Chapter 5
“The kitchens are just down that corridor. If you ever find yourself lost, you can follow the paintings of food, and that will steer you in the right direction.” Alaric pointed to a door a little way down the hall.
“Paintings of food?” Catherine looked around and realized they had passed several portraits with food items.
Alaric nodded. “I am told such things should help jog my memory. And I got fed up with never being able to find anything. If you follow the books, you will find a library. And the stars will lead you to the ballroom.”
“Why stars?” Catherine glanced down at the small stars carved into the wooden paneling.
“It seemed fitting at the time.” Alaric ran a hand through his hair. “For some reason, stars and dancing seem to mingle in my mind. And they are easier to carve than musical instruments.”
Catherine shook her head, but part of her could see the logic. She followed the gesture of his hands as he reached across her and ran a finger along the carved star. She tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered in her chest as his fingers brushed against her skin while he pointed.
“Well, they are carved into the wood now,” Alaric murmured. “And I at least know what they mean.”
She still was not sure what to make of all this. It all seemed so unbelievable, so completely and utterly far-fetched. Her eyes went to the scar on the Duke’s brow, and she curled her fingers against her chest as she felt an urge to touch it.
On any other man, it might have hampered his good looks. But to Catherine’s frustration, it seemed only to have enhanced the Duke’s. No, Alaric’s. If he was going to use her Christian name, she would use his.
“And do they help?” Catherine found herself asking.
What am I doing?
Alaric massaged the stubble along his jaw. “I am not sure. But even if they do not, it seems a useful thing to keep in place.”
The scent of amber and cedar filled her nostrils, and Catherine swallowed hard. This was not what she had anticipated when she left London two days ago. She had expected cold indifference, not whatever this was.
A part of her wanted to believe him, while the other reminded her that Alaric was not to be trusted.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Alaric canted his head toward her, his green eyes dancing.
“I am just thinking that this is not how I expected things to turn out.” She watched his face, unsure of what she was looking for.
Alaric gave her a small, sad smile. “I think few women expect to marry a man who loses all memory of them. In truth, I had not expected to end this day with a wife.”
“Technically, you started the day with one as well,” Catherine teased without thinking.
Her stomach twisted, and she felt something surge through her. Alaric’s eyes darkened, pinning her to the spot. But his words caught her off guard.
“With wit like that, it is easy to see why I married you.” The corner of Alaric’s mouth quirked upward, and Catherine heard a slight huskiness to his voice.
You are being ridiculous. Catherine felt a flush spread across her. She was not sure what game the man was playing, but she was not about to let her guard down. No matter how tempting it might be.
He abandoned his son. He abandoned you.
She had to remember that. “We are already married. You need not pay me false compliments.”
“I am being truthful.” Alaric frowned. “Are you always this suspicious?”
‘Or is it something you reserve only for me?’
The words made Catherine stumble. She felt Alaric reaching toward her and jerked away from him.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his eyes searching her face.
“Yes.” Catherine wished she did not sound so breathless. “It is just… You asked me that same question on our wedding day.”
She watched as Alaric’s eyes widened for just a moment before a thoughtful expression crept across his face. He nodded to himself.
“Then I suppose that answers that question.” He gave her a sidelong look. “Hopefully, you will come to trust me in time.”
“Why?” Catherine asked without thinking.
Alaric pursed his lips, his brow creasing as though he was not sure himself. “You are my wife. Surely in a marriage, there should be trust?”
“There are many things a marriage should have, but that does not mean ours will.” Catherine turned her face from Alaric, not wanting him to see the mingled sadness and anger that stirred within her.
She clenched her hands into fists and shook her head, trying to banish her feelings. She felt Alaric’s hands wrap around hers, gently unclasping her fist. Gooseflesh spread across her body, and she looked up at him, the scent of amber and cedar making her head swim.
“Surely it is for us to decide what our marriage will or will not have?” Catherine’s heart swooped as Alaric said ‘us’.
His face was serious, with his lips pressed together and his brow gently creased. However, it did not seem guarded; there was an openness about him that felt genuine.
There is no us.
“Did you mean what you said? About trusting me?” The words fell from Catherine’s lips as she slipped her hand from Alaric’s grip; she knew he was letting her go.
“Of course. I may not remember much, but I know that I am not a liar.” Alaric’s eyes hardened for a moment, and Catherine remembered the old Duke. “You are my wife, why would I not trust you?”
Catherine opened and closed her mouth several times as she searched for something to say. A million different thoughts occurred to her. She should tell him that they scarcely knew each other, that he had no reason to trust her, but what would that do?
She was not going to play whatever game he was playing. He might claim to trust her, but she saw no reason to extend the same to him.
As they approached the kitchens, she heard a woman’s laughter. She found herself staring at a plump cook who was slicing a thick piece of cake and passing it to Oliver.
She watched as the boy took it, smiled shyly, and began to eat it. He ate with speed, as though he feared that someone else might take the cake from him, and it broke Catherine’s heart.
“I see Oliver has quite the appetite.” Alaric’s breath tickled her as he whispered in her ear.
Catherine yelped in surprise, which made Oliver jump. The plate slipped from the boy’s hands onto the floor and shattered. China went everywhere, and Oliver’s eyes widened.
Catherine noticed the fear in his eyes and glanced at Alaric, prepared to step in if he dared to scold the boy. To her surprise, Alaric raised his hands, speaking softly and calmly. “I did not mean to surprise you. I apologize.”
He looked at her and then at Oliver. “I think it would be best if I left. Cook, could you have someone send a plate of biscuits to my room and have one of the maids show my wife to her rooms?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The cook curtsied. “Martha, clean up this mess before young Master Oliver hurts himself.”
“Yes, ma’am!” A maid leapt into action, sweeping up the broken China.
Catherine caught the cook looking up at a clock and knew she should let the servants get back to preparing dinner. “I should take Oliver to our rooms. I am sure you have enough to be getting on with.”
“It is no trouble, Your Grace. It does the heart good to feed little ones like him.” The cook smiled at Oliver and ruffled his hair. “You take these biscuits with you.”
Catherine’s heart swelled as the cook handed the small boy a tin of biscuits. He took it with hands that shook so badly that Annabelle quickly intervened and took the box, lest he drop it.
The cook snapped her fingers. “Martha, show Her Grace to her rooms. I apologize, Your Grace. I know a scullery maid should not usually do such a thing, but with Mrs. Danvers still in London...”
Catherine waved the cook’s explanation away. “I understand. Our arrival was unexpected, and His Grace has not had a chance to find a housekeeper for the castle. It is perfectly all right.”
The cook’s relief was obvious, and as Catherine followed Martha toward their bedrooms, she wondered if she should send for Mrs. Danvers.
Do not be ridiculous. This is a temporary arrangement. They could survive without a housekeeper; after all, they would not be entertaining guests.
“These will be your rooms. I should check to make sure they are ready, Your Grace.” Martha hovered outside a large oak door.
“Even if they are not, I think it will be fine.” Catherine smiled at the girl and walked into the rooms.
Mr. Wilkins had been efficient. The antechamber leading to what she believed was her bedroom was arranged with a small bed.
A roaring fire burned, and someone had even managed to find an old stuffed creature and place it on the pillow.
It was worn with age, and Catherine was unsure what it had once been, but it would give Oliver something soft to hold.
Oliver moved toward the bed, glancing over his shoulder at Catherine. He paused. She smiled at him. “Go on, it is yours.”
He took another tentative step toward the bed.
“Will that be all, Your Grace?” Martha asked.
“Yes, thank you, Martha.” Catherine heard the door click shut behind her and let out a sigh.
Annabelle helped her out of her traveling coat as Oliver climbed onto the bed. Catherine could see his eyes drooping and noticed the dark circles under them.
“Are you tired, Oliver?” She moved closer to him.
He looked at her briefly but did not nod or shake his head. He had not slept well during their stays in the inn, waking and whimpering throughout the night; she knew he must be exhausted.
“I expect you are rather tired. I know I would be after so much cake and traveling.” Catherine let out a long yawn.
Oliver yawned too. She smiled and gently drew back the covers. “Come on, let us tuck you in then.”
The boy scrambled beneath the thick bedclothes. His eyes flickered shut and then opened again as he sat bolt upright. He looked from Catherine to the door and back to Catherine again.
“I am right here.” She coaxed him gently into lying down again and took one of his little hands in hers. “See? You are safe.”
She squeezed his hand gently, and Oliver squeezed hers back. Catherine’s heart felt as though it would burst. “I know that all of this must be terribly frightening, but I promise, I will not let anything happen to you.”
Oliver nodded, and she felt him squeeze her hand again. She smiled at him. “You should try to sleep. If you wake up hungry, there will be biscuits, and I can bring you some food once dinner is over.”
Oliver looked at her and let his eyes flutter shut.
Catherine gently stroked his hand with her thumb, watching his eyes open and shut, the length between the opening and the shutting slowly growing longer.
Eventually, they remained closed. His breathing was soft and shallow, and Catherine knew he was asleep.
She stayed beside him, not wanting to wake him.
“I will sit with him, Your Grace,” Annabelle murmured as she moved to stand beside Catherine.
“But what if he wakes? I do not want him to think I have left him.” Catherine bit her lip. “If he does, will you send for me?”
“If that is what you wish, of course. But I do not think he will.” Annabelle looked at the sleeping boy. “The poor mite is shattered. He reminds me of my brothers. When they slept like this, they would not wake for anything.”
Catherine’s stomach let out a gurgle, and she clutched it with her free hand. Annabelle smiled.
“You need to eat, Your Grace. And I am not sure His Grace will take kindly to being kept waiting.” Annabelle gestured to the door.
“I do not care what he thinks. He can wait all night,” Catherine hissed. “Oliver matters more.”
“Whatever your feelings, Your Grace, you need to look after yourself, and that means you need to eat.” Annabelle squeezed Catherine’s shoulder. “I will look after the boy. You must look after yourself.”
“Very well.” Carefully, Catherine slipped her hand from Oliver’s.
He stirred, making soft squeaks and reaching out as though searching for something. Catherine moved the doll closer to him, and he wrapped his arms around it. He stopped squirming, and a small smile spread across his face.
She swallowed as she felt a lump form in her throat.
What is wrong with me? As she turned to face the door, she thought she could smell amber and cedar, but there was no sign of Alaric. She shook her head and glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping boy.
“He will be all right. I promise.” Annabelle smiled. “And should he need you, I will send someone to find you.”
Reassured, Catherine left the room. Martha had shown them the dining room as she had led them to her chambers, giving them a mini-tour of sorts. But even with that, Catherine managed to get lost several times.
Twice, she turned and found herself in a completely different corridor where she recognized absolutely nothing around her. In the end, she decided to look for paintings of food and follow them, hoping to find her way to the dining room.
She understood why the Duke had had to give himself clues to find his way around. She let her fingers trace along the carved stars and then pulled her hand back.
“Now is not the time for dancing,” she muttered.
Her stomach fluttered as she walked toward what she hoped was the dining room. She was right, and as she entered the room, she found it empty. She could not tell whether she was relieved, disappointed, or some combination of the two.
She moved to what she believed was her seat and waited for her husband to arrive. As she did, she wondered how many more surprises the day would bring.