Falling on a Duke

1 Suddenly, everything disappears

1

Suddenly, everything disappears

Bath, England

1817

Benjamin

I massage my temples as I listen to my assistant speaking.

Today must be the most tumultuous day of my year. And the hottest too. The sun pours through the window without mercy. Closing the curtains seems to make it worse, as the air becomes even stuffier. I want peace and quiet, God damn it. I deserve it after this insane week. But first, I need to make an important decision.

“Then what, Your Grace? What do we do?”

Jacob Howard, the middle-aged, balding man with a broad moustache in front of me, is a practical and efficient man; that’s one of the reasons I hired him. As a duke, I have many commitments and deal with endless bureaucracy – investments, meetings in Parliament, and tenants’ affairs… the list goes on.

Apart from that, I own a promising newspaper in Bath, the Daily Bath , although nobody knows about it. My position requires discretion, so the Daily is a secret I share with only three people: my sister Abigail, my best friend Jack, and my secretary, of course, who keeps looking at me with an anxious expression.

“I’m thinking, Howard.” I hold out my hand and reach for my glass of Scotch, taking a long sip. We’re in my study since I don’t go to the newspaper – I wouldn’t want to give rise to gossip.

My secretary shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you thought it,” I say, cracking my neck in an attempt to relieve the tension.

The problem we’re facing is serious. My decision cannot be rushed. As much as I want to give the order and make tomorrow’s front page denouncing that treacherous scoundrel, I can’t do it without the evidence in hand.

“We need the documents,” I say. “Letters, notes, something signed by Cornell to prove his betrayal.”

“We don’t have it yet, but James is confident that he will succeed.”

“Trust isn’t enough.” I take another sip of the Scotch, putting the empty glass aside. “Look, I want to turn him in, but you know me. I do not do things in a hurry. That never works.”

“What could possibly go wrong, Your Grace?”

“A lot of things. Raoul Cornell is a marquis; he is close to the King. If the newspaper publishes that he betrayed the Crown by handing over information to Napoleon without proper proof, that could get us into trouble.”

“Not when the owner of the newspaper is the Duke of Waldorf.”

“When it comes to the Daily , I try to be anything but a duke,” I correct him. “You know that no one is aware of my involvement with the paper.”

Howard twitches his moustache and nods, but I know him well enough to know that he is unhappy with the way the conversation is going. I decide to end it once and for all.

“I will think about it, and we will talk tomorrow. Abigail is waiting for me for dinner. We will have to discuss it another day.”

“But, Your Grace, it’s still early, and—”

I raise my hand, with a grim expression.

“My sister ate dinner alone every day this week because we have been so busy. I am tired. I will think about our dilemma tonight. Tomorrow morning, a decision will have been made.”

As much as I want to end this conversation, I’m not lying. I have been remiss in my duties to Abigail. My sister, the only family I have, is my priority. She always has been, even before the death of my father and Barney, my twin brother.

“There are rumours that Cornell is going to America soon,” Howard says insistently.

I frown, puzzled. Is Cornell on the run? It is quite possible. If that’s the case, the coward must know he’s at risk and that also explains Howard’s urgency to make a decision. Even so, the complaint is too delicate to act on impulse.

“Twelve hours, my friend. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what to do. Go home and rest. You are in too deep.”

I understand his motives, and I share his feelings. Howard lost a son to the war. The exposure of Cornell’s crimes would, in a way, reinforce that all those men didn’t die in vain. Including Barney.

Despite his annoyance, Howard gives up arguing. He turns his back to me, and I relax in my chair, sighing heavily. On my desk, piles of papers demonstrate the chaos of my own mind. There are at least eleven different issues that need my attention.

I’ll have to sort them out tomorrow. I am overcome with doubt as to how Abigail spent her day. I have been cooped up in here for the entirely of it. Yesterday, she was not very well; I could tell by the sadness in her eyes. It has been like this for the last few months, ever since our father passed. I just wish I knew what to do, how to ease her pain, even though I feel it in my own chest.

I push the chair away and stand up, straightening my jacket. Nothing’s going to change, so there’s no point in complaining. I pull my watch out of my pocket and look at the time: 3.56pm. I open the drawer to put some papers away, but something glinting catches my eye. I reach out to pick up the intriguing object.

It falls to the floor, so surprised am I. The sound of metal fills the silence of the room. Near the foot of the table, on the wooden floor, an antique cameo locket finishes tinkling. What runs through my veins is more than strangeness. It’s astonishment, unbridled surprise.

I know this cameo. I haven’t seen it for a long time, but I know it. It’s mine. I did not even know it was here.

One day, you will understand, my boy.

The weather is still hot, and the air is still humid, yet a shiver runs down my spine at the memory of my grandmother’s words. I shake my head, shaking them off. God, I must really be tired. In the last few minutes, I have remembered absolutely everyone I have lost over the years: my mother, my brother, my father, my grandmother. Basically, my entire family. No, not all of it. Abigail is still here, and she’s waiting to dine with me.

I have been dealing with a lot lately. The grief, the duties, the title. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to disappear for a while. I could very well disappear.

Ignoring my thoughts and the emptiness inside me, I bend down, approaching the item, ready to put it back in the drawer. I stretch out my hand, reaching for it. The silhouette of the delicate mother-of-pearl face, carved on the rounded stone, is the same as I remembered. The metal around it looks more aged, but it’s still a beautiful, elegant, and distinctive locket. Involuntarily, the tip of my thumb brushes lightly against the small pink stone set into the female figure’s neck.

And that is when the impossible happens.

I cannot explain the next few seconds. They do not seem real. They cannot be.

As soon as my fingers wrap around the cameo, a peculiar light switches on in the palm of my hand. I don’t have time to ask questions, or even to think.

One second, I am in my study.

The next, everything disappears.