Jensen Carter walked into the darkened bedchamber and placed the tea tray and the missive from Robert on the side table. He then went to the windows and flung the thick curtains wide, flooding the room with the morning light. The sky had cleared substantially, and the sunrays came streaming through the clouds.

Carter rocked on his heels while gazing over the square. Nothing like a good rain to clear the haze from all the smoke in the city, he mused. He walked over to the bed curtains to open them. A muffled shout stopped him cold in his tracks. He rushed to the door as he heard the commotion coming from downstairs. Before he could reach the door, one of the footmen knocked loudly. Carter opened it and stepped out.

"What is it, Nate?"

The younger man was bent over and could barely breathe from the exertion of vaulting the stairs. "His Grace—Courier. Waiting for response. Accident at Cedar Lane," he wheezed.

Carter grabbed the letter and ran to the bed, pulling the curtains back.

"Ah," John grabbed his pillow and covered his head, "Do you mind, Carter? What does a fellow need to do to rest around here? Leave me be for a time, will ya?"

"My apologies, my lord. There is an urgent missive from his grace, and the courier is still waiting for a reply."

John let a stream of expletives loose, while pushing himself up on his elbows. He had fallen asleep on his stomach and now had an excruciatingly stiff neck to add to his pounding headache. He blew out a rather loud sigh and finally said, "Bloody nuisance—give it here, Carter."

Carter handed the envelope to him.

Even with his head pounding, he could recognize the bold and precise lettering of his father's writing. John turned the envelope over and broke the seal. He pulled out the single sheet of parchment and read the brief message.

 John,    

Your mother was in a carriage accident. Come home, please.        —Ashbourne

Watson, now notified of the commotion, reached the door in time to watch the color drain from his young employer's face.

"Is something amiss, my lord?"

John pushed his sheets aside and jumped off the bed. "Carter, have my horse ready, quickly. I need a change of clothes and food to ride to Cedar Lane." As he ran into the washroom, he called back "Watson, have the courier start heading back, let my father know that I am on my way. If Robert comes by, let him know that my mother had an accident, and I am headed to Cedar Lane."

"Yes, your lordship. On behalf of the staff and myself, please know that our prayers are for her quick recovery."

John finished tying his cravat. "Thank you Watson. Carter, is the valise ready?" He thought of the desperate sounding note in his father's letter, and knew that the accident must have been bad. He made a last stop at the study to grab some bank notes.

Watson had just closed the front door when he remembered the note Robert had left.

***

The hardworking citizens of London were just starting their day. The rays of the sun were burning off the fog left behind, and the streets had a lingering scent from the rain that had earlier washed its sidewalks.

John pressed his stallion to a gallop as soon as he reached the city limits, past occasional farmers or travelers on the road, who were on their way to London to sell their goods. He had hoped to make the trip in one day, but his horse had thrown a shoe before dusk, forcing him to stop to repair it. By the time he was ready to head out again, it was too dark to ride safely. John could see the outer structure of an inn in the distance. He had to stop there for the night and try to make it to Cedar Lane on the morrow.

"I can stop for a few hours; have something to eat and get a few hours of sleep," he said aloud, almost as if voicing it would justify its need.

The lingering aroma of freshly baked bread filled the courtyard of The Crawling Pirate Inn. John handed his horse and the cost of care for the night to the stable hand, and walked in through the front entrance of the dim but cozy parlor. He noticed a small desk with a short balding clerk behind it, writing away in his ledger.

As he approached the desk, the man looked up, nodded, and took in John's dusty appearance. "It's getting a bit late for traveling. Are ya in a hurry, governor?"

John looked around the room, which was occupied by a number of travelers. A set of doors led to a taproom, where rowdy groups were celebrating.

"Do you have any rooms available tonight? Or a small parlor? I need some food and a few hours of rest before I get back on the road."

The man started to check his ledger and ran a monologue as John turned his back to him to keep an eye on the other guests. "Rowdy bunch ain't they? Harmless enough, though. It's the first anniversary of Worthing, our township here, so we are rather excited." Mr. Knightly, as the man introduced himself, showed him to a small, clean bedchamber and offered to have some of the leftovers from the supper sent up. John accepted, gratefully.

A quarter hour later, after a quick wash, a knock sounded at the door. The innkeeper's wife, Mrs. Knightly, apologized zealously for the meagerness of the stewed mutton, offered the freshness of the loaf of bread as recompense and left him to eat. The aroma of the stew combined with that of fresh bread was mouthwatering. Minutes later, John was deep asleep knowing that someone would wake him to be on his way at dawn.

The next morning John urged his horse to gallop, doing his best to reach his ancestral home before noon. It was when the sun was nearly at its zenith that he finally slowed down and gave his horse a much-needed break. He had about another hour before he would reach Cedar Lane.

The road curved over a small hill and soon Cedar Lane was in sight. Usually he liked slowing down on his descent and taking in the view, but not today. Today, he took the last hour at a hell-for-leather speed. A long driveway ended in the courtyard of his ancestral home. One of the stable hands ran out to get the reins from him as he dismounted. John didn't bother stopping to ask any questions. He ran up the marble stairs, as the front doors swung back in unison.

Milton bowed his head and said, "It is good to see you, my lord." John stepped in, handed over his riding crop and overcoat.

"How is my mother?"

"Not well, my lord, she has been asking for you."

John ran up to the second floor taking the stairs two or three at a time until he reached his parents' suite of rooms. As he entered his mother's parlor, the scent of English lavender greeted him with force. He never grew tired of that scent. To his right, the door to her room was cracked, and he could make out a small shape in the winged chair beside her bed. His mother was asleep, pale; her eyes were bruised and hollow. He nodded to Mrs. Perkins, who had been keeping his mother company. She bobbed her head and reached out to him as she stood shaking...

"She has been asking for you... she will be happy to see you, my Lord." She wiped the tears from her round face and left the room.

John sat down into the vacated seat and reached out to take his mother's frail fingers. To this day, he could not imagine how such a small woman had given birth to him. The Duchess slowly lifted her eyelids and a weak smile broke on her lips, "Oh John, you are finally here. I have grown weary of waiting."

She tried to sit up and started coughing, her body shaking with every movement. John quickly adjusted her pillows while the Duchess fought to control her coughs. He poured her a cup of water, and noticed as she quickly folded her handkerchief to hide the blood.

"John, sit here," his mother patted the spot next to her. As a child, he had loved crawling into her bed so that she could tell him bedtime stories. He sat next to her and gently put his arm around her shoulders.

"Ah, much better," Charlotte took a deep breath, which only caused her to cough more.

"You should rest. I can sit with you while you sleep."

"Hush, I have been waiting all this time, I made a list you know." John smiled. His mother was forever making lists. It was just like her to worry about lists at a time like this. He took the cup from her hands and took a quick sip to hide his own worry.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, "I know you and your father see less eye-to-eye these days, but you should always remember he loves you. We both do." She took a deep breath, the air wheezing out of her lungs.

John's eyes clouded, and he barely swallowed the lump in his throat. She was resigned. He could hear it in her voice, and the thought scared him. Was this really how his mother would go?

"Now let me see my list," she took out a scrap of paper from under the bedclothes. He took a sip from the cup of water in his hand.

"You should marry someone you love."

John choked, spraying out all the water in his mouth. When he recovered enough to argue, she arched her right eyebrow with a look he interpreted as 'Don't you dare argue with me.' John raised his hands in surrender and chuckled, "Mother, you are aware that I just gained my majority?"

"Yes, yes, I know. Your father believes that arranged marriages are marvelous things, but, frankly, I would not have agreed to marry him had I not loved him already, Duke or otherwise! You, my son, will be the next Duke of Ashbourne. You will have enough consequence and money to choose whomever you wish. Remember that." She paused briefly before continuing, "However, I did make a list of criteria you should consider in your decision."

John actually smiled now. His mother and father had forever been arguing about his pending nuptials. His mother threatening to kick his old man out for good, and his father saying that he knew what was best for his son. No one actually asked John's opinion on the matter.

Charlotte struggled to adjust her pillows and sit up a little higher. John put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. "Remember, be a good man. Live by your convictions. Make sure to take your responsibilities to our people seriously and justly."

She took another deep breath, which started a new coughing fit. John reached over to the side table and refilled the cup of water.

"You can give me your list, and we can talk it over later." Much later, he hoped.

Charlotte smiled, "I am just trying to fit it all in."

John stood up and started to lower her pillows, "I know," he whispered as the lump in his throat reappeared, and his eyes misted.

She reached out her hand and gently laid it on his cheek, "How tired I have grown waiting for your arrival. A short rest would be nice." I will miss my little boy, she thought to herself.

Charlotte folded her list and thrust it into his hand, "Do read the rest on your own." She closed her eyes and reined in her emotions. "Now, go and clean up, you look dreadful, darling."

John hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. Overwhelmed, he left his parents' suite and went to his rooms on the third floor.

***

A hot bath was drawn and waiting for him. Milton was a god among servants. . The man timed everything to perfection. John quickly took his hessians and traveling clothes off and stepped into the tub. The hot water felt soothing to his aching muscles. For a moment, he was tempted to linger, but he still needed to meet the Duke.

John was in the process of tying a new starched cravat when he remembered the list. He grabbed it from his side table and walked over to the adjoining room. For years, this room had served as the nursery, now John used it as his private study. Unconsciously, he went to the bookshelf on the far wall and ran his fingers along the spine of an old copy of Plato's Republic. He gently tugged it towards himself. A small click signaled the release of the latch holding the bookshelf in place. A door swung out and revealed a spiral staircase leading down.

This was the third-floor entrance that led to his childhood hideout, the ballroom loft. John closed the panel behind him and used his hand to trace along the wall as he made his way down the steps. He counted the steps, as was his habit, "twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and thirty." At thirty steps, he reached for the opposite wall and felt around while gently pushing on the panel to trigger the release for the door to the loft. It opened without sound and a sliver of light flooded the staircase. How odd that after all these years the doorjamb opened so soundlessly.

Robert and John had used this room as their base of operations for all their childhood pranks, as a place to unwind and often hide from trouble they had caused. It wasn't that no one knew about the room, it was just that those that were privy to its existence chose to forgot the room existed at crucial moments, like when Fredrick had overseen the search of Cedar Lane all those years ago. It had been years since John had to hide here, but in moments like today, he just needed a place to find his balance.

Thank you for reading the third chapter of The Duke's Bidding. Hope you enjoyed it. Please comment, STAR and follow to find out what happens next! Happy reading!