Chapter 7
Oliver didn’t visit the Elberling estate often. It had never been a favorite of his family. So, he was apprehensive about the state of the house, especially since he barely remembered the place. He had grown up in the family home in Dartmoor.
“It is a different home when compared to the usual country manor,” he warned Dame Beatrice and Celeste.
“We shall judge for ourselves,” Celeste answered and suggested they play cards to pass the time. Dame Beatrice said she preferred to nap and promptly fell asleep.
Oliver was not unhappy having Celeste to himself.
Nor was he surprised when she expected him to be a worthy opponent.
She was, also, an intelligent card player.
The conversation between them was easy, and the day was a good one for travel.
The breeze was pleasant, the road smooth, and his new coach remarkably well-sprung.
Of course, traveling and riding side-by-side in even a fine coach like this meant that they would brush up against each other.
His legs took up the most space, but Celeste did not complain, even when their knees bumped.
Her delicate fragrance of cherry and rose seemed to swirl around him.
He thought of asking what perfume she favored but feared she would think him overly familiar.
“What is the plan for tomorrow?” she asked him, placing her cards down on the travel table they were using.
“The ride to Masick’s land will take an hour.”
“That long?”
“Elberling is a rather large estate.” Although not the largest of his holdings. “I imagine it will take us a few hours to tour the property Masick has for sale.”
She stifled a yawn and smiled at him. “It isn’t the company.”
“I hope not,” he said and shuffled the cards for another game.
Sooner than he wished, they turned into the drive leading to Elberling. The coach’s change of speed roused Dame Beatrice. She sat up, blinking. “Your Grace, this is a remarkable conveyance.”
“I am pleased you are enjoying it, my lady.”
“I should say I am. I haven’t slept that deeply in ages. I may have to take a turn every afternoon in this vehicle while we are here.”
“I shall see it is at your disposal, my lady.”
Dame Beatrice smiled. “You are a charmer, Your Grace.”
He hoped everyone in the coach felt that way. However, Celeste didn’t appear to be paying attention. She looked out the window as if anxious to arrive, and then she sucked in her breath as if surprised. “The house!” She turned to Oliver. “Was it an abbey?”
“Centuries ago.”
“It is magical.”
Magical. Oliver had never applied that word to anything in his life. Certainly not to Elberling’s crumbling walls that served as a testament to the building’s once holy past.
However, as he looked out the coach window, a change fell over him. Yes, the arches of the abbey’s once proud walls were almost in ruins, but enough remained intact to show how majestic they had once been.
Behind the walls was the old stone building that had been built centuries ago.
He had stewards to take care of each of his estates.
His man here was obviously doing an excellent job.
The late afternoon light hit the walls at just the right angle, giving the hard lines of the gray stone a silvery glaze.
“Those trees appear to have been planted the year the abbey was built,” Celeste said about the huge oaks with their spreading branches. “They have seen stories.”
He remembered the trees. He’d climbed them as a lad but he’d never considered their lifespan or the history they had witnessed.
His history. The stories of those trees involved his ancestors.
There were a few unsavory tales. His great-grandfathers had often taken what they wanted.
Succeeding dukes, like himself, preferred London.
However, as he watched Celeste, her eyes sparkling as she admired the home he took for granted, he realized magic was entering his life.
And it had started the moment she’d sent him the note that led to their meeting in the library.
“I suppose it is very drafty,” Dame Beatrice said.
“All of Britain is, Bea,” Celeste replied. “That is why I knitted woolen socks for your birthday.”
“True,” the dame allowed, and then her gaze fell on Oliver. Her brows lifted. Had what he’d been thinking shown on his face?
Her expression softened, and he realized he had an ally.
The coach traveled under the arches and around to the front door of the stone building. “I’m so ready to be out of this confined space,” Celeste said.
When his coachman opened the door, she was the first to hop out. She waited impatiently for Oliver. “You must give us a tour this very moment.”
“Happily, once you have seen your rooms and had a moment to yourselves,” he said, playing the host.
While the housekeeper, Mrs. Hillsdale, took the women down the hallway to the guest quarters, Oliver stayed in the reception hall, where refreshments had been laid out for the travelers.
To his surprise, Dame Beatrice joined him first. He poured her a sherry.
Taking the glass from him, she said, “I don’t disapprove of you, Your Grace, despite you being too handsome for your own good.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“That you aren’t the blackguard some believe? Absolutely. But I also sense that you are more than fond of Celeste?”
He noted the question in her tone. “I admire her greatly.”
“I think she admires you as well.”
“She does?” He’d wanted this confirmation.
“Do not be too pleased with yourself, Your Grace. I plan on being a dutiful chaperone.”
He thought of her snoring on the coach ride, and yet, he could see her becoming as fierce as a tiger if she decided Celeste needed protecting.
Before he could answer, she turned to the hallway door with a smile. “Celeste dear, come see this delicious tray of sweet breads the duke’s staff has prepared.”
“I don’t wish to spoil my supper,” Celeste replied, approaching them. She didn’t take the sherry Oliver offered but chose a glass of sweet cider instead. “And now, Your Grace, you owe me a tour. Will you join us, my lady?”
“I shall stay here with the sherry,” Dame Beatrice said and reached for another sweet bread. “You can tell me all about it later.”
Celeste turned to the duke expectantly. He offered his arm.
For the next hour, he took her from room to room.
She seemed to have a hundred questions in each room, and Oliver could barely answer one.
Fortunately, Avery, the butler, lingered in the hallway, ready to offer assistance when Oliver turned to him.
“You don’t seem as if you know this house very well,” she said, when Avery excused himself to see how dinner was progressing.
“I don’t,” he admitted. “I haven’t been here since I was a child.”
“Why is that?”
“My mother liked it, so Father didn’t wish to visit often because they didn’t seem to rub along well. I was happier spending most of my time at school.”
“My parents didn’t like each other either. Although they had nine children together.”
“Are you one who believes marriage is about duty?” He didn’t know why he’d asked such a question, and yet, once spoken, he was curious about her answer.
“Like the marriages our parents obviously had? It seems the happiest people are in relationships based on love. And I do believe love should be valued.”
“Because you are a romantic?”
“Because I believe we should surround ourselves with people and things we love. I enjoying being close to my brother and sisters. They matter to me even when I find them annoying. However, when it comes to a place to live, if I were you, this would be my home. I like the peace of it. Of course, I would make improvements. Some of these rooms need new furnishings—oh, wait, is that a dog?” She was looking toward the hall.
Dog? There were no dogs here, and then Oliver saw a black shadow cross the door.
“A dog,” she repeated happily, moving toward the door. “Come here, come here,” she called softly.
Sure enough, a black terrier peeked his head through the door as if to question whether she was talking to him. He was solid black with a shiny nose and laughing eyes as if he knew his own worth. Celeste made a delighted sound. “A Scottish terrier.”
Just as she reached to give the dog a pat, Mrs. Hillsdale came racing through the doorway. She swept the dog into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. Muggins snuck into the house.”
“He is your dog?” Celeste placed her hand gently on Muggins’s panting head. “He is such a handsome laddie.”
“Muggins is a handful is what he is,” Mrs. Hillsdale replied. “He shouldn’t be in the house.” There was a somewhat staged tone to her comment.
“All dogs belong in the house,” Celeste assured her. “I enjoy my pets at Fenmere Park. That is our country estate. Dogs, cats, why, I’d let the horse inside if they would allow me.” She looked up at Oliver. “Let Muggins stay? I miss my dogs."
His mother would never have allowed an animal in the house. Dogs belonged in the stables, according to her. Except, looking into Celeste’s pleading eyes and knowing her affinity for “pets,” Oliver knew she would not be happy if he banned Muggins from the house.
And in that moment, he knew that he wanted to keep Celeste happy.
It made him feel good to say, “Of course, he can remain inside—provided he stays away from my boots.”
Mrs. Hillsdale’s face lit with delight. “Thank you, Your Grace. He will behave. He is not a chewer, well, not much of one.”
Oliver didn’t believe that. Muggins appeared as if he did whatever he pleased.
However, Celeste beamed at him, and Oliver felt noble in a way he could never have previously imagined.
At that moment, Avery announced dinner.
Celeste and Oliver returned to the reception hall to gather Dame Beatrice, and they had a companionable, delicious dinner. Some place between the cheese and the pudding, he realized that the loneliness that had so often troubled him had vanished.
He had hoped to spend more time alone with Celeste after the meal, but when Dame Beatrice declared herself ready for bed, Celeste agreed that she was tired as well.
Oliver escorted the two women to their rooms. If he thought Celeste might linger, he was disappointed.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” she said. “Good night—” She paused and then tacked on, “Oliver.”
“Good night, Celeste.” The door shut quietly.
He stood a moment, staring at the polished wood. Magic. She’d used the word earlier to describe Elberling, but he thought it better described Celeste, with her remarkable eyes and heavenly scent, and her generous nature.
Oliver took a step back, and then another, though the last thing he wanted was to walk away from her.
So, he went to his room. Alone.
Well, not completely alone. His sheets had been turned down. A lamp burned on the bedside table. And Muggins lay on his back in the middle of the coverlet. He appeared completely at his ease.
A manservant, who was acting as his valet, came walking in behind Oliver, carrying a pitcher of steaming water and some linen towels.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I meant to have this ready before you—” The servant stopped short.
“Muggins. Down from there.” The manservant set the pitcher on the wash basin before racing to the bed.
“I am so sorry, Your Grace. So sorry. Muggins, down.”
Muggins did not move. It was as if he owned the bed.
The servant would have grabbed the dog and carried him out, but Oliver stayed him with one hand. “What is your name?”
The man swallowed as if he feared he was in trouble. “Henry, Your Grace.”
“Thank you for the water, Henry. I can see myself to bed. And don’t worry about Muggins. He appears quite comfortable.”
“He will catch it when Mrs. Hillsdale learns where he is.”
“Then we won’t tell her. Good night, Henry.”
The servant could barely hide his surprise, but Muggins began panting as if he was laughing. Unlike the family hunting hounds, the terrier seemed to understand humans.
Oliver climbed into bed. He was amused to hear the dog grumble as he sullenly made room for Oliver’s much larger body. Muggins curled up beside him, his back to Oliver, and both man and beast fell asleep.