Chapter 17

The modiste that Marcus had found for the wedding dress was a master of his craft. After penning a letter to Arthur, Selina spent the better part of an entire afternoon having every conceivable measurement taken by a short man with a bald head, hooked nose, and eyes that peered out from behind thick-framed spectacles. Having taken her measures, the little man then spent just as long with her choosing fabrics and colors from a seemingly inexhaustible range of samples that he carried in a large, leather bag. Gracie was run ragged keeping her mistress and her guest amply supplied with tea, sandwiches, cakes, and other refreshments. Selina found herself enjoying the process, it was utterly alien to anything she had done before. But, when the little man finally took his leave, promising to return with the dress the next day, Selina collapsed into an armchair in the drawing room.

"Can I fetch you anything, Your Grace?" Gracie asked, appearing in the doorway.

"No, but please come in and sit down. I don't know how such a little man can consume so much tea and cake! You have been running back and forth to the kitchen all day. You deserve a rest," Selina told her.

Gracie smiled, closing the door behind her and sitting on the edge of a chaise, looking uncomfortable.

"I mean it Gracie. Just relax. That's an order, though it feels odd to give it. I don't think I shall ever get used to having power over another human being."

Gracie pushed herself back in the seat, taking off one shoe and rubbing at her foot.

"Thank you, Your Grace…"

"Selina, when we're alone, please do not call me as such. That is something else I shall never get used to."

The other woman looked at her with a smile. "I'd say it is something you should get used to though. You are marrying a Duke after all. You will be a Duchess."

"Will I?" Selina said.

Gracie frowned at her, puzzled. "You have just spent the day being measured for a wedding dress," she pointed out.

"But, some part of me is whispering that it will not happen. That something will go wrong or…I want to ask you a question, Gracie," Selina said, suddenly resolved.

Sensing the seriousness of her mistress, Gracie put her shoe back on and sat up, putting her hands on her knees and looking attentive.

"How long have you served the Duke?" Selina asked.

"Not very long. I think it will be two years this September," Gracie answered.

"What of the other staff? Who is the longest serving?"

"I believe that would be Mr. Beveridge," Gracie replied promptly.

"And how long has he been in the Duke's service?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know. You could ask him, I suppose. I have heard that he has been with the Duke for a good number of years though."

Selina contemplated this for a moment. She did not know precisely what she was expecting to find out and scarcely dared confront her suspicions consciously.

"Who of the staff served under the previous Duke?" she asked suddenly.

Gracie thought for a moment and then shrugged. "I could not say. I wanted to say that none of them were here that long. But that would be ridiculous in a house this size. It's just that I cannot recall any conversation that I've had with anyone where the previous Duke was discussed. At least as anything more than a story, I should say."

"So, the present Duke replaced almost all of the household when he inherited?" Selina said disbelievingly.

Gracie laughed. "That's impossible. It is simply that I do not know the others well enough or it hasn't come up in conversation."

Selina smiled brightly. "Quite right, Gracie. I am just being a snoop, I suppose. The prospect of marriage seems to make me want to know every little thing about my intended. Well, I am quite exhausted. I think I will retire for an hour or two."

Gracie stood. "Very good, Your…I mean Selina," she whispered when some footsteps passed outside the drawing room. "Oh heavens, I do hope Mr. Beveridge does not hear me using your name like that. He is such a stickler for formality. He even keeps meticulous records on absolutely every aspect of the house's running. I am told he is often up until the early hours keeping his ledgers."

She curtsied, an odd contrast to her accepting the informality of using Selina's name, then took her leave. Selina stayed for a moment in the drawing room, watching the dancing flames in the fireplace and thinking.

Perhaps the answers to my questions lie in the meticulous record-keeping of Mr. Beveridge. I will need a pretext to get him out of the house though, an errand only he could undertake.

The answer came to her at once and she smiled to herself, rising from her chair. She made her way to the rooms that Marcus had given her. They included a small study and an octagonal room with a narrow window overlooking the south aspect of the house. A bureau stood before the window and shelves held paper, books, ink, and pens. She laid a fresh piece of paper onto the blotter in the middle of the desk and began to write.

"Dear father,

I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my sudden departure and the worry this must have caused you. I find that I cannot tolerate the notion of a life with a man who is capable of raising his hand against me. I apologize for ruining your arrangement and I hope that the man you had intended me to marry will find another wife to make him happy. My reason for writing to you is to tell you that I am now engaged to be married. My husband-to-be is His Grace, the Duke of Valebridge. The wedding is to take place very soon, in fact, this Saturday coming. I know that this is short notice. It has been something of a whirlwind. I also hope that you will be mollified now that I have found a husband who is such a good match for me. You, too, must admit that a Duke is a fine match for a woman of my rank. I should dearly love for you to give us your blessing and attend the wedding. To give me away to my new husband.

Please reply as soon as you can so that I may make the proper arrangements.

Yours very faithfully

Selina

She read over the letter and grimaced. Part of her said that a father should be present at his only daughter's wedding. But a bigger part said that he didn't deserve to be. That he had treated her like a commodity and allowed her to be abused by the man he had chosen to sell her to.

I am not your property father. I possess agency. I am in control of my own destiny, as much as any simple human being can be.

The purpose of the letter was not to plead for her father's blessing, though she suspected if it was forthcoming, it would bring her some pleasure. The purpose of the letter was to have a message of real import to be carried to Folkington and the mail coach. Then it would be carried to her father's house at Sawthorne. It would take Mr. Beveridge an hour to get to Folkington, using the horse and trap, then another hour to return, plus time to see the letter posted. Perhaps he would take advantage of his time in Folkington to sup an ale at the Black Sheep or purchase a new pouch of tobacco at the tobacconists. From the visits she had paid to her grandmother in her youth, she remembered the tobacconist as being a jolly man by the name of Nevis. Whether he was still there, she did not know.

All in all, Beveridge would understand why she did not want to trust such an important missive to anyone but him. He would leave the house and she would have free reign to look through the records he had kept.

And if I discover something that is not to my taste? What then? If I find out something about Arthur such as….

She did not want to think about what she might learn. She hoped it would be nothing. Merely the vagaries of time and memory, playing tricks. But, she would not be content until she knew for sure.