The Duchess and the Dragon (11 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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He couldn’t fault her the apprehension on her features. He raised his hand to his face, rubbed his jaw, looking at her. “I would dearly love to remove this beard. It itches.”
Serena’s relief was apparent in her escaped breath and shy smile. “I should like to see thee without it.” Then, as if realizing what she had disclosed, her eyes grew round and she clapped her hand over her mouth. His deep chuckle followed her as she turned and fled the room.
Drake leaned back, pondering this enchanting creature and her effect on him. She made him feel so . . . so . . .
He sat up, the blankets falling to his waist. She made him feel as no woman ever had. It was unaccountable. And yet, he could not deny the strange feelings flooding him.
Was it possible? Could he, for the first time in his life, be . . . in love? He swore softly at himself. The bleak reality was, it didn’t matter. He had nothing to offer her. He was a nothing, a nobody. Falling in love would not change that.
The door opened, and one of the other sisters came in with the shaving supplies. Apparently, Serena was still feeling shy.
“And which one are you?” Drake asked as pleasantly as possible, trying not to scare the pretty little thing away.
“Mercy, thy highness,” she said with a bright smile and a curtsy. “I am eight.”
Drake laughed out loud. He couldn’t help it. This household was full of imps, and a body just couldn’t settle into a good misery no matter how badly one wanted to.
“You mustn’t call me that.” He took a bite of the honeyed toast. “I am Mr. Winslow, or Drake even, and would be most pleased to hear you say it.”
She looked a little nonplussed, dumped the shaving supplies in his lap, and then complied in a sing-song voice. “Drake Even, Drake Even, Drake Even . . .”
“Cease!” He softened the order with a grin. “That’s enough for now, thank you. How would you like to sit and tell me all about your family? I’ve only spoken with a few of you, but I hear there are more.”
The child was thrilled with the idea of having his undivided attention and plopped down next to him on the side of the bed. “Wilt thou finish that toast, Drake? My mother won’t give me another crumb until noon, and I am very hungry.” She leaned close, every inch the conspirator. “They lock up the food or Mother says she would get nothing else done. I don’t really take her meaning though—it’s not as if
she
would be the one eating. I can surely get my own food from the cupboards. I
am
eight.”
Drake thought it wise to agree with the little sprite and handed her the rest of his breakfast. “You may have my toast, Mercy. Now, tell me about your sisters while I shave.”
Mercy nodded happily and took a giant bite. Without waiting to swallow, she proceeded. “Serena is the oldest, but then you have met her. She is like our father. He’s a silversmith. He makes beautiful things from silver. Serena, though, she likes to paint and makes the most wonderful pictures. Thou hast to come upstairs and see the walls; she has painted whole walls from floor to ceiling up there.”
Drake felt oddly proud. “What does she paint?”
“Oh, scapes, I think they call it, and animals and people and . . . anything. Sometimes she goes to the river and paints, or she might bring her pencils to one of the picnics and sketch the people there. She is a wonder with a pencil, sir.”
Being something of a connoisseur of the arts, Drake decided to suspend judgment until he could view her work, but he was undeniably curious. He waited for more information while little Mercy took another bite and chewed.
“Mary Ann is next. She is more like Mother, and Father says she’s full of mischief. I like to play paper dolls with her because she has the best imagination and says the funniest things and everyone has their own voices! She can even mimic Mrs. Crane—she is the meanest Friend—and it’s so funny when she does it. Then there is Hannah. Hannah likes to read and sew and play the harpsichord. We don’t have one, but our neighbors, the Lowrys, they let Hannah play theirs whenever she wants to. She helps out with their two boys, William and Charley. I hear they are ‘a real handful.’”
Drake tried not to grin as he carefully ran the sharp razor down the side of his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he had shaved himself, and it was proving a challenge. If not for the child on his bed, he’d be irritated by now. “Go on.” He nodded to her.
“Well, Rachel is next. She is ten. We get along most times.” Mercy sounded completely unconvinced. “I guess she is my closest sister.”
Drake laughed. “When you’re not fighting, that is?”
Mercy nodded and frowned. “She likes to boss me.”
Drake laughed again and then grimaced as a trickle of red ran from the soap and down his cheek. Holding his finger to the spot to stop the bleeding, he said, “And then there is you.”
“Yes. Can you believe Father had six girls? I know he would like a boy to help him in the shop, but he always says God gave him what he needed. But it does not seem that way. It seems like he needs a son.” She shrugged at the puzzle and abruptly switched topics. “I love the outdoors. Since it is winter and cold, I cannot go out much and Mother says that makes me agitated.” She shrugged. “But Christmas is coming soon and that will make up for having to stay indoors so much. Last, there is the baby, Lidy, who is really no baby at all. She is four and everybody loves her the best, which is fine, because she is the baby.”
Christmas. He’d forgotten Christmas was coming. His last few Christmases had been hectic with parties and the lavish gifts that brought gasps from his friends. Then there were the women—dark-eyed Louisa, golden Flora, and Kate, the sensual redhead from Ireland, to name a few—all hoping to become the next duchess. There were other Christmas memories, too. The deep scent of pine that filled the castle, decked out in all its glory for a season of entertaining. Even though his mother was long gone from them, his father had insisted on a sensational Christmas. If nothing else, they had agreed that it was good for their growing fortune. He remembered the self-congratulatory toasts between he and his father when another investor had succumbed to their combined brilliance. How proud his father had seemed in those moments, and how desperately he’d wanted to please him.
Now he knew. It was all a lie.
And it was gone. All of it. The glittering life, the belonging to a world of privilege and respect, the envy of most everyone around him. In an instant of cold awakening, Drake realized he’d reveled in their envy, thinking himself so much better than most of his acquaintances. Sickened, the razor suspended midair, he stared at the hollow-cheeked man in the mirror.
“Art thou well, sir? Might I get thee a drink of water?”
Drake struggled to bring himself back into the room with Mercy. Back to his new reality. “What a delightful family you have,” he said, but all the lightness was gone from his voice. He wiped off the last of the soap and studied his reflection in the small hand mirror. Who was this strained and thin creature peering back at him? He feared he no longer knew. But he didn’t like him. He looked weak . . .
Drake scowled at the pathetic reflection.
Mercy’s eyes grew as round as an owl’s. With a little screech, she fled the room.
Drake called out to her to apologize, but it was too late.
Pull yourself together, man! No sense frightening little children with your foul mood.
He was wiping the shaving supplies clean when Serena burst into the room.
“Good heav—” She froze, staring at him. “I . . . um . . .” She swallowed hard. “I heard Mercy scream.”
Drake shrugged. “Must have been my face. I do not think she liked it.”
“I cannot see why not.” Serena looked down and blushed again, but she didn’t run away this time.
“I’m afraid I can.” Drake answered back, hoping, wishing she would come into the room and talk to him, chase away these demons that haunted him.
Serena’s surprise shone in those wide eyes. “Thou must know.”
Drake motioned for her to come into the room. “Know what?”
Serena didn’t come any closer, but she did clasp her hands together and say to him, in her musical, lilting voice, “That thou art truly fearfully and wonderfully made.”
She left him then. Left him alone. But her words rang about the room—an entreaty, a proclamation, full and alive with hope. Drake smiled and let loose a shaky laugh. Once again, this woman, Serena Winter, a plain Quaker woman, had brought light to his heart.
Maybe . . . in this strange new world, she would prove his salvation.
Chapter Eight
What dost thou suppose he will think of meeting?”
Serena shushed Mary Ann, grateful her sister had whispered the question in her ear as the family rode in a wagon south along Second Street past Elfreth’s Alley where their father’s shop was located, toward the meetinghouse on Arch Street.
She glanced at the man in question from beneath her lashes. He was sitting on a rough wooden bench across from them looking big, vastly overdressed and out of place between her two youngest sisters. Just looking at him made her heartbeat double. “I do not know. He must think us odd.”
Mary Ann giggled, gaining the attention of those piercing, blue-gray eyes.
Serena inhaled as his gaze locked on hers and his voice, rich with amusement, asked, “Is there something I may assist you with, ladies?” One eyebrow rose as he stared down his nose at them.
Mary Ann giggled unrepentantly, while Serena turned pink. Clearing her throat, she managed. “We were wondering what thou might think of our meetings.”
Drake offered a brief smile and indolent shrug. Gad, the man was like a conceited blueblood! He reminded Serena of Lord Tinsley, one of her father’s most affluent customers. Except Lord Tinsley never made Serena’s blood pool and race, pool and race, in a repetitive cycle that left her dizzy as did this Englishman. How Serena wished she knew his secrets.
“I have never been to a meeting of the Friends, but of course I have heard of them and your founder, the famous George Fox. It should prove interesting.”
Serena chanced to see her mother’s shoulders shake in what could only be suppressed laughter and restrained her own smile. “I hope thou wilt enter into it with an open mind, sir.” Her voice was huskier than she liked with her family listening.
“Of course. A mind of studious and open intent.” He mocked her, his white teeth set in a patronizing smile.
Serena shook her head. “Oh, but thou must not
study
the meeting. Thou must just experience it.”
Drake laughed. “A woman’s advice, to be sure.” He turned toward the front of the wagon and her father’s back. “Mr. Winter, do you agree that a man of intelligence and of an analytical bent should lay all mental discernment aside and use emotions to judge such an event?”
Drake waited, a pleasant expression on his face, as the rest of the family held their breath in the wake of his challenge.
Serena’s father considered for a long moment and then said simply, “If it is possible. Sometimes the heart feels what the mind cannot comprehend.”
The family smiled, Serena’s heart bursting with joy.
Drake frowned. “Ah, the heart. And what if the heart is cold . . . stone even.” His voice was level and dead.
Serena’s father turned and stared at Drake. “Blessed are the
pure
in heart, for they shall see God.” He paused again, letting it sink into all of them. “And how might a hard heart become pure? Hearts can be broken and softened, with trials . . . and love.” Her father turned to look at them, his gaze resting briefly, thoughtfully, on Serena’s upturned face, and then he turned back, lightly slapping the reigns.
Serena looked down into her lap, cheeks burning. She couldn’t look at him, not after what her father just implied. Why had he done it? Her parents would hardly sanction a union between her and the dark stranger now living with them.
When they reached the wide, windswept yard of the meetinghouse, Serena stood from her wagon seat, gathering her coat around her, eyes still glued to the gray floorboards of the wagon. She was about to climb over the edge and jump down as she always did when a long-fingered hand reached into her line of sight. Looking up into his eyes, she couldn’t help the answering smile while she put her hand in his elegantly gloved one as he helped her down. He then offered his arm and she took it, though she knew it was wrong, that it would give rise to all sorts of questions from the Friends.

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