Coming Soon: Loving the Duke, an Atwood Sisters Novella

Loving the Duke

By Jessie Clever

Instead of proposing marriage to the woman he loved, Stephen Marley was hiding in an apple orchard.

To any onlooker, he would appear consumed by his task, diligent even, in his assessment of the trees he had carefully nurtured over the past seven years in the sweeping plain of coastal soil, rich in nutrients from the sea and the wind.

But anyone with a keen eye would quickly realize Stephen had conducted the same inspection the previous day whilst also avoiding proposing to the woman he loved.

Dinsmore Castle and the dukedom of Greyfair would be known for their exquisite apple crops, and Stephen Marley would die a bachelor.

He made his way down the row of Sweet Alford until he reached the cross section where they’d planted a row of Backwell Red in experimentation. This type of apple had quickly become their most sought after crop, and they’d been forced to find another portion of the coastal plain in which to plant. He turned left, heading deeper inland and to the heart of the orchard where if he stood perfectly still, he heard only the sound of the distant sea, the rustle of the apple trees around him, and the beat of his own heart.

He walked quickly, moving deeper into the trees. As the muscles in his right foot tightened with each step, he marveled at how quickly the orchards had grown. What had started as a few trees planted within the sheltering walls of Dinsmore Castle had soon expanded beyond anything he could have imagined.

When he’d first had the idea to increase their apple yield, he had pictured it as another revenue source for the estate, jobs for the villagers and tradesmen. He’d never imagined Dinsmore Castle and the dukedom of Greyfair would become the largest supplier of apples to the nation’s cider industry.

He paused briefly, fingering the delicate leaf of a Crimson King, remembering that day when he’d approached his cousin with his idea. Lucas, as usual, had been open to the plan, but he’d had one caveat. He wanted Stephen to take sixty-percent of the profits.

Stephen had rejected it, of course, The apple orchards were for the estate, but Lucas had insisted. At the time the new railroad spur line had just become operational, and the farmers on the estate were rushing to get their goods to the London markets. Revenue was up, farmers were thriving, which in turn boosted the economy in the village and the need for tradesmen to keep the farms running. Lucas was content to accept forty-percent of whatever the orchards brought in.

It came to be that forty-percent was a small fortune, and sixty percent fell somewhere between greed and gluttony. Even now Stephen couldn’t quite wrap his head around what had transpired. He’d been the cast off relation, the burden to the dukedom of Greyfair. Although his uncle and Lucas had never made him feel like a burden. It was simply hard not to when one had been sent from one’s home because of the unfortunate circumstance of being born with a twisted foot. How could Stephen have not thought of himself as a burden?

Until now.

Stephen’s head turned unconsciously to the north. Even from where he stood, he could see the open gable of the cottage, its three dormers standing guard along the prow.

Cottage.

He ran a hand over his face and looked away, a maelstrom of emotions coursing through him. Guilt, shame, unease.

He wasn’t yet comfortable in his own newly established role as the orchardist on the estate, and he certainly wasn’t used to the salary he brought in. He was suddenly a man of means and…house. He stared through the trees at the the dormers as if they mocked him. If he wasn’t comfortable with who he was now, how could he possibly expect the woman he loved to be as well?

He knew perfectly well why he was hiding, and it wasn’t because of the thought of proposing. He had already proposed three times after all. It was because every time he proposed, Ethel Jones gave him another reason for refusing him. And as he gazed at the open gable protruding along the tops of the trees, he wondered if he was headed toward yet another refusal, another excuse, and the worst part was, he really couldn’t blame her if she did.

Their courtship had always seemed impossible and yet inevitable at the same time. He could understand her reservations. She was a respected lady maid’s while he was the once impoverished and still disowned distant cousin to a duke. What had he to offer her? Any status he held now was made from trade, and while that wasn’t as frowned upon as it used to be, it wasn’t the same as being born with privilege or earning it through respectable work.

Of course, she made excuses. She had her future to worry about. Love could only take a person so far, and in the end, it was money and position that kept a person fed and warm. He had plenty of one and absolutely nothing of the other.

He gripped his crutch with resolve and headed in the direction of the house. He passed several grazing sheep along the way. The animals fed on the undergrowth in the orchards, keeping the trees healthy and prosperous. He was prone to stopping and admiring them at their work, how carefully they moved between rows, eating only what was necessary. But this time he didn’t linger.

When he stepped from between the rows of trees, the cottage soared up in front of him. The manifestation of Ethel’s last excuse for refusing him: where would they live?

It had been the gamekeeper’s cottage in another life of the estate, and Lucas had bade him use it when they’d first arrived at Dinsmore Castle so many years ago. Stephen had never taken his cousin up on the offer, preferring instead the room he’d found tucked under the eaves on the third floor of the newer portion of the castle. It was enough for a single man, and it had suited him well for years, but now…

His room under the eaves was no place for a wife, and it was certainly not a place where he could start a family. He’d approached the gamekeeper’s cottage after Ethel’s last refusal, intent to see just what sort of work it would need to be habitable again. Only a handful of months ago, it had been overgrown with ivy, shrinking into the forest around it so it seemed like nothing more than the cottage it was purported to be.

Using the wealth he had accumulated over the years from the apple harvests, he had hired a crew to restore it. The damn thing had turned out to be a palace. Once the ivy was removed, the bricks repointed, the shutters repaired, the glass replaced in the windows, and a fresh coat of paint slapped on the front door, the cottage turned out to be a three-story Federal style house with those three proud dormers reaching from its roof. It was breathtaking and beautiful. It radiated with splendor sending his gut into a spiral.

It was far more than he deserved.

Now he not only avoided proposing again, he avoided moving into the thing. Like everything else about him now, it just didn’t feel right.

His eyes dropped to the stone foundation, unease settling in his gut.

He didn’t deserve this. No matter that he’d lived his life with the Bennetts since he’d been discarded by his father, Stephen had never quite settled with the family. Despite their love and care, he still felt like an outsider, and now looking at that stone foundation of his cottage, he felt like a farce. For Stephen Marley didn’t have a foundation on which to stand. How could he ever think of marrying a woman like Ethel?

This grand house with its fine features and facade. Four whole bedrooms on the second floor without a slanted roof in sight. No cramped quarters here. No ducking under the eaves to retrieve the baby in its crib. No knocking his head against the rafters on his way to bed after a long day in the fields.

This was fine living, and he wondered what Ethel’s next excuse would be, unable to fight the feeling that she may be right.

“Even if you keep staring at it, it won’t get any bigger.”

When his cousin Lucas stepped up beside him, Stephen said, “I wager that’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

Lucas’s expression was nonplussed. “Amelia is looking for you,” he said.

Stephen couldn’t stop the flinch. Amelia, Lucas’s wife, had devised a scheme of exercises she forced Stephen to complete three times a week followed by a torturous administration of salve that left the twisted muscles of his right foot tingling and warm. The worst part about it was the regimen worked. In the three years she’d been forcing him to it, his foot had relaxed in some places and grown stronger in others. There was no cure, of course, but the appendage no longer pained him the way it once had. On his good days, he walked with only a cane, and if he didn’t plan on having to traverse the craggy orchards, he chose the cane instead because it gave him better freedom of movement.

His life had improved dramatically since Amelia had come to Dinsmore, but he wasn’t about to tell the Duchess of Greyfair that. He had a curmudgeonly reputation to uphold.

“And you are playing the role of her messenger boy, is that it?”

Lucas looked down, and Stephen’s entire body went rigid, like an involuntary response meant to keep him alive, his body reacted to his cousin in a supernatural way.

“Lucas?” Stephen prodded when his cousin didn’t answer immediately.

Finally Lucas raised his head. “No, not Amelia’s messenger boy. I’ve come with a message of my own.” He gestured back toward the causeway that led to the castle proper. “I thought it would be best if we spoke here where we’re less likely to be overheard.”

Stephen’s chest tightened. “Why is it that we shouldn’t be overheard?”

His cousin was dangerously transparent, and for him to seek subterfuge indicated a serious matter indeed.

But Lucas didn’t answer. Instead, he reached inside his coat, pulling a folded piece of paper from a pocket there. He extended it to Stephen, turning the paper over in his hand until it caught the light.

Stephen froze. His fingers clenched at his side, his crutch caught between his arm and his torso, unwilling to touch the letter offered him. For it was a letter. He knew that at once when his eyes fell on the familiar wax seal still clinging to the paper even though Lucas had pried it open to read the letter inside.

The seal depicted a shield and cross flanked by a pair of lions. Stephen had thought it too simple of a design for the title it represented, that of the Duke of Norfolk, the cousin to the very Queen of England herself.

Once, when Stephen was still quite young but old enough to have learned from his uncle where he had come from, Stephen had stolen into the library of their home in the middle of the night, not wishing for anyone to see what he was about, not wanting them to discover his weakness, and there he pulled down the tome that held all of the insignia of the titles of Great Britain. He looked up this very seal, wondering at its parts, wondering if he could ever belong to it.

He swallowed down the memory of the little boy looking for clues of his family in a darkened library and faced his cousin.

“Do you wish to read it or would you like me to tell you what it says?”

Stephen shook his head. “Just tell me what it says.”

Lucas swallowed, pulling back his hand and tucking the offending letter back into the pocket where he’d taken it from. “The duke is coming to Dinsmore. He claims to have heard of our success with the orchards and wishes to see it for himself.”

“Lies.” Stephen whispered the word in reaction more so than in thought.

Lucas nodded. “I know. The letter is only a guise. Stephen…” But his voice trailed off, so much left unsaid between them.

There was only one reason the Duke of Norfolk would travel all the way to the coast for a small estate like Dinsmore Castle, and it was a reason for which Stephen did not care. But what he hated more was the sudden surge of hope inside of him, the one he had thought long defeated. The hope that one day his family would come back for him.

Lucas waited a beat before saying, “You must tell her.” He patted his coat where the troublesome letter now rested once more inside his pocket. “Before the duke gets here. She’ll figure it out then for herself.” He waited another beat, licked his lips nervously. “Everyone will figure it out.”

Stephen stared at his cousin’s hand resting against his coat and that damn letter. Everyone would figure it out, and yet his jaw remained clenched shut against his secrets.

“When is he coming?” Stephen finally asked after some time.

“Within the fortnight,” Lucas said.

Stephen swore softly and looked away, back up at the cottage, which until a few moments ago had been the only obstacle standing between him and the woman he loved.

But now…

“A fortnight doesn’t give us much time to prepare. We’ll want to have the estate in pristine shape for a visit from the Queen’s cousin.” He was adept at telling his own lies.

Lucas didn’t speak, but then he would know not to. Stephen would string together as many words as possible if only to lengthen the distance between him and the truth.

The truth that revealed his greatest weakness. That he still longed for the family that abandoned him.

Stephen turned and studied the orchards behind him, listened to the birds and the breeze and the sound of his heart, thumping in his chest as every possibility thundered through his mind.

He would need to tell her. But how? A glance at the cottage reminded him of just how much stood between them, and he would be forced to add something else. Something they might not overcome.

“Does Amelia know?” He didn’t know why he asked the question. It was thinking of Ethel that overwhelmed him, and somehow he thought Amelia knowing the truth would help him.

But Lucas shook his head. “It’s not my secret to tell, cousin.”

No, it wasn’t. Only a handful of people knew the truth, and as the years went on, that number dwindled until now there were only three people who knew. Lucas, Stephen, and the Duke of Norfolk.

But when the man arrived at Dinsmore, suddenly everyone would know. It couldn’t be helped.

And with this thought came another. What did the Duke of Norfolk desire so badly that he would risk such an exposure of the greatest secret of the dukedom?

Lucas tapped his pocket again. “I’m sure he would have written directly to you, but you know how that would have complicated matters.” There was a pause, a heavy one, and then, “If anyone had found out.”

His cousin always had a polite way of saying things, and Stephen smiled now. “I know,” he said and gestured to the castle. “Tell Amelia I’ll be along shortly. I just want to wander through my trees for a bit longer.”

Lucas waited, but Stephen didn’t say anything more. Finally, his cousin reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You know Norfolk wouldn’t be coming here unless it was for good reason.”

Stephen met his gaze. “That’s the more worrisome part of it.”

Lucas’s eyes were clear and understanding, and Stephen knew no matter what, he’d have an ally in his cousin. He always had.

Lucas nodded, squeezed Stephen’s shoulder, and turned away, weaving through the trees in the direction of the castle.

Stephen stood there for some time, his fingers working the wood of his crutch absently. Lucas was right. Norfolk couldn’t have written Stephen directly with the news of his impending visit.

He couldn’t have because Stephen Marley didn’t exist.