Chapter Four
The Earl of Sudbury was very informative.
Once Fable learned that he was the sulky duke’s closest friend, she set about finding out what she could about Benjamin West.
There wasn’t much else to do.
Her afternoon was turning out to be pleasant though.
So far, Lord Sudbury had told her that the captain once killed eighteen men without any help.
Some high-ranking guy called Captain General Marlborough sent him to infiltrate enemy ranks and thanks to Ben, in the end, the king’s army won a decisive victory.
“He’s the king’s favorite,”
Lord Sudbury told her, sitting in a chair across from where she sat on the settee.
His eyes shone with sincerity, his smile wide with each word he spoke.
It was evident that he felt very strongly about his friend.
There was no trace of jealousy in his words, his voice, or his smile.
From the moment she had asked about the duke, he gladly boasted about him.
“He has never lost in battle–or a game of chess.
Do you play, Miss?”
She smiled and looked down.
“A little. Tell me,”
she said, lifting her gaze to his again.
“Lady Prudence mentioned marriage balls.”
In truth, this was the real reason she’d agreed to speak to him.
Maybe Edith could have shed some light upon the matter, but the duke’s friend would have insight Edith didn’t.
“Yes,”
Lord Sudbury said, smiling and waiting for what she said next.
“She’s hosting one here in a few days.”
Hmm, Fable wondered if the king’s niece would be here.
“Is it something like speed dating to music?”
The handsome earl’s smile didn’t falter despite looking a little lost.
“Speed dating?”
“A ball to meet your wife?”
His dark eyes warmed on her.
“Not mine.
The duke’s.”
“Just…the duke’s?”
She didn’t want to ask, but she needed to know.
“Yes,”
the earl told her.
“His sister is determined to wed him off to the daughter of a prestigious family–hopefully a royal one.”
Fable almost choked on the air she took in.
It wasn’t that she thought she had any chance with the dispassionate duke, but he’d been nice to her–and generous.
She was grateful and felt the urge, as he did for her, to protect him.
“So by next week, he could be betrothed to the king’s niece?”
“He could be–”
“Has he met her?”
What if she was beautiful and elegant and everything he liked in a woman? Fable’s belly knotted.
It worried her.
Was she going to be sick again? Why? This time she hadn’t gorged on food.
“Yes, he’s met her.
Twice, I believe.”
Fable held her breath.
The niece of a king definitely wouldn’t want her husband to be friendly with a pauper.
So what? There was no reason why she should feel sweaty, like she had when her fever broke.
Was she still ill, or did talking about the duke make her feel bad? No, it wasn’t thoughts of him that made her feel bad, it was thoughts of him getting married, of losing his protection, his roof, and his food.
What does my understanding of it or not have to do with anything? If you’re in danger, I can protect you.
Who in her life ever promised to protect her? And so unconditionally? There was no one.
How could she not be attracted to such a man?
“Does he like her?”
she asked the earl quietly.
“The duke has no interest in her.”
Relief swept through Fable and made her question her rationality.
“But he’d marry her because his sister wants him to?”
What did she care, really? She laughed at herself silently.
She didn’t even know the duke.
She certainly didn’t have a prestigious family.
“It’s what his father wanted,”
the informative earl told her.
“But, in the end, I don’t believe he’ll ever marry.
As for his sister, she wants what she thinks will make him happy.”
“She’s wretched.”
“She loves him,”
he defended.
“You know,”
she said,trying to ignore the pain in her feet.
“I’m no expert on it but I think if you love someone,you want what they want.
Does he not have enough wealth to live a comfortable life until he’s old?”
“He has enough.”
“Will it be taken from him if he doesn’t do what his father wanted?”
“Not all of it and not enough for him to care.”
The earl told her.
“I see.
Then, Is he lacking in power? He’s a duke, that’s pretty powerful, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Is he always so serious and melancholy because he’s lonely and wants a wife?”
His responses had grown quieter with each one.
Now, he practically whispered, as if he knew where her questions were leading and he couldn’t do much but answer truthfully. “No.”
“Then, when it really comes down to it, the duke’s marriage and who becomes his wife is for Lady Prudence’s benefit, and not her brother’s.”
His smile slowly widened on her, but he didn’t say anything.
“Has anyone even asked him what would make him happy?”
she demanded, then cleared her throat and smiled repentantly.
“Three years ago, while saving the king’s life from a Jacobite attack, Colchester almost lost his arm.”
Lord Sudbury sighed and stretched out his long legs in his chair.
“The thing that will make him happy is to return to the battlefield.
He practices every day in the hopes of returning.”
The battlefield? Fable thought, suddenly feeling even more anxious about the duke leaving.
She needed him…and there was something more…something that made her heart feel too heavy to beat, that made her very curious and a little jealous.
“Don’t worry,”
the handsome earl reassured her as if reading her thoughts.
“King George won’t let him fight.”
“Then his hopes are for nothing.”
The earl stared at her for a moment, and then with his smile fading, he nodded.
“You’re correct.”
“He deserves more,” she said.
“Yes. He does.”
Fable liked the duke’s closest friend.
“What about you?”
she asked him.
She’d been surprised when, after she’d washed her hair, Edith told her the earl was in the sitting parlor outside her bedroom door, waiting to pay her a visit.
Her feet still stung but were otherwise healing nicely.
She was able to walk to the other room on her own.
When she first saw the earl, she was surprised at how tall he was and how small the room appeared with him in it.
He wore his dark chestnut hair slicked back from his handsome face.
His nose was sharp and his lips, full and red, as if he’d just polished off a basket of strawberries.
“I fought alongside the duke for many years, but these days have been peaceful, so I hunt, travel back and forth between here and Sudbury, and lose to my friend at chess.”
“Is Sudbury far?”
He gave her a curious look, and she guessed she was supposed to know where Sudbury was.
Then shook his head.
“Why don’t you just live there, if it’s where you’re from?”
she asked.
“There’s a lady here that I enjoy spending time with.”
He smiled and his eyes danced, gleaming from within.
There was something different between him and the duke.
Lord Sudbury was more open, more cordial, easy-going and warm.
The door opened.
Fable turned to see the duke and her first thought was that Lord Sudbury might be friendlier, but he wasn’t him .
For a second he did nothing to hide the fact that he didn’t like them alone together.
Dark brows dipped low over his eyes, lips drawn tight and closer to a snarl than a smile.
But after expelling a deep puff of breath, he quickly pulled himself together and strode into the room.
“You should be in bed,”
he said, coming to stand over her.
“It’s better that I’m sitting, isn’t it?”
she asked, looking up and then watching as he sat beside her on the settee.
“Or am I expected to greet guests in bed?”
“You’re correct,”
he quickly conceded.
“Forgive me.”
In his seat, the earl stared slack-jawed at his friend.
Fable’s breath felt warm going through her and made her heart flutter.
The duke was close.
Close enough to stare into his eyes and see the soul of a brooding warrior, leashed by an unhappy knight in shining armor.
He turned those dark eyes on his friend across from him.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“I came to see you actually,”
Lord Sudbury told him, his smile quickly restored, appearing even warmer than before.
“When you weren’t here, I thought I would stay for a bit and get to know your guest.
But she cleverly avoided speaking about herself by asking an endless array of questions about you.”
Fable’s heart went still.
Why would the earl say something like that? And he was still smiling! And…did he just wink at her? There was no time to react to that.
From the corner of her eye she saw the seemingly possessive duke facing her.
Oh, she could scratch Lord Sudbury’s eyes out.
Reluctantly, she turned to the duke, her cheeks on fire.
She didn’t say anything.
What was there to say?
He didn’t say anything either–and yet, his dark, expressive gaze seemed to say much, like, don’t be embarrassed.
I don’t mind.
She heard Lord Sudbury stand from his chair and the duke broke eye contact with her and looked up, then stood with his friend.
“I’ll walk you out,”
he offered, though Lord Sudbury didn’t mention leaving.
After a flowery farewell, the earl left with Duke Colchester speaking softly as they went.
When the duke returned, he went to her and without a word, slipped his arms under her and lifted her off the settee and into his arms.
“What are you doing?”
she asked, feeling surprisingly light in the cradle of arms.
“Putting you back in bed.”
His voice was deep like an ocean, seeping into her flesh.
“I’m fine, Your Grace.”
She didn’t know what to think.
No one had ever concerned themself with her care.
Why would he? Because , she answered herself, he doesn’t know what you are.
He stepped into the bedroom, his gaze steady ahead, his voice softer, huskier, but marked with command.
“When we’re alone, you’ll call me Ben.”
“That’s very casual of you,”
she remarked lightly, neither agreeing to it, nor disagreeing.
One of the million other reasons she didn’t have a boyfriend was because they were all jerks who thought she was put on this earth to please them and do what she was told.
They were wrong.
“You’ve been in my arms since I’ve known you,”
he pointed out, neither scowling nor smiling, making her heart flip.
“Formality when we’re alone is no longer genuine.”
“So, you value honesty,”
she said, more seriously.
He looked down at her and nodded as he set her on the bed.
Too bad, she thought.
He was too straight and narrow to accept what she was.
An illiterate street urchin, as the duke’s sister had called her.
Not a thief as Edith suspected, but a reformed hustler.
There was a difference.
“Why did your face turn glum?”
he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting close.
“I was just thinking of my life before.”
“Was it a difficult life?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
She’d never complained about it before.
What good would it have done?
“I’d had hope of finding a job, saving up and getting my own place.
But no one would hire a homeless illiterate who couldn’t even sign her name.”
She glanced at him to see his reaction.
If he was going to throw her out, she’d rather he do it now, before she grew to like him too much.
“Where were your parents?”
he asked, leaning in closer.
She told him about being abandoned by her father and about her mother who raised her on the crowded streets of New York City.
“You never had a home?”
Fable didn’t like the pity she saw in his eyes.
“I was okay.
I didn’t miss what I never had.”
Of course, she would have loved a warm bed and a hot meal but she’d rather lie to him than have him look at her this way.
“It’s okay, really.
I’m used to being alone.
In a way it’s easier.
You don’t learn to depend on anyone, so no one can let you down.”
She watched his Adam’s Apple dance along his neck as he swallowed.
“Not everyone will let you down,”
he answered coolly, but Fable heard traces of something warm.
Edith arrived soon after with Fable’s dinner.
When she saw the duke there, she hurried to bring him food, as well.
“This is the second time I’ve eaten with you,”
Fable told him, feeling an unfamiliar warmth rise from her belly and heat her face.
The first time, he hadn’t eaten with her, but he was there.
He’d fed her.
“Does how many times we eat together mean something?”
“Well, yes,”
she told him, surprised that he looked so innocent right now.
“Not for us in the same way, but...now then, haven’t you ever had a girlfriend?”
He blinked his beautiful, obsidian eyes. “A what?”
“A woman in your life? Someone who meant a lot to you?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been on the battlefield since I was sixteen.
Before that, I fought on the streets to live.
I never had time for a serious union.”
What did that mean he fought on the streets to live ? Why hadn’t she asked the earl more about his friend’s past?
And honestly, he never had a serious ’union’? Fable could hardly believe it.
Why, the more her eyes took in the sight of him, the kinder he was to her, the more magnificently beautiful he became.
What a pity.
“Why did you spend your life in battle,”
she asked him in a quiet, curious voice, “risking yourself for so many years?”
“I had to,”
he told her, in his low, steady voice.
“One way or another, I would have killed others around me, possibly myself.
Battle saved me.”
She stopped eating and stared at him.
What did that mean? And why did it make her want to cry for a week? What had made him want to kill?
“Are you okay now?”
He looked up from his tray of food.
He wasn’t smiling, but something pleasant and pleasing covered him like a veil.
He nodded, and then tilted his head doubtfully.
“I assume by okay, you mean well or good? If so, then yes, I’m well.”
“Good,”
she said and went on eating.
She was certain he smiled, but it was gone too quickly.
“You said eating together meant something, but not for us,”
he reminded her.
“What did you mean by that?”
“Well, because I’m not your girlfriend and because that’s not why I brought it up.
I just meant it was the second time I’ve eaten with anyone besides my mother.”
He put his spoon down.
“Do you mean to tell me that not only did you never have a home, or a bed, but you were alone your whole life but for your mother? You didn’t even share a meal with anyone?”
He blew out a deep breath and almost groaned looking at her.
“Duke–Ben.
I won’t tell you anything else if you continue to pity me.
It’s just my life.
Everyone has one, and none are good all the time.
Not yours, and not mine.
It’s just the way things are.
We deal, you know?”
He didn’t answer but she felt his eyes on her while she ate.
“I’ll teach you to read,”
he said, breaking his silence.
She stopped eating and looked up.
“I’ll teach you everything I know if you wish,”
he promised,breaking eye contact with her, looking a little bit awkward to her untrained eye.
She couldn’t help but smile.
He’d already done much to help her.
Would he really teach her to read? But wait, didn’t she have to serve him? “What do I have to do for you?”
“Hmm?”
he asked, biting off a piece of bread.
“As your servant?”
He looked a little lost as to what her duties would entail.
Fable watched him think about it and chew.
She liked how he chewed.
He had a strong, squared jawline and good teeth–another thing most homeless guys were lacking.
“You will wake me in the morning–”
She smiled.
–and bring me my breakfast.”
Her smile faltered, then faded.
“Very well then, Helen can continue to bring it to me.”
Helen? “Who’s Helen?”
“One of the servants.”
Fable wanted to ask him if this Helen was young or old.
Was she pretty? What did she care? The duke was just a guy who helped her.
She had to get back to the future, or wake up from the coma she’d fallen into in 2024.
Why? Why did she have to? What was waiting for her there? Not even a bed.
At least here, she had a bed and food.
But here was the eighteenth century.
She didn’t belong here. She certainly couldn’t let herself get attached to a guy who was good enough to possibly marry the king’s niece, and she couldn’t slow down because a sword-wielding maniac was after her.
“You’ll stay by my side and be there if I need anything.
You’ll eat with me everyday,”
he continued when she didn’t protest.
Fable considered that this didn’t sound so bad.
Temporarily.
She basically had to stick around him.
Who’d complain about that? “Anything else?”
He thought about it for a moment then shook his head.
“Perhaps later I’ll think of more.”
“What about your sister?”
“Once she understands there’s nothing between us, she’ll back off.”
Nothing between us.
He was right, of course.
When she mentioned to him that she wasn’t his girlfriend, it made her think of it as a crazy possibility.
No.
She was confusing gratitude with some other affection.
She almost laughed at herself.
She wasn’t a fool. She wouldn’t become one now. She’d take what he was offering then leave. Even if she didn’t find a way back, she’d leave the Duke of Colchester the way she’d found him. She wouldn’t take anything from him. He’d been too kind to her. Besides, she was trying to live a more honest life. It didn’t matter which century she was in. If she made it back to Ipswich alive, she’d try to figure out a way to use the pocket watch and get back to her century. If she couldn’t, she’d sell it and live on her own, depending only on herself, just as she’d been taught. She wouldn’t ruin her good mood by thinking about the man searching for her from the future.
“Okay then, when do you want to begin teaching me?”
she asked him enthusiastically.
“I’ll have one of the rooms prepared for tomorrow.”
She wanted to smile, to be happy about finally learning how to read.
She tried to teach herself many times, but hunger often ruled, safety after that.
She’d just never gotten to it.
Now, she finally found someone to teach her.
But it was going to take weeks, maybe months.
“Today…”
he leaned forward just a little.
Just enough for her eyes to open wider, thinking he might kiss her.
He didn’t, but excitement danced across his eyes and lifted one brow with beguiling playfulness.
He made her forget running.
“...I’ll teach you a game.”
She felt like smiling–no.
She felt like giggling.
It wasn’t anything he said, though playing a game did sound like fun, it was more that spark of fire in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in him before.
Oh, she didn't mind him stoic and serious.
He was like a statue called The Epitome of Man , but did he really possess a playful side? She wanted to find out.
Fable heard the outer door shut next and wondered where he was off to.
She found herself feeling happy.
Her face even hurt a little from smiling so much.
What was it all about? Was the duke the reason? She hadn’t smiled this much in the last five years.
She thought of how she’d even giggled at Lady Prudence’s slew of insults.
She wondered if she was going nuts.
What was funny about an evil villainess’ foul mouth? But the duke had smiled when she found his sister humorous. And oh, it awakened thousands of butterflies in her belly and chest. If gracing her with a rare smile wasn’t enough, he’d protected her from those hurtful words.
When you can behave like the gentry you represent, you may return.
Fable had worried about what he would think of her when he discovered she was exactly what his sister had called her.
But it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
He hadn’t insulted her once.
So what? He was thoughtful and handsome.
It didn’t mean anything.
She couldn’t fall for him.
She lost her heart to a guy once.
Eddie had been more like a boy at seventeen who wanted a mother more than a girlfriend.
Fable didn’t know how to be either, so he went searching elsewhere and left her at a shelter.
She lied about her age so the shelter didn’t call the authorities and left with nothing but the clothes on her back.
Staying still got you caught and taken away.
It was the lesson her mother had drilled into her the most–and she’d learned it well.
She’d stopped running when she was no longer a minor. This time, though, she wasn’t hiding from authorities. Could she avoid the man chasing her? Maybe lay low here for a while, but not for too long.
Her ears perked to the sound of the door outside the bedroom.
She patted her hair and wrestled to pull her finger, or more like her broken fingernail out of her tangled curls when it got stuck.
When the short battle was over, she looked up to see the duke watching her.
He let out an incredulous snort and moved toward the bed.
Carrying an empty tray, Edith had entered the room with him and when she saw Fable’s struggle, she hurried to a table and plucked up a comb.
After setting the tray down on the bed over Fable’s lap, the servant began to comb Fable’s hair.
“This is Chess,”
the duke told her, setting a polished wooden box on the bed.
“Have you heard of it?”
“Of course.
I’m from the future, not another planet.”
Above her, Edith listened, then tsked pitifully while she combed.
The duke opened the box and removed a hinged, wooden chess board with 64 squares of oak and onyx.
Fable never had anyone comb her hair before, but she was distracted from that pleasure by another: the sight of his long, broad fingers while they spread the board open on the tray.
What were his hands capable of?
“Choose your color,”
his voice seeped into her pores like a mist.
“Which one is better?”
He sat in the chair by her bed, moved in closer, and set his doubtful gaze straight on her.
“You don’t know?”
The deep cadence of his voice held the power to entrance her so that she couldn’t look away from him.
She managed to shake her head.
He gave her a flinty snarl.
“It doesn’t matter.
No color is better than the other.”
She chose the shiny onyx and waited while he set up the board with their pieces.
“By the way,”
she said with a hooded gaze as Edith’s comb stroked her as if she were a cat.
She felt like purring, “this isn’t what I was thinking of when you said we’d play a game.”
“Chess is a game,”
he said, sounding a little breathless.
She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her.
“Yes, but it’s not like…a fun game.”
His fingers paused, setting down a carved oak king.
“Alright! Alright!”
She waved her hands in front of her, erasing what she said.
“Teach me what you know.”
He set down the last piece and looked up as a handful of her hair fell over her shoulder.
Edith’s comb had done little to tame the long, loose coils tumbling onto the board.
Fable smiled coyly and brushed it over her back and out of the way.
The duke blinked, seeming to breathe again, then began to explain parts of the game.
She asked questions and let him explain every move they made.
Twice, she suppressed a yawn.
“Your knight is your most important piece, protecting the most valuable, the king.
They all move differently.
Do you want to go over it again?”
She shook her head.
“So, your pawn can jump over pieces?”
“No,”
he told her patiently, and explained it all again.
“Only your knight can jump.”
“Right.
Right.
She smiled and cracked her knuckles.
“Okay, let’s play.”
Edith finished untangling her hair and per Fable’s request, left it hanging loose, not altogether curly, nor altogether straight, just a handful of soft spirals amidst gentle waves falling beyond the board and the tray on her lap.
If nothing else, she had pretty hair.
Her mother had even thought so and made her wear it in a braid or ponytail not to draw attention to it.
Especially the attention of men.
But Fable learned as she had grown older, the best way to hustle someone, especially a man was to distract him.
Her best tool was her hair.
She glanced at the board and moved first and quickly, smiling at Edith when the older woman promised to return soon.
“Miss Ramsey, pay attention to what you’re doing,”
the duke scolded, moving his pawn.
She nodded, liking the sound of him when he was so serious, and in six more moves captured his bishop.
He was too stunned to move on his turn.
He stared at her, seeming to look through her, as if trying to figure her out.
He came to a conclusion that curled his lip in a sneer, and then he returned his attention to the board and positioned his knight to take her.
She knew it was coming.
It made her heart accelerate.
It seemed he’d been going easy on her, but he was through with that.
She wiped her brow.
He was clever and dangerous, and it made her want to smile at him.
He’d survive on the streets of New York.
She ran her fingers down her hair and coiled a strand around her finger, then held it up to examine it.
He reached for his cup and took a drink while she moved her bishop.
While she waited for him to move, she picked up his captured bishop and rubbed it against her fingers.
“Miss Ramsey, can you remain still?”
“Oh!”
She opened her eyes wider.
“Am I distracting you?”
“Yes, and why did you tell me you never played chess before?”
“I never told you that,”
she corrected him, studying the board.
“I was having a little fun with you.
Is that a crime?”
He didn’t answer but in four swift moves, set up her king to be checked in his next move.
What? No! She had thought she had him.
She had played this game hundreds of times.
Old Hank the Shark had taught her.
He liked her mother and let them sleep on his old couch for two months until her mother robbed him and he threw them out.
But Fable had learned his game, and she’d learned it well.
By the time she was ten, she was unbeatable on the streets.
How did the duke beat her? Lord Sudbury had told her the duke never lost a game.
She’d been sure she could beat him.
He’d obviously distracted her while she thought she was distracting him.
Or maybe he was immune to her wiles.
Well, she could be immune to his, as well.
When he tossed her a triumphant smirk before taking his winning move, she jerked her legs up, sending the chess board spilling into the duke’s lap.
“Hmmph,”
she complained, making no apology for ruining his victory.
He remained seated with kings and rooks in his lap, his fingers clutching his beautiful wood and onyx board.
It only took one look at him without her competitive temper, driven by fear of losing a prize, be it money, food, a place to sleep for her and mother.
Every game had a cost for losing.
But today it didn’t.
She swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
His stoic face transformed before her into a knowing grin accompanied by an almost silent chuckle she found thrilling to her ears.
“You’re a sour loser.”
“You mean a sore loser,”
she corrected with a chuckle.
She stared at him and then inhaled deeply.
“Why aren’t you angry?”
“Who says I’m not angry? What should I do? Have you beaten? Throw you out?”
She shook her head.
Her eyes grew rounder.
“No.
Please don’t.”
He shrugged his shoulders with a lackadaisical smirk.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
“Okay, but first tell me if you’re planning on marrying the king’s niece.”
His smirk faded but when he set his gaze on her, it was anything but angry.
“I’m not swayed by her title or her beauty,”
“Oh?”
Fable asked quietly, tucking her hair behind her ear.
She knew many people didn’t like red hair.
Was he one of them? She hoped not.
“Is she beautiful?”
“Yes, very,”
he answered.
“But I’m not swayed by it.”
She wanted to ask him what he was swayed by.
But what if he said only a dark haired beauty could sway him? So she didn’t ask.
“Tell me, Miss Ramsey,”
he said softly, “why shouldn’t I throw you out for tossing my board around?”
There was no reason.
He should throw her out.
In fact, she wished he would.
She foolishly had a crush on her rescuer, and she needed to be away from him before her crush became something more.
But she smiled at him, and when she opened her mouth, it wasn’t to tell him to toss her out.
“Because I want to beat you at chess, Your Grace.”