Chapter 7 The Ghost Swords #4
“Your Grace, the merchant delivering the pork this morning never arrived!” the cook burst out in a high, frantic voice.
“We are now eight hours behind schedule, and we must move forward with a different option. We have enough venison on hand, but venison is a much different beast than pork. Changing the main dish requires a revised twelve-course menu for tomorrow’s banquet! ”
“The feast took months to plan!” the chef’s assistant wailed.
Several more assistants sang out, “We’re behind on preparing the meat! It must be tenderized!”
“And marinated overnight!”
The cook continued, “All of the side dishes were planned for honey-glazed pork. Venison is much more savory. Now, I’ve already designed a menu to compliment the venison, but Mr. Friza insisted we get your approval—”
Celise braced herself as the rush of servants collided with them. She found herself taking an unexpected step toward the duke, seeking shelter in his powerful shoulder. In the sudden crush of people, she found her nose suddenly pressed against the velvet lapel of the duke’s jacket.
“While I have you,” the steward said, coming right up to Elias and ignoring Celise completely, “I have two documents here that need signing. The decorator for the ballroom has yet to be paid. If you could sign right here at the bottom, I’ll see to the rest. This next contract is for a delivery of rugs your mother arranged—”
Elias’s grip loosened on Celise's upper arm as the servants continued to swarm them. Instead, his arm shifted to her waist. With a slight turn, he placed his body more fully between her and the crush of servants, instinctively using his size as a shield.
Celise’s mouth gaped open. The roar of the crowd suddenly dimmed.
Tha-thump.
She gazed up at the duke, now standing behind him with a clear view of his slick oiled hair.
His strong shoulder blocked the majority of the servants from seeing her or touching her.
She found herself staring at the nape of his neck with a certain amount of awe.
In her small world, few people had ever physically shielded her from harm.
She couldn’t remember a single instance.
Too often, she felt the sting of a riding crop or a cane along her back.
Not even Mr. Talisworth could intervene once Marcella or Katrina targeted her.
Yet Elias had placed his body between hers and the mob of servants.
A sense of warmth rushed through her, of a kind she had never experienced before.
A blush rose in her cheeks.
As Celise gazed at the duke’s strong back, another man pushed his way to the front of the group.
By his green overalls, Celise wondered if he worked in the Blackwood stables.
He was holding a round tweed cap in his big hands.
“Beg pardon, my lord, but a pipe burst in the Sungilt Cottage. I have a plumber on the way, but which room shall we reassign to the Goodweather family?”
The steward rushed to add, “I have several options selected, young master, but your mother is very picky about where to house the guests. It can be a delicate affair. Do you have any insight into her preferences?”
“Mr. Friza,” Elias finally snarled, “Do you lack the capacity to do your job? None of these decisions require my input in the slightest. My father pays you a small fortune to manage the staff. Why is a groundskeeper and half the kitchen up here?”
The rotund man wearing green overalls paled. “I apologize profusely, my lord—”
But Mr. Friza didn’t seem deterred. With a practiced smile, he bowed and repeated himself, “I understand your concern, my lord, but this is an emergency. Perhaps not the kind you oversee at Firehelm Fortress, but we can’t proceed without some direction—”
“Venison is fine. What else?” Elias snapped.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you!” The cook gasped. She looked liable to faint from relief. Her assistant grabbed her arm as her knees shook.
“Your signature, my lord,” the steward repeated, and held out one of his papers along with a shined pen.
Celise took advantage of the drama and the duke’s distraction and quietly made her escape.
She ducked behind the groundskeeper and swam through the crowd of eager servants, holding her breath like a diver.
Luckily, she had a special knack for slipping away unnoticed, having honed her skills over a lifetime of avoiding Marcella’s temper.
Although part of her yearned to remain by the duke’s side and witness the full scene, she sensed her window of opportunity closing. It was time to exit stage left.
She finally broke free of the crowd, hiked up her skirts, and hurried down the hallway, her ill-fitting shoes sliding on the polished floor.
“Wait!” The duke’s harsh, commanding voice echoed behind her with military precision. “Stop her! Stop that girl immediately!”
“Who?” one of the servants called. “Which girl?”
“Do you mean me, my lord?” a maid called from the back of the crowd. “How can I be of service?”
“We have one more matter to settle, my lord,” Mr. Friza said, placing himself before the duke. “About your mother’s delivery, where shall we have the rugs stored? We don’t want to disturb the guests—”
Elias called after her again—“Damnable dust, seize that woman!”—but Celise didn’t look back. She hustled down the stairs to the first floor, hunching forward to remain out of sight. She didn’t hear anyone coming after her; the servants were all too focused on the duke.
Celise reached the landing on the first floor and turned left, sprinting away from the kitchens to the wide-open doors that led out onto the castle grounds.
Once she was outside, she paid no heed to her direction.
She selected the first path she saw that led away from the castle and ran down it.
She didn’t stop running for quite a ways until she was absolutely certain no one had followed her.
She found herself at the side of a pond where a little bench looked over the water. She collapsed in the shade of a drooping satinwood tree. The pale, feathery leaves fluttered in the cool Hallowsin breeze.
Sweat pouring from her brow, her breath tight in her lungs, Celise took several minutes to calm her racing heart.
By the Maddening Moon—did she really just hug the Mad Dog duke?
The smell of his cologne was still rich in her nose.
When she turned her head, she caught a whiff of that cinnamon-pepper scent.
Zesty, sharp, with a hint of something richer like cream .
. . vanilla? By its complexity, she had no doubt the cologne was very expensive, perhaps even a Blackwood exclusive.
She closed her eyes for a moment as the smell summoned a tickling sensation to her stomach.
The Mad Dog’s slick, oiled hair and broad shoulders remained in her vision.
She felt the sensation of his arm sliding around her waist. She recalled how he had placed his body between hers and the staff.
How he prevented her from being knocked over.
It was a small thing, and yet . . .
It didn’t fit at all with his cruel reputation.
She gnawed on her lip, gazing into the green waters of the pond, turning the encounter over and over in her mind. His mask. His intense gaze. His energy, like a winter storm washing over her.
The Lady’s Letter was not exaggerating, she decided. She could see how a highborn lady could detest the duke’s temper—perhaps even fear him. But she didn’t see him that way. In her world, he seemed more like a hero than a villain.
Despite this, she hoped she never encountered him again.
A patter of footsteps and a humming voice interrupted Celise’s thoughts.
She looked up as a female servant in green livery came trotting down the path around the pond.
The young woman looked like she was headed back to the castle.
She held a little yellow flower in one hand and was humming away, not paying attention.
Celise stood up from the bench. “Excuse me?” she called.
The maid looked up with a start. She quickly shoved the wildflower in her apron pocket. "My lady!” she said and dipped into a quick curtsy.
Celise still wasn’t used to the title and felt like an imposter. She bobbed her head in return. She had forgotten if it was customary for ladies to acknowledge servants in such a way. She didn’t think so.
She must keep up her charade.
“Hello,” Celise said. “I went on a walk, and I fear I’ve become lost. Can you help me?”
“Oh, of course! Don't worry, my lady; it’s easy to get lost on such a large estate. May I escort you back to your quarters? Where are you staying?"
"The Moongazer Tower.”
“My, but you’ve wandered quite far!” The maid gave her a polite, if perplexed, smile. “Please come this way.”
Celise followed the maid down the path in comfortable silence, preoccupied with thoughts of ghost swords, shined bullets and the masked duke.