The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (26 page)

Oh, my yes! Such an elegant couple, they were! Goodness, and the clothes they ordered! It took everything I had and then some begging to nearby towns to get all the fabric I needed. Furs, they wanted too. Everything warm, quality materials but practical. And they wanted them all to be in browns and grays and black, though I tried to talk Lady Featherstone into some color to complement that stunning complexion of hers.

"Did they mention why they needed such warm clothing? Did they mention where they were going next?" Gabriel held his breath as she nodded and then wrote in the speaking book.

She turned the book around. One word was written on it.

Iceland.

THE SUN WAS SETTING WITH fiery lights making horizontal slashes across the sky as Gabriel walked back toward the inn. Iceland? What could Iceland possibly have to do with this puzzle?

He thought back to his studies of Iceland. He'd gone through a stage of studying several countries per month, usually around five. It had taken him two and a half years to learn the cultures and history of the known world. He'd visited many of the places, but never Iceland. It was still recovering from
Móðuharðindin
—"the Mist Hardships"—when Mount Laki erupted. And then there was that business of the Sermon of Fire. A tale of prayer stopping the lava flow. The devastation of the gases from the eruption destroyed grazing lands and livestock. Famine ensued and they were just now recovering, hearing of America's freedom like all the world, and pulling against their Danish harness.

How any of that tied in with Hans Sloane and his collection and a missing manuscript, such that kings were fighting over it, he had no idea. And neither did Alexandria. She had not spoken to the dressmaker, he had ascertained that. She did not know of the connection with Iceland yet. Or did she? He must never underestimate her again.

He thought of Meade and his task to find information on where she might have gone next and he stopped and looked at the cold, hard facts. He couldn't trust his ward to tell the truth. She was headstrong and determined to find her parents at whatever cost, even angering the prince regent. She might have a care for him, and he refused to believe otherwise, but she would stop at nothing to convince the people around her to help her, and she was very good at getting that help. And, more telling, she wasn't sure of him, not his allegiance to her or her cause and so she cut him off, subconsciously he was sure. She was just trying to do the impossible from a desperate heart. But nonetheless, it was true that she was a ruthless opponent when it came to matters of such great importance to her.

Gabriel stopped and laughed, a real laugh that lasted a long time. God bless her, but he loved her for it. He admired the tenacity and he understood the will behind a need like this. It wasn't as if she wanted money or fame or power or position. No, his dearest ward, his Alexandria, wanted
love
. And he was going to see that she got it.

Taking a deep breath he continued up the long hill, passing several shops that had closed for the night. A little farther down, the street turned busy in front of a place with glowing windows and people, mostly men, milling in and out. Gabriel slowed to look in, seeing a pub. The tables were crowded with citizens all staring toward the front of the room where a small stage took up one corner. A group of four musicians were playing. Without thinking what he was doing, Gabriel entered the pub.

He found an empty table in a corner and sat down. Strange how lively the scene looked and how, without sound, dead it felt. It was hard to sit there. Almost as if he were alone and invisible in the crowded room. A part of him wanted to run away from the feeling, but something told him that was the coward's way out and he had never been a coward.

Gabriel closed his eyes, stretching his hands out on the rough wood of the table, reaching for the music. A slow calm crept over him as he became aware of all the vibrations. His feet felt them hum from the floor up his legs and into his chest where if he concentrated hard enough they became a beat, a pulse. His hands, too, felt beyond rough wood planks and into the very air it seemed, catching the lighter vibrations of the pennywhistle. He swallowed and heard it, becoming so in tune with his body that each breath and muscle stretched with the music.

A sudden shot of color burst from behind his closed eyes, the colors too deep and rich for anything he'd seen on this earth. The vibrations, he noticed in the back of his mind, that part that was detached from the fear and awe and could construct a reality distinct from what seemed normal, seemed to control their movement. The colors leapt and swayed . . . he didn't shy away from them like before . . . he stayed calm and just concentrated on the vibrations going up and down his legs and arms and through his chest. A tear ran down his cheek and he realized he was crying. So deep was his concentration that he had split in two and the other half of him, the emotional half, had seen something the visceral half had not.

He could see the music.

A shuddering breath ran through him and he opened his eyes.

Blues and purples, yellows and greens undulated around the musicians. The violin was purple and blue, the pennywhistle yellow with streaks of red, the flute green, the dulcimer green and yellow. Together the colors moved, then apart, then together again. Gabriel studied the players, when they were most often playing, and the bursts of color around them that matched their movements.

Dear God, if I concentrate enough, I can almost hear the song.

A feeling of immense gratitude overwhelmed him. Of everything this new existence had taken and brought him—this was a gift.

And he must not tell anyone about it.

They would think him mad.

O
ne of Dublin's finest dressmakers pursed her lips and nodded to her assistant. "That color, yes, it must be. You look glorious in red, Lady Featherstone, just glorious. Wouldn't you say, Lord Lemon?"

"I
would
say," John murmured from the fireplace where he was standing, admiration lighting his eyes.

Alex tried to squelch the blush rising to her cheeks. She wasn't used to so much direct admiration, and from such a handsome and agreeable man. Turning away from him, she looked into the mirror they'd brought into the drawing room for her. It had taken two days to have three dresses made up—one day dress of soft yellow muslin and two evening gowns, as John insisted she would need both while in Dublin. They were all high waisted with cap sleeves and a fitted bodice. There were white gloves that went to her elbows, matching slippers with ribbons that tied around her ankles, and jeweled and beribboned headbands to hold back the cascade of curls John's maid had somehow, magically, transformed in her hair. When she looked at the creature staring back at her in the mirror, she didn't see Alex, the girl, she saw Lady Alexandria Featherstone, the woman. It both thrilled and terrified her.

"John, which dress should I wear to the bank?" He had become indispensible in all things to do with society and propriety. He'd already introduced her to a small group of his circle of friends, and tonight they were to attend a musical event at the Rotunda where the famous Angelica Catalani would be singing. It was an event, Alex had been told by her new acquaintances, that could not be missed, and she had to admit she was excited about it.

"Wear the red tonight at the musical, save the other evening gown for a ball I've yet to tell you about," he winked. "A surprise for later. And for this afternoon at the bank, the yellow day dress is fine," John returned. "With that pink parasol and the darker pink slippers, you'll look as fresh and sweet as country air. And then you'll borrow my mother's diamond necklace, just to remind them who you are."

Alex laughed. He always had her laughing. "I couldn't."

"You can and you will. If my mother were still alive, she would insist upon it, you have my word. She always did like a good plot, and squeezing a small fortune from the duke without his knowledge would have been the
fait accompli
of the year."

"Oh, when you put it that way, it really is too daring. What is the worst thing that could come of it? Could they jail me as an imposter?"

"But you're not an imposter, and you have the letters with the duke's seal on them to prove it. The worst thing I can think of is that they will laugh in our faces and turn us away."

He said
us
. "You'll go with me?"

"Of course. We'll take Baylor along for effect, as you mentioned before, and I will play the role of friend and advisor." He shrugged with a lazy smile. "They may know of me and it might help—a little."

Alex took a long breath. It was a sound plan, a very good plan, and it had to work. "When shall we leave?"

"As soon as you're ready, love." He pushed away from the fireplace, took some coins from his pocket, and handed them to the modiste who had maintained a professional silence during their discussion. Alex started to protest, but John stopped her with a little warning look. She would have to tell him later that she planned to pay him back. With money. Not that he would ask for other kinds of favors; she was just being silly and letting her imagination get the better of her.

An hour later they were stepping out of John's carriage at the grand entrance to the Bank of Ireland. Alex snapped the parasol shut while John held the door open for her. Baylor loomed behind them. "Look intimidating," John whispered back toward him.

His eyes widened with a look of fear. "How do I do that?"

"Never mind." Alex patted his arm. "Just be yourself."

That didn't seem to make Baylor any less nervous.

They walked up the steps and through the big doors. Inside was a long lobby with offices on either side, marbled floors, and tall, echoing ceilings. Alex tried to slow the pounding of her heart as they made their way to one of the main desks.

A mild-looking man gazed up at them, then peered behind Alex at Baylor, his eyes widening in just the way they'd been hoping for, but then Baylor gave the man a vacant, fake-looking smile and boomed, "How do you do, good sir! It's a fine day, isn't it?"

Alex shot a stilling glance at him and John quietly groaned. Baylor was taking his role much too seriously. He might ruin everything!

Trying to regain the banker's attention, Alex pasted a sunny smile on her face and leaned in a bit. He stood and bowed at them. "Good day. How might I be of service?"

John jumped in with his supporting role. "Good day to you, sir. This is Lady Alexandria Featherstone here visiting from England and I am Lord John Lemon, of the Kilkenny Lemons." He flicked a hand toward Baylor. "And this is our good friend Baylor of Belfast."

"I've already said how-de-do to the man. Am I supposed to say it again?" Baylor boomed, his voice echoing around the huge domed ceiling. It actually looked as if his meaty hands were trembling.

Alex gave the banker, who was staring at the three of them in confused distrust, another smile and a little exhale. "He's just a little nervous. Uhm." Oh no, this was not going well at all.

John hurried in again. "We've come on an urgent matter that has to do with the Duke of St. Easton."

The man blinked several times, glancing from John to Alexandria to Baylor and back again. "Well, ah, please be seated." He motioned toward the chairs nearby.

Baylor looked at the small chair, started to sit in it, and then changed his mind. It didn't appear as if he would be able to get his hips between the wooden arms. John said a soft word that Alex was certain she was glad she hadn't clearly heard. "Just stand behind us," he hissed.

Alex actually found herself waving at the banker to gain his attention, smiling and blinking, her head cocked to one side in the manner of a pea brain. "You see," Alex began as she folded her hands in her lap to keep them from doing anything else strange, "I am the ward of the Duke of St. Easton. He and I have been corresponding through letters for some time now and discussing the fact that he will be joining me here in Ireland. He had, some weeks ago, given me bank notes for my allowance, but I fear I was robbed in Killyleagh and am in quite a quandary."

Alex pulled forth a beaded reticule and removed the duke's letters. She passed two over to the banker. "As you can see from the seal and the contents of the letter, the duke is holding my fortune in the Bank of England. I have not been able to reach him with the news of this horrid theft, but when I do, I am sure he will send more funds. In the meantime, I would like to open a line of credit to sustain me for the duration of my stay in Dublin."

"Ah." The man opened the letters, read them, then studied the seal. His face was hard to read but Alex feared the worst and looked to John for help.

"My good man, the duke is in Ireland, and will eventually come to Dublin. I can't imagine his . . . displeasure . . . should his ward not be taken the very best care of in this matter." John shuddered. "It doesn't bear thinking of."

The man paled and nodded. "I shall have to check with my superior. Please, wait here."

He disappeared toward the back of the vast room and then through an arched doorway. Alex gave John a hopeful smile but stayed silent.

Baylor didn't have the same common sense. "That was a fine piece of work, my lord. You put the fear in him, didn't you now?"

"Shhh!" They both hissed back at him.

Alex felt instantly sorry. His face became crestfallen and his shoulders drooped. Good heavens she would be glad when this was over.

They waited in intense silence for a full twenty minutes when the banker came back with an older gentleman. His keen gaze locked on Alexandria's, making her knees shake as she rose and gave a brief curtsey toward the man.

"Mr. Tyler has explained the situation, Lady Featherstone, and we are prepared to extend you two hundred pounds. Will that be sufficient?"

His gaze challenged hers and she got the distinct impression that he was a betting man and that two hundred pounds was all he was willing to bet on the authenticity of her tale. Alex thought of the fortune she should have every right to, the fortune left to her by her parents, and raised her chin a notch. Her gaze didn't falter for a moment; it held steady, a glint of steel coming to her eyes. "I'm afraid that won't do. I have no idea when the duke will arrive and there are . . . expenses. Five hundred pounds should tide me over with, of course, the possibility of more should the need arise." She pressed her lips into a tiny smile and waited.