Just as soon as I can gain control of that castle and get my revolutionaries moved in. Then we will party you right on into the bog where that Sally Ann should have stayed.
Chapter 28
The Duchess swept grandly into her apartments, bringing with her an aroma of horses, heather, and hay, and something else that Celeste could not quite identify.
“I am completely soiled,” she announced. “I will bathe before I dress for dinner with my esteemed husband.”
“Your Grace just bathed this morning. Perhaps a little light freshening up? Too much water could dry your skin . . .”
“I willbathe,”the Duchess said. “See to it girl, and be quick about it. I’m surprised that you do not have my bath ready.”
Celeste bowed her head in acquiescence and stepped to the door to bespeak the canisters of water. While they waited, she helped the Duchess from her riding habit and into her bathing chemise. When the bath water arrived and Her Grace was settled into it, Celeste set about selecting a gown and accessories for her.
“Will you have the white wool or the blue, Your Grace?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said carelessly, “I’m only dining with my husband tonight. I don’t need to dress up especially for him.”
What an odd notion. Mama always tried to put on something special for Papa, even when we were tramping through fields. It might have only been a field daisy, but she always added a little something.
“Very well, Your Grace. I will lay out the blue, and do your hair up in soft curls. It will be comfortable and easy.”
“Comfortable would be very nice,” the Duchess commented. “Now, if you would help me from my bath, I am ready to get dressed for dinner.”
Astonished by the pleasant compliance, Celeste helped the Duchess from the deep bath, and assisted her with exchanging the dripping bathing robe for a soft dressing robe, and began drying her luxuriant locks.
More than an hour later, the Duchess was dressed and her hair done in an artless Grecian knot of curls. The blue wool dinner gown’s high waist emphasized her figure and the blue brought out the bright blue of her eyes.
When Celeste opened the door at the Duke’s light tap, she was gratified to see approval on his face.
“You look lovely, Margery,” he said, offering the Duchess his arm. “I believe that the cook has prepared a surprise for you tonight.”
“Today went well, then?” she smiled up at him.
“It went well enough.” The Duke bent his head toward the Duchess, smiling at her. They went on down the hall, chatting amiably.
As she closed the door behind them, Celeste sighed. She had no right to be jealous of the Duchess, but felt a little stab of envy all the same. The Duke had looked tired, but even so he cut a handsome figure as he walked down the hall. He was dressed simply, as might a country gentleman about to dine with his wife. Even so, the cut of his dinner coat was impeccable, and his broad shoulders needed no padding to fill it out. His breeches fitted neatly at the knee, and the plain stockings revealed calves that were well developed from walking and other exercises above trim, but modest, buckled shoes.
How could the Duchess not admire such a man? Even though he wore his hair shoulder length and did not powder it or wear a wig as was the current mode, Celeste could find no fault in him. Nor could she fault his behavior which was that of a gentleman in every instance that she could recall. Whatever Miss Sedgewick might say of slippery slopes, she was confident that she could trust the Duke to always do not only the correct thing, but engage in actions that were both kind and moral.
More’s the pity, said a nasty little voice at the back of her mind.For he’ll not ask of you or any of the household what so many gentlemen require of their feminine staff. Which means you have no hope with him at all.
Celeste gave her head a shake to dislodge such immoral and disloyal thoughts and turned her attention to putting the chambers to rights.
Chapter 29
Mr. McOwen brushed and sponged the last of the bog mire off Gertrude. Crouched beside her, he examined her carefully to make sure she had taken no harm from her night’s adventuring. She had done her duty valiantly for the Duke and Mr. McAhmladhson, and had accompanied Mr. McOwen on subsequent searches.
Gertrude shook herself, and put her cold nose against his neck, just above his neckcloth. “Yes, you are a good girl,” he told her. “You did a fine job finding the lost lassie.
She gave his cheek a polite lick, then sat back, her head cocked to one side. “Well, let’s go see to that other matter while Her Grace is unlikely to be up and about. No good tipping the Duke’s hand in this. But it might be a good thing to know who was having a bit of fun under the old willow, if there’s any way to find out.”
Gertrude shook herself, settling her silky coat, then looked up at the hound master with a doggie grin, her tongue lolling out of one side of her mouth.
Mr. McOwen went to the stables, with the hound trotting happily at his heels. She was an active beast, always glad of a run even after working as she recently had the last few days. He got out the mare who was reserved for his use, and rode up to the mountain side of the bridge. He then got out one of the Duchess’s soiled handkerchiefs and held it in front of Gertrude’s nose.
Gertrude happily lolloped over to the big tree, whuffled around it a few times, then sat down. She looked at him as if to say, “All right, she was here. Now what?”
Mr. McOwen looked around under the big tree. It’s drooping fronds were thick enough to hide anyone who might come in under it. It was apparent from the number of footprints as well as hoofprints that is was a favorite trysting place. There was a place where the ferns were flattened as if something heavy had been placed over the top of them. A saddle blanket perhaps?
