodded, a small, sad smile at her lips. “I know you will,” she said quietly.

* * *

Michael Highsmith was a powerhouse.

In the few hours since he’d arrived he had managed to visit almost every room in the manor. He knew almost all the maids by name, had ridden his pony twice, and was now in the first-floor dressing room, exclaiming over Rebecca’s embroidery as Amelia watched from the doorway.

“You are wonderful at this, milady,” he all but yelled as he saw what she was working on.

Rebecca grinned. Amelia was taken aback. She had been at the manor far longer than Michael had, but had still not been able to force anything other than a sarcastic smile from Rebecca, not counting the time they’d hugged. Even if he was barely eight-years-old, Michael knew his way around people.

“My mama loved embroidery,” he said wistfully.

“I know,” Rebecca said, and for a moment, she looked a little sad. “I taught her.”

“She never had good thread,” Michael said. He did not seem to have heard Rebecca. “And so my papa promised he would save up and buy the kind of thread highborn ladies used, so she could do her embroidery the way she wanted. But—”

Michael gave a small sigh, and Amelia’s heart went out to him. She did not know what to say.

“Do you like flowers?” Rebecca asked quietly.

Michael shook her head. “But my mama loved flowers. Once a year, on Christmas, my papa bought her the most expensive ones he could find.”

“What about we go to the garden so you could see some of those expensive flowers? Your mama would like that, would she not?” Rebecca said.

Michael nodded enthusiastically, and all trace of wistfulness disappeared from his voice as he shouted, “Let’s go,” and raced out the door.

Amelia laughed at the sight of him, running as though the garden was about to disappear. When she looked at Rebecca, Amelia saw that she was also laughing. Their eyes met, but for once Amelia did not see distrust or suppressed anger in Rebecca’s eyes. Instead, Rebecca’s gaze was simply full of warmth.

“We’re going to have our hands full with him,” Rebecca said.

“I know,” Amelia said, smiling, wishing she had something else to say.

They walked down to the gardens together. It was mid-morning, and the sun was just spreading its rays through the sky. The silence they shared was a little bit awkward, but it was comfortable all the same. Amelia found herself wanting to link her arm with Rebecca as they walked.

They got to the garden and saw that Michael had made his way in and was now examining the flowers with a look of pure joy on his face, exclaiming as he saw yet another flower he had apparently never seen before. When Amelia looked at Rebecca, she saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Rebecca,” she said quietly.

Rebecca nodded and smiled, hurriedly wiping tears away. “He’ll be fine,” Rebecca said, sounding as though she was talking more to herself than Amelia. “I know it.”

Amelia nodded. She felt a pang as she realised she wouldn’t be at the manor much longer. But she knew Rebecca would not rest until she took care of the boy.

“You know,” Rebecca said suddenly, “I saw what happened yesterday.”

Amelia had gotten quite tired of everyone referencing her as a hero when all she’d done was climb up a tree. And so, she said resignedly, “I know.”

But Rebecca was smirking when she said, “You are the worst horse rider I’ve ever known in all my life, Christiana. Where did you learn to ride?”

Amelia laughed. “You saw that?” she said with a groan.

Rebecca nodded. Unlike the victorious smirk she had worn when she’d heard Amelia had been attacked by bandits, this one seemed to show her genuine amusement. “I nearly fell over while laughing,” she said.

Amelia laughed again. “I didn’t quite learn how to ride well,” she said truthfully. “I was always busy with… something else.”

“It’s quite easy,” Rebecca said. “I’ll teach you.”

Amelia turned her surprised face to Rebecca. Rebecca let out a snort of laughter and said, “Oh, don’t look so shocked. We are sisters, after all. We may fight and want to kill each other sometimes, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”

When Rebecca wasn’t using her mirth to ridicule Amelia, she was a very funny person. And so, Amelia found herself laughing for the third time.

“You know,” Rebecca said as she glanced at Amelia, “You and Ernest spent quite a lot of time out of the manor yesterday.”

Amelia felt her cheeks flame. “I suppose so,” she said.

Rebecca chuckled. “You don’t need to look so frightened, Christiana. He is your husband, after all. It is not unimaginable for a husband and wife to take a private stroll.”

Amelia’s embarrassment was growing by the minute. Rebecca was right, she knew, but she still felt more than a little awkward discussing this with Rebecca.

Rebecca appeared to have read her thoughts. Taking a step closer, she said, “You don’t need to worry, Christiana. I’m perhaps a tad more excited than I should be. I have always wanted to gossip with my sister.”

Amelia felt her heart shrink as she looked at Rebecca’s smiling face. Rebecca wanted a sister, yes, but Amelia was far from that. She was not Lady Gillingham, and when the real Lady Gillingham returned, Rebecca would be heartbroken by what she would perceive as Lady Gillingham’s abrupt dismissal.

Amelia shook her head, not wanting to think of that any further.

“You know,” Rebecca said suddenly. “I heard you tell Michael about your parents dying. But, last I heard, your father is still very much alive and well.”

Amelia felt dread settle in the pit of her stomach. She turned to stare at Rebecca. Rebecca did not seem too suspicious, but Amelia realised she couldn’t think of any excuse.

“Why did you tell him your parents were dead?” Rebecca asked, sounding mildly curious.

Amelia looked into Rebecca’s open, warm face. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind remained stubbornly blank.

After several days of staying at the manor, she had finally run out of lies.

“Christiana?” Rebecca called.

Amelia jumped. “I was trying to comfort him,” she said. It was the first thing that came to her mind.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t need to tell him your parents died to comfort him. Still, it did not look like you were lying. I saw you. You seemed like you were telling the truth.”

Amelia’s heart started to pound furiously fast. There was nothing else she could say. She could see the suspicion on Rebecca’s face growing.

She bit her lip, aware of the beads of sweat on her forehead. She had no other choice now. All that was left was to tell the truth, and hope that the new friendship she had with Rebecca was strong enough.

“Rebecca,” Amelia said, her entire body shaking. “I am not Christiana. My real name is Amelia, and I am a commoner.”