Duke of a Gilded Age (36 page)

“In fact, Caisteal Park has its own vineyard and winery,” Lady Frederic said.

Wesley’s eyebrows rose. “I’m a vintner too?”

“The winery was your father’s favorite part of the estate.”

Ancient, stately oak trees towered over the long driveway to Wesley’s new home. His jaw dropped at his first glimpse of the four-story stone house, modeled after a French Renaissance chateau. The gabled gray slate roof, tinted green by the oxidized copper trim, set off the warm ochre of the stone beautifully. On the front lawn, a round reflecting pool accented the lengthy expanse of emerald grass. Beyond the house, Wesley spied rolling hills covered with rows of grapevines. To one side, a huge manicured garden beckoned his eye with a dazzling display of brightly colored flowers.
I own this place? Impossible!

“I didn’t envision Caisteal Park being quite this grand,” he said.

“It’s an absolutely magnificent property,” Lady Frederic said. “I visited here several times while your father and I were courting, and it hasn’t changed a bit.”

When the carriage pulled up to the entranceway, an elderly woman and a formally attired butler emerged from the house.

“Oh my heavens, that woman is Mrs. Blount!” Lady Frederic whispered. “I would’ve thought she’d be retired by now. She was the housekeeper when Frederic’s papa was the duke.”

“I hope she’s not expecting to see Father,” he said.

“No. Mr. Oakhurst sent the staff a cable about us from New York, so he said.”

After a liveried footman opened the carriage door, Wesley and his mother stepped onto the courtyard. As he alit, Wesley suddenly felt awkward.
What am I supposed to say?
He cleared his throat.

“Hello. I’m the Duke of Mansbury, and this is my mother Lady Frederic.”

The smartly attired man bowed. “Welcome to Caisteal Park, milady and Your Grace. I’m Ulrick, the Head Butler.”

Mrs. Blount curtsied. “Welcome home, Your Grace. And it’s lovely to see you again, milady.”

“It’s wonderful to be back, Mrs. Blount,” Lady Frederic said.

Under the watchful eyes of the fearsome gargoyles protruding from the building, the large staff assembled in the courtyard to meet the new duke and his mother. After the first few introductions, however, Wesley gave up trying to remember everyone’s name.
I’ll have to ask Mrs. Blount for a list!

After Ulrick dismissed the staff to return to their duties, Mrs. Blount gave Wesley and Lady Frederic a very brief tour of the house. As Wesley wandered through the numerous rooms and corridors that made up his new home, he was increasingly impressed with the complicated tapestries, polished woodwork, and elegantly carved limestone pillars he saw at every turn.

“Mrs. Blount, how many rooms are there?” he asked.

“Near two hundred rooms, not including broom closets and the like. There are also fifty fireplaces and two separate kitchens and dining rooms.”

“Why two separate kitchens and dining rooms?” he asked.

“One for the family and one for the staff, sir.”

The tour ended up in the library, where Mrs. Blount showed Wesley and Lady Frederic the portrait of the Ninth Duke of Mansbury posing with his sons Septimus and Frederic. Wesley’s eyes lingered on his father’s image for a few minutes before settling on his uncle’s visage.

“So that was old Ebenezer Scrooge?” Wesley murmured. “I wonder if his mortal chains weigh a great deal?”

“Wesley!” Lady Frederic exclaimed.

Fortunately, the housekeeper was slightly hard of hearing. “Beg pardon, sir?”

“Never mind, Mrs. Blount.” Wesley asked. A growling noise emanated from underneath his waistcoat. “Er…when is the dinner hour?”

“The former master always had his dinner at seven o’clock.”

“After tonight, may we have it at six?”

“Certainly. Why don’t I send tea trays to your rooms now, if you like?”

“That sounds wonderful, Mrs. Blount,” Lady Frederic said. “Let’s meet tomorrow about menus and household matters. I’m too exhausted to think right now.”

“Cavendish and Mrs. Neal will be arriving with our luggage at any moment, if they aren’t already here,” Wesley said. “If you could make them both welcome, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Wesley and Lady Frederic followed the housekeeper up the winding grand staircase leading to the uppermost floors. As he climbed, Wesley admired the fanciful iron chandelier hanging in the entry hall, featuring twenty-six gaslights. Although the house was a marvel of magnificence, a queer feeling of loneliness suddenly descended over him.
It’s easy to feel small and isolated in a place this size
, he thought.
Perhaps that’s why Septimus Parker became so cross.

Mrs. Blount showed Lady Frederic to her beautiful suite of rooms first, and then escorted Wesley to his, which was in an entirely separate wing of the house.

“I’d like to extend my condolences on the loss of your father,” she said. “Frederic Parker was always the kind one in the family. Perhaps it’s not right to say so, but he was always my favorite.”

Wesley averted his eyes. “Thank you, Mrs. Blount. I certainly wish he were here.”

Mrs. Blount pushed the double doors to his suite wide open. “I’ll send a maid up with your tea directly,” she said before heading off.

Wesley explored his luxurious rooms with a sense of wonderment, but despite all the elegance and beauty, something seemed to be lacking.
What’s missing here at Caisteal Park is the presence of Belle Oakhurst.

Ordinarily, Belle would have been thrilled to see the two-story gray stone cottage and orchard she’d called home all her life, but she was too concerned with her father’s well-being to think about much else. After she made sure he was resting comfortably in his room with a cup of tea, she went into the library to sort through the raft of correspondence that had arrived in the last month. There were several official-looking letters for her father, several bills to be paid, a few invitations to answer, and a letter from her aunt, Mrs. Meg Mills. Belle opened her aunt’s letter first; in it, Aunt Meg invited her to London to shop for her trousseau. Belle frowned, suddenly forlorn. How much happier would the occasion be if she were to marry Wesley! Instead, the idea of marriage to Errol was beginning to feel like she was knotting rope for a noose.

The doorbell rang, and Belle groaned.
Can’t I be left alone for just a few minutes?
The housekeeper appeared in the doorway shortly thereafter.

“Sir Errol, miss.”

Belle’s heart sank. “Show him into the drawing room, please, Mrs. Beveridge, and bring tea.”

She forced a smile to her lips as she crossed the hallway. Errol was posed next to the fireplace in a fetching manner. He wore his smartest jacket, a ruffled front shirt, and cream-colored pants that tucked into fine leather boots. His wavy brown locks were brushed back off his face, and he had never appeared more romantic. Belle felt her shoulders relax.
You see? Now that he’s here you’ll fall in love with him all over again.

Errol smiled as she entered the room. “Annabelle!”

“How kind of you to call, Errol. We’ve only just arrived home.”

“You’re more beautiful than I remember,” he said. “Travel agrees with you.”

He took both her hands in his and bestowed a lingering kiss on her cheek.

“I’ve just ordered tea, Errol. I hope you’ll stay?”

“Certainly. From your letters, I rather expected you back yesterday afternoon.”

“We were delayed. Oh, Errol, so much has happened!”

Mrs. Beveridge rolled in the tea cart, which held a pot of tea, two cups and saucers, lemon, sugar, a platter of sliced cake, and a tray of small sandwiches.

“Thank you, Mrs. Beveridge. Can you take some sandwiches to my father?” Belle asked.

“Yes, miss.”

As the housekeeper left, Belle poured the tea and began to narrate events from when the
City of New York
weighed anchor in the North River until it reached Liverpool, leaving out those details which would only lead to awkward questions.

“Your poor father,” Errol said, shaking his head. “I imagine he’ll need a great deal of rest over the next week or so. We’ll do our best to make him happy, won’t we?”

“I’m determined he should focus all his energy on getting better.”

“In your first letter from America, you described Wesley Parker as little better than a street urchin,” Errol said. “Now, Annabelle, you shouldn’t have rushed to judgment, especially since the young duke has revealed himself as a remarkable sort of person.”

A feeling of relief flowed through Belle.
It will make things so much nicer if Errol and Wesley become friendly.

“You’re quite right, Errol, and I’m ashamed of what I wrote,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll like His Grace very much. He’s only a few years younger than you are, so you should have many of the same interests.”

Errol’s liquid gray eyes caressed her face. “I’m quite certain we do. I’ll call on him tomorrow.”

“That would be most kind.” Pleased, Belle poured Errol more tea, and added two lumps of sugar. “Now, tell me what you’ve been doing since I’ve been away.”

In response, Errol rose from his chair, came to sit next to Belle on the narrow love seat, and took her hand in his. “I’ve missed you so very much, Annabelle.”

He leaned in and gave her a gentle kiss. His lips moved from her mouth, across her cheek, and down her neck with increasing passion.

“Errol, this is improper!”

“Is it improper for a man so much in love to express his feelings to his fiancée? Annabelle, I’m going to apply for a license from the clergyman tomorrow. It’s time to set a date for the wedding.”

Belle was taken aback. “But…we’ve no wedding ring.”

Errol fished a ring out of his vest pocket. “Will this suit you, my love?”

The gold ring featured an enormous round cut diamond, with smaller diamonds clustered all around like the petals of a clear, sparkling flower.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, quite truthfully.

He slipped it onto Belle’s finger and resumed his caresses. She closed her eyes and found with very little effort she was able to imagine Wesley’s arms around her and Wesley’s lips stirring her emotions. So complete was her fantasy, that when Errol whispered her name, she was brought to her senses with a shock.
This isn’t right!
Flushed and embarrassed, she pushed him back.

“I’m sorry, Errol, but I—”

“My ardor increases every moment. Don’t make me wait, my love,” he said. “Let’s marry as soon as may be.”

“Errol, I can’t marry you!”

In the shocked silence that followed, Belle jumped to her feet, pulled the ring off her finger and set it down next to Errol’s teacup.

“Forgive me, but my travels have given me a different perspective. To accept your proposal was a hasty, youthful mistake, and done without malice. Although I continue to hold you in the highest regard, I find I can’t marry you.”

Errol’s face was impassive as he rose and straightened his clothes.

“Oh, I think you’ll find you can.”

Belle peered at him, confused. “Did you not hear me? My feelings forbid it.”

“Do your feelings forbid a breach of promise lawsuit?”

If Errol had slapped her full across the face, she couldn’t have been more shocked. “You wouldn’t!”

“Said lawsuit would cause quite a scandal and cost your father a great deal of money he doesn’t have. You see, while you were gone, I was rather curious how a country lawyer of modest means could afford to bring his daughter with him to America. I discovered he took out a mortgage on this house.”

“You’re lying.”

“Indeed I’m not. I performed a search on the property, and the mortgage showed up as a cloud on the title. Your father is in debt, Annabelle, and is therefore ill-equipped to pay a legal judgment which would surely accrue in my favor.”

Belle backed away as Errol drew closer, until the wall prevented any further retreat. He insinuated his body full against hers.