The Dream of a Duchess Page 10

  Isabella blinked at hearing a reference to Norwick Park but then winced at the woman’s implication for the future of the horse. “How many studs do you have in your stables?”

  Lifting her hand from Hermés’ head, the visitor gave her head a shake. “Mr. Tuttlebaum and Mr. Wiggins are the last, I’m afraid, but they are true brothers. All the rest in my stables are mares and their foals. I dare not breed them together,” she said with a shake of her head. She didn’t add that Mr. Tuttlebaum’s and Mr. Wiggins’ sire had been borrowed from a nearby viscount’s country estate. Bounder, one of the horses that spent their days in a pasture a few miles from the ones surrounding Fair Downs, seemed glad of the attention Constance bestowed on him and simply followed her to Fair Downs one spring day. He immediately took to her favorite mare, Amasia. Their first colt, Mr. Tuttlebaum, went on to win her father a good deal of money by winning every race in which he was entered. A few years later, and this time with the permission of the viscount, she once again bred Bounder to Amasia, producing Mr. Wiggins. He had been born the same night as her come-out. “This boy will make an excellent stud some day,” Constance remarked as she studied the yearling.

  Watching how Hermés seemed so calm in the woman’s company, Isabella leaned in and asked, “Would you be amenable to a trade, perhaps?”

  Constance eyed the younger woman for a moment. “What... what kind of trade?”

  Biting her lower lip, Isabella reconsidered what she was about to say. The grooms had both claimed they could do nothing with Hermés. She was determined to find a suitable stud for Artemis—the mare was ready for motherhood, she was sure—and bringing a new line into the stables might be better than the line breeding she was considering. Especially if Miss Fitzwilliam’s horse was from a line of racers.

  Isabella didn’t even stop to think what the duke would say. It was his horse, although the man didn’t seem to give a whit for what happened in his stables. “Your Mr. Wiggins for a day in exchange for him,” she said in a whisper.

  Blinking, Constance wondered if the chit was daft. This yearling was a perfectly formed horse, obviously from good breeding stock. “But, why ever would you get rid of such a darling?” she asked as she smoothed her hand over Hermés’ withers. The yearling knickered in response, moving a bit closer to Constance.

  “He adores you,” Isabella said in a whisper, a bit of jealousy making her wonder how the woman did it. “But he’s picking fights in the pasture. He bites ears. He’s stubborn as a mule, and the groom hasn’t been able to get shoes on him.”

  Constance allowed a grin. “He’s just testing you. He obviously wants to be the dominant male in the stables.”

  “Well, he’ll have to age a few years before that’s going to happen,” Isabella countered. “There are already several ahead of him.”

  Mr. Tuttlebaum was too old to be a dominant stud these days, Constance figured. The yearling would have the opportunity to share the pasture with mares he might one day impregnate. “Are you sure?” she asked, her gloved hand returning to the yearling’s head.

  “I suppose I should see this Mr. Wiggins and his pedigree charts,” Isabella replied.

  Constance nodded. “Agreed. I don’t have the charts with me, of course, but I have them in my memory.” She glanced around the interior again. “These stables are magnificent,” she breathed.

  Isabella nodded. “Indeed. Apparently the duke used to race a few of these horses, but one of the grooms says he hasn’t done so since his duchess died.” When her visitor seemed perplexed by this bit of news, she added, “I’m hoping I can see to some contenders for the coming years. For when he regains his interest.” She crossed her arms and regarded the yearling again. “As for you, young man...”

  “Where were you taking him?” Constance asked.

  “I was going to tie him to a post near the parterre garden. Teach him some patience whilst we have tea. Or perhaps he just needs to run.”

  Constance took his lead, and they headed back to the gardens. Hermés stayed close and halted as she tied the lead around a metal ring attached to the side of the orangery. “It looks like you do this often,” she commented, noticing a pail of water set against the sandstone building.

  “Just started, actually. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks. Given there are only two grooms and a stableboy, there isn’t time for them to train every horse for riding. So I do what I can.” She turned toward the house. “You will join me for tea, I hope?”

  Smiling, Constance nodded and gave Hermés a light tap on his nose. “I’ll be back to check on you in good time.”

  The horse knickered as the ladies made their way back to the house.

  “Are you a friend of the duke?” Isabella wondered, thinking perhaps the woman expected to find Huntington in residence.

  “Oh, no. I’ve never met the man,” Constance replied with a shake of her head.

  Isabella had to resist the urge to stop in her tracks. “Have you visited Huntinghurst before?” she asked, wondering what had the young woman paying a visit.

  “I have not. The vicar in Boxgrove—Fair Downs is just outside of the village—he paid a call yesterday with news of you. Said you could use a visitor.”

  Isabella paused before she opened the door, wondering how a vicar in Boxgrove would know anything about her. She was about to ask when Constance added, “He claimed his colleague in a village up the road told him about you.”

  “Oh,” Isabella replied, rather surprised by this bit of news. She hadn’t attended church services since her arrival, but she had located a small chapel in one corner of Huntinghurst.

  But how could a vicar have known of her presence?

  They made their way to the parlor, where a tea tray had been left on the low table in front of the settee. Momentarily at a loss, Isabella waited until her guest was seated before she settled onto the settee. “Forgive me, but I haven’t served tea in a very long time. How do you take yours?”

  “With milk and sugar,” Constance replied, secretly thrilled she could have sweetened tea. She rarely indulged given how expensive sugar could be. “I cannot be your first caller since your arrival.”

  “Oh, but you are,” Isabella replied as she poured the tea. “If I didn’t speak to the horses and the maid who sometimes helps with my buttons, I wouldn’t say anything more than ‘good morning’ or ‘good night’ all day long.”

  Constance considered her hostess’ words, realizing life in the manor was probably as lonely for Isabella as Fair Downs could be for her at times. At least she had a lady’s maid in Simmons to help keep her company. “Where did you used to live?”

  Isabella handed her guest the dish of tea and wondered how to respond. “Near Basingstoke. The duke took me in when my mother died.” She managed to get through the words without a lump developing in her throat, but she hoped they could speak of something else. “Miss Fitzwilliam—”

  “Oh, do call me Connie,” her visitor interrupted. “I am quite sure we’ll become fast friends.”

  Isabella allowed a grin. “Isabella, then. And I do hope Fair Downs is not too far away. I should like us to ride together. You do ride?” This last was said as if she feared the woman was only interested in raising horses—not riding them.

  “Of course I do, although I fear Fair Downs isn’t close enough for us to meet every day. It’s six miles south, and I think a bit east of here,” Constance explained, one gloved finger drawing a map in front of her. “Maybe twice a week?” she offered, noting Isabella’s sudden expression of disappointment.

  Obviously excited by the prospect of having a riding partner, Isabella’s eyes widened. “Meet halfway?”

  Constance furrowed a brow as she considered where that might be. “Or I could just tether a horse to my gig and come all the way here. My horses all need exercising,” she murmured.

  “You would come all the way here? Twice a week?” Isabella queried.

  “How old are you? And how often is the duke in residence?” Constan
ce countered, one eyebrow arching as if that should answer the question.

  “Nineteen. And I have no idea. He accompanied me the day I was brought here and said he would be back in a few weeks. He only stayed a day before he left to return to London.”

  Constance frowned, rather surprised to hear that the duke had left his ward with little in the way of company, and apparently no companion. “With stables like his, it’s a wonder he doesn’t just live here,” she replied. “What keeps him in London, I wonder?”

  Isabella blinked. “Parliament, I suppose. The Season’s entertainments.” She wasn’t thinking of a mistress when she made the comment about entertainments, but wondered if Constance did when Isabella noticed how the woman’s eyebrows arched up. “London probably has more to offer than Chichester.”

  Not having spent time in London, Constance didn’t offer a rejoinder. And she thought it better she not suggest the duke probably kept a mistress in London. Didn’t all aristocrats? She was fairly sure her cousins both did. In fact, David owned a brothel, a fact she shouldn’t have known but did because she had once overheard her late father speak of it.

  “What of your husband...?” Isabella stopped, remembering how Constance had been introduced. “Pardon me, Peters said you were Miss Fitzwilliam.” Her eyes widened when she remembered the name.

  Was she related to Lord Norwick? She must be! She had mentioned Norwick Park.

  “I am not married,” Constance stated with a shake of her head. “Happily not so. I am merely biding my time until I reach my majority and can collect my inheritance.”

  Isabella frowned before lifting the teapot to offer more. “But... what will you do?” she asked as she refilled both cups. Isabella couldn’t imagine a future without a husband. Without children. Without horses.

  Well, Constance would at least have horses, she reasoned. Perhaps that was enough.

  “I shall have funds enough to run Fair Downs as it should be. I wish to add onto the stables and raise racers,” she explained, not about to admit she would have to seek permission from her cousin, the Earl of Norwick. Fair Downs was an entailed property of the earldom, after all.

  “Me, too!” Isabella claimed, setting down her tea as she leaned forward. “It’s been my dream ever since I came here and saw just how grand stables could be.” She didn’t mention that her father’s stables were extensive, as well. She had thought them rather grand until her first day at Huntinghurst, when the duke had taken her for a tour of the house and stables.

  Her visitor grinned. “As for a husband... I rather doubt I shall ever marry,” Constance claimed. “I am already two-and-twenty with no prospects in sight. Most of the men in Boxgrove are monks.”

  Isabella blinked. Other than how Constance had described its location earlier in their conversation, she had no idea where Boxgrove was—she’d never even heard of the village—but the thought that there were no prospects for marriage hadn’t crossed her mind when she agreed to Lord Norwick’s plan that she move to Huntinghurst.

  “Lord Norwick made the arrangements with the Duke of Huntington for me to stay here at...” She stopped and angled her head to one side, once again remembering how the woman had been introduced. “Are you related to Lord Norwick, by chance?”

  Constance straightened in her chair, rather stunned to hear her cousin’s name only a moment after she had paid him a thought. “I am. Lord Norwick is my cousin, in fact.” Her eyes widened and she suddenly slumped a bit, a sigh escaping. “I believe I have just sorted how it is the vicar knew of you,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Isabella’s eyes darted to one side. “I did wonder since I haven’t yet been to church. Pray tell, what do you know?” She had a brief moment of fear when she thought her presence at Huntinghurst had already become common knowledge among the locals. Locals as far away as Boxgrove. At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before word of her location reached Craythorne Castle.

  “David is my oldest cousin. The next oldest is his twin brother, Daniel. I owe David much, as he allows me to run Fair Downs as I see fit. He conveniently forgets about us, you see.” Mostly because I don’t want him to remember me. “But if he is the one who saw to it the duke took you in as his ward, then I’m quite sure he is the ‘colleague’ who informed the vicar of your presence here.” She didn’t add that David had probably bribed the man to pay the call on Fair Downs yesterday.

  So much for Simmons’ idea that Cruthers wants to court me. What a relief!

  Isabella allowed a sigh. “I do hope that is the case.” She dared not tell Constance everything just then. Perhaps after they had met a few times for rides around the estate, then she would confide in the woman.

  “What of the duchess?” Constance suddenly asked. “There must be a new one. How often is she in residence? We never hear of her.”

  Shaking her head, Isabella leaned forward and whispered. “There isn’t a new one. The only one died in childbirth. I think His Grace is still quite bereft over her loss. He loved her, you see.” She paused a moment, one brow furrowing. “The servants claim the duchess never even made the trip to Huntinghurst.”

  Constance boggled at this news. “Then she was a fool,” she said, her gaze wandering about the beautifully appointed parlor. “Have you ever been in the room that would have been her bedchamber?”

  Blinking, Isabella dared a glance at the open door before she leaned forward and said, “Once. It’s gorgeous, although the drapes are always pulled shut so it’s very dark in there. She had her own bathing chamber, as well. All marble with a copper tub.” The thought of taking a bath in that tub had crossed her mind several times since the day she had discovered the bathing chamber off the mistress suite. A day when it had rained the entire day and left her with nothing to do but explore Huntinghurst.

  “I don’t believe aristocrats love their spouses,” Constance said suddenly. “Maybe they feel a bit of affection for one another. But certainly not love. Not when their marriages have been arranged since before they were out of leading strings.”

  Isabella frowned. “But it’s not like that anymore,” she claimed with a shake of her head. She continued to frown, though. Well, it was that way for her parents. At least, that’s what she believed as she grew up watching her father forgive her mother’s frequent bouts of contrary behavior. And although she was quite sure her father had felt affection for her mother, she was now wondering if the beast ever really loved Arabella Brotherton. If he had loved her, then how could he kill her? Strangle her to death? Over... what?

  Isabella blinked, remembering that afternoon of only a few weeks ago. She had been in the dressing room reading her mother’s correspondence. Had Craythorne discovered the letter from ‘D’? Thought perhaps Arabella had taken a lover and then killed her in a jealous rage? She was about to allow her mind to wander more but then remembered she had a guest.

  Isabella gave her head a shake, determined to wipe away the questions she had about her father. “Your cousin claimed he is to marry Lady Clarinda. The Tattler always featured articles about those two secretly meeting in Kensington Gardens.”

  Angling her head to one side, Constance wasn’t about to counter the young lady’s claim. It was true David was betrothed to Lady Clarinda, but given the lady was the same age as Constance and the deadline for their nuptials—Clarinda’s twenty-second birthday—had already passed, Constance thought perhaps someone else might be courting Clarinda by now. “I cannot imagine David escorting anyone in Kensington Gardens. Daniel would, of course. He’s the romantic twin,” she murmured, her expression changing entirely with the mention of the younger twin brother. “If David does finally marry her, I will send a letter welcoming Lady Clarinda to the family,” she added with a sigh. “And then I shall pity her for the rest of my life.” This last was said with a good deal of humor, as if Constance knew something about her cousin that most did not.

  Isabella merely grinned, suddenly realizing the cousins were probably happy to know one another. She grinned even wide
r after a moment, happy to have a new friend.

  Chapter 14

  An Earl Pays a Call on Fair Downs

  Meanwhile, in Boxgrove

  Spotting the glossy black coach parked in front of Fair Downs, Mr. Jenkins knew immediately who was paying a call. Having just returned from Chichester with that month’s food stuffs, the groom quickly parked the wagon behind the coach, gave a small apple to each horse, and made his way to the front door.

  “Lord Norwick?” he called out as he stepped through the front door.

  The tall earl poked his head out of the parlor. “Hello, Jenkins,” David said. “Any idea where the lady of the house might be?”

  The groom gave a bow. “She’s paying a call over at Huntinghurst. Don’t expect her back for another hour or so, though,” he said. “Can you stay that long, my lord? I can see to some tea whilst you wait.”

  “Won’t be necessary,” David said as he approached the groom. He held out a ten pound note. “I was just here to pay the staff and check on the place.”

  His eyes boggling at the sight of the money, Jenkins hesitated a moment before taking it from the earl. “This is for all of us then?” he asked, thinking the ten pounds would be split among all the servants.

  “That’s for you. I’ve left another one for Miss Simmons on her bed, one for the housekeeper—it’s on the desk in her office—and one in the kitchen for the cook. Where is she, by the way?”

  Jenkins’ face seemed to pink up a bit. “Down at the coast. Her husband’s ship came in day ’afore yesterday. We don’t expect her back until tomorrow,” he added with a waggling brow. “The scullery maid has been doing the cooking in her stead.”

  David nodded his understanding. “Conjugal visit, of course.” He angled his head to one side. “Housekeeper?”

  Jenkins shook his head. “Haven’t got one. Miss Fitzwilliam has been seeing to it herself.”

  Wincing at this bit of news, David peeled off another bank note from a roll he held in one fist and gave it to Jenkins. “Give it to her. Tell her she has to hire a housekeeper,” he demanded, his words a bit harsh. He suddenly sighed, realizing the groom agreed with him about the need for another servant.