Chapter 4
“Dead?” Roderick said, the word catching in his throat, the way words often did in dreams. It was too loud, too slow; he didn’t want to believe it. Roderick was in his father’s study, although he had never set foot in such a place before.
The room had shaped itself around him. He had originally had the conversation in Millicent’s drawing room. In the dream, the walls were made of gray stone, stretching impossibly high, covered in portraits with faces he could not quite focus on.
“Yes, sir,” his butler, Mr. Barnaby Pike had said. “He died two years ago, it would seem. The night of his wedding.”
“His… wedding?” Roderick had asked, raising an eyebrow. The room tilted and the wind was knocked out of him in that moment. If his father had remarried before his mother’s death, then his claim to his inheritance could weaken. If that woman had gotten pregnant, even more so.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Pike continued. He was married to one Miss Lavinia Wrexham, née Devereux. He died that night. The estate has remained under her care ever since.”
“When was the wedding?” Roderick asked. “What month?”
“Ah…” Mr. Pike consulted his notes. “That would be… May of that year,” he explained.
“May…”
The dream shimmered around him, the sensation of his mind understanding the problem with that sentence. The duke’s wedding had come two months before his mother’s death.
“Is she aware of his past?” Roderick had asked.
“His what?” Mr. Pike said as his dream began to fade. “Roderick? Roderick?”
“Roderick!” Mr. Pike shouted. Roderick gasped and sprang awake.
The pair were staying at The Stag and Crown inn, about half a mile away from Briarwood Hall.
He and Mr. Pike had gone to visit the area, to start to understand what the duchess and the area around the estate were like.
In truth, Roderick had expected to find the area in shambles. He had never been so glad to be wrong.
The fair had been the perfect way for them to see all of it.
First, they explored what the village was like. Then, they spoke to a few of the townspeople and overheard conversations between several local gentlemen. Finally, he had met that woman…
She had looked up at him indignantly as he caught her. He knew that he had not been the most gentlemanly in that moment, snapping at a woman still catching her breath from a fall.
She had walked away before he could even offer his name, chin high, the same sharp fire in her eyes that seemed entirely at odds with her delicate features. He rather hoped the village was small enough that their paths might cross again, if only to see her and attempt to apologize.
As Roderick sat with Mr. Pike waiting for their tea and breakfast to arrive, he could not forget the sharp-tongued woman who fell into his arms, the flash in her eyes when she pulled away, or the way she would not let go of his gaze until she was around the corner.
“Well,” Mr. Pike started. “We shall investigate the village more today now that the fair is overt. Perhaps we can look through the bookshop.”
“The… bookshop?” Roderick asked with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a necessary stop when we are trying to gain access to the estate?”
“It is,” Mr. Pike nodded.
“Would not exploring the town be a better use of our time?” Roderick asked.
“I suppose,” Mr. Pike said, slightly deflating. Roderick’s brow furrowed, then he chuckled.
“Ever the bibliophile,” he sighed.
“It—ah—also could have some useful information there?” Mr. Pike stammered.
“That is a form of logic,” Roderick said, folding his arms. “One I suppose I am not about to try and argue.”
“Very good,” Mr. Pike nodded.
“I suppose it also would not hurt for me to see if there is something inside worth bringing home to Oswin,” Roderick added before sipping his tea.
“Exactly. Once we have more information, we can work on how to get access to the estate and get you what is rightfully yours,” Mr. Pike continued.
“Could we not, say, approach the estate and ask for entrance?” Roderick asked.
“Unlikely,” the butler sighed. “I suspect there will already be rumors of your arrival, which will likely have reached the ears of the duchess by now. She will be on guard and looking to protect what she believes is hers.”
"And the other claimants?" Roderick asked. "The infant, and the cousin abroad?"
"I have written to associates in London regarding the cousin," Mr. Pike said, taking out a small leather notebook Roderick had seen many times before.
"He has shown no interest in the title thus far, and I am told he has no wish to leave his post overseas for a dukedom he has never set eyes on. As for the child…”
Mr. Pike's mouth thinned. “He has only become more sickly as the years have gone on. Even if his mother were inclined to press his claim, I doubt the courts would favor an infant's inheritance over a grown man's, particularly one who can prove legitimate birth."
"Then it is truly between myself and the duchess," Roderick said quietly.
"It would appear so, sir,” Mr. Pike agreed, snapping the book shut. “And the duchess is likely to want to fight fiercely for her claim. A woman given independence is a rare thing. If she is able to keep it, that is something she will hang onto.”
“I am sure she will…” Roderick’s voice trailed off. Mr. Pike watched him for a moment, raising an eyebrow.
“Sir?” the man said gently. Roderick startled.
“I am sorry,” Roderick said. “I am not quite myself today.”
“What has you so distant?” Mr. Pike asked. Roderick paused, his fingers nervously tapping on the table. He took a breath and turned to the butler.
"I confess a woman rather occupies my thoughts," Roderick admitted, turning his teacup slowly on its saucer. "A sharp-tongued thing. Fell straight into my arms in the crush of the fair and then scolded me for catching her."
Mr. Pike raised an eyebrow.
"And did you get her name?"
"I did not," Roderick said. "She was gone before I thought to ask."
"A pity," Mr. Pike said dryly. "Though I would advise you keep your thoughts on the estate for now, sir, and not on strange women at country fairs."
"Quite right," Roderick agreed, though he was not entirely certain he could obey that advice.
“How are we to handle the duchess then?” Mr. Pike asked.
“I do not wish to be overly duplicitous,” Roderick added. “It is not her fault that she had the misfortune of marrying my father.”
“Is it not?” Mr. Pike asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I suspect he either tricked her, as he did my mother,” Roderick sighed. “Or she was well aware of his nature and could not say no to marrying a monster. We shall not be cruel. But I should receive what I am owed.”
“Very well,” Mr. Pike nodded. “We shall do what we can.”
Roderick nodded, finishing his tea.
“Let us go,” he said, standing up and pulling on his coat. Mr. Pike followed him quickly, and they left the inn.
The town was slowly transitioning from the thrill of the days before, to the enforced normalcy that was creeping upon it s they walked through the cobbled streets.
Stalls were being dismantled, as were the areas where musicians and puppets had been performing.
The air was still thick with the smells of roasted meats and chestnuts.
Those smells would remain in the area for some time.
The cobbles were hard under their feet, save for the few spots where a child had dropped a ribbon.
Roderick’s heart raced as he walked through the streets, knowing that he might have a claim to the area.
Might, however, was the operative word. If there was one issue with the claim, the possibilty his mother’s documents had been invalid without her knowing, or even if the death of the duke or his mother had been recorded incorrectly…
His heart sank. There was no other option for him. Roderick had to claim his inheritance, properly. Millicent and Oswin were relying on him to do so.
“Ah, there it is!” Mr. Pike cried happily, pointing toward the shop. Roderick blinked and his eyes followed the man’s finger. The bookshop was only a short walk from the inn. The outside of the building was a dark, warm brown wood, with gentle blue lettering over the top of the door.
The shop was slightly hidden between the other dwellings around it, clearly having been built years earlier, and running ever since.
Roderick pushed open the mahogany door, the small bell above it chiming softly.
Mr. Pike wandered toward the history shelves while Roderick drifted between the bookcases, letting his eyes roam over the titles.
The shop was quiet, carrying the familiar scent of leather bindings and old paper.
Moments later, the bell above the door rang again. Roderick glanced up.
It is her!
His eyes widened as he saw her again, wearing a dark blue dress, with a maid who stayed by the door.
The woman saw him as well. Her expression paled before she composed herself, pulled her chin up, and walked away.
He watched her disappear behind one of the bookshelves.
For a moment, he wondered if he should walk after her, apologize fully for their encounter at the fair.
Then he shook his head and pushed the thought away.
She fell into me. I should not apologize for her mistake.
The shop grew quiet around them. For a few moments Roderick thought she was still across from him, then he caught movement at the end of the row and watched her approach.
He did his best to keep his eyes focused on the books in front of him, and not on the smell of her rose and thyme perfume.
Her eyes were focused forward, selecting a book in front of her.
Like him, they were too focused. Neither of them seemed to wish to acknowledge the other.
He was aware of every small sound she made.
The soft rustle of her skirts, the faint scrape of her fingers along the spines of the books, the quiet, measured breaths she seemed to be taking with some effort.
He wondered, absurdly, whether she felt the same prickling awareness of him that he felt of her, or whether he was simply a fool standing too still in a bookshop, imagining things that were not there.
The silence between them had grown almost unbearable. Roderick found himself straining to hear her breathe, or the faint rustle of pages as she adjusted the book in her hands.
After a few moments, she stepped back and made to leave. He felt his shoulders relax.
“Ah!” she gasped, followed by a thud on the floor. He turned to her. The woman had dropped the heavy book that she had just chosen. She was mumbling to herself as she crouched down to reach for it.
“Ah, let me—” he started, crouching down with her, reaching for the book.
Roderick’s hand landed on top of hers. For a moment, they both froze as their hands rested on the leather binding.
He looked up at her. They were closer than they had been at the fair.
She had much fairer skin than he had noticed in the sunlight; her eyes were flecked with gold.
He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat.
“I… Thank you,” she whispered, finally pulling her hand away, taking the book with it. She pulled herself up and all but ran out of the bookshop.
“Her Grace usually has some more decorum than that,” the bookseller at the front of the shop said. Roderick hesitated before walking over and taking out the coins needed to pay for the book she had rushed out with.
“You called her, ‘Her Grace’…” Roderick said. “Who exactly is she?”
“You do not know?” the man asked, wide-eyed. “That was the Dowager Duchess of Alderwick. The widow who manages Briarwood Hall.”
The name stopped him cold. He had assumed she belonged to the local gentry, but the Duchess of Alderwick herself?
She is the widow whose estate I have come to claim…
Roderick was lost for words, leaving the conversation without conclusion. Running a hand through his hair, he walked over to Mr. Pike.
“We are going to the estate tomorrow,” he said firmly.
“But, sir—” Mr. Pike started.
“No buts,” Roderick shook his head. “I need to see this for myself…”
They walked back toward the inn in silence, Roderick's feet a stiff staccato on the cobbles, while Mr. Pike shuffled at his side. His mind turned over the events of the shop for the duration of their walk. He thought of the duchess’ wide, startled eyes when she had seen him, the warmth of her hand beneath his, and the way she had fled as though he were something to fear.
He wondered whether she had any notion of who he was.
The village was small; he had already heard others gossiping among themselves in the streets.
She was likely not immune to it either. She likely had already heard whispers of a stranger asking questions about Briarwood Hall and had drawn her own conclusions.
Roderick bit the inside of his cheek to stem the nerves running through his body.
If she has heard of me, then she has every reason to despise me before I have even said a word to her.
That did not sit well with him. He had hoped he could at least have a gentle introduction. She may be an obstacle to what he wanted and needed, but that did not make her any less a victim of the circumstances that surrounded Briarwood Hall.
Roderick thought of his mother's journal, the ragged and torn pages of a woman running through a storm with a child in her belly and nowhere safe to go. He thought of a young bride, in her chambers on her wedding night, watching a monster die on her floor.
By nature or by her hand? It likely did not matter in the end, the outcome being the same. Neither one asked to be placed in his grasp. Both women had been ensnared. Roderick looked up the path that led toward Briarwood Hall, realizing it fell to him to undo some of the damage his father had done.
We are both simply trying to survive what that man left behind.