The Guardian Duke: A Forgotten Castles Novel (25 page)

Equally important was an introduction to the Royal Irish Academy, which was said to be at 114 Grafton Street, according to the mail-coach driver. She would ask Montague to find out what he could on that front. Men would respect him, being a famed admiral and all. Baylor could escort her to the dressmakers as her guard. He'd be handy with all the packages and intimidating at her side when she called on the bank. She ticked off the order in her mind: lodgings, the dress, a visit to the bank, and then off to the academy. It would all have to be done quickly. She didn't know if the duke would find her in Dublin, but she thought, eventually, he would.

The thought of her outright lie . . . his anger . . . Alex shivered even though the coach was plenty warm inside. She didn't want to even think about what he would do to her if he ever, well,
when
he finally caught up with her. She wasn't so naïve as to think he'd give up. There were orders from the prince regent after all.

Turning her mind away from that dreaded future event, she looked back out the window at the rows of shops selling everything imaginable. She'd never been the sort to shop just for the pleasure of it, but then she'd never had any money and certainly no place to spend it on Holy Island. Her life had been about how the sheep were faring, what the fishermen had caught and harvested that summer, and whether they had enough supplies laid in to last a cold and stormy winter season. Keeping the cold out of the castle was a job unto itself. Buoying the spirits of an island folk who were hard worn sometimes, too superstitious for a sound mind and guarded to all but home and hearth—that's what Alex knew. Dublin felt a dream of a heavenly sort and she was a little afraid where it might carry her.

They pulled up at the post office and lurched to a stop. Baylor uncoiled from his seat like a big red bear, crawled out of the door, and then groaned and stretched up toward the sky. Alex could almost hear his back cracking as he twisted out the kinks. Montague adjusted his long cape and squinted into the sunlight that spilled over the city and warmed the stones to a rosy amber and brown shimmer. Alex smiled, enjoying the fact that she knew them so well now. She stretched too, her stomach growling with hunger. First thing was to find lodgings.

"Montague, the choices are overwhelming me, I'm afraid. Where shall we stay?"

He turned toward her. "Did I forget to mention it?" When Alex nodded with her eyebrows coming together, he continued. "I have a nephew who lives in Dublin. Lord John Lemon. He'll take us in and it will be safer than staying in an inn. The duke, if he figures out where we are, will look for you in paid carriages and inns. I doubt he will know of my Irish relations."

"Are you sure we can just barge in on him like this?"

Montague's eyes grew thoughtful with a glow of humor. "He's young and a bachelor, last I heard. I believe he will be delighted."

It didn't take very long to hire a coach and find Lord Lemon's address at number 31 Fitzwilliam Square. They stopped in front of a row of red-bricked town houses overlooking Fitzwilliam Street. Alex reached up to check her hair, thinking she must look frightful after two days on the road. She climbed down from the carriage and looked around. It was such a peaceful setting. A cobbled walkway in the colors of yellows, tans, and browns meandered between trees and shrubs leading to wide steps and a blue-painted front door. Montague lifted the brass knocker and rapped loudly on the door.

A maid answered, dressed in mop cap and wide apron. "May I be of help?" she asked in a pleasant voice.

Montague bowed his head at her. "I am Admiral James Montague and I'm looking for my nephew, Lord Lemon. Does he still reside here?"

"Oh, yes sir. He's here now." She looked behind Montague at Alex and then Baylor, her eyes widening upon seeing the giant, and then motioned them inside. "Please, come in and I will tell him you've come to call."

The three of them walked in, Alex impressed with the interior of the place. High ceilings with scrolling plasterwork and hanging chandeliers, domed doorways with columns, gleaming woodwork and large windows that let in plenty of light. The furnishings looked masculine and comfortable, the colors rich browns and deep blues and greens. It was homey and elegant at the same time.

Lord Lemon walked into the room, a broad smile stretched across a handsome face as he enveloped Montague in a hug. Alex thought he matched his surroundings perfectly. He was tall, blond haired, with a slight receding hairline that took nothing away from a chiseled face that had noble leanings. He was dressed in the height of fashion in a dark blue waistcoat, tan breeches, and a snowy shirt and neck cloth. His voice was very agreeable as he welcomed them.

"My dear uncle, what a pleasant surprise! I must say, I can't believe you are in Dublin. This must be some story indeed!"

"It is that," Montague agreed, turning toward Alex. "May I present my traveling companions, Lady Alexandria Featherstone of Holy Island and Baylor of Belfast."

Lord Lemon's blue-gray eyes twinkled with interest as they settled on Alex's face. She held his gaze, a small smile on her lips. Lord Lemon took her hand and bowed over it and to her dismay, her hand went clammy with nerves. "May I hazard a guess that this lovely creature is an integral part of this story, Montague?" He didn't release her hand.

"You may." Montague's voice held a note of dry resignation.

Alex pulled her hand free. "The story is reserved for trusted friends, my lord. Shall you be a friend to us?" She was surprised by the confident note in her voice and smiled at him, enjoying the parry and riposte of the conversation.

"Ah, how could I not, my lady, when it is apparent that your beauty is only one of your many admirable talents."

"A glib tongue will only get you so far," Alex teased.

Baylor coughed and drew Lord Lemon's attention to him. "Good sir, welcome to my home. Would you like refreshments? I have one of the best cooks in Dublin, smuggled him over from France with me after the war."

"We haven't eaten since early this morning and I heard Lady Alex's stomach rumbling at the post office," Baylor informed, as Alex turned a shade pink and shot him an
I can't believe you just said that
look.

Lord Lemon only laughed and bade them to follow him into the drawing room. He spent a few minutes ordering the meal and drinks to be brought to them, then seated himself across from Alex and crossed one leg over his knee in a picture of a gentleman at ease.

"You must be wondering at my surprise to see my uncle. Ireland isn't Montague's favorite place, you know. His wife, my mother's sister, was from Ireland and she was never treated very well in England after she married him."

Alex shot a look Montague's way. Her own people on Holy Island could be a distrustful sort and had their share of prejudices. She knew the type well. "I'm sorry to hear that. Was she terribly unhappy in England?"

"She kept to herself but a better wife never lived," Montague said with heat.

"He's right. I met her once, as a boy. I still remember how kind she was."

The maid came in and poured tea and passed around a plate of little cakes. "Cook says he'll do his best to get an early dinner on, but this should tide you over in the meantime."

After she left, Lord Lemon asked for the story. Alex told it, about her parents and her search for them, the journey from Holy Island and how Montague had rescued her, and then about meeting Baylor and going to Killyleagh. The only part she left out was the part about her guardian, the duke. No need to alarm a fellow peer of the realm. When she was finished with the tale, she said, "When we arrived in Dublin, Montague mentioned that you might have room for us to stay for a few days. I need to make contact with members of the Royal Irish Academy. I need to find the next clue as to where my parents went."

"Of course, you must stay!" Lord Lemon agreed. "What a fascinating story. I should be glad to lend my assistance in any way possible, Lady Featherstone."

"Please, my
friends
call me Alex."

A delighted look flashed across his face. "And mine call me John." His voice had lowered a notch and for some reason it made her stomach feel warm.

Montague looked from one to the other of them and let out a sigh. Baylor boomed with laughter.

Montague chuckled. "Just beware, Nephew, her guardian is the Duke of St. Easton and he is taking his post most seriously."

John's dark blond brows rose. "You don't say," he mused, looking at Alex again with a curious mix of interest and intent.

G
abriel stood on the shore of Strangford Lough in Killyleagh, looked out across the choppy water at the green-hued islands in the distance, and tried to catch his breath.

What was he going to do with her? Of all the scheming, manipulative, outrageous acts—to be lied to so—to be tricked . . . He took another deep breath and imagined giving her a well-deserved spanking. He would have to shackle her to himself once he found her to keep her from running off! And that made him all the angrier. Little minx. What
was
he going to do with her?

First, he would have to go back to the inn and console Meade and question the woman running the place. She had to know something. Maybe Meade should question her. In the temper he was in, feeling much like the prowling panther they often compared him to, he would likely frighten her and do more harm than good. Yes, Meade would question the innkeeper and he would pay a call on the castle. Alexandria must have gone to the castle.

He made his way back to the inn and found Meade mopping at his brow with a handkerchief.

Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry Meade, I don't know what came over me. I should have expected it of her, but that last letter . . . well, I'll not be fooled again."

Meade brought out the speaking book and wrote a lengthy reply. "Mistress Tinsdale said that Lady Featherstone, Admiral Montague, and a giant Irishman named Baylor were indeed here and that they left three days ago. She didn't know where they were going, but she thought they hired a coach and gave me the address of the coaching house. Shall I go there next and see what I can find out?"

"Yes, do that." Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Meade, do you believe Mistress Tinsdale told you the truth? Did she seem as taken with Alexandria as everyone else we've run into that has met her?"

Meade nodded slowly and wrote, "Her eyes did light up in that particular fashion when talking about your ward. She thought the threesome 'delightful' she said several times. I do believe her, though. She didn't seem to be lying or covering anything up."

"Hmmm." Gabriel reached for the speaking book. "I believe I will pay a call at the castle and see what I can discover while you look into their next direction."

"Very good, Your Grace." Meade bowed, slapped his hat down on his head, and turned to go.

Gabriel put his gloves back on and followed him to the street, turning toward the castle. If he remembered the history correctly, the Hamilton Rowans held the Killyleagh seat now and the current owner would be Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who from all accounts was a fiery character indeed. He was one of the founders of the Society of United Irishmen, a revolutionary group that wanted to end British rule over Ireland. He was a well-traveled man who had even spent some time in prison due to his political views. It was said that he escaped by climbing out a window with a bedsheet rope. Gabriel had to admit, he was looking forward to meeting the man.

In less than an hour he was seated across from him, laughing at the old stories through curls of cigar smoke. He finally turned the conversation to his ward. "So you say she was here? Looking for clues as to the whereabouts of her parents?"

Sir Archibald nodded, a small smile on his lips and wrote his reply.
I must say she convinced me that they might still be alive. Very determined, Lady Featherstone.

"You don't know the half of it." Gabriel returned the speaking book. "I've been told that her parents were looking for a missing piece of the Sloane collection, so it makes sense that they came here, but no one seems to know what they found or where they went next. Did Lady Featherstone mention any leads?"

No, you know more than she did, I think. I told her about Sloane and raised the questions about what could be missing from his collection. I do know one thing her parents found because I loaned it to them. It was an old journal of Sloane's that had somehow ended up in the castle's library. The Featherstones were keen to have it and I saw little reason not to loan it to them. I told Alexandria this. Another book about the history of Killyleagh was stolen by two Spaniards. I don't know what has happened to them.

"It sounds like she found very little help here."

"I'm afraid so." Sir Archibald shrugged. "I don't think that will deter her, however. She's the stubborn sort."

Gabriel could only agree. He rose to leave and stretched out his hand toward Sir Archibald. "I thank you, sir. It was a pleasure meeting one of Ireland's heroes."

Sir Archibald laughed and shook Gabriel's hand. "Would that I were young again and still at such work."

Gabriel was just turning to leave when Sir Archibald stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Reaching for the speaking book, he quickly wrote,
Wait! I've just remembered something. Before leaving, the Featherstones asked if Killyleagh had a dressmaker, something about needing warmer clothes. I gave them the name of Peggy O'Callaghan. My wife has had some clothing made up by her and was quite pleased with the work. She has a shop on Frederick Street.

"Thank you, sir. I will visit her right away."

True to his word, Gabriel ducked under the low door frame of O'Callaghan Tailoring and Fine Dress within a few minutes of leaving the castle. It was an interesting place, with stacks of cloth, articles of clothing in varying degrees of completion, and a hodgepodge of items relating to sewing strewn about the room. An older woman rushed from the back room as the door closed behind him.

She took a long, considering look at Gabriel's costume and must have sensed he was a man of means as she smiled broadly and bade him to sit down and warm himself by the fire. Before Gabriel could state his business, he had a steaming cup of tea in his hand and a plate of sweets at his elbow on the table beside the chair. She seated herself and started to talk in such a fast manner that Gabriel groaned. Taking out the speaking book he explained its need, an embarrassed flush filling his cheeks, and then asked about the Featherstones.