Chapter Twenty
You didn’t tell me that you owned an actual castle!
” Hannah didn’t care that she was half hanging out the coach window as the horses started down the impressive driveway.
As if nature herself wanted to wreath the sprawling building in glory, the sun was setting on the horizon just beyond the west wing.
The pale sandstone glowed a faint pink, and the central medieval keep shot into the sky like a monument to another age.
Hannah almost expected the portcullis to open and an armored knight to burst forth on his warmblood.
A moat, its waters reflecting the pastel-colored sky, still surrounded the sturdy walls although the more romantic drawbridge had been replaced by a permanent structure.
“It may look picturesque from the outside, but I assure you that the original parts are exceedingly drafty and damp.”
Unlike her, Eoin had remained seated with Méibh sleeping curled up against his thigh. When Hannah returned her gaze to him, she found him staring with patent admiration and affection, but not at the place where he’d spent part of his boyhood. His gaze was most definitely focused on her.
“It is massive. I am glad that your mother and sister are arriving tomorrow to help us search, along with my cousins and friends.” Hannah—who never felt intimidated by anything—suddenly felt doubt seize her.
The man next to her was practically her lover, yet he also had the responsibility for not just this holding but several others nearly as grand.
That was many livelihoods, and not only those of the servants but those of the tenant farmers and even the nearby townsfolk.
The choices Eoin made could raise the fortunes of the people around him or destroy their futures.
Her grandparents had keenly experienced the latter during the enclosures on Eoin’s northern-most estate.
Hannah had thought that her guilt and their mutual family history were keeping them apart—which they were.
But those factors weren’t the only invisible wedges.
What future could she have with a man like Eoin?
Although she was very intelligent and exceedingly capable of managing a thriving London business, she had no preparation for running households, especially not for castles and mansions.
When one pictured a chatelaine or a duchess, Hannah Wick was not the image that sprang to mind.
Quite the opposite, in fact. Did she even want to be bloody nobility?
Would Eoin even consider marrying her? Perhaps he just viewed her as a mistress, yet he had worried about her reputation as if she were an actual noblewoman.
Oh, it was all a confusing mess!
“It’s just a pile of rock,” Eoin said, his voice decidedly bitter.
“Pardon?” Hannah asked as she plopped back down on her seat. She was tired of ogling at the building.
“I saw your face fall.” Eoin grabbed her hand and wrapped his fingers around it, just as she’d reached for his so many times these past few days.
“That castle has been nothing but an ill-fitting yoke around my neck. I’ve always been told that I wasn’t good enough for it, and I won’t have you thinking the same about yourself. ”
Hannah frowned, more upset by his words than her momentary qualms. “You already are a better duke than your grandfather ever was.”
Eoin laughed, the sound short and bitter. Then he sobered. “Being with you has made me more confident to assume that role than a lifetime of my grandfather’s lessons.”
“Well, I am not surprised in the least. He was terrible at duking.”
This time it was a touch more genuine when Eoin chuckled. “Is that how we’re describing my duties? Duking?”
“Oh, most certainly. Dukely duking.”
“And how would you say it for a duchess? Duchly duchessing?” Eoin’s voice turned low and exquisitely soft.
A fluttering started in Hannah’s stomach, growing until it felt as if even her heart would take flight.
But what was even more dangerous was that her mind suddenly formed an image of her and Eoin together—as lord and lady of the manor—presiding over a grand ball where the patrons of the Black Sheep danced with the well-heeled members of London Society.
“I…” Hannah’s voice trailed off. She had no witty retort—just a surprisingly earnest want.
Luckily, it appeared that Eoin didn’t need a verbal reply.
His eyes fluttered closed, and he began to dip his mouth toward hers.
Just as she reached up to accept his embrace, the coach stopped.
That, of course, woke Méibh, who immediately started hissing.
Her beady gaze was most definitely directed at their joined hands.
“Why does this always keep happening to us?” Hannah complained in frustration.
“Perhaps because I am always wanting to kiss you?” Eoin suggested, his voice unexpectedly jolly.
He was showing more and more emotions, Hannah realized, instead of keeping them dammed up like some perfectly engineered Dutch dike. But it seemed like the greatest break had come after meeting his mother and his sister.
“I may have similar desires.” Hannah shot him a saucy wink as she leaped from the coach before anyone could help her down.
This time, Eoin’s guffaws were from pure delight as he followed her lead with Méibh wedged against his side.
When he alighted, he jauntily offered her his free arm.
It might be scandalous for a woman of her class to boldly link elbows with a duke and march through the main entrance, but she did exactly that.
Fortunately, Eoin hadn’t ordered his staff to gather to greet them.
Only a butler—who was just as delightfully dower as Smythe—opened the door for them with a deep bow.
Eoin was right. Even in summer, the ancient keep exuded a distinct chill.
Hannah supposed that the tapestries hanging from the stone walls were meant to provide some semblance of warmth.
However, they were rather gruesome depictions of long-ago battles that most likely featured the Aucourtes.
Gaping spear wounds and bloodied battle-axes did not precisely engender a welcoming feeling.
“I suppose you’re not interested in a speech about the weavings. If I am wrong, I can happily bore you with a long-winded history of each glorious blow that my illustrious ancestors landed on the enemy,” Eoin said rather flippantly as they passed by the grisliest one.
“That would be a correct assumption, Your Grace.” Although Hannah kept her tone light, she wondered how long Eoin had been forced to stand, with his neck craned upward, as he practiced recounting Aucourte legends.
“Should we head to Uncle Hugh’s chambers first? Or Uncle Francis’s? Or do you think we should start somewhere else?” Eoin bent to whisper in her ear despite the fact that the butler had already discreetly left, and there was no need for subterfuge.
Hannah allowed a seductively sly smile to touch her lips. She was rather enjoying Eoin’s flirtatious side.
“Why don’t we visit your rooms first? I want to see where you spent your boyhood,” Hannah suggested.
Eoin instantly stiffened, and his expression reverted back to its usual implacableness.
He bent to place Méibh on the ground and then straightened again.
“I spent my youth in a different room from the one that I now occupy. Grandfather did not move me into the east wing with the rest of the family until after my twenty-first birthday last year.”
“You’re only twenty-two?” Hannah asked. She hadn’t realized that Eoin was younger than her. He had the reserve and maturity of someone much older.
Eoin nodded before he opened an oak panel, revealing an ancient circular staircase. “I do apologize but the ascent to my former quarters is rather steep and narrow. This part of the castle was never remodeled.”
Eoin nearly doubled over to squeeze under the arched lintel. When he’d managed to wriggle his massive form through the stone doorway, he waved with his hand for her to follow. Méibh waddled after him first.
Hannah had to stoop as well but not nearly as far as Eoin had.
When she made it inside, she found Méibh bouncing and furiously flapping her stubby wings.
The intrepid little goose managed to climb up a few of the stones, but Hannah was afraid that she might take a tumble.
Hannah reached down and scooped up the bird.
Méibh gave her a vicious peck on the knuckles—as if to inform Hannah of who was in charge.
After that warning, Méibh nestled her little body against Hannah’s arm.
“I do apologize. I should have carried her.” Eoin looked over his shoulder, his entire body taking up most of the corridor. Hannah could imagine him as a medieval knight storming a spire, his sword gleaming, his armor clunking as it scraped against the walls.
“I doubt that you and Méibh would have fit,” Hannah pointed out. “Did you live in the keep itself?”
“Yes, which is why I know exactly how drafty old fortresses can be. This one was built in the early eleventh century. When the former Dukes of Aucourte erected modern wings, they all elected to keep the original tower along with the south turret, which is almost as old. They are, after all, testaments to the ancientness of our Norman line. Why build a monument when you can live in one—or at least force your heir to take up residence in it?”
“Isn’t this part of the castle absolutely frigid in the winter?
” Hannah asked as they passed by an arrow slit.
Rays of pearly pink light shined through the opening, illuminating the interior sandstone.
A few golden motes danced in the glow, looking a bit like tiny fairies.
The stairwell was practically a scene from a fairy tale, but once the biting December winds blew, these steps would be a foreboding, chilly place.