Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

L ew’s and Crake’s bustled with chatter and merriment that early evening. Once again at the table furthest from the rowdy gamblers and drinkers, Matthew held a glass of brandy in one hand, and tapped his fingers irritably against the wood with the other. Danvers leaned against the back of his chair lazily, droning on and on about his current predicament with too many ladies to court in the ton.

“My search for a wife remains to be a spectacle for the entire ton,” Danvers remarked with an annoyed tone. “All must watch and blubber at my dwindling fortune.”

“Is it truly that terrible?” Matthew asked, tuning back into the conversation.

“No, Your Grace, it’s far worse.”

Matthew stifled an amused laugh. “How can it be so difficult, Danvers? Pick one and get on with it.”

“Easy for you to say! You were lucky and landed on a good lady.”

Stiffening under Danvers's gaze, Matthew pressed his lips together in a firm line.

Alicia.

Her face grew apparent in his mind’s eye, as though she always lingered and haunted him. Those emerald eyes, judging and poignant, eager to peel back his layers and see what he had buried beneath the surface. He bristled and shook his head. The image of her faded and rippled like a stone skipping over a quiet lake.

Danvers barely paid any attention. “Not only is Her Grace lovely to walk beside,” he continued, “but her family is well off enough. Good crop.”

“Do you know the Caneys well?”

“I know them as much as society does,” Danvers replied. “The marquess is a good gentleman, and an even better business partner. I’m sure your pockets are doing well with them under your belt as well.”

Matthew downed the rest of his brink, gladly accepting the burn it left on his throat. “Mhm,” he muttered.

“Now,” Danvers popped up, “the ladies I court struggle to show their good upbringing. They know less than they should, their parents know even less, and don’t even ask me about their music.”

“Sure, Danvers.”

“Why don’t you and Her Grace attend more festivities this Season, Your Grace?” Danvers asked in a playfully accusatory manner. “Your backing and companionship might better me in my own endeavors.” He reached, clapping a hand on Matthew’s unsuspecting shoulder. “And you might do well with me at your side!”

As Danvers laughed heartily, patting Matthew’s shoulder, the duke flinched, shooting the baron a glare before giving a half-hearted nod.

Giving him a concerned look, Danvers waved over heads at the barman for another set of drinks. “Tell me, my friend,” he said, leaning over to the duke to talk more quietly, “what bothers you? Is it Garvey?”

Matthew glanced at him, taken aback. “What makes you ask such a thing?”

“You look to be someplace else, Your Grace.”

“I’m always someplace else these days.”

“Company as great as mine is hard to come by,” Danvers proudly joked. “Perhaps I might help you solve the predicament that haunts you so.”

“There is no predicament, Danvers,” Matthew said.

Danvers eyed him skeptically. “Married life isn’t what anyone said it might be, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“So it is not Her Grace that keeps you trapped in your mind?”

Matthew sighed as another brandy was placed in front of him. He sipped absentmindedly, trying to ignore the baron’s eager gaze. “My affairs are my own, Danvers.”

“Of course they are, Your Grace,” Danvers agreed. “But we are a society for a reason. There is always the option of sharing your affairs to better help oneself.” He leaned forward slightly, giving the duke a reassuring smile. “I have spoken too much about my own troubles to not share the load of your own.”

Matthew glanced at Danvers. Nothing about the gentlemen seemed ill-intentioned. He waited patiently, and Matthew remembered Alicia’s urge to hear more about him. He sighed.

“It is a… struggle to become used to a stranger living in the halls I can walk safely through with my eyes closed.”

“Nothing peculiar about that, Your Grace,” Danvers said with a shrug. “It is always odd.”

“She does not wish for it to be,” Matthew slowly spoke. “Her Grace yearns for more, and I do not believe I am capable of giving it to her.”

“More what?”

Matthew hesitated. The rowdiness of Lew’s and Crake’s had grown even more within the last half hour as aristocratic gentlemen gathered to play cards and smoke their cigars. He glanced around at the ton, and a few lords and ladies eyed him curiously.

“I am not a gossip, Your Grace,” Danvers suddenly said.

Matthew frowned. “I did not mean to offend you, Danvers, but?—”

He raised a hand. “No need for an explanation. Believe me,” he motioned towards the growing crowd, “these men could talk and talk for hours about the ongoings of their peers. I take pride in our conversations, Your Grace. You can trust in my integrity.”

“Her Grace wants to know more about Garvey,” Matthew finally said. He looked into his brandy.

“Curiosity is natural, Your Grace.”

“I understand,” he replied. “But they are my halls. They are my memories.”

Danvers leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in thought. “You have spoken with Her Grace lots, then?”

“She is my wife, Danvers,” Matthew said with a bemused smirk. “We tend to speak lots with the ones we live with.”

“Well, of course, Your Grace,” Danvers chuckled. “I just meant?—”

“You were implying what the ton gossips about, I assume.”

Danvers pressed his lips together. “It has been speculated about.”

“What has?”

“The cause of your marriage.”

Matthew gripped his glass, struggling to keep his irritation at bay. “I thought I could trust your integrity, Danvers.”

“You can, Your Grace,” the baron floundered. “Just because I hear the ton's rantings doesn’t mean I participate in them. Everyone was surprised by the sudden wedding, and with only one promenade seen, they could only assume?—”

“They assume the duchess to be that of a trickster, is that right?” Matthew glared at him, eyebrows furrowed in anger. “A woman out to capture a man of higher station only for her family’s betterment? Is that right, Danvers?”

The baron sank in his seat, lowering his gaze till he stared at the table. “Yes, Your Grace,” he whispered defeatedly.

“I would take a man of integrity to better respect such a lady.”

Danvers raised his gaze, eyes narrowed skeptically. “Was it not you who so proudly proclaimed that the lady tricked you into a marriage?”

Matthew scoffed, holding back the rage he felt growing within his chest. “Danvers?—”

“Perhaps you should reexamine yourself, Your Grace,” Danvers interjected, a fleeting confidence growing in his voice. “Perhaps Lady Alicia is no longer just the woman who happened to stumble upon you at Benedict House that night. Perhaps you have grown to care for her. Perhaps?—”

Without another thought, Matthew slammed a fist into the table. The powerful noise ricocheted throughout Lew’s and Crake’s, putting a pause to the chatter as the gentlemen glanced at the tucked away table. Matthew pushed himself up by his fist, feeling the pain of the punch rattle up his forearm.

“You forget yourself,” Matthew sternly proclaimed.

Noise began to fill the room once more, quietly now, as the men lurking nearby crept closer to listen in.

“Your so-called ‘companionship’ alongside me has made you impertinent.”

Danvers breathed heavily. “Your Grace.”

“She is not Lady Alicia to you,” Matthew growled, leaning towards the baron. “She is Her Grace, she is the duchess. She is not the lady. Do you understand me?”

The baron’s eyes went wide. “Y–yes, Your Grace.”

Matthew stared wildly at the gentleman. “If I ever hear you being so careless again, you’ll regret it deeply.”

“I–I apologize, Your Grace,” Danvers said with a quivering voice. “I forgot myself.”

Matthew cleared his throat, feeling the anger settle unpleasantly within his stomach. Suddenly, he ached for home, for the forestry walls of Garvey, and a particular set of emerald green eyes. He reached for his brandy, finishing the glass in a single swoop.

As he turned to bid the baron farewell, Lew’s and Crake’s went quiet once more. Danvers looked over Matthew’s shoulder, eyebrows raised in surprise. Turning, Matthew watched the crowd of gentlemen part, all of them gasping and muttering to each other.

“The nerve!”

“Who does that poor man think he is?”

“I suppose Lew’s and Crake’s is more open than we realized!”

Out from the murmuring crowd, dressed in his working suit, came the pinch-faced Mr. Livingston. The cold air of London brought a redness to the tip of his button nose, a look of being blown by the wind apparent in his face. The butler looked around the club frantically, his short frame unable to see over most of the men. Finally he set his eyes on Matthew, and he ran to the table.

“Mr. Livingston,” Matthew exclaimed, standing from the table. He glanced over all the eyes that watched with disdain. “Are you out of your mind?” he seethed.

“I would not come if it were not dire, Your Grace,” the butler forced out between quick inhales of air. “Forgive me,” he breathed, “I am not used to such exercise!”

Matthew felt himself pale. “What is dire?”

“There has been an accident, Your Grace.”

“With whom?” he frowned, eyes widening. “Her Grace?”

“No,” Mr. Livingston interrupted quickly, “it was Lady Lucy, Your Grace.”

Matthew went stiff. Despite the club being filled to the brim, Matthew could no longer see them, could no longer feel the penetrating stare of their judgement and disgust. He gripped the butler’s shoulder, retrieving his hat and gloves within a minute before hurrying out the club. The crowd of gentlemen parted as though the duke carried a deadly sickness.

They bolted out of Lew’s and Crake’s, running down the steps to Matthew’s carriage. The driver looked startled, gripping the reins of his horse with a perplexed stare. Matthew went to the carriage, moments away from spouting orders to the driver, when Mr. Livingston called out to him.

“A carriage ride will be too long, Your Grace,” the butler shouted, pulling himself up onto a horse. He gestured to another that fidgeted in place beside him. “The carriage can come back leisurely, I brought you a steed so we may take the shorter way to Garvey.”

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief. He ran to the horse, throwing himself up within a second. Gripping the reins, Matthew waited for no word from Mr. Livingston before pressing a heel into the horse’s back.

“ Hyah!” the duke shouted.

The horse took off from the gentlemen’s club, the sound of Mr. Livingston’s horse following closely behind. Traveling by steed meant the pair could dive into the woods that surrounded the manor, quickly avoiding the winding roads and rivers.

Matthew watched the world go by in a blur around him, with only the feeling of his hands gripping the reins keeping him grounded. Lucy’s doe-eyed expression came into his mind without his permission, her lively eyes clinging onto him like a ghost pleading for help. He raced faster as a pit of dread formed within him.

Garvey Manor appeared quickly.

Matthew knew the acres surrounding his home better than anyone else, and could navigate them with his eyes closed if he wished. When they came upon the estate’s entrance, Matthew eyed the local physician’s carriage waiting at the courtyard. Other than that, everything else looked the same; nothing was out of the ordinary. It almost tricked him into a calmness, as though nothing peculiar had ever taken place.

At the base of the steps, Matthew launched himself off his horse, taking off running as soon as he hit the ground.

“Her bedroom!” Mr. Livingston shouted, totally out of breath as he struggled to get off his horse.

Matthew waved over his shoulder before disappearing into the manor, dodging servants and footmen that awaited him at the front door. His heart pounded tremendously against his chest. He knew it not to be from the running or riding, but rather the fear that threatened to grip him by the heart.

What would be there when he arrived?

What horrors might be waiting for him?

As he rounded a corner to the hall where Lucy’s bedroom was, Matthew didn’t bother to slow down. Lucy’s bedroom door creaked open, and the physician exited alongside the housekeeper. Matthew tried to study the man’s aged face for worry or pleasure.

“Your Grace,” Ms. Crawford said in surprise when she looked up.

Mr. Porter, the village’s physician, extended a hand towards the duke. “You are right in time, Your Grace,” the man said. “I was about to take me leave.”

“Your leave?” Matthew replied breathlessly.

“Well, yes, Your Grace.”

“How dare you leave so suddenly, without me yet arriving?” Matthew shouted, feeling the heat of anger and exhaustion rise up his throat. “I will excuse you once I have seen my sister!”

Mr. Porter stepped back. “If you would let me explain.”

“Explain what,” Matthew snapped, “your incompetence?”

The physician stared in shock.

Ms. Crawford reached for the duke. “Your Grace, just wait a moment!”

“Do not patronize me,” he retorted, eyes wild and wide with adrenaline. “You will listen to me, Mr. Porter! My sister?—”

“If I may be so bold, Your Grace,” Mr. Porter interrupted, raising his voice to be heard over Matthew’s, “you need to calm down!”

“How dare you tell me to?—”

“You’ll give the lady quite a fright if you barge in like this!”

Matthew met the physician’s eyes. The old man watched him warily, his hands extended as though he were prepared to hold the duke down. Breathing in deeply, Matthew clenched his hands into tight fists, trying to concentrate his adrenaline down to his fingertips.

“You’re right,” Matthew muttered.

Mr. Porter reached out to put a reassuring hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “There is no need to worry, Your Grace,” he explained with a gentle tone. “The accident had been handled quite well before I had even arrived.”

“What exactly happened?” Matthew asked, trying to keep his voice leveled.

“Lady Lucy and Her Grace went horseback riding,” Ms. Crawford said.

Matthew glanced at her. “And the duchess is uninjured?”

“She is, Your Grace,” she replied. “There was a mishap with Lady Lucy’s saddle.”

“You are incredibly lucky to have such a quick-thinking duchess, Your Grace,” Mr. Porter said, an amused smile pulling on his lips.

“What?”

“Lady Lucy might have suffered more harm if Her Grace hadn’t responded the way she did. Who knows what could have triggered the horse more, a wailing girl on the ground or a wailing and worried guardian?” Mr. Porter shrugged, removing his circular glasses to wipe off a smudge.

“Nevertheless, there was never a need to worry. The duchess carried Lady Lucy across the estate, from what I heard.”

“Carried her? That’s impossible!”

Footsteps came up behind them.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Livingston said from over Matthew’s shoulder. He swiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “I saw it with my own eyes. A woman’s unbridled strength is what saved Lady Lucy.”

Mr. Porter nodded. “Her Grace sent for me the moment it happened while carrying the young lady to safety.”

Matthew shook his head. “I–I?—”

“I’ve never known you to be a loss for words, Your Grace,” Ms. Crawford mused with a smirk.

“Perhaps in another life, Her Grace practiced medicine like me,” Mr. Porter smiled to himself before he gave Matthew a deep bow. “I will return to see how the young lady’s bruising and sprain heals. Your housekeeper has been given a schedule for treatment if there is any pain. Your sister will be well with a few days of bed rest.”

“Thank you, Mr. Porter.”

The physician tipped his hat at Ms. Crawford and Mr. Livingston before tucking his case beneath his arm, and leaving the estate. Matthew remained there, in the hall, staring at the opened door.

“Lady Lucy is expecting you, Your Grace,” Ms. Crawford said, gesturing towards the bedroom.

Matthew pressed his lips together and slowly waded into the room.

A soft light came from the windows, the setting sun providing a reddish ambience within the bedroom.

Lucy looked small against the pillows propped beneath her head and left arm. Bandages were wrapped around her wrist, and bruises received cool towels along her legs. She had a few scratches here and there, and a nasty cut that blistered on the bottom of her chin. Other than that, Lucy appeared normal, watching the birds fly over the estate. Miss Ayles sat near the window, her eyes closed.

As Matthew left the threshold, he turned, and saw Alicia slumped on a plush chair beside the door. The duchess held her head up with one hand, eyes shut, and rosy lips parted. She slept soundly, her cheeks flushed from exhaustion. Matthew let his eyes trail over her, taking in every detail of the slumbering duchess. Her lips widened as if to say something, but she only breathed deeper.

Matthew lost himself for a moment, lost where he was and what he was doing. He could only watch the beautiful lady lying there, watching her chest rise and fall as she breathed, and her arms fidget as her sleep grew deeper. He reached for a curl that strayed from her pins, fighting the urge to push it out her face.

“Brother!”

Matthew jumped, snapping his hand down to his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alicia jolt awake till she sat upright in her chair. She stood to greet him, giving him a small curtsey.

“I’m sorry to have sent for you in such a rush, Your Grace,” Alicia said with a scratchy voice.

Matthew glanced at her disheveled hair and gave a small smile. “No apologies necessary.” He took a few steps before kneeling beside Lucy’s bed. “How are you, Lu?”

“Well, brother.”

Now that he was so close, Matthew eyed the bruises and cuts. Nausea crawled into his stomach. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“What for?” she asked with a frown.

“That I wasn’t here.”

“Don’t be silly, Matthew!” Lucy exclaimed. “I played too much on Periwinkle, that’s all.”

Matthew swallowed at the name. “You rode my mother’s horse,” he said.

“She is a good steed, Matthew. It was my fault.”

“No one is to blame,” he said sternly. “All that matters is that you will be better after a few days in bed.”

Lucy groaned. “Days?”

“Yes, Lucy,” he said. “And days it will be.”

Pulling himself up, Matthew cleared his throat before he turned to the duchess. “Your Grace,” he said, gesturing towards the door, “might I have a word with you in private?”

Alicia opened and closed her mouth a few times before she nodded, leaving the room first. Matthew followed, shutting the door gently behind them. They walked down the hall a few paces, and Matthew watched Alicia tuck her hands behind her back, messing with the ribbons on her dress nervously.

The duchess suddenly stopped, turning to face him but not meeting his eye. “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

“Why?”

“For the ruckus I caused,” she muttered. “The mess in the halls, paintings knocked over. I fear I even snapped at Miss Ayles in the heat of the moment. I told Lucy not to ride Periwinkle, she looked so small compared to the horse. I–I should've been more persistent, Your Grace, I know.”

“I already said that no one was to blame,” he quietly said.

Alicia kept her head lowered but raised her eyes to him. “I know.”

“I would like to repay you, Your Grace.”

She scoffed. “Lucy might as well be my kin. There is no need.”

“Kin or not, carrying a girl up a staircase is quite a feat.”

“That is very kind of you,” Alicia whispered. “But I insist.”

Matthew sighed as she avoided looking at him. “Alicia.”

Her head shot up.

“Please,” he said. “I would like to repay you.”

Alicia stared at him with wide, green eyes. A rosy tint slowly engulfed her cheeks, spreading across her nose. She never pulled away from his gaze, even when she bit on her lip deep in thought. “Alright,” she breathed.

He smiled, and held his arms behind his back. There was only one thing he thought she would request. Holding a ball at their Mayfair lodging. Finally, after too much arguing, he became ready to give her the permission she had begged for just days before.

Alicia stepped closer to him. “I’d like to dine with you.”

“Wh–what?”

A smile slipped onto her lips. “You look surprised.”

“Well, I suppose I am.” He narrowed his eyes. “That’s all you want?”

“Yes, Your Grace. A private dinner, just the two of us.”

He swallowed, remembering the conversation he’d had with Danvers back at Lew’s and Crake’s. “Very well,” he said. “I will inform Ms. Crawford that we dine elsewhere this evening.”

Alicia’s lips spread into a wide smile.

Matthew stepped aside as she left the hall, leaving him standing there with only his rapid heartbeat to keep him company.