Background
After the death of her husband, Catherine and her son depart for Paris.
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Catherine grimaced as Simmons hoisted himself into her coach. The very thought of spending a day confined in a small space with him made her think of a cell at Newgate. However, it would give her the opportunity to question him about Alamuir's list. She'd like to study the list and eliminate any names that might not allow her the freedom she sought.
"It was a lovely service, Simmons. Thank you for all you've done," she began.
"Yes, it was just as the Duke specified. I really did nothing."
"Well, you saw that it was carried out. For that I thank you."
Simmons nodded.
Catherine realized that broaching the subject of her future with Simmons would be difficult so she turned to Oliver. "Would you like me to read to you?" she asked.
"No thank you, Mama."
Alamuir had been a good father to Oliver, spending countless hours with him. She knew Oliver already missed him terribly. Alamuir must have known that every day was a gift and Catherine could see that he had used them wisely. Oliver would have fond memories of his father. She wished her memories were better.
After a short time, Oliver began to fidget.
"Your father has seen to your every comfort, Your Grace," Simmons told Oliver. " He smiled as he spoke to the boy. Simmons reached into the portmanteau at his feet and pulled out a rather large package and handed it to the ten-year-old Duke.
Catherine was surprised by the rapport between the two. It was good. Simmons would be a help to her son.
Oliver squealed with delight as he opened the package and spied the miniature soldiers, dressed in their red coats. He set them up on the traveling tray and lost himself in imaginary battles. The coach was beautifully appointed and well-sprung so the armies were barely inconvenienced by bumps in the road. Each bump that was encountered was accompanied by Oliver's sounds of explosions as if his toy soldiers had been destroyed by artillery.
The ducal crest on the coach assured them the best treatment along the road. As she looked out the window, she often saw people lined along the roads watching them pass. Their household goods and some of their retainers were following in another four coaches making an entourage of five with several footmen riding postillion.
Catherine insisted on bringing Bully, Oliver's favorite pet bulldog and he snored peacefully at her feet, keeping them warm. She found it difficult to read as the coach swayed, so she tried her embroidery instead. They would be on the road for several days before reaching the port and taking a ship to Calais.
"Oliver, shall we practice our French? I could ask Mademoiselle Fleury to join us at the next stop." The look he gave her reminded her of his father. "Perhaps you and I should practice amongst ourselves."
"I'd rather not, Mama. There will be time enough for French later. I want to play with my soldiers."
She patted his head. "Of course, dear. We have nothing but time." She turned to Simmons. "Do you speak French, Simmons?"
"Yes, Your Grace as well as Italian. Most of the arrangements have already been made, so there is little I need to do besides seeing that we keep to the itinerary. My skills will be superfluous."
"Well, perhaps you can humor me and help me practice. Alamuir despaired of me and my lack of linguistic skill."
"Of course, Your Grace." Simmons switched to French and began speaking. Catherine was lost after the first few words. She forced a smile at Simmons then turned toward the window trying desperately to remember the word for tree as Simmons droned on.
Her mind wandered back to Alamuir's last wishes. How could she marry again? She looked at Oliver and saw how young and unprepared he was for the tremendous responsibility that had been placed upon him. There was some truth in what Alamuir had said. Oliver did need a man's guidance. But she rebelled at the thought of giving away her new-found freedom. There had to be a way to satisfy Alamuir's requirements and at the same time keep herself out from under the unwanted influence of another husband.
After several hours, the coach came to a halt at an inn. Thank the Lord, she thought. Another hour and she'd have screamed. The Inn was called The Twining Rose and appeared respectable. Surely Simmons wouldn't allow her to stay anywhere unless it was respectable. Catherine and Oliver waited impatiently in the coach while Simmons made sure of their welcome. Catherine put on her hat and veil so as not to be recognized, although who could miss the entourage with the ducal crest? Such a silly convention, mourning. Would any of it bring Alamuir back? Of course not. She'd spent months being tutored in the social mores of her class. Alamuir insisted that she know how to behave. As they never went anywhere, she often wondered why it was so important to him. But now she realized that she would need to be circumspect so that Oliver would never be embarrassed.
Simmons returned and ushered her into the Inn and up to the second floor where a table was being prepared for her and Oliver in a private room.
They seated themselves, and just as they were being served, there was a commotion at the door. A man burst through. He was tall and well built with dirty blond hair tied back in a queue, his beard untrimmed and filthy. Catherine thought he looked like some Viking marauder. She stood, clinging to the napkin in her hand.
"Excuse me madam, but this room was previously bespoke," the man said with some annoyance.
Catherine had no idea what to do and put her hand to her chest. Fortunately, Simmons came rushing to her aid.
"My Lord, the Duchess has reserved the room some days ago."
The man turned and eyed her lasciviously from top to bottom. "The Duchess, you say?"
"Yes, and her son, the Duke of Alamuir."
"Alamuir, you say. He's dead? When?"
Catherine looked in horror as the man discussed her dead husband in front of her son. She put her hands over Oliver's ears hoping to shield him from distress.
Simmons put his arm on the man's shoulder trying to turn him from the room. "I'm sure we can find another room for you, Sir. You wouldn't want to disturb Her Grace while she mourns."
The man gave her a final leer and turned away. Catherine sat back down and began to sob.
"Are you alright, Mama?" Oliver turned and hugged her. "I'll take care of you, Mama. I promise I will. I promised Father I would. We could practice French if you like."
"Oh, Oliver, I am so sorry." With a sniff, she wiped her eyes dry and gave Oliver a wan smile. "I'm proud to have you here to protect me. Now," she proclaimed, "we must continue on with our adventure. No more crying. Your father would not have approved.
Catherine lay awake for several hours contemplating her future. She had so many questions. Perhaps Simmons would be able to answer them. If only he were more forthcoming. She found it so difficult to talk to him. How would she ever be able to rely upon him as the Duke had? And what of this list? Was she to see the list and make her decisions based upon Alamuir's wishes?
As she began to drift into sleep, there was a loud pounding on her door. Bully growled. Her heart began to race. Surely, she had remembered to lock it. She sprang from the bed and fumbled in the dark for her dressing gown. She could hear men talking. She inched toward the door to make sure it was secure. Catherine recognized the voice of the man who had previously barged in. It was him making the disturbance. Calling her name and imploring her to open the door.
The hair on her neck stood on end. A tremor of fear inched its way down her spine.
Another man's voice, which she didn't recognize, was trying to coax him away. She could hear a scuffle and a loud smack. Then the noise subsided and her breathing began to regulate. Was this what her life was to become without the protection of a man? Perhaps Alamuir had been correct. Maybe she did need a man, but she couldn't begin to contemplate it. Instead, she gave in to a hearty cry.
The next morning she was awakened early by Gisele Fleury, her lady's maid, scratching at the door. Catherine rose and opened the door.
"Ooh, madame. Monsieur Simmons has said that we must arise early to be on the road.
May I fetch you chocolate before dressing?" Mlle. Fleury lit some candles and laid out Catherine's traveling gown.
"Yes, Gisele. Chocolate would be kind." She arose and went to the basin to splash cold water on her face. She knew she didn't look her best, but she would be covered by a veil until she was secure in the coach. Maybe she would send Oliver to ride with his tutor, Mr. Markham. He would be far better company for a young boy, and she needed to have a private conversation with Simmons. She could no longer ignore her own future.
An hour and a half later they were on the road. Catherine watched the sunrise from the carriage window. It was a beautiful morning. Cool without being chilly. The leaves were beginning to yellow and would be in full foliage before long. She loved this time of year in the country and was sad to leave it behind. She thought of her garden at Alamuir, where she had passively watched the seasons pass. It had been a source of comfort in her solitude. She could almost smell the scent of roses as they headed for the coast.
"Simmons," Catherine blurted out, "how long had you been with the Duke?"
She watched as he gained control over his surprise.
"All of our lives, Your Grace. My mother was the housekeeper at Alamuir and my father the estate manager. The prior Duke allowed me to share a tutor with your husband as we were of an age."
"I had no idea. Were you very close, then?"
"Yes, Your Grace. We were best of friends as boys. We shared many good times. We were only apart during the Duke's time at Oxford. I have been his man of business since he came into the title."
"No wonder he trusted you so. Do you know why he chose me to marry?"
Simmons coughed to hide his astonishment. "Yes, Your Grace. However, I doubt he would want me to divulge that information."
"Well, he isn't here now, is he?" she said boldly.
"No, Your Grace." A look of sadness passed over his face.
Catherine had not considered his feelings of loss. She was quiet for a few minutes, allowing herself to process this new information.
"Alamuir is my home, Your Grace. I love it, too."
Catherine looked up into his face. She saw him differently. She had always thought him a pompous prig, jealous of his position with the Duke. "And Alamuir will always remain your home, Simmons. I understand better, now."
"I have promised Alamuir to look after you, and I will do so with my life, if necessary. You may trust that I always have your best interests at heart."
"Thank you, Simmons. But, I still want to know why the Duke chose me."
He was silent for a time. "Your mother was considered a great beauty in her day. She bore six healthy sons and then you. The Duke heard tales that you were becoming a great beauty, too. He hoped that you would also be able to bear sons."
"She died shortly after I was born. A grippe took her. I don't remember her," Catherine said as her eyes became unfocused and she looked into the distance. "I hated my father for selling me to the Duke."
"It wasn't like that. Your father loved you and wanted what was best for you. He knew Alamuir would give you everything that he could not. When Alamuir told him of his weakened heart and his need for an heir, your father relented."
Catherine could not contain her tears. They flowed freely down her face soaking into her bodice. Simmons handed her his black-rimmed handkerchief.
"Perhaps, Your Grace, when we return from the Continent we could visit the Baron. I know he would be glad to see how you have fared. He writes to me now and again, concerning you."
"Yes, Simmons, I would like that. I believe I will write him a letter tonight."
They continued in silence for some time while Catherine regained her composure. It was time to put the hurt behind her. There was so much she hadn't understood.
"Simmons, who was the man who barged in on our dinner?"
"The Earl of Begley, Your Grace. I believe he is actually a third cousin or some such to the Duke. Alamuir did not like him. He is a crude fellow."
"He came back to my room last night."
Simmons' eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, and she heard his sharp intake of breath.
"Don't worry, the door was locked, and another man took him away before he could do any damage."
"My apologies, Your Grace. I'll see that you are better protected. I'm sorry if you were disturbed."
"I wondered who took him away. I knew it wasn't you, as I didn't recognize his voice."
Simmons had no answer.
They stopped in the early afternoon for luncheon. As Catherine disembarked from the coach, she couldn't help but notice a man standing beside the door. He was large with jade green eyes and sable colored hair. He appeared to be watching her but said nothing as she passed into the inn. Catherine quickly averted her eyes. She had no wish to attract attention to herself. Simmons took her arm and escorted her to a private room. Oliver joined her and chatted away about his morning with Markham and Mlle. Fleury.
Catherine knew he mourned his father more sharply than she, but he was so much better at concealing his sadness. She suspected Alamuir had schooled him to keep his grief to himself. It would have been like him to look out for Oliver's well-being even from the grave. He was just a boy, and she would do her best to keep him happy. She listened to his prattle with a sweet smile on her face.
"Oliver, eat your vegetables. They're good for you."
"Nonsense, Mother. I am a Duke now, I don't have to eat vegetables."
"All the more reason. You'll want to stay healthy and lead a long and happy life."
Catherine put her hand over her mouth when she realized what she'd said.
"Did Papa refuse to eat his vegetables? Is that why he died?" Oliver's face was contorted with worry.
"No, dear. He loved his vegetables. It's just that his heart gave out on him."
Oliver picked up his fork and ate his vegetables.
