Chapter 10

Broek

Sunday morning

I am cursing as I attempt to knot my cravat, which is a daily trial for me. I hiss out a frustrated breath. Great Yol grant me a release from these infernal contraptions that take forever to tie and strangle my throat the entire day long. It takes four attempts before the thing is done. With a relieved sigh, I go join my siblings at the main entrance in readiness to go to church—another troublesome weekly pastime.

Except it has not been quite so tedious of late. I can feel myself grin as I think of my little duchess. Well, of course, she is not mine, yet I have come to feel a proprietary sense towards her. She is my own personal project. Every evening, I watch her window from the privacy of my console. I have learned that she retires to her room at eight o’clock at night. There, she reads by the light of a candle for an hour before snuffing it out. I have found out that she likes to keep the window slightly ajar for ventilation and that for bed, she wears a sleeveless white shift. I know this as I have seen her twice at her window. It has become a prurient pleasure of mine to look out for sightings of her at night. I do not question my reasons for this too closely. Suffice it to say I am studying my subject to gain all possible advantage in my campaign to get her to sell Penhale Manor to me.

I climb into the carriage with Liora, Horis and Simor close behind. As we roll towards the church, I gaze pensively out of the window, little attending to the conversation being had in the carriage. We pass the turning for Penhale Manor along the way, and I cast a glance towards the house. The duchess’s carriage is there by the main door, waiting to take her to church. Good . This means we shall get there first and that I can ensure there is a place on the pew for her beside me. I wonder, not for the first time, what her thoughts are about the cottage in Frome, and whether she knows that I am the one that sent the particulars to her. I am almost certain she does. The duchess is no fool.

After a quarter of an hour of travelling at a brisk pace, we arrive at the village and stop a few yards from the church. “Well,” says Liora. “Here we go. Let us hope Reverend Horton’s voice does not put any of us to sleep today.”

At this, Simor yawns. “I am half asleep already,” he whines. “Could we not one day create a clone that would attend such tiresome things in our place?”

“You are welcome to give it a try,” I reply acerbically. “In the meantime, we are all duty bound to attend.”

We descend from the carriage and make our way inside the church building. I nod towards acquaintances, keeping my eyes sharp for any sign of people turning away from us or whispering malevolent gossip. All seems well today. We are not greeted with effusiveness, but neither are we made to feel like pariahs. Perhaps word has spread of our dinner party last Thursday. I can imagine Sir Nicholas blustering about the fine dinner and port to be had at Reeves Hall—at least I hope that is what he has been telling the good folk of Penhale and Newquay. I should think our guests, with one honourable exception, would all concur that there was no sign of any pagan practices in our home. As long as my little duchess is not suspicious.

I catch sight of Timothy and Verity Drake, who both smile at us in acknowledgement. I nod back in greeting. They are down-to-earth, sensible folk—well, as sensible as the ignorant natives of Earth can be, again with one honourable exception. That exception now walks through the doors of the church, holding her little girl by the hand. Her eyes search the hall until they meet mine. I make an imperious gesture, beckoning her towards me. I see it in her eyes as she considers whether or not to obey my summons. Then she starts walking in our direction. Good choice, Duchess .

They are at a few feet’s distance when young Chloe catches sight of me. She snatches her hand out from her mother’s and runs to me. “Mr Brook!” she calls.

I lift her into my arms and peer into her face. “Hello, Chloe.” My expression impassive, I ask, “Have you grown any more since I last saw you, little one?”

“This much,” she replies, indicating an inch with her thumb and forefinger.

“Are you sure?” I enquire. “You still seem rather small to me.”

She pouts. “That is because you are so big,” she explains.

I hold back a smile. “You may be right,” I concur. By now, Jane is at my side, observing her daughter in my arms with a frown. “Duchess,” I say to her in greeting.

“Mr Reeves,” she responds, trying to inject a touch of hauteur into her tone. “I do apologise for Chloe. She has yet to learn the proper decorum.” Addressing her daughter, she adds, “Chloe, come down and let Mr Reeves be.”

I angle my head towards the girl in my arms and ask, “Chloe, shall I set you down?”

“No!” she cries, encircling my neck with her little arms and squeezing tight.

I return my gaze to Jane. “It seems Chloe has made her choice,” I say, then continue briskly, “Come along, let us sit ourselves down.” I do not give the duchess any time to demur, striding towards our pew with Chloe held closely in my arms. I sit with the little girl in my lap as Jane takes the seat beside me. I hear her greet my sister and brothers, but I am distracted by Chloe, who extends her hand towards the ties of my cravat. “Oh no,” I admonish, pushing her hand away. I am not going to have my hard efforts at knotting this monstrous contraption unravelled by one pull of this young girl’s hand. Fortunately, I have thought to prepare. “I have something for you in my pocket,” I tell Chloe. “Take a look.”

With a smile of glee, she brings her small hand to my coat pocket and burrows it inside, bringing out a short time later, a rectangular box painted with colourful pictures of a famous nursery rhyme. The box rattles as she examines it curiously. “What is it?” she asks.

“Inside this box is a surprise for you,” I tell her—the surprise being a handful of chocolates. She tries to pry the box open, but it is sealed. “Ah,” I say. “That is the trick. To get your surprise, you must find the way to open the box. You must be clever about it and think fast.” There are small buttons along one side of the box, and pressing them in the right sequence will unlock it. The buttons each make small, distinct sounds when pressed—though not loud enough to distract the church worshippers. The sequence that will unlock the box is the melody of that nursery rhyme illustrated on the front. I am sure this resourceful little girl who takes after her mother will work it out, though I am hopeful the task will keep Chloe occupied through the greater part of the service.

She sets to work at it while Jane watches us warily and murmurs, “It is very kind of you to entertain Chloe, Mr Reeves, but quite unnecessary. Do please return her to me whenever you wish.”

“She is fine where she is, Duchess. Let her be,” I say gruffly.

We are quiet for a few moments, then Jane says in a conversational voice, “I received an interesting missive in the post a few days ago.”

I raise an inquiring brow. She continues, “It was a cutting from a newspaper with an advertisement for a cottage that is for sale in Frome. Curiously, there was also a small painting of the cottage included.”

“Curious indeed,” I say. “And was the cottage to your liking?”

Her regard is stony. “Mr Reeves, you have wasted your efforts. I am not selling Penhale Manor.”

“I am sure I do not know what you mean.”

“I am very sure you know precisely what I mean, sir,” she replies pertly, as all rise to their feet for the service, and our discourse comes to an end.

I listen as patiently as I can to the reverend’s sermon, but halfway through the proceedings, I lean close to Jane’s ear and whisper, “I hear Frome is a delightful market town. And is it not near your home in Coleford?”

She turns towards me and busies herself with tucking a stray lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “It is a delightful town which I know very well,” she says quietly, “but Coleford is not my home anymore, Mr Reeves; it is Penhale Manor.”

Not for long, Duchess, not for long . I resume listening to the sermon with half an ear. An interval later, I take out my handkerchief and under guise of mopping my brow—for it is quite warm in church today—I remark sotto voce , “There is only a hollow victory to be had in pursuing a dubious objective merely to score a point over someone else.”

I hear her shocked intake of breath. Angrily, she faces me again, pretending once more to rearrange her daughter’s coiffure. I cannot help but notice the brilliance of her brown eyes when her ire is roused. The creamy complexion of her cheeks too has been infused with a fetching shade of rose pink. Her lips are parted, their plush softness a dewy cherry-red. She looks edible, and I think to myself that perhaps, I should poke her anger more often.

“You ascribe far too much importance to yourself, Mr Reeves, if you believe that is what I am doing,” Jane hisses under her breath. She settles back in her seat, but not content, returns pretending this time to examine the box in her daughter’s hands. “In any case,” she whispers, “one would not call making a good home for myself and Chloe a dubious objective.”

I am saved from a reply by Chloe complaining, “Ma, stop talking. I want to hear the box.” I raise a sardonic brow at Jane, who gives a little huff of displeasure then settles back in her seat, refusing to address me again until we reach the end of the service. As it finally reaches its conclusion, she bids me return her daughter to her. Chloe by now has the box opened and is merrily munching on the chocolates inside it.

“Say thank you to Mr Reeves,” Jane commands with a steely look at her daughter.

“Thank you, Mr Reeves,” parrots Chloe, her mouth full of chocolate.

“You are welcome, Chloe,” I respond gravely.

Jane nods her head to me in dismissal, trying on a haughty expression once more. It has little effect on me, Duchess, except make me want to bait you more . Wanting to have the last word, I lean forward and say, “Perhaps the real reason why you don’t wish to leave is because you will miss our arguments. But do think—a tidy cottage in a delightful town close to your old home, and at a very affordable price. I would not dismiss it so quickly if I were you, Duchess. Good day.” I walk quickly away, not giving her a chance to reply. As I make my way out of the church, I allow myself a little smile.