“Oh, no, he is an honorable man!” the older woman protested. “And he would not shirk his duty.”
“Mmm,” Jessica replied on a note of disbelief. “So long as it did not put him out, I suppose.”
“You must not judge him so harshly,” the housekeeper told her earnestly. “The duke is a good man. He really is. You have to understand—he has had a sad history. Things have happened to him that have made him, well, a bit of a recluse, but there isn’t a wicked bone in his body.”
“What else would you call it when he rejects an orphaned girl whose last relative has just died, who has been entrusted to him by a man who was his friend? Her father and General Streathern trusted him to take care of Gabriela, but he cannot be bothered. So he plans to ship her off to whoever will take care of her for him.”
Jessica glanced at the housekeeper and saw a look of great sadness on her face. The woman shook her head, saying, “Ah, poor man. It must be because of Alana. No doubt he cannot bear to be around a child again.” She looked at Jessica. “Why don’t you come back to my sitting room and warm up with a cup of tea? I will tell you about His Grace and why, well, why he is as he is.”
Jessica agreed readily, curiosity as much as the cold impelling her inside. The two women turned and retraced their steps to the house, where the housekeeper hung up their cloaks and led Jessica along a back hall and through the kitchen into a cozy little sitting room beyond that was the housekeeper’s domain. A word to a maid as they passed brought her to the room a few moments later with a pot of tea and cups, and a dish of scones, on a tray.
The scones were delicious, and a few sips of the strong sweet tea warmed Jessica up almost immediately. She settled back into the comfortable chair to listen to Miss Brown.
“I have known His Grace since he was a little boy. So have Baxter and most of us older servants,” she began, her brown eyes alight with fondness. “He was always a wonderful boy. And as he grew into manhood, well, you could not ask for a kinder or better employer. Almost ten years ago he married Caroline Aincourt, the daughter of the Earl of Ravenscar. An excellent marriage—old family, good name—but far more than that, His Grace was madly in love.”
Miss Brown let out a little sigh, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Oh, but she was a beauty. Every inch a duchess, she was. Tall and striking, with black hair and green eyes. Good-looking lot, the Aincourts, whatever else they might be. There’s a portrait of her in the Great Hall. They were very happy. And, oh, the times we had at the castle then! There were often guests—for weeks at a time, sometimes. Balls and dinners and all sorts of entertainment. His Grace was a sociable man.”
“The duke?” Jessica asked in disbelief.
The other woman nodded. “Oh, yes. I am sure you would not credit it, to see him now. But he enjoyed company. He wasn’t one of those who was irresponsible or wild, you understand. He always did his duty and took an interest in his affairs, but he liked a party as well as the next man. And the duchess! Well, she fairly glowed at a ball. She was always the center of attention. They had a daughter, Alana.”
“A daughter? He said nothing about her. He said that his wife had died, but…”
Miss Brown nodded, her eye darkening a little. “Oh, yes, he had a daughter.” She smiled to herself. “Ah, she was a corker, that one. Lively as could be, always into everything, but no one could get mad at her, because she had the sunniest disposition. All she had to do was smile at you and say she was sorry, and you would forgive her anything. After she was born, they spent even more time here, only going to London for the height of the season. The duke felt it was better to raise a child here in the country, you see. Miss Alana didn’t even sleep in the nursery. His Grace thought it was too far away: they could not hear if she cried out. She stayed right down the hall from her parents, and her nurse slept on a bed in her room.”
“What happened? I mean, what changed everything?”
“They were in a carriage accident. The duchess and the little one were killed.”
“Oh, how awful.”
The housekeeper nodded, her eyes filling with tears as she remembered. “His Grace was riding outside the carriage. It was winter, before Christmas, right about this time of year, in fact.” She sighed. “They were probably driving too fast. Anyway, the carriage overturned as they took a corner. It rolled down an embankment, and the duchess was thrown out. Her neck was broken, and she died instantly. But the carriage, with the wee one inside, rolled on down into the pond.”
Jessica drew in her breath sharply in horror. “Oh, no! How awful!”
“There was a thin layer of ice on the top of the pond, but of course the coach broke right through. His Grace went in after her. The coachman said it was a pitiful sight, how he dived again and again into the cold dark water. Finally, he brought her up and carried her onto land, but it was too late. The poor sweet child was dead.”
Sympathetic tears welled in Jessica’s eyes as she thought about the horrific scene—the frantic parent, the frozen pond, the dark, icy night. She could imagine the overturned carriage, the frightened horses, the beautiful woman dead on the ground, and the duke throwing himself into the icy water in a desperate search for his child, emerging at last with her still form.
“He carried that child in his arms all the way home, and when he walked through the door, holding her—I’ll never forget his face that night. I’ve never seen anything as bleak. We could hardly pry the child out of his arms and bundle him off to bed himself. He came down with a terrible fever—it was no wonder, him being in that icy water and then in freezing weather all the way home—and he nearly died himself. His valet, Noonan, and Baxter and I took care of him. For days we thought we were going to lose him, too, and then it was still more weeks before he was well. He was so gaunt you would hardly recognize him, and that’s a fact. He aged years in those weeks.”
“Poor man.” However much he had angered Jessica, her heart was wrung with pity for him. He had suffered terribly—the loss of a beloved spouse was sad enough, but to have had his adored daughter taken at the same time seemed almost too much to bear.
“Yes.” The housekeeper heaved a sigh and leaned forward to replenish their cups with tea. After a moment, she went on. “After that he changed. Not just the way he looked. The way he was. At first he just sat in his chair and stared out the window. Didn’t seem to care whether he lived or died. He would hardly see anyone—wouldn’t let the vicar anywhere near him, and he barely tolerated the doctor. The only one who had much luck with him was Lady Westhampton, his wife’s sister. He would see the duchess’s brother, as well, Lord Ravenscar. The only place he would go was to the graveyard. It was terrible…terrible…. We were all so worried about him. Finally, one day, he told us he was going back to London. We were happy, thinking he had decided to get on with his life.” She paused, and tears glinted in her lively brown eyes.
“But he had not?” Jessica prompted gently after a moment.
The housekeeper shook her head. “Later he told his valet that it was just that he could not bear to live in this house any longer. It’s his ancestral home—it has been the seat of the Dukes of Cleybourne since 1246. And he lived in it his whole life. But he hasn’t been home for almost four years.”
“But surely he has gotten out more, living in London. He has lived a fuller life, even if he could not face this house.”
“No. I only wish he had. Baxter writes to me every month with news about His Grace and the household. You see, only a skeleton staff and I stayed here. Most of the staff went with him, so we are always eager for news of the rest.” She smiled. “We are close, a kind of family, you see. So I write to Baxter and he to me, and we share the news with the others. The sad truth is that for all that time His Grace has been a recluse in London as much as he ever was here. He sees his relatives and friends every once in a while—if they come to visit him. He never calls on others, and he does not attend parties. Baxter says he never even visits his club. He has shut himself off from the world. And Lady Westhampton, the Duchess’s