“What is the meaning of this? Did Mrs. Granger not tell you that the kitchen was closed, Charlotte?”
“Yes, Mr. Marshall. I’m sorry but…”
“I requested they be opened. I was hungry. Charlotte was simply following instructions,” Gemma interrupted, stepping up beside Charlotte and putting a hand to her shoulder.
“And you are?” Marshall asked, one eyebrow-raising.
“Forgive me, Mr. Marshall. This is Miss Emily Carlisle, arrived earlier than expected,” Charlotte stammered.
Thank you, Charlotte! Now I know the full name of the woman I am impersonating.
“Oh, Miss Carlisle. Forgive me for my abruptness but I did not expect to meet the daughter of His Grace’s closest friend in such a manner.”
Oh, Marshall, you are also a wonder. More information that might gain me a little more time.
“I decided to leave early, and by a series of misadventures, arrived here in the state you see me. I am embarrassed and desperate for a bath and a bed. Do you think that detailed explanations might wait until tomorrow, perhaps?” Gemma said.
She tried to put a note of command into her voice while not pushing too hard so as to make the man suspicious. She was supposed to be the daughter of a Duke’s best friend. That best friend bore no title, perhaps a knighthood at best or she would have been addressed as ‘My Lady’ by the butler. The relationship between her father and the Duke must convey some authority to her though. She hoped that the balance had been correct.
“Of course, Miss. If you will follow me, I will take you to your chambers and then inform His Grace of your arrival.”
A stab of panic went through Gemma at that.
“Must you? I am in no fit state to be received, Marshall. Can it not wait until the morning?”
Marshall’s mouth twitched into a brief smile. “I do not think your appearance will make any difference to the Duke of Hamilton,” he said cryptically.
Then he turned on his heel and began to walk away, clearly expecting that she would follow. Gemma wondered at his words as she did so.
What manner of Duke would not care if a guest was presented to him looking as bedraggled as I surely look?
The castle was huge. Gemma followed along a maze of passages and hallways. Some were flagged in stone. Others were wood. Bare stone gave way to painted paneling or wallpaper. Steps and stairs appeared without warning and Gemma quickly lost all sense of direction. Eventually, a door was opened for her in a hallway decorated with cut flowers in vases and landscape paintings. A lamp that Marshall had picked up illuminated that much, with pale moonlight spilling through a window and casting a cold light on more. She stepped into an antechamber containing a chaise and a chair arranged before a modest fireplace. A further door stood open, leading to a much larger sitting room.
“You will find the bedchamber beyond the sitting room as well as a wardrobe and a dressing room. His Grace will be informed presently and you will be sent for.”
Gemma gave one last attempt at forestalling the inevitable end to her deception.
“Marshall, I am concerned that you are forcing me to meet such an important man while still bearing the stains of travel. I will need a few hours to make myself presentable.”
“Do not worry, Miss. His Grace will see none of it,” Marshall said with another brief smile.
Then the door was closed and he was gone. Gemma sighed, walking into the sitting room in which a fire had been laid but not lit. Without thinking, she knelt and lit the fire with a tin of flint and tinder that stood on the mantle. It was something she had learned how to do following any number of nights spent hiding in the woods from her cousins. She did not stop to think whether Emily Carlisle would know how to light a fire. Only when she was warming her hands over it did she begin to worry that the skill might be out of character.
But as I do not know the character I am playing, anything could be! Oh, what a tangled mess this is. I am away from my cousins but for how long. If I am thrown out for impersonating a house guest, how long before they catch up with me! And then…they may carry out their wicked plan…
CHAPTERFOUR
The knock at the door could only have been Marshall. Nathan had been contemplating the clean, smooth lines of a sculpture he had recently completed. The piece, like all of his work, had been crafted from wood, carved, and polished. This one was a female figure, the length of his hand. She stood with head lifted and arms slightly back, as though presenting herself before some higher power. The image had come to his mind. From where, he could not say. But it had been undeniable. The urge to bring that shape out of the wood had been irresistible and had taken him the best part of a week. Now, he frowned as he studied it via sensitive fingertips.
My best work, I think. But where did the inspiration come from? The same place as the bust I carved last year. That too was among my best work and it came to my mind without warning. Not a memory of a previous love. No one that I have actually met. Of that, I am sure.
With a sigh, he placed the sculpture onto a side table beside his chair, knowing instinctively how far away the surface of the table was for an object of that size.
“Come in, Marshall,” he said.
The sound reached him of the door opening and then the heavy footsteps of the tall, looming butler. Those footfalls stopped a respectful distance away and there was the almost inaudible sound of a bow, short and efficient. Marshall was too traditional to dispense with purely visual means of obeisance just because his master could not see it. Nathan was grateful for that. Being treated like other men was important to him. He did not want to be defined by his disabling injury, coddled, and protected. Treated like less of a man.
“Your pardon for disturbing you at this hour, Your Grace. But, our house guest has arrived.”
