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December 10, 1818
G
riffin kept his gaze out one of the drawing room windows where his five-year-old niece Lucy played tag on the expansive lawn of Ivy Castle. His sister Lettice was out there too as well as his twin Stephen, and they both ran from the little girl so she couldn’t catch them. His youngest brother Graham was suspiciously absent, but perhaps he’d arrive soon. With lazy snowflakes falling around them and dotting the winter-brown grass, it was a sweet scene that would prompt any man to rush into the bosom of his family and embrace the Christmastide season.
Yet, thinking about all the events and festivities his parents had planned for the house party left him reeling from anxiety. His head swam with the knowledge that he’d need to show himself in a good light in front of the local gentry and various members of the ton. Everyone would look at him, inspect him as it were, and whisper about him, cut him to ribbons on the assumption he’d never be half the duke his father was.
Oh God, how can I endure a month of such pressure?
He’d been in residence at Ivy Castle for one day, and already the pressure of responsibility was stifling. However, the lectures from his father never materialized, and for that he was eternally grateful.
“Pardon me, Lord Hollingsworth?”
The sound of a female voice broke his concentration on anxiety. “Yes?” He turned. Pleasant surprise welled within him to see his father’s nurse. “Miss Ridley, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m sorry to intrude.” Tendrils of sandy blonde hair escaped the knot at the back of her head, but her mossy eyes reflected interest and apprehension, and the faint blush on her pale cheeks spoke to her unease.
“The thoughts are nothing that can’t wait.” He welcomed the reprieve, for she resembled a breath of fresh air personified in a dress of sky blue.
“I see.” Though her expression suggested she really didn’t, as did the tight clasp of her hands in front of her. “Uh, your mother told me I’d most likely find you here.”
“She was right, obviously.” An awkward silence sprang between them, and though he struggled to find something with which to fill it, he couldn’t think of a single blessed intelligent topic to do so.
“Um, do you remember who I am?” she asked into the widening chasm. “I only ask because I’m terrible with names, and if I’m put on the spot with needing to match a face with a name, it oftentimes ends with disaster.”
How quaint she thought to explain a shortcoming to him. It made her all the more approachable. “Of course I do. You’re my father’s nurse, and if I remember correctly, I believe my mother mentioned once upon a time you’re a distant relative of Viscount Appleby, correct?”
“Yes, on both counts.”
He nodded. “I haven’t seen old Appleby around Town for an age. I hope he’s well.”
“I couldn’t say, Your Lordship. Since becoming your father’s nurse, I haven’t needed to inquire.” She ducked her head when he offered a small smile. “It’s quite vexing not being able to remember names and faces like that, and thankfully, being an apothecary’s assistant doesn’t require me to meet an enormous amount of people. Imagine how terrible it would be to mix a prescribed poultice or tea with its corresponding patient.”
“Indeed. I can see where that might provide issues.” As nervous as she appeared, his feelings of unease had faded somewhat since talking with her. “In any event, why did you need to seek me out?”
“No reason, truly. I wanted to introduce myself to you in the event you didn’t recall who I was... since we’re all going to spend copious amounts of time together through Twelfth Night,” she finished with a half-shrug that drew his attention to the ivory wool shawl she wore. It slipped off one shoulder to reveal a sweet trim of lace that lined the modest bodice of her dress.
That peek of creamy skin rendered him temporarily speechless, and he yanked his gaze back to her face. “Right. The damned house party.” He sighed when the worries that had temporarily left him alone came back to roost. “How is my father?” The need to know exactly how things stood took hold. “How much time does he have left?”
“He’s as well as can be expected, but he’s been quite lively in recent days. One wouldn’t know to look at him that there’s anything wrong.” Anxiety lined Miss Ridley’s face. “As to how long he might linger on this Earth, that is not within my ken.”
“Oh. I don’t suppose it is.” Griffin shoved a hand through his hair. This is an untenable situation. As if searching for something solid in the midst of a rough sea, he found her gaze. “I’m not ready for him to die, Miss Ridley.”
“Calm yourself, Lord Hollingsworth. None of us are.” Those mossy depths conveyed peace. “All will be well, but you can’t let yourself collapse into ruin with thinking about the inevitable.”
“How can you say that?”
Was that guilt scudding across her face, and if so, for what reason? “I just know.” She released her fingers but then clutched her skirts in her hands. “It’s good to remember that healing is my strong suit, so your father is being well taken care of.”
Then there was hope, and perhaps he wouldn’t need to face his destiny quite so soon. “He’ll continue to improve?”
“That remains to be seen.” This time the guilt mixed with shame shadowed her eyes, and she cast her gaze downward. But why would she feel such? “There are many things that might affect the outcome of your father’s particular... case.”
“Oh, God. It’s worse than I assumed, isn’t it?” Anxiety clawed at his chest and roiled through his belly. The last thing he wanted was to show weakness in front of this woman who was trying her best to care for his father.
“No, no it’s not. Stop thinking about the worst that could happen.” Miss Ridley laid a hand on his arm. Heat from her fingers seeped through his sleeve while a sense of calm settled through him. How exceedingly strange. Usually, being in a woman’s company, especially alone, filled him with dread and angst. As she peered out the window, the sunlight illuminated tiny brown-gold flecks in her irises. “Do you want to move outside and frolic with your family? It would go a long way into lifting your mood.”
“No.” Griffin barely forced the word out from a tight throat. He wanted to turn tail and run, to sulk at his lot in life. “I need a quiet place to think.”
“Very well. I’ll leave you to it then.” She removed her hand from his arm and turned to leave.
“Wait. If you haven’t anything to do... Perhaps it would help to have someone to talk with.” What the devil was wrong with him, asking her to stay in his company because he was too fearful of the future?
She met his gaze, searched his face for something only she knew, and then finally nodded. “Sometimes, we build things up in our own heads so much that the outcome of an event or situation is much more terrible than what the reality will be.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what it’s like.” He released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d held. “Does that mean you’ll accompany me?”
“It does.” When she offered a small smile, he couldn’t help but grin back.
To where? Then his mind went blank. He couldn’t remember the floorplan of Ivy Castle. As hot panic welled in his chest, he looked at Miss Ridley, and she must have seen or sensed his distress, for her smile widened.
“Come with me, Your Lordship. I know a place that should calm your mind.”
“Thank you.” He gratefully let her lead him through the familiar corridors and up to the second floor in the main section of the sprawling castle. Each step she took sent the faint scent of orange blossoms and honey rose to his nose. As they passed tables in the corridors, her softly uttered appreciation for various pieces of art made him more at ease in her company. “You certainly are well versed with the castle and its contents.”
“I’ve had ample time to wander the halls when your father isn’t taking up my time.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “Not that I mind. The duke is a fount of knowledge, and he’s even taken me on tours of the place when he has free moments.”
“I didn’t realize you were so close to my parents.” Instead of the jealousy he thought he might feel, only warmth lingered in his chest. It was nice that his parents had taken Miss Ridley under their wing. A tiny thread of guilt wormed its way through the warmth, for he really should try harder to visit. Perhaps they missed having their children about.
“They’re much like surrogate parents to me, and when your father isn’t being stubborn about his medicine or letting me examine him, he’s quite lovely.” Humor rang through her dulcet tones.
Griffin snorted. “Quite lovely? That’s not exactly how I’d describe him.”
“Yes, well, he’s a challenge on other days.” She led him into the long portrait gallery he’d not set foot in for more years than he cared to admit. “Here we go. This is a quiet spot that might set you at ease.”
“Hmm, I’m not sure.” He stifled a groan. “There is too much expectation to live up to when confronted with my ancestors of the past.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She moved forward down the corridor. The floor to ceiling window at the end of the hall provided illumination to the gallery, and the subjects in the paintings hung in gilt frames seemed to leap off their colorful backgrounds. “I’ve always thought it comforting the Ivy line hosted so many lovable and quirky characters throughout the years.”
That struck him as amusing. A chortle escaped of its own accord. “Oh, we’ve had some proper bounders on the vines occasionally.”
“I suppose every family does.” Without glancing at him, she peered into various portraits. “Which ancestor is your favorite?”
“Oh, that’s a difficult question and one no one has asked before.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked the length of the gallery until he paused before one painting. “If I had to choose, it would be this fellow. My great, great, great grandfather, George Ivy.”
Miss Ridley joined him and gave the painting a proper glance. “What was he famous for?”
“Being the most studious of the family. It was he who came up with the idea to farm more efficiently and helped lay down the plans for roads that would better connect the tenants on this estate.” When he looked at her, a wave of awareness washed over him. Though he stood at six feet, she was perhaps six or seven inches shorter. He liked how various shades of brown wove through her blonde hair in the sunlight.
“How interesting.” A faint smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
“Indeed.” Griffin’s gaze dropped to her mouth. The rosy hue of those two pieces of flesh was quite beckoning. Would they be as soft as they looked? Then he shook his head and yanked himself from such inappropriate thoughts. He was an earl for God’s sake, not a rake like his younger brother. And she was his father’s nurse.
Apparently unaware of his regard, Miss Ridley slipped to another portrait. This one was of one of his uncles. Astride a black charger, he seemed more intimidating than he’d been in life. “Who is this?”
“Uncle Phillip. My father’s youngest brother. Unfortunately, he expired from a disease of the lungs a few years ago. He was an especial favorite of mine for his ability to keep everyone laughing with jokes and sleight of hand.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Shadows passed over her upturned face, and once more he knew a powerful urge to tug her into his arms. But why the devil should he feel such? She was Miss Ridley and part of his father’s staff. “Which relative did you admire the most?”
“My grandfather. When he was the duke, I remember him taking time to spend with us children even though he must have had pressing concerns. He treated everyone he ever met with kindness and respect regardless of their social standing. I’ve always hoped to have a tenth of his grace and charm when it’s my turn.” The longer he talked with her, the more relaxed he felt. “Yet here I am, on the precipice as it were, of taking the title, and I’m terrified.”
Why did I admit that to her? Now she’ll perceive me as flawed, weak.
For some minutes, Miss Ridley remained silent as they strolled the gallery. “Why do you feel you’ll fail when it’s your turn to become the Duke of Whittington?”
Another difficult question. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too-tight cravat. “Why not? I’m failing the Hollingsworth title.” He shrugged. “Obviously, I’m not cut of the same cloth as my ancestors.”
“Failing how, Your Lordship? As of yet, I certainly haven’t heard any rumors to back up that claim.”
A smidgeon of relief sailed down his spine. “Bully for that, for I feel it in my heart I’m failing. Not living up to my father’s expectations or what he wants me to be.”
“Which is what? Have you ever looked him in the eye and asked him?”
Heat crept up the back of Griffin’s neck. He stopped his stroll near the window. She paused as well, facing him, her head tilted and interest in her expression. “I fear he wants me to be the duke he is, that he wishes for me to do everything exactly like he does, and at present, I’m not sure how I’d want to act once those reins are in my hands.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that, for you are your own person. How you manage the dukedom and everything else in your care is your prerogative alone.” Genuine honesty shone in her eyes. “You can only look to the past for guidance, but you’ll learn more from experience.”
How was she so wise when he’d had this knowledge all his life and still couldn’t make heads or tails of it? “Many days it feels as if I’m moving through fog. I can’t see what’s in front of me nor what’s behind.”
“Perhaps you’re trying too hard to be someone you are not.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Once the holidays are over and you return to your life, go at things from a new perspective—yours. Leave your father out of it. Give some of your original ideas a chance. It might make all the difference.”
As if the sun shone on his problems and cleared away a tiny space of mist, he straightened his spine. “I shall do that. Thank you.” Then with his next thought, that budding confidence withered. “However, the other part that’s vital to being a titled peer is doing the pretty. Social situations terrify me.”
“Why? You seem quite put together to me.” She assessed him with a critical eye while he died a thousand deaths wondering what she thought of him. “And you’re handsome enough to aid you through.”
The heat on his nape intensified. “I don’t enjoy people staring at me, and the thought of speaking in public leaves me cold and sweating.”
“That’s understandable. No one is an expert on anything until they’ve practiced it a few times. Why do you feel you’re failing in this also?”
Would she always be so practical as to dive straight into the heart of the matter? “I’m not good at it.”
“I doubt that. You’re conversing with me quite well.”
The shock of the statement nearly had him staggering back a step, but he held his ground. Usually, in a woman’s company, he would have stuttered over his words and then fled at the first opportunity. “Be that as it may, I have nothing of note to say. Stephen is the outgoing one, the twin who knows what he’s doing, the man who charms the ladies, the man every gentleman wishes they were, the fortunate one, but since I was born a minute before him, all the responsibility falls on me.” He heaved a sigh. “It’s rather wasted.” Why the deuce was he sharing any of this with her when he’d only told Stephen of his fears?
Compassion lined her face, and those eyes! God, he could dive into those mossy pools and be content in drowning for all the warmth reflected in them. “Then you’re doing yourself a great disservice.”
He frowned. “How so?”
“It seems to me that you’ve forever spent your life comparing yourself to Stephen, but what you don’t realize is there’s no comparison between the moon and the sun.” She paused with her head slightly tilted as if she thought carefully over her next words. “They both shine in their times, but neither is more important than the other. The sun warms the Earth, but the moon commands the tides. Both have their specific functions, and if you remove one, the whole of existence crumbles. It’s the same with you and your brother.”
Griffin stared at her as if she’d just popped into place from thin air. “Do you believe I’m just as valuable as he?” What she’d said had merit.
“Of course, and you should start acting like you believe it too.” Miss Ridley briefly touched his hand before peering out the windows at the winter-bare gardens below. Not so far in the distance was a shrubbery maze, and from this vantage point, one could peer right into it and easily see the path one needed to take to come out the other side. “Dukes, as well as future dukes, never let anyone think they’re better or more important. They don’t allow anyone to bully them, but they also don’t let that title or position go to their heads.” She glanced at him. “Everything you need is well within your power, Your Lordship. Never forget that.”
How could she be so certain when doubts roiled through him like fish in a barrel? “I’ve let Stephen and my father bedevil me. It’s a failure on my part.”
She rearranged the shawl about her shoulders. “Then change the conversation and show them who you truly are.”
“How?” He still didn’t understand.
“Consider your very name.”
“What do you mean?”
A wry grin curved her lips. “Let me see if I remember the history correctly.” With another look out the window, she continued. “The griffin—or gryphon—is a legendary creature from all sorts of global mythology with the body, tail, and back legs of a lion; the head and wings of an eagle; and sometimes an eagle’s talons as its front feet.”
“I know what a griffin is, Miss Ridley. Learning was always my strong suit in school.”
“Ah, good. Then you won’t mind me expounding on the topic. Because the lion was traditionally considered the king of the beasts, and the eagle the king of the birds, by the Middle Ages, the griffin was thought to be an especially powerful and majestic creature.” Lightly, she exhaled on the window glass and then drew a basic outline of the creature in the fog. “Since classical antiquity, griffins were known for guarding treasures and priceless possessions. In medieval heraldry, the griffin became a Christian symbol of power and a guardian of the divine.”
“What is your point, Miss Ridley?”
“Just this.” She turned to face him. “You have power deep within you, and your name is practically your banner that proclaims your might. Never underestimate yourself or compare yourself to others. They are not a griffon, capable of destroying or protecting what’s yours.”
“I’ve never thought about my life in those terms.” He straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. Some of the perpetual weight lifted. “How do you know about griffins?”
She shrugged. “I tend to read whatever I can find. In my time of service for your father, I’ve utilized his libraries, for there is usually a wealth of medical knowledge found in lore and old stories. He doesn’t mind me taking the liberty of hiding away with a stack of books whenever I wish it. And your mother enjoys it if I read to her from some of the popular fictions printed today.”
The fact she played such a vital role within his family warmed his chest. “You’re a real brick, Miss Ridley, and I appreciate your insight.” He held out a hand. “I’m going to start, this very day, in practicing being a true griffin and act according to that heritage.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She slipped her hand into his and when they shook, an odd tingling sensation moved up his arm to his elbow. “Knowledge does have power.”
“Truly.” Then doubts chased through his gut. What if he floundered and needed her support until he was strong enough to go it alone but couldn’t find her? “You’re staying through Twelfth Night, aren’t you?”
“Of course. I go wherever your parents are.” Guilt reflected in her eyes, gone with her next blink.
“Capitol!” Feeling quite giddy from the shift, he dared much and swiftly bussed her cheek before spring away from her. “Thank you!”
He did flee then, for the moment his lips had touched her satiny skin in that fleeting kiss of gratitude, he knew he wanted to talk with her again, spend time in her company merely to discover if she did indeed have a calming effect on him.
Perhaps this house party wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.