Elizabeth took a deep breath and lifted her head from the desk. She dusted off her hands and wiped a smudge from her face using the hem of the muslin sleeve. She could finally relax, at least she now knew there was no immediate danger here—all she needed to do was ask to speak to the Duke. The last time she saw the Duke of Ashbourne was weeks ago on the morning of her father's funeral. Later that same afternoon, the Duke received a missive urging him to return to London. The solicitors arrived later.
He will help. She was certain of it. With renewed zeal, Elizabeth stood up. She scanned the room for any sign of her past. It all seemed the same. The old cedar chest was still against the back wall. Elizabeth trekked dust across the wooden planks as she ambled over to the chest. Behind her, the trail of foot prints stirring up the dust showed the passage of time.
Gliding her hand across the dust, Elizabeth traced the floral pattern carved on the box. Are my belongings still in the chest? Releasing the latch, she lifted the lid to find remnants of her childhood. She ran her fingers through the small trinkets, a stack of tattered Minerva Press novels, an unfinished composition on aged sheet music and a treasured wool blanket. The rough material of the throw scratched at her fingers. The strong scent of cedar wood permeated every fiber of the chest's contents. She reached for her wooden sling shot, testing the give in the material. A smile slid across her lips at the memory of her escapades across the estate. She missed her visits here.
Years ago, this room was her own personal refuge. She discovered the loft the summer before her eleventh birthday. Elizabeth had been particularly distracted during one of her lessons with the governess which led to being punished in the cruelest of ways. Mama had demanded that Elizabeth should dust every book on the shelves of the nursery. That's when Elizabeth discovered the passageway. The housekeeper warned her to stay out, as the room was only used by Lord Paigton, the Duke's heir apparent. But curiosity was Elizabeth's worst trait, and she adored adventure. Eventually, after hours of cajoling, the housekeeper relented and showed Elizabeth the access panel into the chamber.
Over the next three years, Elizabeth made the most of the secret room. She would sneak in and watch as her parents and their hosts enjoyed extravagant balls and musicales, all things she could not attend until she was older. Sometimes, when there was a ball, the Duchess would hire a chalk artist to design and decorate the ballroom floor. This wasn't a common practice in the ton, only the most affluent and successful hostesses were able to afford such extravagance. The trend started as a way to prevent dancers from slipping during dance sets. Soon the most discerning hostesses used chalk art to create beautiful designs, adding an element of grandeur at their events.
Later, the loft became a place of refuge to escape the confines of expectation. A lady must behave in this way or that way. . . her mother's voice chided from the recesses of her memories. But not here. Here, she was left to act as she pleased. Here, she escaped expectations. Here, she reveled in the fact that she was intruding in his secret space, and he, like everyone else, was oblivious to it. At least, she thought so at the time.
Elizabeth remembered the immediate days after the passing of the Duchess eight years earlier. Mama was inconsolable, and to make matters worse, Elizabeth had overheard her parents arguing about her impending engagement to the Duke's son. An engagement that she didn't want to be a part of. It was not an issue of desire. He was handsome and charming, when he wanted to be. The problem was that he didn't want to get married. She remembered overhearing his argument with his father. He didn't want to marry me. Especially not me! He had bellowed. As if I would want to marry him! In hind sight, Elizabeth acknowledged that her feelings were trampled on that day.
After tossing and turning for the better part of that night, Elizabeth left her room in hopes of finding some distraction from the thoughts of her impending nuptials. That's when the idea struck her. She covertly entered the loft, donned the britches and shirt she appropriated from the stable boy earlier that week and sneaked out to the stables.
YOU ARE READING
The Duke's Bidding
Historical FictionA Duke's bidding is not easily defied. John, the only son of the Duke of Ashbourne finds himself on the cusp of being betrothed to a girl he barely remembers. In order to escape this fate he chooses to defy his birthright and adventure into the unkn...