The Theft of a Dukedom (14 page)

The return journey seemed quicker, but then
after they reached Forest-in-Teesdale, Kitty picked up
the pace and they cantered until they reached High
Force. They stopped for a second round of food before
picking up the trail again.

Kitty found herself with Victoria. ‘Thank you.’
she murmured. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen my son so
content. At least not since his father died.’ She looked at
Kitty speculatively. ‘You’ll make an excellent mother,
Kitty. I hope you will be as happy in your marriage as I
am in mine.’

‘Well, at least I know what to expect on my
wedding night, thanks to Millicent.’ Kitty said softly.
‘Yes, Louise was telling me this morning.’
Victoria smiled gently. ‘There was one thing she left out.
It can be the most enthralling night of your life with the
right man, but with the wrong one, it can be a
nightmare.’
‘Do I just let him have his way?’ Kitty asked
blatantly.
‘Do you love him?’ Victoria asked firmly.
Kitty shrugged. ‘How would I know?’ She sighed
deeply. ‘I have nothing to gauge it against.’
‘Of course you do. Do you love Charles and your
father?’
‘Oh! Yes.’ Kitty gushed. ‘But my feelings for
Richard aren’t the same.’ She explained softly.
‘And they shouldn’t be.’ Victoria said looking
straight ahead. ‘Richard should be able to light a fire in
your heart and body. If he can’t, he’s the wrong man.’
Victoria squirmed in her saddle and then plunged
ahead, as she had with Louise that morning. ‘He should
light a fire between your thighs that burns long after
he’s finished kissing you.’ She turned her flushed face to
Kitty. ‘And don’t be shocked if he wants to kiss you in
that very spot.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘It is the most
erotic and devastating event that will ever happen to
you.’ she smiled cheekily then. ‘And if you want to
surprise him, do the same thing to him. I guarantee he
will enjoy every lick and suck.’
Kitty’s mouth hung open in shock. She was
suddenly presented with a picture of her father with his
face between Victoria’s thighs. ‘My father does that to
you?’ she asked in astonishment.
‘He does indeed.’ Victoria squirmed again. ‘And
it is heavenly! But then, I love him, so it would be.’ She
turned her face abruptly to Kitty. ‘Can you see Richard
in the arms of another woman without emotions?’ she
demanded. Kitty frowned and shook her head
vigorously. ‘Then I would say your feelings are engaged.
I know Richard’s are, it’s written all over his face, if you
take a good look.’
They had just crossed the Ford at Holwick when
the stable boy from Mickleton Hall appeared. Boy was a
misnomer, for he had to be eighteen, if he was a day.
‘What’s this?’ Richard muttered.
He rode directly up to Charles and handed over
the note. Charles cracked the seal and opened it with a
sense of dread. Kitty looked at the horse and realised
the boy had pushed it to the extreme as it’s neck was
plastered in the white foam a horse emits when it’s
ridden hard.
Charles read the note quickly and Kitty watched
the colour drain from his face. He handed the note to
Victoria; who read it quickly and gasped. He looked at
Kitty. ‘Bring everyone back steadily. Victoria and I must
away!’ was all the explanation he would give.
‘Charles! What’s the matter?’ she asked
anxiously, but he didn’t give any response and they
spurred their horses away.
Kitty sat back on her saddle, she had stood in the
stirrups when Charles had instructed her to look after
the party.
‘I’m sure everything is fine.’ Louise murmured
beside her.
‘If you believe that, then you don’t know the
Stafford’s very well at all.’ Kitty spoke harshly. ‘Only
devastating news could make Charles pale like that.’ She
flicked her reins and clicked her tongue to start her
horse moving. She looked at the young groom. ‘Rest up
here, let the horse cool off in the ford and make your
way home when she’s ready. Don’t push her any
further.’ She told him.
‘Yes, My Lady.’ He said deferentially and
watched the party ride on.
Edward pulled up beside Kitty. ‘Do you think
something is wrong?’
She turned to look at his young face, to see an
expression of fear there. ‘Yes, I do.’ She said softly and
squeezed his shoulder. ‘How well do you gallop?’
‘I can keep up with you, Kitty, if it’s necessary.’
‘I believe it is necessary for us to reach the Hall
as quickly as possible.’
‘You two go on ahead, Lady Louise and I will be
there eventually.’
‘I’m sorry, Richard.’ Kitty said apologetically. ‘I
didn’t think about your injuries. How do they feel after
being in the saddle all day?’
‘Sore, that’s why I must take my time. But you go
on ahead.’ He nodded at her.
Kitty didn’t need anymore prompting, she dug
her heels into Greta’s flanks and they leaped off down
the road with Edward’s gelding keeping pace.
Charles and Victoria turned into the long drive to
see a procession of villagers lining the driveway. He had
a vivid memory of his mother telling him about the day
his grandfather died and how the villagers lined the
road that day.
His heart pounded in his chest as he threw
himself out of the saddle and ran up the steps. Deacon
opened the door with alacrity and Charles burst into the
foyer. ‘Where is my father?’ he demanded harshly.
‘He’s in the Chapel, Your Grace.’ Deacon said
softly and Charles looked at him in horror, as he felt the
weight of a dukedom slide onto his shoulders. He heard
Victoria gasp and then sob and turned to see her knees
buckle in shock. He managed to grab her before she
collapsed and swept her up in his arms. He limped to
the nearest chair and sat her on his knee. ‘A wet cloth, if
you please, Deacon?’
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ He said softly again as he
hurried away.
‘Thomas is dead, isn’t he?’ she gabbled, the
shock translating to every fibre of her body as she
started to shake like a man with ague. Charles crushed
her to his chest.
‘It would appear so. There’s no other
explanation for Deacon addressing me in that form.’
At that moment Margaret Bonham and Francis
Burns arrived. ‘What happened?’ Charles demanded.
‘I’m so sorry, Charles.’ Francis began and sighed
deeply. Charles was aware just how deeply it would
affect his father’s friend. ‘It appears somebody shot him
from the cover of the poplars at the Middleton Bridge.’
‘Shot him!?’ Charles gasped. ‘What do you mean
shot him?’ Victoria let out a keening wail and cried
unashamedly. Charles clutched her tightly in his arms.
‘I mean he had a bullet hole in his chest. The
bullet pierced his heart and he was dead before he hit
the ground!’ Francis said harshly, his own distress barely
contained. ‘The magistrate is looking into this affair
already.’
‘Did anybody see this shooting?’ Victoria gulped
out, trying desperately to control her sobbing.
‘Yes, a boy was fishing on the bridge. He heard
the shot and saw the Duke fall.’
‘Have there been any strangers about?’ Charles
asked softly.
‘No. Not that we’ve seen. But the Magistrate is
sending out constables to the outlying villages to ask.’
‘I want to see him.’ Victoria said quietly.
Margaret spoke for the first time as she
crouched down. ‘He’s in the Chapel. Chivers and I have
already laid him out and we’re just waiting for the
casket.’
‘Where is Aunt Agatha?’ Charles murmured.
Margaret looked into his hazel eyes and he could
see the heartache in her blue eyes. ‘She’s in the chapel.’
Victoria climbed off Charles’s lap and
straightened her shoulders. Even dressed in britches
and gabardine wrap around skirt, she exuded self
control as she wiped the tears from her face. ‘Then let
us go and see my husband.’ She said and walked
steadily forward.
Victoria allowed Francis to help her, by offering
his arm. She rested her trembling fingers on his sleeve
and went to face another dead husband.
Why do I feel
so hollow?
She asked herself.
I didn’t feel like this the
last time, with Robert, why can’t I stop shaking?
The Chapel was at the west end of the Hall. Entry
was from a wide hallway connecting the main
thoroughfare and an outside door to the rear near the
stables. The sun was shining through the beautiful
stained glass windows that depicted the slaying of the
Dragon by St. George.
As Victoria walked down to the end of the aisle,
she could see a trestle with a casket on it. ‘Oh! I see the
casket has arrived.’ Francis murmured.
Why are my legs
so heavy? I feel like my feet are stuck in the mud?
She
thought as the casket got ever closer. Eventually she
was at the side of the long pine box and she had to look
over the side, making her sob again, as she looked on
the serene face of Thomas Stafford. Never again would
she see him smile or laugh and never again would he
kiss her all over and make her scream in ecstasy.
‘Oh! Thomas!’ she gasped, but she did not cry
again, instead she reached in the coffin and took his
hand gently in hers.
He’s cooling already.
She thought
and stroked her wet cheek over his knuckles.
Charles looked down on his father and
wondered why he didn’t feel anything at all. Not sorrow
or pain.
This feels just like Spain. I’m sorry he’s gone, but
there isn’t anything I can do to change it.
He thought.
Fuck! I’m a Duke and I don’t want to be.
He was jerked out of his reverie by the clatter of
feet as Kitty barrelled into the chapel. She ran full pelt
down the aisle with Edward slowing behind her. As she
reached the end of the casket, she stopped dead,
resting her hands on the edge of the pine. ‘No!’
exploded from her throat as she looked at Charles. ‘He
can’t be dead!?’ she almost demanded and the tears
started from her as her gaze settled on her father’s
body. ‘Noooo!!’ came out of her as a keening wail and
Charles moved hastily to collect her into his arms,
before she could collapse.
‘I’m sorry, Kitty.’ He muttered as he held her
heaving shoulders against his chest. ‘I’m sorry, but he
is.’
‘Mama?’ Victoria heard her son’s querulous
entreaty and laid Thomas’s hand back on his chest
before she turned to see Edward standing at the last
pew, unsure of what to do.
‘Edward.’ She said calmly and strode over to
him. ‘It would appear that fate has dealt us another
cruel blow, my love.’ She whispered as she engulfed him
in her embrace.
Charles held Kitty as she cried herself into
exhaustion. ‘You should take her to her room.’ Agatha
said firmly, finding her voice at last. She was rocked to
the core that somebody had murdered her brother and
she had aged already.
Charles looked at his aunt and was shocked at
her drawn face. ‘I think we all need some rest and a
change of clothes.’ Charles said practically and swept
Kitty up into his arms and limped down the aisle. He
heard Kitty gasp ‘No!’ in his ear, but he didn’t stop. He
knew she was watching the receding casket with horror.
‘Later, Kitty.’ He murmured as he squeezed her. ‘You
can come back later. You know he won’t be left alone
until the interment.’
He took Kitty to her room and left her with her
maid. He went back down the stairs and found Richard
just arriving. ‘Is it true?’ burst from him, his face pale.
‘Yes, it’s true. He was shot on the bridge at
Middleton. The magistrate is looking into it.’ He placed
his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘Come, let’s go and
drink a toast to my father.’ Charles steered Richard to
his father’s study and opened the door without
knocking, for a change. ‘That’s strange.’ He said puzzled.
‘I’ve never just walked into this room before.’
‘Well, not to put too finer point on it, but it’s all
yours now.’ Richard said coldly, drawing on years of
conflict to attain equilibrium.
‘I suppose it is, and with it comes the most
horrific responsibility.’ He poured two brandies, handed
one to Richard and then sat behind his father’s desk. ‘He
didn’t have a secretary here, only in London. But there
is a steward that looks after the Hall’s affairs.’ He sipped
the fiery liquid and felt it burn all the way down. ‘I
suppose the first thing is to inform the King that my
father has been murdered.’
He pulled a sheet of vellum in front of him and
picked up his father’s quill. ‘Do you wish to be alone?’
Richard asked solemnly.
‘No. That would only make me maudlin and
there will be enough of that in this house for a few
weeks.’ He drained his glass. ‘Refill the glasses and let’s
get drunk!’ he ordered.
‘Certainly, Your Grace.’ Richard said softly and
reached for the decanter.
‘You can cut that out straight away!’ Charles said
indignantly. ‘I’m Charles and you’re Richard and no
dukedom is going to change that!’
Richard brought the tray to the desk, slopped
brandy into both glasses and lifted his in salute. ‘Amen
to that!’
Charles steadily downed the remainder of the
decanter as he wrote a letter to the King. By the time
he’d finished both the brandy and the letter, neither of
them made much sense. Richard was careful not to
drink too much, but allowed Charles to bury his grief the
only way a soldier could. He carefully removed the over
long and insulting missive from under Charles’s hand
after his face had finally settled on the blotter. He tore it
into tiny shreds and fed them to the fire.
He left his friend, snoring in the study and went
to find the Duchess. ‘Deacon? Where is the Duchess?’
he asked politely.
‘I believe she is in her suite with her son, my
Lord.’ Deacon said softly.
‘Do you know who is keeping vigil?’
‘I believe Lady’s Margaret and Agatha are in the
Chapel at the moment. Mrs. Tate was wondering if
there will be dinner tonight.’
‘I would say so, but not too fancy or formal. But I
shall check for you with the Duchess.’ Richard sighed.
‘Charles is asleep in the study. Don’t disturb him, if you
need to wake him up, call me.’ He set off upstairs and
sure enough Victoria was in the ducal suite.
He knocked politely on the main door and a
maid opened it. ‘My Lord. Her Grace is indisposed.’ She
said and Richard took no notice, but strode in the room.
‘That may be, but there are decisions to be made
and we will need her attention.’
‘It’s all right, Susan,’ Victoria said as she emerged
from the bedroom in a black silk mourning dress.
‘Richard is right.’ She looked at him. ‘Where is Charles?’
she asked surprised.
‘In the study. He’s already consumed a decanter
of brandy and written a very saucy letter to the King.’
Victoria gasped and put her hand over her mouth in
horror. ‘Luckily I was there and that particular missive is
now up in smoke.’ He smiled softly. ‘I threw it on the
fire.’ He sighed, ‘and Charles is sleeping it off. I’ve
ordered Deacon and Mrs. Tate to lay on dinner, but it
won’t be formal or rich. Just simple food to feed our
bodies.’