The Duke's Daughter (19 page)

‘You go and attend to your toilette, I shall bring in the wood,’ he said.

After bringing in several baskets of wood, Avery turned in for bed. He was pleased with himself. He had managed to carry the baskets without dropping them or giving himself a handful of splinters.

Lucy had placed several large logs on the fire and was now seated in the big leather armchair nearest to the warmth. With a book in her hand, it was obvious she intended to stay up for a good deal longer.

As his hand settled on the door handle to close the bedroom door, Avery stilled. He was always closing Lucy out of his life. So ingrained had it become, he hadn’t realised until now the message it constantly sent.

He left the door ajar. Not entirely welcoming, but at least a little way open. He climbed into bed, and most unusually for him of late, quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Once Avery left the room and headed to his bed, Lucy opened the book and settled in for the long night ahead.

She sat staring at the pages of
Mansfield Park
, unconsciously listening to Avery’s breathing as it slowed and became a soft snore. Much as she was enjoying it, she couldn’t concentrate.

Finally she closed the book and put it down.

The logs in the fireplace still burned brightly, enhancing the growing clarity in her mind. Tonight, she felt she had finally caught a glimpse of the real Avery Fox. The shame he expressed over his ownership of the pocket watch was real.

He certainly wasn’t like his late brother. Thaxter, in her opinion, had been a shadow. A man always lurking on the edge of being seen. Darting out of sight when others caught a glimpse of the real Thaxter Fox.

She sighed. It was so very wrong to think, let alone speak, ill of the dead. Even of someone like Thaxter.

Lucy rose from the chair, intent on making a fresh brew of coffee. The rain of the late afternoon had awakened her senses. She could hear it still raining heavily on the roof of the lodge. It left her restless and unwilling to seek the comfort of sleep.

As she passed into the kitchen, she noticed Avery had left his pocket watch on the table.

She picked it up, taking the time to admire the intricate engraving work on the back of the case. With a deft flick of her fingers, the case opened.

A gasp escaped her lips and she hurriedly looked to the doorway, half expecting that at any moment Avery would suddenly appear and demand she hand over his most prized possession.

It was odd to now know that it wasn’t in truth his.

At first the inside of the watch looked much like others she had seen before, but an added feature soon caught her eye. It had three faces, not just one. At the top left was a white face, numbered from one to thirty-one. The face opposite it, to the right, had the months marked out.

‘Aren’t you a clever little piece of work: a watch that shows the date as well as the time,’ she said.

She frowned when she saw the watch movements were stopped.

‘I wonder if I can get you to work again,’ she mused.

Carefully placing pressure on the back of the watch, she prised it open. Engraved elegantly across the bottom was the word
Vacheron
.

More importantly, inside the watch was engraved a name.

P Rochet.

She smiled.

‘I always knew your provenance, little watch. You come from Paris, if I am not mistaken. And now I know you once belonged to Monsieur Rochet.’

Her cousin William Saunders had sported a Vacheron watch very similar to this one when he recently visited from France. It was an exquisite watch, something that no simple foot soldier would have been expected to own. Who was P Rochet, to have taken such an expensive timepiece into battle with him?

A thrill of excitement tingled her fingers. One thing she knew for certain, Vacheron watches were made specifically for individual clients. If Avery wanted to know for whom the watch had been made, he could easily write to the watchmaker.

And then what?

With one last look at the frozen time on the watch faces, she closed the case and set the pocket watch back down on the table. This was Avery’s watch, and if he chose to discover the identity of the man he had been compelled to kill that was entirely his choice.

Surely he must have taken the opportunity at some point to remove the back of the watch and see who had made it. Or had he? Men were odd creatures at times, when it came to their possessions. Perhaps knowing the name of the former owner would mean nothing to him.

When finally the water on the stove was hot enough to make coffee, she poured herself a cup. Taking her place once more by the fireside, she sat savouring the mellow brew while contemplating the conversation of earlier that evening.

It was sad to think that holding his gloved hand in hers might be the closest they would ever get to one another.

‘You are a silly girl, Lucy. You promised you wouldn’t fall in love with him, and look what you have gone and done,’ she chided herself.

If only falling out of love was so easy.

The pain she felt every time he looked at her wasn’t simply from longing to be a real wife. She wanted him to like her. If love was an impossible dream, perhaps this was the best she could hope for in a husband.

She had never thought love would be so hard. Her brothers were both settled into happy, love-filled marriages. Why then was she left to scramble in the dust for what little favour the gods had shown her?

Perhaps Avery was right: they should separate. She closed her eyes as her mind whirled in a turmoil of self-doubt. She doubted Avery cared much for the Langham title. If it passed on to another distant relative or the crown after he was dead it would matter nought to him. Even if they did remain married in name, he most certainly would not seek her out to provide him with an heir.

‘Perhaps I could become one of those scandalous wives who takes lovers every day,’ she muttered to the flames in the fireplace. ‘Or I could just die an old maid.’

She walked back into the kitchen and after slipping the simple band of gold from her finger, she placed it next to Avery’s pocket watch. Perhaps it was time to let him go.

She stood staring at the ring for a moment before turning and heading toward the kitchen door. She was almost through the doorway when she stopped.

‘No.’

She raced quickly back to the table and snatched up the ring, putting it firmly back on her finger.

If their time at the Key ended in failure, it would not be through her lack of trying.

‘Our second day at the Key and the weather looks fine. We should try and get out and take in the lake. I plan to catch a fish for our supper. Perhaps you could bring your sketchbook with you, and draw,’ Lucy said.

Avery nodded, but inwardly he cursed. They were locked in this interminable conversation of agreeing with each other over the most minor of matters, all the while watching the slow destruction of their union. Neither one seemed able to break free and be honest with themselves or the other.

If it were due to them being stubborn, which he knew they both were, somehow they would find a way. But the fact that they both seemed unable to change their minds about ending their marriage kept them on the same never-ending road.

Over the course of the previous day, he had thought of nothing else but Lucy. How selfish he had been toward her. The barren existence she would be condemned to live long after their divorce. He should be kissing her senseless rather than discussing drawing pictures of the rocks and mountain scenery.

He stifled a wry grin. After all that had happened, how odd it was that he should be the one trying to think of ways to salvage their marriage. Frustrated that they could not break through to each other.

A little while later Avery followed Lucy along the rough path which led down to the side of the lake. She pointed out a small stone bench.

‘Stephen often sits there and reads when he comes up here with Papa. I think you will find it a perfect place to sit and sketch. You will be able to get a good outline of the tor as the midday sun crosses over the top.’

She pointed toward the sharp, ragged outcrop which towered over the Key.

‘And what about you; won’t I disturb your fishing?’ he replied.

‘No, I shall be on over the other side of the lake, there are a couple of good shady spots where the fish like to hide. I never fail to land at least one good catch.’

As Lucy headed off further around the lake Avery stood and watched her go, trying to etch her shapely figure permanently into his mind. The opportunities to enjoy her finely turned out female form were becoming fewer by the hour. If they kept on this same path, in a day or so they would be gone from the Key. Lucy to France and him to Edinburgh. Never the twain to meet.

‘Just say something to her, for God’s sake; stop her from leaving. You know that this is not what she wants,’ he muttered angrily to himself.

Avery sat down heavily on the bench, surprised at this turn of events. Finally admitting that he didn’t want to lose Lucy was the latest in a journey of self-discovery which had started the moment he arrived at the castle.

Across the lake, Lucy waved to him. She pointed toward the high rock face behind him. Avery looked up at the huge, sheer rock wall. The colours were incredible. Whoever said Scotland was a barren and harsh place had not beheld the magnificence of its wild colour palette.

He returned Lucy’s wave, while muttering to himself, ‘I should have accepted those paints from Clarice. Black and white sketches do nothing to show the beauty of this place.’

A low rumble in the distance signalled that another storm would be upon them some time later in the afternoon. Avery took out his graphite pencil and began to sketch the scene.

He squinted, trying to get an accurate picture. After a few minutes he closed his eyes and tried to rest his mind. Years of practice had taught him the need to relax before his creative side could take over. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at the paper.

What had started out as a rough outline of the tor had unmistakeably become the shapely leg of a naked woman. He smiled. Whether by conscious design or not, his muse had decided it much preferred to draw Lucy than the wilds of the Scottish countryside.

He was not fool enough to challenge his creative desires, even if he suspected it was a certain part of his anatomy which was effectively in control. Putting pencil to paper once more, he added in the outline of a well-formed buttock. Soon he was lost in lust-induced concentration, creating a detailed likeness of his wife.

A fat, heavy raindrop landed firmly on the page, stirring him.

He lifted his head. The palette of the mountain had transformed from reds and light browns into dark charcoal grey. The sky was near-black. Over the top of the tor, heavy clouds now threatened.

He stood up. Across the lake, Lucy was at the water’s edge, struggling to land a fish. She had her net in one hand and her rod tucked up under her arm. She was completely oblivious to the oncoming storm.

‘Lucy!’ he bellowed, but his words were lost on the quickly rising wind.

The odd raindrop now became a steady shower. Bigger storm clouds loomed behind those which were bringing the first of the rain. Within minutes the whole lakeside would be under a heavy rainfall.

Lucy had still not noticed the rain or if she had, she was intent on landing her catch before she sought shelter. Avery quickly closed his sketchbook and tucked it into his coat pocket.

‘Bloody woman,’ he swore, as he hurried around the lake toward her.

It was a lot further than he had anticipated. By the time he reached Lucy’s side, the storm was upon them. Vicious winds now raced across the lake, chopping its surface as they came.

‘Come out of there! Leave the fish!’ he commanded. He reached out and tried to take the net from her hand. She pulled away, her gaze fixed firmly on the net and the fish.

She elbowed Avery’s arm away. ‘Let go, I’ve nearly got him! Here, you take the rod.’

The rain now soaked through Avery’s hat. Lucy’s hair was plastered to her head. Within minutes they would both be soaked to the skin. The quicker they landed the fish the sooner they could head back to the safety of the lodge.

Avery took the rod, knowing that Lucy was not going to let go of her catch.

She hitched up her skirts and put a foot into the water. At that moment, he was sorely tempted to put an arm around her waist and hoist her out of the water and over his shoulder. No fish was worth catching your death of cold.

He then caught his first glimpse of the fish on the end of the line and quickly changed his mind. It was a huge brown trout. He pulled a little harder on the line, drawing the fish closer to the water’s edge.

She grabbed a handful of her soaking wet hair and pulled it behind her neck. Then with as much skill as he had seen in the best of army fishermen, she put the net under the fish and slowly lifted it out of the water. Her arms shook with the effort of landing such a large beast.

As he watched his wife struggle with the net, Avery saw Lucy in a new light. She was utterly drenched, but he could see she was determined to bring home her catch. She drew the net closer to the bank, patiently allowing the fish to use its weight to help her land it. When the net was within his reach, Avery tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the net. She nodded. She had their catch under control.

Avery tossed aside the fishing rod and grabbed the wicker fishing basket. He flipped open the lid and came back to help her with the net. Working together, they lifted and dropped the fish inside the basket.

‘Huzzah!’ she cried, lifting her arms in exultation as the fish landed with a loud plop.

Avery laughed. It had taken all of their combined stubborn, self-reliant strength to bring the fish in. Neither of them could have managed it on their own.

‘Well done, Lucy! Now, can we go before we catch our death out here?’ he cried, vainly trying to be heard above the wind.

She blinked hard at him and lifted her gaze to the sky.

A look of shock appeared on her face. She had not noticed the storm until now.

‘We have to get out of here now!’ she yelled.

Lucy snatched up the rod and net, while Avery grabbed hold of the basket. Together they ran back along the path.

The wind and driving rain hampered their retreat. The ground underfoot quickly turned into a dangerous slippery quagmire. Lucy fell at one point, crashing to her knees. As she struggled to get to her feet, Avery put his arm around her waist and pulled her upright.

‘Come on,’ he urged.

Hand in hand they made the perilous trip back to the lodge.