It isn’t truly a castle, you know. It is only three hundred years old. It is huge, Father says, four stories high, built in a U shape with an interior garden and any number of turrets and towers. It even has a hedge maze.”
Jocelyn’s smile displayed a set of perfect white teeth. “Father says I should have a marvelous time putting it back to rights.”
Lily smiled indulgently. “I am certain you will.” Though she imagined Jo would be bored with the project after the first six months and her mother would wind up finishing the remodeling and redecorating the newly titled duchess would require of her lavish country home.
“I hope Mother and I will be able to endure such quarters. I am glad we shan’t be staying much more than a week.” Just long enough for Jocelyn and her future betrothed to get acquainted. “I am so glad I decided you should travel to Bransford a few days early. That should give you time to make the place comfortable for us.”
“I’m sure the duke will do everything in his power to see to you and your mother’s comfort, Jocelyn.”
Jo reached over and took hold of Lily’s hand. “But you will take care of it personally, won’t you? You know the things that please me … exactly how I like my cocoa in the mornings, how hot I like the water in my bath. You will prepare the servants, explain my special needs?”
“Of course.”
Jocelyn started to turn away, then whirled back. “Oh, and don’t forget to take the dried rose petals. They scent my bath just perfectly.”
“I won’t forget.” Lily had been taking care of Jocelyn since the day she had arrived at Meadowbrook six years ago. It had been quite a change for Lily, who had been living in poverty since her parents had died of the cholera when she was twelve years old.
On her sixteenth birthday, her uncle, Jack Moran, had made the announcement that Lily would be leaving the attic garret where they lived. From that day forward, she would be residing with her wealthy cousin, Henry Caulfield, and his wife, Matilda, acting as companion to their fifteen-year-old daughter and only child, Jocelyn.
Lily hadn’t wanted to go. She loved her uncle. He and his friends were the only family she had, once her parents were gone. She had begged him to let her stay, but he had refused. Jack Moran was a sharper. He earned his living by taking money from other people. Once Lily had begun to mature into a woman, he was determined she would escape the sort of life he led.
She remembered their last day together as if it were burned into her brain.
“It’s just too dangerous, Lily,” he had said. “‘Twas only last week you dropped that man’s wallet and nearly got nabbed by the police. You’re growing up, luv, becoming a woman. I want you to have a better life, the kind your mama and papa would have wanted you to have. I should have done this long before now, but I …”
“You what, Uncle Jack?” she asked tearfully.
“But you’re all the family I have, luv, and I’m going to miss you.”
Lily remembered how hard she had cried that day and the awful, sick feeling in her stomach when her uncle left her at the door of Henry Caulfield’s mansion. She hadn’t seen Uncle Jack since that fateful day and Lord, how she missed him. Yet, deep down inside, she knew he had done the right thing.
Lily looked over at Jocelyn. “I shall be leaving first thing in the morning. The newspaper says a storm may be coming in, perhaps even snow. I want to get there ahead of the weather.”
“Do take the traveling coach, dear. Just send it back once you arrive. If it should rain or snow, Mother and I will wait a few more days, leave as soon as it clears enough to travel. That should give you plenty of time to put things in order.”
“I am certain it will.” Lily walked over to the gilt and ivory dresser and began to sort through Jocelyn’s night-wear, choosing what to include in her trunks. “I heard the duke’s aunt Agatha will be there to act as hostess for our visit.”
“So I gather. I’ve never met her. Apparently, she rarely comes to London.”
“Nor does your duke.”
Jo sniffed as if the thought was entirely repugnant. “I am certain, once we are wed, that will change.”
Lily just smiled and pulled out a soft cotton nightgown with roses embroidered around the ruffled neckline. “They say your duke is quite something—tall and well built, with hair the color of ancient gold. I’ve heard he is incredibly handsome.”
One of Jocelyn’s dark eyebrows went up. “He had better be. I shan’t marry him if he is unpleasant to look at—even if he is a duke.” 11
But Lily imagined that Jo would marry the man no matter what he looked like. She wanted to be a duchess. She wanted to continue the lavish lifestyle she was used to, wanted the attention and high-ranking social position that came with the title. In truth, Jocelyn wanted everything.
And thanks to a father who spoiled her no end, she usually got what she wanted.
“You are leaving, Your Grace?” The butler, Jeremy Greaves, hurried forward as Royal strode across the entry toward the door. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, your visitors are expected to arrive at any moment. What will your betrothed think if you are not here to greet her?”
What indeed? “I remind you, Greaves, we are not yet officially betrothed.”
“I understand, sir. Still, she will expect you to properly welcome her to Bransford Castle.”
Undoubtedly. It was the height of bad manners to be gone from the house when the lady and her mother arrived. He glanced at his butler, a gray-haired old man with watery blue eyes, and kept walking. It occurred to him that few servants would be bold enough to gainsay a duke, but that didn’t stop Greaves or Middleton, who had lived at Bransford since before Royal was born.
“If she gets here before my return,” he said, “tell her I was called out unexpectedly. Tell her I will be back very shortly.”
“But, sir—”
Pulling on his kidskin gloves, Royal continued toward the heavy wooden door. Greaves scurried ahead and pulled it open, and Royal strode outside.
A storm had blown in last night, but instead of raining, it had snowed. He paused at the top of the wide stone steps to survey the beauty of the frozen landscape, the sun shining down through the clouds, making the countryside glisten. The circular drive in front of the house was covered by several inches of snow and the naked branches of the trees along the lane glittered with a sparkling layer of gleaming white.
Royal took a deep breath of the clean, crisp air and descended the steps. One of the grooms had his gray stallion, Jupiter, saddled and waiting. Fortunately, his father hadn’t had the heart to sell Royal’s favorite horse. Dressed in riding breeches, a dark blue tailcoat and high black boots, he vaulted into the saddle, his heavy scarlet cloak swirling out around him.
He whirled the stallion, nudged the animal into a trot, then a canter, the sound of hoofbeats muffled by the thick layer of snow. As Jupiter carried him down the road, he cast a last glance at poor old Greaves, who stared worriedly from the porch.
He would be back at the house before Jocelyn arrived, he told himself.
