The Duchess and the Dragon (34 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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He stared into the room, scarcely able to move or put two thoughts together to form a plan of action. What else could he do, aside from this wretched waiting?
Pacing back to Serena’s desk he sat hard in the chair, staring at the top. She hadn’t even left him a note. He opened the top drawer again, staring at its emptiness. As he began to close the drawer once more, he heard a piece of wood rattle in the back. He frowned, then pulled the drawer all the way free and set it on the top of the desk. Further investigation revealed the desk had a false back. The wood had come loose and, with a little prying, it easily opened. There in the corner lay something that he pulled out. A crumpled page. He smoothed it out, staring at the yellowed paper. Could Serena have found this?
He read it.
Then he read it a second time, and then a third before he slowly laid the paper down on the drawer and drew a deep breath.
So. It was true.
He was illegitimate.
Something inside him shifted and then slipped into place, like a wandering thought now finding its resting place. Richard’s words from the letter rolled about in his mind, how he’d urged Drake’s mother to allow their son to be raised as Ivor’s rightful heir. Drake could understand such a request; it was what
he
would have done. It was, in a twisted way, what he was trying to accomplish now. Richard had not wanted Drake to bear the stigma of illegitimacy.
Drake expected to feel searing pain at the truth. It was a shameful state of being, illegitimacy. Yet, as if he held a mental poker, he gently prodded his emotions and found there wasn’t anything of the sort there. Curious, all thoughts of Serena suspended in this new moment of identity, he explored his feelings and found only dumbfounding relief.
Ivor was not his father.
It was as if some chain that had held him fell away. He stood, light-headed with the freedom of it, and took a deep breath. The man he had tried to please, had tried to mold himself after, was not his father! He didn’t have to be like him. He didn’t have to be the Duke of Northumberland.
But he
wanted
to be the Duke of Northumberland, didn’t he?
Drake couldn’t answer that question right now, but just the fact that he had thought it brought many other questions to mind. Turning back to the desk, he focused once more on the most important question.
“Where are you, Serena?”
He looked at the letter again. Wait a moment . . . that night at dinner, she had asked him all those questions about his family. About his uncle. She
must
have found this letter. Of course! There was no other place she could have gone. She didn’t know anyone in London, hadn’t made any close friends—he had seen to that. She must have gone to his uncle’s—no, his
father’s
—home in Bristol. He would check the coach stations first thing in the morning. If they yielded any clues to confirm his suspicions, he would follow her and tell her everything.
He could live with the truth of his birth. And, he was realizing, he might even live without the title of duke.
But there was one thing he would not,
could
not live without.
Chapter Twenty-Five
There was no denying the truth.
In the two weeks since coming to Bristol, the morning sickness only worsened. She could no longer blame it on traveling. She was with child.
Standing over the commode, Serena waited for the retching to stop. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she wondered if she might faint. “God help me not to faint,” she prayed, already on her knees, the cold, hard floor beckoning to her.
Weak but feeling temporarily better, she struggled back to the bed and pulled the covers to her chin. She would like to be angry—angry with Drake for stealing the joy she knew she would have felt about this child. But however rightfully deserved, she couldn’t muster the energy. Sleep, that’s what she needed. Just a few more hours of sleep.
She had just closed her eyes and settled deeper into the downy pillow when the door opened and the maid Richard insisted on assigning her curtsied in.
“Pardon, your grace,” Dolly whispered, bobbing her head up and down like a pigeon. “Lord Richard wished me to ask if ye would be dining with him this mornin’ or havin’ breakfast in your chamber again?”
Serena roused herself enough to lift her head. “Oh dear, no breakfast please.” Just the thought of food made her stomach queasy. “I am not feeling just the thing this morning . . . again.”
The maid nodded and dipped again. “He said if you weren’t feeling well, to ask if a doctor should be sent for. I think he is worried about you, your grace.”
Serena gave her a weak smile. “No doctor, but have Richard come up at his convenience. I do need to speak with him. And wake me ten minutes before, so that I may dress.”
She had been putting off telling him. As a bachelor she doubted he suspected, but it would be obvious soon enough and she wanted to tell him before he guessed.
Richard arrived a little while later with a soft knock. She was wearing a dressing gown and cap, sitting up in the bed, her back propped up with pillows. When he entered she smiled at him and patted the mattress beside her. He had been so kind. How would he take the news that he was to become a grandfather?
“How are you feeling?”
She laughed a little at the anxiety in his eyes. “Not so bad, now. I am so very sorry for putting thee and thy household to such a degree of trouble. I–I am not unwell, really.”
He took her hand. “Are you overcome with sadness? Is there anything I can do?”
Serena shook her head. “Richard, I am not depressed . . . I am with child.” There, she’d said it. She watched the emotions—first surprise, and then utter delight—cross his face.
“You are certain?”
Serena nodded. “My mother had seven of us, of which I am the eldest. I have seen the signs many times before and am quite certain. The babe will be born in the month of May, I believe.
Richard squeezed her hand, laughing. “Spring. That’s wonderful!” His brow creased. “It
is
wonderful, is it not? Are you happy?”
She nodded. “Yes, I–I used to daydream about having a child with Drake. I used to think about how I would tell him and imagine his reaction.” She smiled sadly. “My dreams never envisioned this. I know I shall have to talk to Drake soon. This is not something I can keep from him.”
Richard shook his head. “I expected him to find his way here by now. I know you said you left no clues, but I thought perhaps . . . he would find us out.”
“I suppose I will have to write to him. Much as I dread it.”
“Let me write to him on your behalf. It’s the least I could do.”
Serena was relieved, but unsure. “Let me think about it. We shall decide tomorrow.”
Richard nodded. “You must rest. I had planned a little excursion that I thought you might like this afternoon, but you should stay abed.”
Serena brightened. “Oh no, I feel much better. ’Tis only in the mornings that I feel so unwell. The remainder of the day I only feel as if I have been run down by a carriage.” She grinned at him. “Please, I would love to get out and enjoy some fresh air.”
“Very well. Meet me downstairs in an hour and we will go. I think you will enjoy this.”
DRAKE RODE A fresh horse as he galloped toward the little seaside town of Bristol. It had been years—decades, even—since he’d seen it, and he wondered if his memory would serve. He tried to drum up a picture of Richard. He had only seen him once, when his grandmother, the dowager duchess, had died. He cringed remembering how he had treated Richard, rather like he was below Drake in rank and status, which, at the time, he thought was true. Richard had been younger and much quieter than his father, but he’d had a kind smile for Drake. Now Drake would see him in a new light.
Drake was hardly a mile from the town when he came upon a coal mining site. Coal, he knew, was becoming more and more important to England and new uses were being discovered for it all the time. With the rise in demand had come the need for people to work in the deep tunnels in the earth.
Curious, he turned his horse toward the site. As he rode into the miners’ camp, he had to wonder if his eyes were deceiving him. He felt as if he’d stumbled upon a poor village in Africa. Men, women, and children—many of the latter naked and covered in black from the coal—swarmed the camp. As he neared, there was a sharp cry to his right. Drake turned his head and saw a young boy of about ten being set loose from a metal girdle. Long, thick chains hung from the girdle between his legs and lay for many more feet in a pile on the ground. Behind him, attached to the ends of the chain was a large tub full of black coal. Had the child dragged that load of coal out of the mine’s tunnels on his own? Drake could hardly tear his eyes away from him, so strong was his shock. Outrage boiled within him as he rode over and dismounted in front of the boy. Drake could see the boy’s bloody hips through the torn shreds of a cloth he wore around his waist. Naked, stark pain shone from his sunken eyes.
“What is the meaning of this? You men, do you use the backs of children for work such as this?” He stalked over to the tub and lifted one side. It must have weighed over two hundred pounds.
A man, standing naked except for the rag that hung from his lower body, looked up into Drake’s eyes. Old eyes, tired as the earth he had been working in, stared back at Drake. He coughed suddenly before he answered, and Drake’s heart sank to see black spittle in the man’s hand.
“The boy’ll be aright. He’s new is all, sir.”
Drake’s eyes swept the community, taking in the details, each one piercing him as nothing he had ever seen—and Drake had seen much. Poverty, filth, the dregs of humanity—he had seen it all. And yet this sight gripped him as nothing before.
The men stared back at him, frozen by his presence, as though he were some other being—a god, perhaps—and they couldn’t make out what he was doing there. So many children, some looked as young as five, their eyes ranging from lifeless to wretched. The women were as bad off, one round with child and so tired, swaying where she stood, that he found he could not continue looking at her. The men were at least men! They could handle hard, even terrible work . . . then he really looked at them, saw their misshapen bodies—short, stooped, with long arms that seemed almost deformed despite bulking musculature from the years of pounding the earth. Drake wanted to sit among them and cry.
He walked back to the boy. The lad stood in front of him, shivering in spite of the late summer heat. The cloth that hung about his waist was wet and dripping dirty water onto the thin patch of grass below his bare feet.
Drake squatted down. “What is your name, son?”
“Robbie,” he said in a frightened voice.
“How long have you been working in the mines, Robbie?”
“About three months, sir. Came over with four other lads from Gloucester.”
“Why did you come? Are your parents here?”
He shook his head, his hair a ragged crop of brown. “They died in a fire, my da and mum. Me and some boys heard of the work here and decided it was better ’n the streets.”
Drake nodded, stood, and patted the boy on the head. Looking at the men around him he asked, “Where is the overseer? I would speak with him.”
One of the men pointed toward the town. “Gone to hear the preacher, I expect. Word just came that George Whitefield is preaching in a field north of town. Not enough room for all that wants to hear him in those fancy churches, I guess.” He motioned to the people around the camp. “Most of us are headed there. We were quitting early today. Most days we are in the mines twelve, fourteen hours and don’t come out till dark. But Mr. Henley, he said we could quit early today and go and hear the preacher.”
Drake took a long breath. “How many children would you say work in these mines?”
The man shrugged. “I guess about thirty, countin’ the older ones. About twice as many women.” He squinted up at Drake. “You never seen a mine before, mister?”
How could Drake tell this man that he was a partner in several mining companies? It sickened him to think that those might be like this one. “Not firsthand.” Drake looked around again. “Are they all like this?”

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