The Forgiven Duke (A Forgotten Castles Novel) (11 page)

God, forgive me. I’ve been so shortsighted. I want to walk with You like that. Help me to know how.

He looked around, sensing a commotion, to find his mother bursting in the room. Her eyes were wide with shock and tears stood out on her cheeks. Jane came in after her, more tears, more shock.

Jane ran to Gabriel and threw herself into his arms. Her body shook as she soaked his shirt in tears. Meade came in just behind them.

“What has happened?” he asked Meade, who also looked as if someone had pummeled all the air out of him.

He mouthed the words Gabriel could feel Jane was saying against his chest, “Lord Rutherford is dead, Your Grace.” Meade’s lips trembled as he said it, so he clamped them together in a quivering line.

“Oh, Jane.” Gabriel gathered his youngest sister tighter in his arms. He looked at his mother, sitting stiffly now on the settee staring off into space and holding her wrinkled hand against her mouth. He turned back to Meade. “How did it happen?”

“Horse.” Meade made a motion of sitting a horse, something Gabriel and he had done a lot of over the last months.

“Was he racing?”

Jane leaned back and shook her head. “Jumping.”

“Hunting accident,” Meade added.

Gabriel pieced it together in his mind. His brother-in-law, Matthew Rutherford, who had been as kind and loving a husband for Jane as any he could ask for, had gone hunting, jumped a wall or something, and been thrown. Matthew was a good horseman, so it must have been just bad luck—a senseless tragedy.
God, why do You let these things happen? To Jane? It’s so unfair.

He was too confused to even continue the line of thought. Taking Jane’s hand he led her over to the settee, sat her next to their mother, and handed her a snowy handkerchief. She dabbed at her plump cheeks whose dimples when she smiled were such an endearing quality. They wouldn’t be seeing those for a very long time.

Blasted senseless tragedy. He wanted to fall on his face and beg God’s help, but that would have to wait for later. If he flung himself on the floor and cried out like he wanted to do, his mother would think he’d gone mad. Instead, he rang for his butler with whispered directions to call in the doctor. Dr. Bentley would know the best thing for Jane right now.

Gabriel sat across from the women, leaning toward them with elbows braced on his knees. “I can’t begin to express my sadness for you, Jane. For all of us. Matthew was the best of men. I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Jane spoke and Meade hurried to the desk to write down what she said.
They’ve brought his body to the house. I don’t know what to do with it. What do I do next?

His mother answered before Gabriel could, and he supposed she was giving Jane directions as to the funeral arrangements; it was what she would do in this case. But Jane needn’t worry about all that. “Meade and I will take care of everything, Jane. You must stay here where we can care for you. I’ll have some footmen go to your house and pack up your things. Does that sound all right?”

She sniffed and nodded, looking at Meade with tear-filled eyes of gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Meade. You have been so kind . . .”

“I’ve called for Dr. Bentley to come and call on her,” Gabriel said to Meade. Their family doctor was almost exclusively theirs. He had known Matthew well and would be as devastated as the rest of them. “Alert the rest of the family to come. We must surround Jane with our support.”

It was only two weeks until Christmas with all the family celebrations and events. Now he wasn’t sure they would have a Christmas this year. Perhaps something small, for the children.

If only Jane had some children. The thought came from seemingly nowhere, making a terrible event deepen in despair. He banished the thought.

Jane leaned back against the sofa cushion and closed her eyes. Silent tears continued to trickle down her cheeks, but her breathing had evened out and she looked a little more in control of her emotions. His mother rose, her face looking to have aged a decade in the last few minutes.

“I will call on you all tomorrow. I feel the need to lie down now.”

“Are you all right, Mother?” The strain on her was unmistakable.

She nodded and waved him away, but Gabriel didn’t feel much better. She was more fragile than usual. He must treat her better, he realized, spend more time with her. Life was a fragile thing indeed.

“A LETTER, YOUR GRACE.”

Meade walked into his study a week later, waving a piece of paper, the first note of happiness since Matthew’s death lighting his eyes.

Gabriel’s heart leapt. Could it possibly be? A letter from Alexandria?

Meade passed it over the desk and settled himself across from Gabriel, looking as if he fully anticipated reading it himself. Gabriel was too excited to dissuade him. He lifted the cream-colored paper, smudged on the outside, and looked at the address. The moment he saw the elegant scrawl of that familiar handwriting he knew. It was from her. The Icelandic postmark made it certain.

He carefully pried up the wax seal with the Featherstone coat of arms and turned away from Meade. “A moment, Meade, and then I promise I will tell you everything.”

Meade blushed scarlet and hurried from the room. Gabriel sighed. He hadn’t meant to chase him away entirely.

My dearest guardian duke,

I have smuggled out this letter in secret as my now-fiancé, John Lemon, would be devastated to know I am writing to you. When I saw you had come for me on the docks of Dublin’s shore and I was finally able to see your face, I was overcome with feelings I have never felt before. I do not know what you planned to do should you have me within your grasp, but I think because of my lack of faith, both in you and in God, I have made a terrible blunder. When John presented the idea of marriage, I was desperate to continue my journey to find my parents. He is so encouraging and helpful on that account that I confess I leapt at the chance, not due to feelings of everlasting love for him, although I do care for him. Oh, I am not saying this as I wish to! My dear duke, I think I have made a terrible mistake. I desperately need your advice and I miss your letters dreadfully. I confess that I hope you haven’t given up on finding me. I just need more time to find my parents. Please trust me in this.

You can still write to me. Please write to me in Reykjavik.

Yours,

Alexandria

The breath whooshed out of him and his heart thudded as if he had been running. She wanted him to find her. She asked him not to give up. And she didn’t even realize that he had decided to discard his duty and choose faith instead—faith in her, faith in God. Something he’d never done since knowing the responsibility of his family line, the St. Easton motto
Foy Pour Devoir
: “Faith for Duty” ever before him. If she had known that, she would have waited for him. She would have never accepted Lord Lemon’s suit.

Gabriel wiped new tears from his cheeks realizing, as if awakening from a dream, that they were there. In the aftermath of Matthew’s funeral, the stark minute-by-minute reality of Jane’s grief ever before them, he had hardly known what he felt toward God.

And now this gift.

So undeserved and yet its value undid him, laid bare and stripped him of every shred of pride and rebellion. Overwhelmed, he fell to his knees. “I can’t make sense of it! Help Alexandria. Help Jane. Help me. I don’t know what else to pray.”

He clutched the letter to his chest and hoped Meade hadn’t heard him. Just a few more moments basking in the wonder that she needed him as he needed her.

Chapter Eleven

T
he aged man was surprisingly nimble as he scurried down the rock face of the cave like a pale monkey. He landed with a little grunt and hobbled over to where Alex and John stood. His eyes were such a pale blue that Alex wondered if he could see. His hair was sparse and white, sticking up here and there, making him appear as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and he was holding something under his arm. He peered up at them and gave Alex a toothless grin.

“I know who you are,” he said in a voice that creaked with age. The words caused a shiver to run down her back. John took a step closer. The little man matched John’s step and stabbed John’s chest with a wrinkled finger. “Don’t know
you,
though.” He looked over at Svein, squinting his eyes. “So Svein Stephensen led you here. Wondered how she found me. She couldn’t have found me by herself. No, no, Svein did it. Svein Stephensen.” It was as if he was talking more to himself than to any of them.

“Is your name Enoch?” Svein asked in a gruff voice. “I’ve heard of you.”

“Rumors and nonsense. That’s what I say.”

He pulled a paper-wrapped object from the place tucked under his arm and stared at it, turning it over and over in his hands and mumbling some incoherent phrases. “Must do it,” Alex finally caught. “Must, must, must.”

As if he had made a decision, he thrust the package out to Alex. She took it, looked down, and saw through the dim light of the cave that parts of it were soaked in blood. An involuntary squeak came from her throat as she dropped it on the cave floor.

The little man groaned. “What did you do that for?” He leaned down, his back rounding in a stoop, and picked it up. Dusting it off, he looked sideways at Alex. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“What is it?” Alex shrieked.

“Lamb for dinner right here. You cook it up nice for us, eh?” He held the package out toward her with a hesitant, suspicious gaze. When Alex reached for it a second time, he pulled it away and cackled with glee. He held it back toward her. Again, she reached for it and again he snatched it away. Goodness gracious, the man was stark, raving mad!

“Come now,” she coaxed, “if you’ll just show me where you keep your pots and where to build a fire, I’ll help you cook it.”

He grumbled some more under his breath and waved them all to follow him. A little ways into the cave he picked up a lantern, lit it, and led them deeper into the cave. They twisted and turned down and around rocky outcroppings and low arches. “You’ll find what you need in here, you will, you will, you will.” The cave opened up into a vast space, the pool behind them. He stood aside and held up the lantern.

All three of them gasped. The space, as big as her bedchamber back home, was filled with every kind of imaginable item. There were tools and furniture, mostly old and broken, dishes and pots, bottles and jars, ragged and dirty-looking clothing, blankets and bedding, papers and books, even a broken wagon wheel still attached to a wooden axle the size of small tree.

“You’ll find what you need in here,” he repeated.

Alex turned and looked wide-eyed at Svein and John. Compassion filled her for the man but she wasn’t sure what to do.

There was a little path running through the middle of all the objects which he hobbled down, digging through this pile and that, until he came upon a large metal pot. He turned toward them with glee, brandishing it high above his head. “Told you so, I did.”

Alex took the pot and placed the paper-wrapped meat in it. “I think we should build the fire outside, don’t you? We wouldn’t want to harm your things.”

“Smart!” He grinned at her in that vacant way that made her flesh prickle. “Wait, we’ll need some of these.” He went to one corner and on a broken-down table leaning against the cave wall sorted through some food stores. He brought back two big turnips and a few dusty potatoes. Without a word, he led them back again toward the pool and then outdoors.

Alex lingered at the back, her gaze darting among the piles for books. Her heart sank as she noted how sadly kept they were. If there were any books with a mention of Augusto de Carrara in this mess, she didn’t know how they would find it.

The light faded as the men moved away, so she hurried to catch up with John’s shadowy form. Soon, they came into the brighter area of the pool. John took the pot from her while she climbed up, then handed it up to her while he came up last to the top where they all stood outside again.

Bright and cold after the warm snugness of the cave, Alex pulled her fur tighter around her. The three of them lingered in a group as the old man took off toward some spot to build a fire.

“Is he mad?” Alex whispered to the men.

“Quite.” Svein nodded. “He is a hermit and moves about from place to place in this area. I hadn’t remembered him or thought to connect him to the clues you are looking for, but perhaps he has spoken with your parents.”

“That might explain why he thinks he knows you,” John suggested. “Didn’t you say you resemble your mother?”

“Yes, that might explain it.” Alex bit her bottom lip in concentration, looking at the old man’s back getting farther and farther away from them. “Let’s go along with him, try to ease into a conversation.”

“He might be volatile, even dangerous.”

Alex frowned at John. He didn’t seem dangerous, just touched in the head.

“And that might not be lamb in that package,” Svein said in a teasing, scary voice. “We might be dining on his last visitor.”

Alex paled but gave a weak laugh.

“Stop it, Svein. There’s no use frightening Alexandria,” John warned, then added with unease. “You were joking, weren’t you?”

Svein chuckled low and waved them to start after Enoch. “We’ll know after the first bite, won’t we?”

They all pitched in to make a fire and get the stew going over the low flames. It would be some time before it was ready, so they crept back down to the warmth of the cave and sat around the pool.

“Enoch,” Alex began, “you said you know who I am, but we’ve never met. How can that be?”

He made several motions of his hand toward her, huffing and smiling and turning aside as if embarrassed. He almost turned pink, but Alex couldn’t tell for sure as he hid his face against his shoulder.

“Did you meet my parents?”

His rheumy eyes turned suddenly toward her, his chin uplifted, his toothless smile alight with joy. “She saw me.”

He was like a child. A newborn in an old, shriveled body. Alex blinked back sudden tears, the meaning slamming into her. Her mother
saw
him? How? How had she seen this man and not ever seen her?