The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (23 page)

O
h, I just can't believe it!" Alex flung herself into a chair across from Montague and Baylor in the drawing room of the Dufferin Coaching Inn in Killyleagh. "You cannot believe this letter he's written me! Of all the high-handed, arrogant, brutish"—she sputtered, unable to think of another insult that fit—"duke-like thing to do!"

"Who's this duke and what's he saying to get her into such a fit?" Baylor asked Montague.

Montague leaned in with a quirked brow and half smile. "Her guardian, the one and only Duke of St. Easton."

"Sounds like an important chap."

Montague chuckled. "Only one of the richest men in the world. He's known for his vast intellect. They say he's studied everything and remembers most of it. He's done it all too. If he only had his winnings from horse racing, he'd be worth the prince regent's own ransom. He has hands into everything—mines, shipping, trading from the Orient to the Americas. I once heard that he has famous painters and musicians come to his house for private discussions and concerts. But that's not why I've always wanted to meet him."

"No? Tell us why then, it sounds like we'll meet him soon if Lady Alex is throwing such a fit as this."

Alex had quieted her tirade enough to hear Montague's description of the duke. Fear rose in slow degrees as he spoke. She thought back to her outlandish letters and clutched his recent one in her fist with a flash of horror. She'd been so impetuous . . . rash even, in her demands . . . was he really so esteemed as Montague said? So rich and powerful?

But she wanted to hear Montague's answer so she quieted her thoughts and turned, genuinely curious as to what the famed admiral would find so fascinating about the Duke of St. Easton.

"It's said he has the green eyes of a panther. The iris of his eyes, some say, are not exactly round either, but more of a slight oval like a cat's eyes." Montague laughed and slid Alex a look of speculation. "It could be all rumors and exaggerations, of course."

Alex paled further and then rallied with sudden determination. "Oh, bother. Cat's eyes? Trumped-up nonsense, that's all that is. Why,
his royal highness
says right here in this letter that you are much esteemed and he's astounded that I was able to employ you. Not that I did, but still. The man has entirely too high of an opinion of himself, if you ask me. I'll not be afraid of him."

"He mentions me?" Montague reached for the letter. "Can I see it?"

Alex stood and passed it over to him with a rolling of her eyes.

Montague chuckled after he read it. "Look here, Baylor." He made a move to hand the letter to the giant but Baylor shook his head. "Read it to me, won't you?"

Montague gave him a startled look and Alex gently asked, "Did you never learn to read, Baylor?"

He shook his head in an exaggerated way, eyes wide. "My sweet mother died giving birth to my little brother and a few years later my father left us. It was just the two of us then, he was four and I was ten, living in those mountains with a couple of sheep and some chickens. I was old enough to keep up for a time but never even thought about going to school. There was too much to do and we didn't want anybody knowing we were living there all alone together. I was afraid they might take Tommy from me, put him in a different home, or one of those awful orphanages." He rubbed his great hands together, his voice lowering in a thick Irish brogue. "A few years later, on a cold winter's day, Tommy got real sick."

"Oh, Baylor. What did you do?" Alex imagined the tall, red-headed child he must have been, trying to be so strong.

"Well, I was mighty afraid, I can tell you. I didn't know what to do for him, his fever being so high and he wouldn't take any nourishment, don't you know. So I bundled him up and put him in a wheelbarrow and pushed him all the way to Belfast to the hospital there."

He paused and looked down. Alex was afraid to ask if Tommy had made it and looked at Montague.

"That's a hard thing, Baylor, to lose the only family you have left. I know," Montague said quietly.

Baylor gave them both a broad smile. "Oh, he perked up after a few days. We ended up being taken home by one of the doctors and his wife, God bless her. She decided she wanted to keep us. I stayed there for a few months but missed the mountains in a powerful way. A sheep farmer is what I wanted to be, but Tommy, he went to school and is a doctor in Belfast now. So it all worked out for the good."

"So you went back to the farm?"

Baylor nodded. "They knew I was independent enough even though I was only about fourteen. I'd been taking care of myself all my life and they knew I would be all right, and besides, there was a pretty lass who could sing like nothing I'd ever heard living in the village in those mountains. I made excuses to travel there and hear her often."

"That's Maeve! Your wife, isn't it?" Alex leaned forward.

"We married when she was only sixteen and I was seventeen. Been happy as clams ever since."

"Did you ever go back to Belfast and see your brother?"

"Oh yes! Often I did. The doctor only let me go back to the mountains alone if I promised to come back and visit. Sometimes I would stay for a few days or weeks with them here and there. They were like family to me. I regret not learning to read though. There are times I wished I could. Especially the Holy Bible. I would like to learn to read that."

"It's not too late. I would be glad to teach you," Alex chimed in.

"You would do that for me, lass? Is it very hard? Do you think I could learn it?"

"Yes, of course you can. We'll begin tonight, right after dinner."

He looked too happy for words.

"Now, Montague, read that letter. I want to know what the duke thinks of you." Baylor motioned toward Montague to continue.

Montague read in a low voice, "'Do you happen to have Admiral Montague with you? I must say, I am astounded by the possibility, but it gives me some measure of comfort that you had the sense to hire someone as protector and didn't attempt to do something so rash as to travel alone. I daresay I only sleep at night with the image of him standing guard outside your door, however you managed it.'
Can you imagine that?" Montague asked.

"Famed duke or not, we cannot stay here and wait upon his leisure. We have to flee before he comes and leave no clue as where we are going," Alex reminded them.

"Do you know what you're saying, lass? This man has the prince regent's orders." Baylor shook his shaggy head in impending doom.

"Alexandria, you must trust him. He is offering to hire professionals to do this job. They will have far better success finding your parents than we could." Montague leaned forward, his eyes earnest.

Alex balled her hands into fists and stared back and forth at the two of them. "Better results you say? Haven't I found their trail?
I
will find them . . . with or without you." She didn't realize it but tears, the first they'd seen of her, had sprung to her eyes and were pouring down her cheeks. "
Me!
I will save my parents. No one knows them like I do. No one believes they are alive as I do. The duke doesn't care. No one will care like I do!" She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands.

Baylor leapt to pick her up and gently placed her in his chair. Montague poured her a drink from the water pitcher and brought it over.

She accepted the help and then looked up with a tear-stained face. "I already wrote a response and assured the duke that I would remain here. He'll be days behind if we leave now."

"Alexandria, you must stop this lying whenever you think you have the need of one. That is not trusting God at all but taking matters into your own hands," Montague said with stern kindness.

"You're right. I didn't know what else to do! If I'd replied with the truth, he would be on our doorstep this moment. Please, won't you come with me?"

They looked at each other. Baylor shrugged. "I wasn't quite ready to quit this adventure and return to my beautiful harpy yet anyway. What say you, Montague?"

Montague gave them both his best scowl. "I say unless we tie her down and hold her here she'll go without us. We've no choice really. But where to, Lady Alex? Do we know where we're going next?"

Alex sat up, wiped her running nose with Montague's offered handkerchief, and nodded. "I've not told you yet what I discovered at the Hans Sloane house. It's a clue. We're getting closer, I can feel it."

"Come then, what happened when you went to the cottage?" Baylor sat upon the only other chair in the room, a rickety looking wooden thing that creaked and moaned as he sat down. Alex's eyes widened as she watched the chair's supporting legs bow out. Montague choked back a laugh. They all breathed a great sigh when the chair seemed to settle and hold.

"First of all," Alex began, "Sir Hans lived in one of the better houses of the village. It's two storied and nicer than his neighbors. When I knocked on the door, I asked if they were relations to Sir Hans, to which the woman said no, but she knew well of the family and invited me in for tea. We sat down and I told her that I was looking for my long-lost parents who were in Killyleagh about a year ago. She remembered them and said they had come asking questions about Hans Sloane too. She told me the same thing she told my parents, which was that Hans's father had died when he was a boy and his mother had remarried, upon which she'd abandoned poor Hans and his two brothers. When they got a little older, they'd all gone off to London to seek their fortunes. Hans, of course, made quite something of himself, becoming the king's physician and continuing his interest in antiquities."

Alex paused and took a deep breath. "I asked her if the Sloanes had left anything behind. If the attic had been checked and if there were any other stories she could remember about them. She told me no and that my parents had asked the same questions. I was about to give up and walk out her door when I noticed the thatched cottages of the nearby neighbors. I decided that I might as well give it a try so I knocked on the doors of each one and asked if anyone knew anything about Hans Sloane."

Indeed, it had been rather nerve-wracking to interview complete strangers. At one of the cottages there was an old woman who said her grandfather had played with the Sloane brothers as a child and had told many stories about them.

"Come and sit for a spell, child, and I'll see if I can recollect a story for you." She'd smiled in a kind, motherly way.

"I would be so grateful." Alex seated herself in the small, dark room that held the dining table and chairs, a large fireplace with cooking utensils scattered about and a corner nook with a bench and a butter churn under a low window that let in little light. The woman made tea and asked Alex about herself.

Alex told the story of her parents and how she was determined to find them. Everyone who had heard the story was eager to help her and this woman, Mrs. McHenry, proved to be no different.

"Well now." She sat across from her and passed her a cup of tea. "Let's see what I can remember. There were three brothers but Hans was my grandfather's favorite companion. They spent much of their time down on the shores of Strangford Lough. They fished and explored the islands of the lough. My grandfather and Hans came back with all sorts of treasures like rocks and feathers and curiosities. While my grandfather grew out of such things, Hans never did. He kept everything he found in little jars and boxes, which became the beginning of his famous collection, you see."

"What an intelligent little boy he must have been!" Alex encouraged. "My parents were hired to find something that has gone missing from his collection. It will help me find them if I can figure out what it is they were looking for. Have you heard of anything missing from his collection?"

"No, miss, I'm sorry but I don't know anything about it except that it was given to the British Museum."

Alex sank inside. In a last effort she asked one more question. "I have reason to believe that this object may have something to do with an Italian sculptor named Augusto de Carrara. Have you ever heard of him?"

"I seem to recall something about an Italian sculptor being mentioned by my father, but I'm not sure of the name. If anything of his is in Ireland, I suspect it would be in Dublin, at the Royal Irish Academy. My father and my grandfather before him were members for many years and they talked about Sloane and his collection often among themselves. You should go and see Dublin, my dear."

"So you see," Alex said to Baylor and Montague after telling the story, "we have to go to Dublin and talk to the members of the Royal Irish Society."

"Hmm. As it happens, I have my nephew in Dublin." Montague rose and flung on his dark cloak. "Pack your things, Alexandria, and ask Mistress Tinsdale for a food basket to hold us for two days' travel. Don't mention where we are going."

As Montague left, Alex whispered to Baylor, "Perhaps we should throw the duke off course and lead him in another direction. I'll tell Mistress Tinsdale we are headed for Downpatrick to visit the famous cathedral there. It's the supposed burial place of St. Patrick himself. That should sound like something we would do in tracking down clues. Baylor, you see about horses. We won't want to risk the mail coach."

Alex nodded and hurried upstairs to pack her things, feeling a little guilty about another lie, but it was just too tempting to send his royal highness on a further goose chase.

When she opened the door to her assigned bedchamber, she gasped. The room had been ransacked. Everything lay in disarray on the floor: her clothing, toiletries, the few books she'd brought. Her heart pounded as she took a step into the room and looked into every corner. Whoever had done this was long gone, but her second-story window was open, the curtains still fluttering around the opening.

Alex crossed the room and leaned a little out the window. There was a tree close by, close enough to climb down from if one was nimble enough. She reached for the branch closest and pulled on it. It was possible that someone had left through the window, but how had they gotten in? She hadn't left the window open so she didn't think the thief could have gained entrance from there. She went back to the door and noticed the latch had been damaged. Whoever it was, and she suspected the Spaniards, it appeared they had broken in through the door and left by the window.