Chapter Six #2
‘I do. It is a great privilege to inherit the title, but my duty is to ensure what I pass on is stronger than what I received. The properties, the land—I am safeguarding them for the future generations.’
‘My father needed to hear your philosophy,’ Amelia murmured and then turned back to the Duke. ‘I am surprised you are happy to step away from your responsibilities these four months. You must have a good steward you rely on.’
She felt Lord Beescroft stiffen beside her for a moment and glanced up quickly at him, seeing the slightly haunted look on his face. She went over the words she’d said, but couldn’t find what might have caused him to react in such a way.
‘It is out of character,’ he agreed slowly. ‘But I promised someone very dear to me that I would take a little time to do something just for me—something for pleasure, not duty.’
Amelie stayed silent, realising this was a difficult subject for the duke by the weight of the words.
‘My sister, Catherine,’ he said eventually. ‘She died a little over a year ago.’
‘I am sorry, Your Grace.’ She had known of Lady Catherine’s death.
When she had first entered service in the Duke’s household, everyone had been in mourning for his vivacious younger sister.
Lady Catherine had passed away a month before Amelie had started her post as housemaid, but there’d been little reminders of her presence everywhere for months: a discarded shawl over the back of the chair in the drawing room; sheet music on the piano; delicate shoes taken for mending that had been returned after her death.
‘She was too young to die,’ he said, the emotion making his voice deep and rough around the edges. ‘She was about to have her debut, to properly start her life, and then it was all snatched away.’
‘What happened?’
He closed his eyes for a moment and Amelie worried that she had been too insensitive, but for once the Duke seemed to want to talk.
Probably, everyone in his acquaintance shied away from the topic of his sister, wanting to be polite, but not talking about grief didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
She had experienced similar with the loss of her mother.
Her friends had been kind and supportive, but she could see they were uncomfortable, that they didn’t know what to say, whenever she tried to reminisce about her mama.
‘One day, about three months before she died, Catherine fell ill. She had a fever and at first we thought it was mild, that it would pass, but it lingered for days. We called the doctor, but he all he could recommend was to keep her cool and wait.’
Amelie nodded, seeing the pain in Lord Beescroft’s eyes.
‘Eventually the fever broke and we waited for Catherine to recover, but she remained ever so weak. It was unlike her—normally she regained her health quickly after an illness, but she found it hard to rise from bed. She had no energy, and even the shortest stroll about the garden left her gasping for breath.’
‘How terrible,’ Amelie murmured, her hand unconsciously rising to her throat, as she couldn’t stop herself from imagining what the poor girl had gone through.
‘We called the doctor back and he said the illness had weakened her heart. It was likely there was some silent problem there, even before the fever, something that was undetectable but made her susceptible to further harm.’
‘But there had never been signs before?’
‘No; until the illness, she had been so full of life. It was cruel to see her laid low in such a way.’
‘It must have been painful, watching her fade away.’
‘Those three months almost destroyed me,’ Lord Beescroft said, pure emotion in his voice.
His eyes glistened with unshed tears and as Amelie glanced down she saw his hands were balled into fists as he tried to contain the overwhelming emotions that crashed over him.
The Duke was always in control, so much so he often seemed uptight and emotionless, but Amelie saw a different side to him here.
His emotions were as real as anyone else’s, but he kept them tightly controlled, locked away so no one else could see.
‘Catherine was aware of her slow deterioration, but she approached it as she did everything: with good grace and more thought for everyone around her than herself.’
‘I would have liked to have met her. Your sister sounds like an incredibly generous and kind person.’
‘She was the very best. I often wish…’ He trailed off and shook his head.
‘Do you wish she’d survived and the illness took you instead?’ Amelie ventured quietly.
The Duke’s eyes flicked sideways and met hers, and silently he nodded.
‘I do not think that so terrible a sentiment. It shows the depth of your love for your sister. Am I right to assume it was just the two of you for a long time?’
‘Yes. I became her guardian when she was eleven years old.’
‘Then you were more of a parent than her older brother. I do not think anyone would think it strange for a parent to admit such feelings.’
Slowly, the Duke nodded. ‘You are right, of course. Sometimes our perspective is clouded by the opinions of the people we spend time with.’
Amelie considered this for a moment. ‘You mean the gentlemen you associate with in parliament and those you socialise with think the life of a duke is more important than that of a duke’s sister?’
He gave a half-smile. ‘In all my thoughts of what these four months in Cambridge would be like, I never thought I would be discussing the problem with the limited views of the aristocracy with my maid.’
‘That is why life is so wonderful—we never know what will come next.’ She paused and then decided to press on.
She wanted to know how the Duke’s sister had convinced him to do something so out of character as take a break from his responsibilities for four months.
‘You were telling me about your sister and her role in getting you here…’
‘I was.’ He spoke slowly, but Amelie did not hear any reluctance in his voice.
She thought he was enjoying talking about his sister, even if all the memories were laced with sadness.
‘Her decline was painfully slow; each day, she got a little worse. After a few weeks she was unable to get out of bed, and after a few more it took her so much effort to even sit up against the pillows. We spent a lot of time talking, for her body would not allow her to do anything more physical. I told her stories about our parents and we reminisced about her childhood.’
‘I know it must have been terrible, watching her fade in front of your eyes, but you will have been such a comfort to her.’
‘I hope so. In true character, she wanted to talk about me and my future a lot. She was worried I would sink into melancholy after her death and I told her it was inevitable. When the brightest light in your life is snuffed out…’
Amelie nodded; grief could be long lasting and overwhelming.
‘She knew she could not stop my devastation at her death, but she was determined to make me think about my future.’
‘Surely you have everything mapped out? I confess I do not know any other dukes, but you already have the title and the responsibility. You have taken your seat in parliament. I would imagine the next thing on your list is to select a wife and have children to secure the future of the Ashmead dynasty.’
Lord Beescroft grimaced. ‘That was exactly what Catherine railed against.’
‘Did she not want you to marry?’
‘Oh, she certainly wanted me to marry, but she was worried I would approach it like everything else: “thinking only of duty”.’
‘Ah, she wished you to have love.’
‘I’m not even sure that was it. She wanted me to pause, to take a break from the relentless responsibilities, to stop and assess my life.
She made me promise that one day, when I felt able, when the worst sting of grief had passed, I would do something just for me—something selfish, something that would not be designed just to further the interests of the family or serve my country. ’
Amelie paused, looking up at him in wonder. ‘And you chose to come here to Cambridge, to research and write a book.’
‘I know it may seem an interesting choice, but some of my happiest times were when I was a student. I loved spending time in the library, reading books people had laboured over. For many years, my hobby has been sketching animals and plants as I see them out and about, researching a little about them and jotting down facts beside the pictures.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh.
‘I must sound like the most colossal bore.’
‘Having a passion isn’t boring. I admire it,’ Amelie said quietly.
For a moment she wondered what her passion might have been if her life had taken the path she had once thought it was destined for.
What she enjoyed most was cooking—creating delicacies from the raw ingredients.
It was a love she’d shared with her mother and something that still bonded them together despite Amelie now being alone in the world.
‘Even a passion as dull as indigenous flora and fauna.’