Chapter 13

“Wherein.”

Ella looked up from her book as a commotion in the hallway reached her ears. Putting it aside she got up and went into the entrance hall to see what was going on.

“It ain’t right. I demand to see the Duke of Rothborn.”

“His grace, is not at home, however I will make sure that word gets to him as soon as may be,” Mr Wilkes was saying as a tall, angry, ruddy-faced man stalked closer to him.

Wilkes squared his shoulders as the footmen hurried forward to back him up. Sensing disaster, Ella rushed to see what could be done.

“Hello,” she called, diverting the angry man’s attention for a moment before he could take his frustration out on the butler. “I’m so sorry, but my husband is away from home at the moment. May I be of assistance?”

“You the Duchess of Rothborn?” the fellow demanded, suspicion in his eyes.

“I am,” she agreed, holding out her hand to him as Wilkes sucked in a breath of shocked disbelief. Ella ignored it, holding her hand out to the man with a little defiance.

Her visitor stared at it, apparently as shocked at Wilkes. For a moment he frowned, as though he thought it was some kind of trick, before reaching out two hesitant fingers and giving her slender hand a gentle shake.

“Pleased to meet you, your grace.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr…?” she queried as the burly man flushed and belatedly snatched the hat from his head.

“Mr Burrows,” he said, turning the somewhat battered article back and forth in his hands.

“Well, Mr Burrows, I can see that something has upset you. Won’t you come into the parlour and tell me all about it? Wilkes, bring Mr Burrows some tea, please. He’s clearly had a trying day.”

Once Burrows had sat down, looking quite startled as Ella handed him a cup of tea and poured one for herself, she asked him once again what the trouble was.

“There was a fire, night afore last, down at Cripps corner. There’re five families what have lost their homes. Seventeen kids between them. Well, we’ve done our best to find places for them to stay for the time being, but something permanent must be done. Some of those kiddies are sleeping in stables and outbuildings. They’re his grace’s tenants. Good, hardworking folk what don’t deserve to be out on the street.”

Ella blanched. It had rained hard the night before and the temperature had been cold. The thought of anyone having to endure such a night in a stable, let alone a child….

“I quite understand your distress, Mr Burrows,” she said, appalled that she hadn’t even known anything about it. Had anyone even told Oscar?

“You are quite right, this is a dreadful situation and we must remedy it. May I ask if you have any suggestions?”

The man lit up at the question and sat forward. “Aye, that I do. There’s them old cottages down at Berry Street. I know his grace had plans to restore them. Sound they are, though the roofs are in a shocking state, but I thought perhaps….”

He trailed off as Ella got to her feet and fetched paper and pencil. She sat down again, giving him a broad smile.

“An excellent suggestion, Mr Burrows. Just the thing. Now, would you be so good as to let me know what needs to be done, and what materials you will require to go about making the repairs? I will ensure Rothborn’s bailiff gets them to you as quickly as may be. As for the children, you must bring them here. We are hardly short of space and I can’t bear to think of the poor things spending another night in the stables.”

Mr Burrows blinked, looking a little dazed.

“Is that acceptable?” Ella asked, feeling a little anxious suddenly. Had she said something wrong?

“Aye,” the fellow said, a smile breaking out over his broad face. “You know, I’d heard tell that the new duchess was summat special. Reckon they spoke true.”

Ella flushed, more pleased by his words than any other fulsome compliment she’d heard over the past weeks.

“Well,” she said, endeavouring to keep her tone brisk and business-like. “Let us hope I can live up to expectations.”

***

“Are you quite sure this is the place?” Bertie demanded, holding onto Oscar’s arm with a death grip as he held him back.

“Yes,” Oscar replied, though he wished he wasn’t sure.

The huge warehouse appeared filled to the rafters with men who looked like they’d stick a knife between his ribs if they had the opportunity. He could well understand Bertie’s reluctance to enter. However, this had been the address at which he’d been assured he would find Blackehart, and so this was where he needed to be. Bertie let him go with obvious reluctance and followed him further into the cavernous space.

“What in the name of God were you thinking?” Bertie demanded, the rising of his voice underscoring his terror. “Do you have a death wish?”

Oscar shook his head as they climbed the stairs, sweat prickling down his back. He’d heard a thing or two about Blackehart since he’d accepted his challenge, none of it the kind of thing to help a man sleep at night.

Two burly men stood outside the door indicated as the Blackehart’s office.

Oscar cleared his throat, trying to sound like a duke with the world at his feet, and less like a terrified boy who might soil his smallclothes at any moment.

“The Duke of Rothborn to see Mr Blackehart,” he said, the words curt.

The men didn’t even blink. Did the fellow see dukes on a daily basis, perhaps? From what some of the rumours had indicated, it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility.

One of them disappeared inside whilst the other regarded Oscar with a bored expression, unimpressed by his lofty title. A moment later the door opened and thug number one jerked his head in what Oscar interpreted as a go in gesture.

“You stay here,” he said to Bertie. “I… I think I’d best see him alone.”

Bertie nodded, eyeing the two guards with misgiving. “Hurry up,” he said succinctly.

Oscar steeled himself and stepped into Blackehart’s office. It was lit with dozens of candles, brightly illuminating the room despite it being daylight hours. The morning was overcast, however, and the space would have been dim without them. Blackehart could clearly afford to burn as many candles as he wished.

The man himself was leaning against his desk, and the scent of a recently extinguished cigar lingered in the air. With a jolt of regret, Oscar realised he had not misremembered the size of the brute.

“Your grace,” Blackehart said, the words polite if faintly mocking. He didn’t get up, Oscar noted, which irritated him rather, but he was damned if he’d remark upon it. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you hoping to… er… cancel our arrangement?”

“Certainly not,” Oscar snapped, stung by the implication.

Blackehart grinned at him and then gave a low chuckle. “Glad to hear it. I would ’ave been disappointed.” He did stand now and gestured for Oscar to sit. “Would you care for some tea or coffee?”

Oscar’s eyes widened, a little startled by the question.

“I ain’t no gentleman, but I reckon I know how to hold a cup and saucer,” the fellow said, a derisive sneer at his lips.

With a flush, Oscar shook his head. He had meant no insult, though he’d obviously given one. “No, I’m not staying. I only wished to ask if… if we might defer our meeting by a few weeks?”

Blackehart raised one eyebrow.

“I’m not backing out,” Oscar replied, annoyed now. “It’s just….” He trailed off, watching the curious look grow in the man’s eyes. Somehow Oscar knew this man could smell a lie a mile off. “It’s my wife,” he said with a sigh.

“Ah,” Blackehart said, a surprisingly understanding tone to his voice. “Yes, reckon I ’eard the Duchess of Rothborn is all the go of late. All the young bucks looking her way, eh?”

Oscar nodded, increasingly gloomy. “Yes, she is, and…. Damn it, Blackehart. You’ve read the papers I don’t doubt, so you know the rumours as well as I do. I’ve been a bloody fool and I want to go home and see if… if I can’t salvage things before it’s too late.”

Blackehart stared at him for a long moment and then smiled. “As you like.”

Oscar’s eyebrows went up. Had he just agreed? Without breaking any fingers?

The man snorted at his astonishment. “Go ’ome and make things right, your grace. Come back when you’ve sorted it out. I’ll be waiting.”

“Truly?” Oscar said, still having trouble believing it. “I… I don’t know what to say.” He paused and then frowned as a disturbing thought occurred to him. “Wait, am I going to owe you a… a favour or something?”

Blackehart’s eyes darkened further, black as pitch and just as welcoming.

“That ain’t how I work,” he said, a razor-like edge to the words.

“I meant no insult,” Oscar replied, wondering how the devil he did work. He had a fearsome reputation and looked like the devil made flesh yet—apart from a few rather barbed comments that seemed to spring from an awareness of the class divide between them—he’d been… well, rather gracious.

Oscar hesitated, feeling he ought to make amends for any slight, intended or otherwise. He held out his hand to Blackehart.

It was a gesture not lost on the man. A duke rarely shook hands with anyone, even others of the nobility, and certainly never a commoner.

Blackehart met his gaze, curiosity glinting in eyes before he reached out, his massive hand clasping Oscar’s.

“Thank you,” Oscar said, meaning it. “I will be in touch to make a new date, you have my word.”

“Don’t fret, lad,” Blackehart said, grinning. “I believe you.”

Oscar was too relieved to take exception to being called a lad, and simply nodded.

“Goodbye, Mr Blackehart.”

“Your grace,” he replied, inclining his head.

***

Oscar stepped down from his carriage in front of his home, sick with nerves. Six hours sitting still and rehearsing what he wanted to say to Ella had not given him any more confidence than he’d left with.

Good Lord, what was wrong with him? This was his home and he was a bloody duke, not some naughty schoolboy sent down from school. He tugged at his cravat, unable to persuade himself of that fact when he knew he’d behaved like a child, far more infantile than he’d believed Ella to be.

The last scandal sheet he’d read had once more implied that she had Ranleigh following at her heels, as meek as a lamb. Had he already lost his chance to make things right? With a frown, he realised he still didn’t know exactly how he felt. The idea of her with Ranleigh made him sick to his stomach, though, and he missed his friend with an ache that became sharper by the day. Yet he had never desired Ella, had never seen her that way. Could he, in all fairness, demand she be faithful to him if he still couldn’t find those feelings within himself?

He wondered if she believed him to have betrayed her already. When he’d left, he’d intended to. He’d believed he could carry on his life as before but… he was a bloody fool.

He’d barely set foot in the door of his mistress’ home before he realised he couldn’t do it. No matter how he felt for Ella, he’d made vows before God, he’d given his word to forsake all others, and too late he’d realised that he’d meant it.

“Wilkes.” He nodded at the butler as he entered the grand entrance hall. “How are you?”

“Your grace,” the butler intoned, his expression devoid of interest. “Her grace is not at home at present, though you will find the dowager in her rooms.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, noting his butler’s cool tone and that his question had been ignored. Well, it was like that, was it? He supposed he deserved no less but, really, the staff too?

A scream of laughter, followed by a shriek had Oscar looking across the hallway as a little girl with plaits ran across from the library and out the back door. A boy, not much older, ran after her making a growling sound akin to that of a wild beast.

Oscar turned back to Wilkes, eyebrows raised in query.

“Guests of her grace,” Wilkes returned, offering no further explanation.

Very well, then.

“Thank you,” Oscar said, handing the man his hat, gloves and overcoat and taking the stairs two at a time. Probably best to face his mother first and get the lie of the land.

With a brief knock, Oscar opened the door to his mother’s rooms and entered. Mintie was sitting by the fire, a book laying open on her lap as she gazed into space. She looked up on hearing him enter, but her usual smile of delight for him was tempered by a look of reproach.

“Well! About time, you wretched boy.”

Oscar held out his hands in a peaceable gesture. “I know, Mother. Don’t, I beg you, ring a peal over me. I know I deserve it, but I’ve come to make amends if… if I’m not too late?”

He heard the anxiety behind those words as clearly as she must have, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or more concerned when her expression softened.

“Come and sit down,” she said, smiling at him now and patting the seat beside her.

She gave him a searching look, and he denied the urge to squirm with reluctance. His mother was the most indulgent, loving parent any boy could hope for. He’d been spoiled to death his whole life and well knew it. That did not, however, mean she was blind to his faults.

“I don’t know, Oscar,” she said, the answer to his question rather starker than he’d hoped for.

He blanched, and let out a breath, hanging his head. “Does that mean, has Ranleigh—?”

Oscar jolted as he was delivered a sharp clip round the ear.

“Ranleigh is a gentleman, and your wife is as loyal a woman as ever lived. Whether or not her heart is still yours, however, I can’t pretend to know.” His mother shook her head and patted his cheek his time. “Oh, Oscar, you foolish boy. Ella has been in love with you your whole life. She deserved better than this.”

“Oh, God,” he said, putting his head in his hands, ever more miserable as that little piece of information pierced his heart. “I didn’t know, I swear. At least… not until after we married and then, I… I just panicked.”

“How could you not know?” she demanded, shaking her head. “The girl worshipped you.”

“Well, I knew that!” Oscar replied indignantly. “I just thought it was a bit of hero-worship, like she looked up to me, not…. Damn it, Mother! I thought she was just a little slip of a girl, not—”

He broke off as his mother gave a disgusted laugh.

“She’s not been a child for a long time, Oscar, and she’s certainly grown up in the time since you abandoned her. She’s had to,” she added, with a tone that made him uncomfortable.

“Honestly, though,” Oscar said, frowning, “she was still climbing trees and demanding we take her to the fair a few weeks before we married, surely you can see why I felt… awkward.”

He coloured, mortified at having to discuss this with his mother but, as ever, she wasn’t perturbed in the slightest. She merely rolled her eyes at him.

“Yes, and likely she still would, not because she’s a child but because she’s full of life and fun, Oscar, which is why she’s got society in the palm of her hand.”

Oscar sighed and got to his feet, going to the window.

“I don’t know if I can change the way I feel, but… but I don’t want her to be unhappy. Come to that, I don’t want to be, either. I never said before, as I was supposed to marry Pearl like it or not, but….” He sat on the window sill, staring at his mother in dejection. “I would like a happy marriage, and children who know they are loved and secure. I suppose I got used to the idea that our union was a business arrangement and nothing more, and I saw no reason it should be any different with Ella. Yet, if I could have a chance at something real, then I want to take it. I care a great deal about her and I know I owe it to her to try.”

His mother watched him, her expression sorrowful, and he shook his head, wishing he hadn’t been such a disappointment to everyone. To himself.

“I’m sorry I ran away, but… I needed a little time to think. It all happened so suddenly and, well, if I’m honest, I think I needed to grow up a little too.”

His mother got to her feet and walked towards him, giving him a hug.

“Foolish creature. I’m so glad you’re home. I really do think the two of you are made for each other, you know, and… I wouldn’t worry too much about feeling awkward. Ella is no longer the little Bug you remember… not entirely, at least.”

“Where will I find her?”

Oscar frowned as his mother’s face fell. “Oh, Oscar, I haven’t told you. There was a fire at Cripps Corner, and some of the tenants were made homeless.”

“Good Lord! Was anyone hurt?” Oscar asked, horrified. “When did it happen? Why wasn’t I informed?”

“Oh. Well, because Ella took everything in hand so splendidly, there was no need. I did write to you, but I expect it arrived as you left, and you missed it. Something needed to be done at once, though, and you weren’t here, so…”

She gave a shrug as Oscar’s guilt grew heavier still. Not that he’d known; if he had, he would have taken things in hand at once.

His mother’s eyes lit up as she spoke of his wife with real pride.

“Ella was marvellous, though, Oscar. You should have seen her. She’s arranged everything, including bringing the children here whilst the work is done, and setting up a temporary school.”

Well, that explained a lot.

His mother patted his cheek, giving him a fond smile.

“Go down to the old cottages at Berry Street. You’ll find her there.”