Chapter 5 #2
They reached the portrait gallery, which stretched the length of the house on the first floor.
There were windows on either side, overlooking the front drive, as well as the inner courtyard to the rear.
But the windows were dark now except for on the courtyard side, where the lights of the far wing of the house glittered.
Mrs. Theobald had seen to the candles being lit, but Meriel also carried an oil lamp to hold up near each portrait.
Between the windows were several dozen portraits, some ten feet tall (mostly the dukes themselves).
Others were of a more moderate size of three or four feet—duchesses and children, and even the occasional wolfhound.
Sadly, Stephen’s mother had died young, before she’d had a chance to pose.
Meriel would have to see if her family could provide Stephen with a portrait of her.
She took Mrs. Theobald’s advice and started two thirds of the way down the gallery with Stephen’s great grandfather who’d commanded a battalion in the colonies. As Stephen grew older, she would eventually work their way back through his older ancestors. It was a good way to study history.
And of course, look for ghosts. Stephen was still hopeful, and it was difficult to keep his focus on her voice, when he kept peering behind each drapery or statue.
She had begun to discuss Stephen’s grandfather when the duke appeared out of the shadows near their end of the gallery. Meriel gave a little start, and inside her heart kicked into this new rhythm that seemed only inspired by him. Why was she so drawn to him, a man she should have no respect for?
Stephen broke into a smile and ran toward his father. Then he stopped awkwardly to bow. But Meriel knew he’d wanted to throw himself into his father’s arms. Even after only a few days and some meager attention, the boy thought the duke could be more to him.
She glanced behind the duke, but there was no sign of his visitors.
“Hello, Father.”
“Hello, Stephen,” the duke said. He smoothed back his son’s unruly hair. “Are you paying attention to Miss Shelby?”
“Oh yes! I learned about soldiers and battles. Did you know my grandfather fought against the French? And my great grandfather against the Americans?”
The duke smiled at Meriel. “You certainly picked the correct history to hold a young boy’s attention. No discussion of the fever that wiped out half the household two hundred years ago? Or the younger son who fled to the colonies and became an American?”
“I thought we would start small, Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Did you see any ghosts?” the duke asked his son.
Stephen’s shoulders slumped. “None. I thought the darkness would help, but it doesn’t. Have you ever seen a ghost here, Father?”
Meriel watched the duke lift his head and look down the length of the gallery. There was a faraway look in his eyes.
“When I was your age, I used to wonder if there were ghosts in Thanet Court,” he said softly, his deep voice containing an unexpected rumble. “I kept thinking I saw one out of the corner of my eye, but I never really did.”
There was an awkward silence, and she realized that the duke wasn’t even looking at the portraits. Of course, he’d spent his life looking at them.
“Did your guests leave, Your Grace?” she found herself asking, though it was none of her business.
He actually seemed relieved at the change of topic. “Yes, they did. They had not heard of my recent illness, so I had to explain that I tire easily.”
Not that he looked tired, she thought, wondering why such a popular man would send home his guests. He was full of vitality and strength. His dark hair and eyes became part of the shadows, conquering them. If there were any ghosts, his mere presence would make them retreat with envy.
The poet inside her was struggling to get out again, she thought with disgust.
“Father, we’re going to talk about you next!” Stephen said.
“Then I arrived at the right moment. You’ll need personal commentary on my life and times.”
But there was no ten-foot-tall painting of this duke, only a smaller one of him as a boy about Stephen’s age. He was sitting on a garden bench, surrounded by foliage, wearing a mischievous grin that hinted at exuberant thoughts.
“There’s no dog in your portrait, Father.”
“No, my father’s dogs didn’t like me very much. Maybe I teased them too much.”
Stephen nodded. “Your dogs seem to like you just fine, not like when you were last home.”
Meriel frowned, but before she could think of a tactful question, the duke began to speak.
“I’m supposed to sit for my new portrait, but I just can’t seem to find the time.” He glanced back at the one on the wall with a thoughtful look. “This one will do just fine for now. Have you had a portrait done?”
Stephen shook his head. “Nurse says I can’t sit still long enough. Maybe I can have mine done with you!”
“Perhaps” was the duke’s only answer.
At that moment, a new light appeared at the far end of the gallery.
“It’s not a ghost, Miss Shelby,” Stephen said. “It’s Nurse Weston.”
It wasn’t until the woman came closer that Meriel could see that Stephen was right.
“And how did you know she would come?” Meriel asked him suspiciously.
“I knew Father would join us. He likes your lessons. And those people who came during dinner didn’t seem like any fun at all.”
Meriel couldn’t even look at the duke, who was being discussed as if he wasn’t there. But he said nothing, just looked on in amusement.
“Good night, Miss Shelby!” the little boy said as he ran to his nurse. “Good night, Father!”
Meriel caught the disapproving expression that the nurse tried to hide.
“Wait, Nurse Weston,” Meriel called. “I’ll join you.” She certainly didn’t want the other servants to think that she looked for ways to be alone with the duke.
She turned to wish the duke a good night, but he said, “I’m not finished with our conversation, Miss Shelby. How else will you discover more details to teach my son about his family history?”
She watched Nurse Weston and Stephen walk away down the long corridor, feeling very alone.
When they were finally out of sight, she slowly turned and looked up at the duke.
There was something very intimate about being in a dark place at night with a man.
Perhaps because she’d usually had a chaperone, she’d had no idea how safe they made her feel.
She was so very aware of him looking down at her. The connection between them seemed to pulse and shimmer with a life of its own, drawing her forward though she was unwilling.
“Your Grace, this is highly inappropriate,” she said firmly. She might be risking her position, but she could not continue to allow the duke to take such liberties with her.
He raised a black eyebrow. “It is inappropriate to make sure that you teach my son correctly?”
“It is inappropriate for you to keep maneuvering to be alone with me. And you should never have asked me to join your guests tonight.”
“But you’re not a servant, Miss Shelby. I assumed you wished to be treated as one of the family.”
She took a step away from him. “That is kind of you, Your Grace, but your methods are…unusual.”
“Then I will refrain from being unusual.”
But he wasn’t leaving, and she didn’t know how to insist on her own retreat. So instead she looked at the painting of him.
“Is there something I should know about your portrait, Your Grace?”