If the Slipper Fits (13 page)

He drew back the tapestry. “Hold this,” he ordered, handing her the lamp.

Annabelle obliged, her nose tickling from the dust that rose from the old cloth. The fine stitchery caught her attention, and for a moment she paid no heed to Lord Simon. Then she realized he was pressing on the wall.

“Whatever are you doing?” she asked.

“Seeing if I can find the right stone. It’s been quite a long time … ah, here it is.”

With a grating noise, one of the stones moved. Much to her amazement, an entire portion of the wall shifted inward to reveal a small entry into a gloomy passage.

The doorway was situated a few feet above the floor, and now Lord Simon leaped lithely up into the space. He reached out to take the lamp from Annabelle.

Then he extended his hand to her.

Chapter 10

Annabelle hesitated. “What’s in there?”

“This is a priest-hole. It was used during the Dissolution when the family cleric needed a quick escape from Cromwell’s men. There are tunnels that would lead him—and the family—to safety.”

Or it could be a trick. Annabelle had a mad vision of Lord Simon locking her away in a place where no one would ever find her again. A hundred years from now, someone would find a pile of bones and a few scraps of blue silk …

He seemed to read her mind, for his lips quirked into a compelling grin. “Come,” he said, crooking his forefinger at her. “You know you’re curious.”

That smile revealed why he was so successful at charming the ladies. But Annabelle knew better than to succumb to it; she had seen him without the mask of civility and she knew his callous nature. Only Nicholas mattered to her. To find him, she would take any risk.

Grasping his strong fingers, she let Lord Simon pull her effortlessly up into the priest-hole. He placed his hand on her waist to steady her until she had secure footing, and in spite of her sense of caution, his touch made her heart thud faster. It made no sense, for she didn’t admire or even
like
the man.

Especially not when he looked as if he ought to have a patch over one eye and a cutlass clenched in his teeth.

“This way,” he said.

Hunching his broad shoulders, he started down the narrow tunnel. Like him, Annabelle had to duck her head to avoid the low ceiling. The tapestry had flapped shut behind them, and if not for the lamp, they would have been plunged into total darkness.

The flame cast quivery shadows on the stone walls. Cobwebs hung overhead in places, and the air smelled dank and stale and faintly salty. She concentrated on keeping her skirts from brushing the grimy floor and walls. The gloomy setting played with her imagination and she wondered again how much she could trust Lord Simon. This seemed like a peculiar way to go looking for Nicholas.

“Where is the duke?” she called.

Lord Simon glanced over his shoulder at her. “I believe we’ll find out in a moment. I used these tunnels, too, as a child.”

His words took a moment to sink in. “You can’t mean that Nicholas comes through here. It’s far too frightening.”

They had reached a cross point where three tunnels veered off in different directions. Here, the walls appeared to have been hewn from solid rock. The ceiling was a bit higher, and Lord Simon paused to stare at her in the light of the lamp. “All boys like to explore. I actually find it encouraging to think he isn’t a pansy.”

Annabelle found it nothing of the sort. She was still trying to envision such a timid child voluntarily entering this dark maze. Rubbing her arms against the chill in the air, she decided not to belabor the point. “Aren’t you worried he’ll hurt himself?”

“If he didn’t show up for days, I’d know where to look for him. Does that satisfy your maidenly fears?”

She ignored his mockery and focused on his lack of concern. “He could lose his way.”

“The tunnels are laid out in a simple, straightforward fashion.” Lord Simon pointed to one that made a gradual descent. “That one goes down to the cellar. The one straight ahead leads to the library. And the steep steps over there take you up to the family living quarters, including the nursemaid’s chamber—in case she had to smuggle the heir out when the castle was under attack.”

Annabelle caught her breath. “And you think that’s how Nicholas eluded me today?”

“I’d wager my life on it. Come, we’d best hurry if we’re to catch the little scamp in the act.” Lamp in hand, Lord Simon started up the staircase leading to the upper floors of the castle.

Annabelle clutched her skirts and valiantly mounted the steep steps. There was no banister to hold, and she didn’t want to even think of the consequences if her foot slipped. What madness! She still couldn’t quite believe Nicholas would brave these cobwebby shadows in order to avoid facing his uncle. “What makes you think he’s gone this way? Perhaps he went down a different tunnel.”

“He didn’t. Not if he found the secret room.”

“Secret room? What do you mean?”

“You’ll see. Have a care now, or he’ll hear us.”

Annabelle lowered her voice. “I do hope this isn’t a wild goose chase.”

Lord Simon glanced over his shoulder. In the shadows cast by the lamp, he glared as fiercely as any pirate. “For pity’s sake, will you for once just obey me?”

Pursing her lips, she concentrated on climbing the steps. He was right, she should be more subservient. But there was something about the aggravating man that brought out the worst in her. At least he seemed certain about their destination. Lacking a better alternative, she had no choice but to follow his lead.

The tunnellike staircase reached a narrow landing where it split in two. Leaning close to her, Lord Simon pointed to the left, where a door could be seen in the shadows above. “The nursery,” he said, his voice a mere breath of sound against her ear. “He’ll be this way.”

With a jerk of his head, he indicated they would be going up the opposite branch. A short flight of steps took them to another small door made of sturdy wood.

Lord Simon handed her the lamp and then crouched down to peer through the keyhole. He glanced up at her and gave a terse nod. Annabelle wanted to take a look for herself, but to her consternation, he sprang to his feet and reached for the door handle. The stern look on his face alarmed her. Did he intend to browbeat the child?

She caught hold of his muscled forearm. “Please,” she whispered, “let me be the one to speak to him.”

“No, you’ll keep silent.”

With that, he swung open the door, ducked his head to avoid the low lintel, and stepped inside.

Annabelle hastened forward to enter a snug little room. The rounded walls told her they were standing in one of the towers. The window slits cast bars of sunlight over the meager furnishings and the threadbare rug on the floor.

The light also illuminated Nicholas.

He sat cross-legged on a large tasseled cushion with a number of toy soldiers arrayed around him on the rug. He clutched his favorite cavalryman to his thin chest. In palpable shock, he stared up at his uncle. His lips were parted, his green eyes large and panic-stricken in his pale face.

Lord Simon stepped forward, his hands on his hips. “You were told to be in my study,” he said sternly. “I’d like to know why you disobeyed my command.”

Nicholas lifted his shoulders in a tiny shrug. He looked too terrified to speak.

Annabelle hurried to Lord Simon. “I’m sure he meant no harm—”

“Say one more word, Miss Quinn, and I shall send you packing.”

Did he mean that literally? He would make her pack her trunk and leave the castle?

He did. His ice gray eyes revealed a gravity of purpose. She compressed her lips to hold back a retort. She didn’t dare challenge his authority when he was in such an ill humor.

He stepped closer to the boy and towered over him. “You gave Miss Quinn a terrible fright when she couldn’t find you. That is a craven act unworthy of the Duke of Kevern. Do you understand me?”

His eyes big and fearful, the boy gave a small nod.

“You will apologize to her at once.”

Nicholas hung his head and mumbled something inaudible.

“Speak louder,” Lord Simon prodded.

“S-sorry, Miss Quinn.”

Her heart aching, Annabelle gave Nicholas a brief smile of commiseration. The poor lad looked so wretched that she yearned to gather him in her arms and protect him from harm. But she daren’t show him any affection in the presence of Lord Simon.

“You used the tunnels to shirk your duties,” he told the boy. “I will have your word of honor that you will never do so again.”

“Yes, sir,” Nicholas whispered.

“I’m sure you realize that your act of disobedience cannot go unpunished.”

Lord Simon paused, gazing down at his nephew with an inscrutable expression. Did he see in Nicholas the woman he’d once coveted? The beauty who had rejected him in favor of his elder brother?

Annabelle hoped he wouldn’t take his revenge here and now. His dislike of the boy could not be clearer. She curled her fingers into fists and waited for a draconian sentence. What would it be, bread and water for the next month? Several nights locked in the dungeon? Fifty lashes with a willow switch?

She would
not
stay silent if he did anything so cruel. The anticipation of injustice was so strong in her that she was left speechless when he rendered his judgment.

“You shall write an essay on the importance of obedience. Miss Quinn will determine if it adequately covers the topic.” Lord Simon flicked a cool glance at Annabelle. “I will expect it to be on my desk in the morning.”

*   *   *

On Sunday, Annabelle took Nicholas to St. Geren’s Church in the village of Kevernstow. Although the vicar’s sermon likely would be tedious, she believed the duke needed to develop a firm religious foundation in his life. It wasn’t enough that the schedule had Nicholas devoting every Sunday morning to reading passages from the Scriptures. A child should also experience the fellowship of worshipping in the company of friends and neighbors.

She had been surprised to learn that no one in the castle had been escorting Nicholas to weekly services. The vicar surely would have urged Lord Simon to do so. Or perhaps Mr. Bunting
had
done so but to no avail. According to the housekeeper, the master attended church only on special occasions like Christmas and Easter.

The coachman let them off in front of the quaint little stone chapel that was nestled beneath a canopy of oaks in the middle of the village. Lush banks of rhododendron and hydrangea bushes dotted the old cemetery alongside the church. A number of villagers and members of the local gentry milled in separate groups outside the open door. Many of them turned to stare as Annabelle and Nicholas disembarked.

Their interest in the young duke was understandable. Nicholas had been kept so sequestered at the castle that they likely hadn’t seen much of him over the years. Determined to make friends for his sake, Annabelle smiled graciously at those who caught her eye.

Her good humor died when she spotted Lady Louisa and her mother standing with a portly gentleman at the edge of the throng. The petite debutante resembled a porcelain doll in her straw bonnet and pink ruffled gown. The two women started toward Annabelle, no doubt intending to coo over the duke. Luckily, the bells clanged in the tower and everyone began to flock into the church.

Holding the duke’s hand, Annabelle walked down the aisle to the Kevern family pew directly in front of the altar. Nicholas took his place beside her. Looking quite smart in his miniature brown coat and knee breeches, he swung his feet and glanced around with interest at the statuary and candles. It pleased her to see him as relaxed as any normal little boy, for he was too often solemn.

The pipe organist began playing as Mr. Bunting emerged from the vestry and walked to the altar, accompanied by a younger man also garbed in clerical robes. It was then that Annabelle noticed a rise in the whispers behind them. She thought it strange, for one would expect the parishioners to hush at the commencement of the service.

Then the cause of the buzz slid into the pew. Lord Simon took the seat on the other side of his nephew.

Annabelle stiffened, her heart thumping and her gloved fingers clenching in her lap. Whatever was he doing here? She stole a glance at him, enough to see that he looked extremely handsome in a charcoal gray coat that matched his eyes. Nicholas instantly ceased his fidgeting and sat perfectly still. His anxiety was palpable as he stole a wary look at his uncle.

The congregation began to sing a familiar hymn. Annabelle opened her prayer book and sang by rote, though her mind made no sense of the words. She was too aware of Lord Simon’s deep baritone blending with the other voices.

His abrupt appearance in church couldn’t be a coincidence. He must have heard from Mrs. Wickett that Annabelle had brought Nicholas here. Had she done something wrong? Did he mean to chastise her for failing to ask his permission to deviate from that odious schedule?

Surely not. She might be making too much of the matter. Perhaps the man had merely felt the need to cleanse his soul.

She hadn’t seen Lord Simon in the two days since they’d found Nicholas hiding in the tower room. His study had been empty when she had delivered the essay. Nicholas had labored over the composition for hours. He’d wanted the piece to be perfect, and his desire to please his uncle touched her heart.

Had Lord Simon read the essay? Or had he cast it straight into the rubbish bin?

Whatever the case, she had to admit the assignment had been a fitting punishment. It had made Nicholas reflect upon the importance of fulfilling one’s duties—a vital lesson for a boy who needed to learn the responsibilities of his high rank. The worthy endeavor also had forced her to reassess her opinion of Lord Simon. Maybe he wasn’t such an ogre, after all.

Just stay out of my way. Both you and the boy.

Was his gruff manner merely a façade? She couldn’t say for certain, though it was obvious he was a reluctant guardian. Except for that once-a-week meeting, he left the child to the care of servants. Twice already she had attempted to discuss the duke’s schooling with him and he had fobbed her off.