Aislinn Blaydon held one hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs as she stood in the doorway to the nursery for the last time. Fern and Ivy were sound asleep, looking like the little angels that they were, and the idea of never seeing them again was doing more than breaking her heart. There wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t hurting, aching, and her heart itself had been completely shattered.
‘I’m sorry, Aislinn, but it’s time,’ Christopher said.
‘I know,’ she replied, with a sniffle and sob that she couldn’t smother. Percy Carlisle and his wife, Hazel, the new Duke and Duchess of Havenbrook, had ordered that she leave the house before sunrise. Christopher was only doing his job. The kind-hearted, grey-haired man had been the main butler at Havenbrook long before she’d arrived four years ago, shortly after the twins had been born.
It had been her first job, her only job, having been sent there as a temporary governess, because twins had been a surprise for the late Duke and Duchess, and they wanted to make sure the girls had equal care.
‘I expressed it would be proper to provide transport,’ Christopher whispered. ‘It was declined.’
‘It’s all right.’ She had no idea where she was going, so a ride wouldn’t do her much good. No one would hire her as a governess. She’d been told that she would not be provided with a recommendation, and that Mrs Hall, who had trained her to be a governess and still oversaw the orphanage, would be informed that she was not fit to be around children.
Pushing the burning air out of her lungs, Aislinn closed the nursery door and picked up the single tapestry satchel that held her meagre belongings. For four years, she’d been provided uniforms, but had been instructed to leave them behind. Ella, the housekeeper, had given her the black skirt and white blouse she wore, and provided one other set of clothing, as well as the satchel. Otherwise, she’d be walking away in her under-things.
‘You will send word?’ Christopher asked as he took her elbow, walked her down the hallway.
Talking was hard. Her throat felt clogged. Her nose was plugged and tears were dripping from her eyes. ‘I will...’ she got out. She was going to add try, but hadn’t been able to say more.
‘I will see to their welfare, I promise you,’ he whispered.
She nodded, knowing he would. That was her only saving grace—if she had one, she wasn’t overly sure—that all of the servants were wonderful, caring people. Well, most of them, less those that had been brought to Havenbrook when Percy and Hazel had arrived. She would never fully embrace the fact that they were now the Duke and Duchess.
They were nothing like their predecessors, who had tragically died three months ago. If she hadn’t witnessed their illnesses and deaths, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. They had all been in London. The Duke and Duchess had attended a ball and came down sick shortly thereafter. Other guests of the ball did, too. It was determined to be food poisoning, but that conclusion came too late. A total of twenty people had already died.
‘They are waiting at the bottom of the stairs,’ Christopher whispered. ‘I can say no more, other than, stay close to the hedge.’
She nodded, understanding that he wouldn’t be allowed to speak to her in front of the Duke and Duchess. He’d probably been told to make her walk around the hedge to keep her away from the front of the house.
Percy Carlisle, with his narrow, squinting eyes, and his wife, Hazel, with her permanently pursed lips, were standing at the bottom of the servant stairs. They glared at her as Christopher escorted her off the steps.
A not-so-subtle clearing of a throat made her kneel into a passive curtsey. Even though her entire being wanted to defy them, she knew her place and remained like that, head down, until the sound of an insufferable sigh told her she could move.
She straightened, and Christopher continued to escort her down the hall to the back door.
The crisp, fresh morning air provided no relief to the pain consuming her, and the closing of the door behind her echoed through her as if she’d been struck.
She let out a shaky breath and kept walking, past the vegetable garden and clotheslines. As she approached the hedge, which was trimmed tall enough to hide the clothesline from anyone coming up the long driveway, the tears gushing from her eyes blurred everything.
At the sound of her name, whispered quietly, Aislinn quickly wiped one eye, then the other, to clear her vison. Dawn was barely breaking, and it took a moment before she spied Victoria hiding in the leaves of the hedge. The dark-haired kitchen maid was close to her own age, and the two of them spent their free time together whenever possible. Although, free time for any of the staff had practically disappeared since the new Duke and Duchess had arrived.
‘Open your satchel,’ Victoria whispered, holding a bundle in her arms. ‘It’s food. Enough to last a couple of days.’
Aislinn hadn’t given food a single thought. She truly didn’t care if she ate or not.
‘Hurry,’ Victoria whispered.
The maid would be in terrible trouble if discovered, and that alone was enough to make Aislinn quickly open her bag for Victoria to drop the towel-wrapped bundle inside.
‘We are all so sorry,’ Victoria said. ‘Caldwell deserved to be scolded.’
Aislinn shook her head. ‘It wasn’t my place to scold him.’ Percy and Hazel’s son was very troublesome and at seven, was too old to be constantly picking on Fern and Ivy. She was so afraid that one day he might seriously hurt one of the twins. She shouldn’t say anything, but what more could happen to her? ‘Please warn the new governess about how devious he can be to the girls.’
‘We all will,’ Victoria replied, ‘and we’ll keep an eye on him, keep him away from the girls until your replacement arrives. Go now, they are probably watching from a window and will expect you to step onto the road any minute.’
‘Thank you,’ Aislinn said and hurried away, walking fast to the hedge, then slowing her pace as she left the shelter of the bushes and crossed the lawn to the driveway.
She sincerely hoped that a new governess would be hired, but feared that might not happen. The new Duke and Duchess had arrived at Havenbrook with a tutor to see to their son’s care, although they called him Caldwell’s man. Mr Horton was a portly man, with dark bushy eyebrows, who touted his tutoring members of the royal family.
Fern and Ivy were afraid of him, and the idea of him taking care of them had the tears gushing forth again, blinding her. Not that it mattered. There wouldn’t be anyone on the road for at least four miles.
Lying on his back beneath an umbrella of tree branches, fingers laced behind his head, Luke Carlisle watched the sun come up, signalling a new day.
The day.
The day he arrived home. Although, he no longer thought of this as home.
He hadn’t stepped foot in Havenbrook for over eight years.
He could have arrived at the house last night, slept in a bed instead of on the ground, but he hadn’t wanted to. Truth was, he didn’t want to arrive at all.
Strike that.
He wasn’t ready to arrive there.
He would be one day, when he’d amassed a fortune, a diverse fortune, that would make his brother Percy squirm.
No, Percy had always been a squirmer. A sneak, too.
Luke’s fortune would enrage him.
Luke sighed.
Strike that, too.
Percy had been enraged at him for years.
His success would make Percy green with envy.
Luke grinned, letting out a satisfied sigh. Percy had always been jealous, but his face usually turned red. Seeing it green would be a sight.
Another sigh escaped. One that held no satisfaction. Not because he hadn’t amassed his fortune—not all of it yet—but because the reason he was stepping foot in Havenbrook again was that his brother, his oldest brother—the good one—Rowland, was dead.
That was still so hard to believe.
Rowland was—had been—as different from Percy as night and day. His oldest brother had been the salt of the earth. A man liked by everyone, other than Percy. Percy hated everyone except himself, and perhaps his wife, Hazel. The two of them deserved each other. Two peas in a pod, they were.
Actually, they were like two snakes in a den.
Rattlers.
There had been times when he and Percy had got along while growing up, their headbutting nothing more than sibling rivalry. But once Percy had married Hazel, it was as if his lifelong resentment about being born second had increased tenfold. Marriage changed men, that was a given, and it certainly had brought out the worst in Percy.
Luke’s stomach growled and, giving it a rub, he sat up, looking around. He was on Havenbrook property, so if he found anything to eat, it wouldn’t be stealing. There used to be a couple of plum trees along the road. Big, purple plums that had been juicy and sweeter than sugar itself. He’d eaten plenty of them back in the day, however those trees were closer to the house.
He had stopped here yesterday evening after turning off the main road, knowing the road beside where he sat was nothing more than a four-mile-long driveway.
The spot that he’d chosen to spend the night was next to a little pool formed by the stream, which is where he’d caught a fish before the sun went down last evening. While doing that, and cooking his catch on a stick over a fire, he’d thought of Rowland. How the two of them had gone fishing, more than once, over the years. Caught a fish, cooked it over a fire. They’d done things like that together, because Rowland knew that Luke liked being outside, having adventures. Even simple ones.
Though his oldest brother had been eight years older than him, a mere thirty-four years old at the time of his death, Rowland had been his best friend growing up.
Luke slapped the ground. Rowland would still have been his best friend if he was alive.
Death was a part of life. He knew that. His parents had tragically died within months of each other shortly after his eighteenth birthday, eight years ago.
But that was also when his life had begun. A life that he was in charge of, one he created for himself. Full of adventure and freedom. None of which he’d had here. Nor would he have had, if he’d stayed.
He wouldn’t be here long. Once he got things in order, he’d head home. His home. The ranch in Montana Territory that he’d purchased three years ago. The place where he’d found a life he loved, because he never knew what adventures a new day would bring.
That wasn’t the case here. Every day had been the same, and it had driven him crazy. He had no doubt it would do so again.
After giving his head a good scalp scratching, he grabbed his hat—not an English one, an American one, with a wide brim and indented crown—and plopped it on his head. He also pulled on his boots. Again, not wellingtons. His leather boots were American, too. They had heels created to hook onto wide wooden stirrups, helping a man stay seated in the saddle while chasing down an errant cow—a maverick—or herding cattle up by the dozen.
Luke stood, stepped out from under the canopy of the ash tree where he’d taken shelter for the night and, while stretching his arms and legs, gave the expansive driveway a good, long look.
A look that grew even longer when a small dot far ahead began to take shape. The sun had yet to chase away the morning haze rising up from the ground, but that was a person on the road. Walking. He folded his arms and watched, waited, until he could make out more.
From where he’d tied him to the next tree over, in order to give each of them a bit of privacy for the night, the horse he’d acquired in Portsmouth let out a nicker.
‘You see her, too,’ Luke said aloud. ‘Good to know that I’m not hallucinating, because that is a woman, walking down the road. Alone.’ Letting out a sigh, he continued, ‘And that, my friend, does not make any sense.’
The horse snorted, then took a few steps towards the creek to have a drink of cool water, to go along with his breakfast of lush green grass.
It didn’t make any sense for someone to be walking on this road. Woman or not. If their carriage had broken down, they would have walked back to Havenbrook.
Luke waved a hand, just to let whoever it was know that he was a friendly sort.
She didn’t wave back.
He couldn’t say if that was because she was pretending not to see him, or if she truly hadn’t yet. Wearing a black skirt and white blouse, and carrying a travelling bag, she kept walking towards him, head down as if she was looking for something amongst the gravel.
Luke stood still, knowing sooner or later she’d sense him and look up.
When they were little more than four yards apart, she finally lifted her head and saw him. She didn’t really appear startled, just simply stopped walking and stared.
He didn’t know how he’d expected her to react to him, but he was perplexed by her unruffled state almost as much as he was by her mere presence.
She could be stunned, having not expected to see anyone, and might start screaming and running at any moment. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m not some nefarious highwayman.’
Without moving anything but her lips, she asked, ‘Is that your opinion, or someone else’s?’
He removed his hat. ‘Mine, and I’m usually correct.’
‘In your own opinion, again?’
‘Yes.’
With a quick glance, she took note of the horse, before asking, ‘May I ask what you are doing on private property?’
‘Sure,’ he replied. She was pretty, except that her big brown eyes were puffy and her face was red. All in all, it looked like she’d been crying. ‘And I’ll ask the same.’
She pinched her lips together, then with a little nod, said, ‘This property belongs to the Carlisle family. Havenbrook is their country estate.’
‘I’m well aware of that,’ he said. ‘I’ll be heading up to the house directly, to take care of some family business.’
‘Family business?’
He nodded. ‘What about you?’
‘I—’ She let out a broken sigh. ‘I’m leaving.’
Before he could ask why, she gasped for air and covered her face. She barely made a sound, but the way her shoulders shook told him she was crying. Damn. Women were a breed he’d never understand. They were downright confusing most days.
He mulled over whether he should touch her, just her arm, or if that would cause her to cry harder, louder. Choosing to stay put, he asked, ‘Have you walked all the way from the house?’
She nodded.
‘Well, then, I’d say it’s time for a rest.’ He stepped forward and held out a hand. ‘Here, I’ll carry your bag. Come sit under the tree, the grass is soft.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t. I’ve been ordered off the property.’
His back teeth clamped together so tightly that his jaw stung. When he was sure the curse that had almost come out was under control, he said, ‘Percy’s throwing his weight around now that he’s got the keys to the kingdom.’
Blinking, she wiped at her eyes and stared at him. ‘You know the Duke?’
‘I know my brother.’
‘Brother?’
He nodded.
‘Oh!’ She dropped the bag and knelt into a deep curtsey, with one knee bent and her head down. ‘Forgive me, my lord. I didn’t know.’
An old frustration rose up inside him. ‘I’m no one’s lord. I gave that up when I left eight years ago. Name’s Luke.’ That was just one of the things that had always irritated him, how a station in life dictated how people should be treated—respected—even though the elite themselves held very little respect towards others. Especially those they considered beneath them.
Nevertheless, meeting this woman might make today rather exciting. Depending upon her reason for being on the road alone.
He stepped closer and picked up her bag. ‘Let’s sit down. You can tell me why good old Percy ordered you off the property.’
Aislinn’s feet were stuck to the gravel by the same invisible force that had her heart racing. Up until a few moments ago, she’d been numb from the encroaching pain of leaving Fern and Ivy. She’d barely reacted to seeing a man on the side of the road, because she truly did not care who he was, nor what happened to her.
Now she could barely catch her breath. Tales of the infamous youngest Carlisle brother’s escapades from around the world—and of his extraordinary handsomeness—from those who had known him when he’d lived at Havenbrook, were legendary. The Duke—the old Duke—had read the letters from his brother aloud, speaking about Luke with humour and fondness, and the staff had genuine affection for him. However, the current duke insisted his younger brother was an insufferable rabble-rouser, who would eventually end up in prison in some foreign land—if he wasn’t already.
Even though the letters had fascinated her, she’d assumed that the accounts were exaggerated on both sides, and they very well could have been. Contrary to that, though, there had been no exaggeration when it came to his handsomeness.
He truly was extraordinary. It could be, in part, due to the manner of his dress. He was the spitting image of the pictures she’d seen of an American cowboy, complete with the pointed-toe boots, wide-brimmed hat and leather vest. Tall, with broad shoulders, he was also muscular, like men who performed physical duties regularly.
If she hadn’t been so awestruck, she might have considered that part of his appeal was the way the morning sun was casting him in a golden glow, like some angel who had just descended to earth. Still, even if that were to be the case, it was impossible to deny that his face was quite remarkable. His eyes were deep blue, thickly lashed, and hosting a notable twinkle, and his lips appeared as if they held a permanent grin.
Just then, that grin grew, giving her a glimpse of straight, white teeth, and she was hit with the mortifying sense that she’d been caught staring at him. Out of habit, and obligation, she dipped into another curtsey and bowed her head. ‘Forgive me, my lord.’
‘I just told you, the name’s Luke,’ he said. ‘The rules of so-called society grated on my nerves long before I left here. They still do.’
A firm, yet gentle grip took a hold of her elbow and tugged her upwards, out of her curtsey. Standing there, she had no idea what to do or say. She’d never been told not to curtsey, or to address someone by their first name—other than servants, like her.
‘There’s not much chance that we’ll get run over, but let’s move off the road,’ he said. ‘I truly want to know why you’ve been ordered off the property.’
It might have worked out better for her if he had been a highwayman. If the new Duke and Duchess found out she told him anything, she’d be...
What? They already sent her away, ordered her off the property. Left her with absolutely no place to go. No matter what happened, she’d never be able to see Fern and Ivy again.
He was standing beside her, waiting. Now that he was closer, she saw a resemblance between him and his oldest brother. It was the shape of his eyes, and his chin, more square than oval. A sigh built in her chest. He was by far the handsomest Carlisle man. The most handsome man she’d ever seen.
His arrival was going to upset the new duke.
She almost wished she could see it, despite knowing she shouldn’t, because this man had something Percy didn’t. He had a personality, a likeable one, and the confidence to match.
If only she had that.
‘Ready?’ he asked, nudging her forward slightly, before releasing his hold on her elbow.
She walked beside him, off the road and across the green grass to where a saddle and other tack lay beneath a tree.
He set her bag on the ground, lifted the blanket off the saddle, and flipped it onto the ground. ‘You can sit on that. The grass is still damp with dew.’
Torn, she bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. It was highly inappropriate for her to be in his company, whether he liked the rules of society or not.
He sat, crossed his legs at the ankles, and leaned back, with his hands planted on the ground near his hips, and looked up at her. ‘You know my name, but I don’t know yours.’
‘It’s Aislinn,’ she said. ‘Aislinn Blaydon.’
‘Well, Miss Blaydon, what was your role at Havenbrook? I am assuming you worked there—please correct me if I’m wrong.’
Feeling uncomfortable looking down at him, she lowered onto the small blanket. ‘You are not wrong. I was a governess to Fern and Ivy.’
‘Rowland’s daughters.’
‘Yes.’ It was difficult, but she stopped herself before saying ‘my lord’ again.
‘Tell me about Fern and Ivy. I have yet to meet them.’
The ache in her heart renewed. ‘They are adorable, wonderful children, who fill a room with happiness. They are very well behaved, and very smart.’ A warmth was entering her heart, chasing aside a small bit of the pain. ‘They are identical in looks, except that Ivy has a small mole—’ she touched the side of her nose ‘—right here on the left side of her nose. But their personalities are very different. Fern is curious about everything. Ivy is more cautious and waits to follow Fern’s lead until she’s sure it’s safe.’ A tiny giggle rumbled in her throat. ‘Which means she doesn’t follow at all once in a while.’
‘You care a great deal about them,’ he said.
‘I love them,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve been with them since shortly after their birth.’
‘Why are you not with them right now?’
She looked down at the ground, ashamed at what she’d brought upon herself. ‘I made a terrible mistake.’
‘Everyone makes mistakes.’
‘This was more than a mistake. I knew better. I just—’ she sighed heavily, frustrated by her own foolishness ‘—lost my temper.’
‘With the girls?’
‘Oh, no, never. They never try a person’s patience.’
‘Then who did try your patience? Percy? His wonderful mate, Hazel? The two human spiders entangled in their silky wed of matrimony?’
The giggle his words caused slipped out before she could stop it. Befuddled by her unacceptable behaviour, she covered her mouth. ‘Forgive me, m—’
‘Luke,’ he interrupted.
Knowing that calling him by his first name would be far too inappropriate, she refrained from saying more and tore her gaze off him. The way he had wiggled his fingers, imitating spider legs, had clearly described her own comparisons of the new Duke and Duchess. Still, she should not have giggled.
‘That’s what Percy always reminded me of,’ he said. ‘A spider, creeping around, staying hidden, then dropping down on a silken web when you least expected it. Hazel was just as bad, and I can’t believe they’ve changed.’ He shook his head. ‘Strike that. I can believe they’ve changed.’ His voice turned cold. ‘I bet they are touting their tail feathers like peacocks now that they both have what they’ve always wanted—the titles of Duke and Duchess of Havenbrook.’
Despite the years he’d been gone, he clearly knew his family well and wasn’t happy. She held her silence as he picked a blade of grass and stuck it between his lips.
‘So, Aislinn,’ he said, sounding normal again, ‘tell me, what did you do to receive the ire of my brother and his not-so-dear wife?’
‘I scolded their son, Caldwell,’ she admitted quietly.
‘I can only imagine that, considering his parentage, the kid needs more than scolding.’
‘Nonetheless, it was not my place to do so.’
‘Why did you?’ he asked.
Anger at what had happened last evening, and fear of what the outcome could have been, flared inside her. ‘He pushed Fern, and she nearly fell down the staircase. Would have if I hadn’t caught her.’ Her hands trembled at the memory, and she clutched them tightly together. ‘We’d stopped at the top of the stairs so I could straighten the bow in Ivy’s hair and, out of nowhere, Caldwell came running by and shoved Fern. Forcefully, on purpose, shoved her straight towards the staircase.’
Indignation, raw and strong, was creeping about inside her. She knew better than to defy the decision of the Duke and Duchess, but not being able to defend her actions was catching up to her. ‘I was so scared. Had to act so fast, that I couldn’t stop myself. He’s so wicked to them all the time. I told him that he was a bad boy and needed to learn to behave.’ Still needing to defend herself, to someone, she continued. ‘It’s true. He does. He’s so naughty.’
‘That’s it?’ he asked. ‘That’s all you said?’
She nodded and shrugged, not sure what more he thought she should have done. ‘I was concerned about Fern.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ he said. ‘Nor do I doubt that Caldwell ran straight to his parents to tell on you. Percy was always good at that, telling on others, and has no doubt taught his son to do the same.’
Caldwell did plenty of that, but she shook her head. ‘Caldwell didn’t have to tell them. His man was there, saw it all.’
‘His man?’
‘Yes, that is what the Duke and Duchess insist we call Mr Horton. He’s Caldwell’s tutor and was quite incensed that I’d taken it upon myself to discipline his charge.’ Her anger was growing. ‘Discipline is exactly what Caldwell needs, but it wasn’t my place to do so.’ Frustrated, she huffed out a sigh. ‘After I put the girls to bed last night, the Duke and Duchess ordered that I leave the residence by sunrise this morning.’
‘On foot?’
A wave of embarrassment washed over her. She was being far too forward for a servant, speaking this way with a member of the family. What she’d already told him was enough to incite the Duke and Duchess even further. Planting her hands on the ground to help her rise, she said, ‘I need to go.’