The Dark Duke Page 9

  “What are you talking about?” the duke inquired, looking from one man to the other as he leaned back and straightened his injured leg.

  “My mam had a fine hen. A right beauty. And he wanted to buy it from her, but she wouldn’t sell. He’s been out to get us ever since!”

  The duke turned an even more malevolent glare onto Reverend Canon Smeech. And then he smiled. “I’m sure you must be mistaken, Tom. Surely this gentleman wouldn’t be so petty. Not over a chicken.”

  “The Smiths need the cottage, Your Grace.”

  “And you should have waited,” the duke said harshly. “Who are these Smiths? I don’t recall any family named Smith on the tenant rolls.”

  The sweating clergyman cleared his throat. “They are new to the estate, Your Grace. The duchess approved of them, and indeed, Your Grace, they are a most trustworthy, reliable, decent, hardworking family.”

  “How kind of you to assist the duchess, and by extension, myself, in the running of the estate, Canon.”

  “Your Grace, I—that is, we—take great care to ensure that deserving people are employed on your property.”

  “Hah!” young Bolby ejaculated. “They’re related to him!”

  The duke raised his eyebrows quizzically. “Is this true, Canon?”

  The canon cleared his throat and gave young Bolby a very murderous look for a man of the cloth. “Distant relations, Your Grace.”

  “Well, Canon, if they are related to you, I am sure they are worthy of something.”

  And not anything good, Hester completed in her thoughts, for she could hear the slight scorn in the duke’s voice. So, obviously, did the other men, for young Bolby looked pleased, and the expression on the canon’s face as he struggled not to give an equally murderous look to the mocking duke was enough to make her cover her mouth to suppress a pleased chuckle.

  “Is there no other cottage for them?”

  “None large enough, Your Grace.”

  “Your Grace,” young Bolby said, apparently somewhat mollified by the duke’s reaction to the controversy, “we know we got to move, although it’ll break Mam’s heart to leave where she come as a bride. He just should have waited, and he ought to give us some time to get ready.”

  The duke regarded the two men steadily. “I quite agree. However, if the Smiths are such virtuous tenants, I would be foolish not to let them stay, even if they are related to you, Smeech. Therefore, this is what I shall do.”

  The duke opened a drawer in the desk and took out paper, a pen and a bottle of ink. “Tom, I am giving your family the cottage and the acre of land upon which it sits.”

  “What?” the two men cried in unison, the one in happy disbelief, the other in dismay.

  “I will provide the Smiths with a new cottage. Beside the rectory, I think. And since you are their champion, Canon, you will be pleased to hear that I will charge them only a slightly higher rent than the Bolbys have been paying.”

  The canon looked annoyed as he reached for a large handkerchief and wiped his face, but he said nothing. Indeed, Hester thought with a devilish grin, what could he say? The duke had finessed him completely.

  She realized, as she noticed the secretive smile on the duke’s face as he bent over his paper, that he thought so, too. Suddenly he raised his eyes and glanced at the door. With horror, Hester realized she had leaned so far forward to hear, her skirt was surely visible. She grabbed it and pulled it back.

  Too late. “Ah, Lady Hester!” the duke called out, and she silently cursed herself for lingering so long.

  Nevertheless, she put a smile on her face and went to the threshold of the office. “Good morning, Your Grace, Canon,” Hester said. “I was on my way to the back stairs.”

  The duke smiled, and Hester had the strange feeling that he knew exactly why she had gone that way, just as he had discerned that the canon’s concern for the Smiths was not entirely disinterested.

  A dangerous man, indeed. She began to back out of the room, hoping he wouldn’t notice her as he returned to his writing. “Lady Hester, allow me to introduce young Tom Bolby,” the duke said without raising his eyes. “I trust he will be as fine a gamekeeper as his father was.”

  As Hester dipped a small curtsy, young Bolby’s eyes lit up excitedly. She suspected this was the first he had heard of being made the gamekeeper for the estate of the Duke of Barroughby. “I will, Your Grace. That is, I’ll try. Thank you!”

  The duke waved his pen in a gesture of dismissal before returning it to sit in the ink bottle. He looked again at Reverend Canon Smeech. “You didn’t bring your curate with you?”

  The question was an odd one, Hester thought—and so, obviously, did the canon. “No, Your Grace. He is visiting the sick this morning.”

  “While you discuss tenants’ cottages? Well, no matter. You are a very busy man, I’m sure. He must be a fine curate, to allow you to accomplish your many tasks.”

  “Yes, Your Grace, he is.”

  “Scots, is he not?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, from Edinburgh.”

  “My stepmother is planning a ball, Canon, and we shall need all the young men we can find. I trust you don’t have any scruples about allowing clergymen to dance?”

  “No, not at all, Your Grace. We shall be delighted to attend.”

  Hester had managed to maneuver nearly to the door when once again the duke affixed a steely gaze upon her. “I believe we are all impatient to be on our way,” he said, and Hester blushed at being found out. “Bolby, here is the deed.” He handed the paper to the young man, who handled it with reverence. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to your mother.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace! Good morning, Your Grace!” The young man bowed and backed his way past Hester and out the door. In moments they could hear the clatter of his running feet.

  The duke sighed, but his eyes twinkled with devilment. “There is nothing quite like charity, is there, Canon?”

  “No, Your Grace,” the canon replied wearily.

  “The duchess will soon be in the drawing room. No doubt you’d care to stay and speak with her? I know she enjoys your little chats.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I would be delighted to.”

  The duke rose. “Good morning. Canon.”

  “Good morning. Your Grace,” the clergyman said, bowing before leaving the room.

  “I believe I have upset that esteemed gentleman,” the duke reflected as he resumed his seat, just as Hester was reflecting that she had absolutely no cause to stay there. Nevertheless, she couldn’t quite bring herself to depart. “I’m certain you have, Your Grace, and what’s more, I think you’re happy to have done so.

  He regarded her with apparent astonishment. “You seem to be able to read my mind with astonishing accuracy, Lady Hester. Are you part Gypsy?”

  “No, Your Grace. You were not very circumspect.”

  “Ah. Another area in which my character is seriously flawed.” He frowned, but she didn’t think he was truly dismayed. “You, I believe, are more than capable of hiding your true feelings,” he noted.

  “When necessary, Your Grace.”

  He frowned again, and this time she believed he was almost angry. “Must you keep calling me “Your Grace’?” he demanded.

  “It is the appropriate title in conversation,” Hester replied, secretly delighted that he found the formal address annoying when she used it. “Your Grace,” she added mischievously.

  “The Archbishop of Canterbury is also to be addressed as ’Your Grace,’ and I’m sure you’ll agree that I am not one to share such an honorific with him.”

  “It is my understanding that the form of address belongs to the holder of the title ’duke,’ whether he personally deserves it or not”

  “Nevertheless, I am going to insist that you call me…”

  Hester held her breath as she waited for him to continue, anxious to hear what improper thing he was going to suggest, perhaps even to the highly inappropriate use of his Ch
ristian name.

  “’My lord.’ Only when we are alone, of course, so we don’t upset society.”

  “Considering those moments are sure to be rare, I have no compunction about doing so, my lord,” Hester answered. “Now I really must be going.”

  With that, she left the room, contemplating that if she were not careful, she could come to enjoy conversing with the duke very much.

  As Adrian closed the door to the office and limped back to his chair, he smiled to himself. He had enjoyed his conversation with Lady Hester. The look on her face when she waited for him to reveal how he wished to be addressed! He had never met a woman who made anticipation so fascinating. How her eyes had sparkled, and as for her delightful, half-parted lips—he had been sorely tempted to kiss her again, and if his leg had not been so sore that moving was agony, he might have.

  Especially when his mention of Reverend McKenna seemed to produce no change in her. Either she was indeed the most inscrutable woman in England, or the young clergyman was nothing but a clergyman to her.

  Which should mean nothing to him. Nor should he have been so absurdly pleased to think that she knew of his gift of the cottage to the Bolby family. He didn’t need or want her praise or approval.

  Indeed, if he began to seriously care what she thought about anything he might do, that would not be good. He already had enough to concern him.

  He would do better to recall that the surprising Lady Hester had apparently been spying on him. Try as he might to condemn her for her curiosity, though, he had an almost irrepressible desire to laugh at the image of Lady Hester creeping about listening at keyholes.

  She was indeed a most fascinating female. He would almost be sorry to leave.

  “It is unfortunately true, Mama,” Elliot said to his mother as she sat to take tea later that day and well after Canon Smeech had taken his leave. “Adrian refused to speak to me about it—-just growled like an angry bear and told me to go away.” If Elliot were being truthful, he would have said that Adrian swore at him like an uncouth dockhand and told him to leave him the hell alone. “The canon was probably also correct when he said the deed would be legal.”

  “I knew it was foolish to hope that Canon Smeech was mistaken, or that Adrian was simply playing some kind of terrible joke.” The duchess set her Wedgwood cup and saucer down so hard, they rattled. “Adrian is a fool to give away a fine cottage and acre of good land to a family like the Bolbys, no matter how tender a sentiment he appeared to harbor in his breast for the old reprobate. I never liked Bolby, and I’m convinced he was poaching the whole time he was employed here.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if Adrian did it just to irritate Canon Smeech,” Elliot replied. He regarded his angry parent thoughtfully. “It might not be amiss to contact our solicitor in London.”

  “Oh, that’s useless,” his mother complained, pressing one hand to her temple. “Adrian will get another opinion, then so will we, and on and on. The papers might even get hold of this. No, it isn’t to be thought of,” she finished with a heavy sigh as she reached for a pastry. “We shall just have to endure.”

  “Nevertheless, it’s disturbing to think of the estate disappearing piece by piece. I suppose we should be relieved he hasn’t sold any of it”.

  “He wouldn’t dare!” the duchess exclaimed.

  “I believe Adrian would dare almost anything,” Elliot remarked.

  “Oh, what is taking Lady Hester?” the duchess demanded querulously. “I told her exactly where to find my shawl. I shall have a sore back tomorrow if she is not here soon”.

  Hester appeared at the door of the drawing room and hurried inside, shawl in hand. She curtsied to the gentleman, then gave the required item to the duchess and sat beside the tea table on a slender rosewood chair across from Lord Elliot. “Would you like me to pour, Your Grace?”she asked softly.

  The duchess frowned and shook her head. “I have already done so,” she said peevishly. “Have you heard of the duke’s latest folly?”

  “Folly, Your Grace?” Hester asked, feigning ignorance. She didn’t want anyone to know she had eavesdropped. She also wanted to hear what the duchess would make of her stepson’s generosity, although she had made an excellent guess, which the duchess was already confirming by her choice of words.

  “He has given away land and a cottage to the family of a man who was once the gamekeeper!” she replied.

  “It was kind of him, of course,” Lord Elliot remarked, “but a bit foolhardy, perhaps. Now he has the expense of another cottage to build.”

  “I should think the duke could afford to pay for the construction of several cottages,” Hester noted while she refilled Lord Elliot’s teacup.

  “That’s not the point,” the duchess declared. “The man Bolby was lazy and most profane, too. By giving the cottage and land to his family, Adrian appears to be rewarding the fellow.”

  Hester had not considered the gift of the cottage in that light, and she could not disagree, if the duchess was right about old Bolby.

  “Your Grace, Sir Douglas Saxon-Cowper and Miss Saxon-Cowper,” Jenkins declared from the doorway.

  “Who?” Lord Elliot asked his mother.

  “Oh, how tiresome!” the duchess exclaimed. “It’s Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper and his daughter. I might have known they would come. I should tell them I’m not at home.”

  “But Mama, you are,” Lord Elliot observed. “I should like to see the Sackville-Coopers. Please show them in, Jenkins.”

  Chapter Ten

  Jenkins ushered in Sir Douglas, who bounded into the room like a dog loosed at a hunt. He made a bow toward the duchess, who inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, and then dutifully and absentmindedly bowed toward Lady Hester, all the while smiling broadly at Lord Elliot. By this time Damaris had glided gracefully into the room. She wore a lovely confection of a gown, with miles of delicate blue skirt and lace and ribbons, and a very pretty straw bonnet decorated with sprigs of flowers that matched the small bouquets embroidered on her gown.

  She looked, Hester thought with a pang of envy, like a young goddess, beautiful and worthy of worship. The sunlight caught the glints of Damaris’s dark hair, and the merest hint of a blush bloomed on her lovely cheeks as she smiled at Lord Elliot.

  Lord Elliot rose with alacrity and hurried toward her, pausing for a moment to greet her father with easy grace, and not for the first time in Hester’s life, or the hundredth, she felt herself grow invisible. “Don’t tell me this is little Damaris!” he cried as if awestruck.

  The young woman blushed even more as he led her to a chair near the window, well away from the duchess, who was eyeing them with something that was not approval.

  Sir Douglas was also eyeing them, and not with outright approval, either. “Where is the duke this morning?” he asked, demonstrating again his lack of perception when it came to the duchess’s opinion of her stepson. Obviously, Hester thought, he still had his hopes pinned to the main prize.

  “I have no idea where he is,” the duchess replied stonily. “Won’t you have a seat, Sir Douglas?”

  He complied by sitting on the sofa beside the duchess, who suddenly seemed to be on the verge of fainting in a way that was quite new to Hester and that no doubt had much to do with the presence of Sir Douglas so close to her.

  The atmosphere grew even more strained when the duke entered the room. “Jenkins told me we had company, but he failed to mention that one of the Graces themselves had deigned to visit mere mortals,” he remarked.

  It was the most outrageous flattery, yet Damaris seemed pleased by it, for she turned her head away from Lord Elliot and smiled benignly at the previously feared duke. Perhaps she felt safer with Lord Elliot beside her, Hester thought grimly.

  As the duke nodded briefly to his stepmother and Sir Douglas before moving toward Damaris, Hester realized she might have been in another country for all the notice either of the Fitzwalter men were paying to her.

  This was just what she had
left home to avoid—this feeling of being not merely superfluous, but not even worthy of the most basic attention from others.

  From men, she meant, if she were being completely honest. That notion hit home now more than it ever had in the past.

  Worse, she was being treated as little more than a servant. The duchess was putting all the planning for the ball onto Hester’s shoulders, something Hester had also wished to avoid by leaving home. Her mother had entertained lavishly and often, and in the past few years Hester had been forced to take on more and more of the organization. Although her experience was standing her in good stead at present, for she could almost arrange the duchess’s ball in her sleep, she would rather have done without the work.

  Apparently there was to be no escape, from balls or from men who acted as if she wasn’t there.

  “Don’t you agree, Lady Hester?” Sir Douglas said loudly.

  She turned to the man with a polite smile. “I beg your pardon, Sir Douglas?”

  “I said this ball will be an absolute delight and I was rather hoping Damaris could be of assistance to you, Lady Hester, for the duchess tells me you are being most helpful in taking care of the many small yet necessary details.” Sir Douglas leaned a little closer and glanced at Damaris, one handsome nobleman on either side. “She needs to learn about such things, for when she has her own household.”

  “Lady Hester is a marvel of organization,” the duchess remarked placidly.

  This compliment—indeed, any outright sign of approval—was so rare that Hester scarcely knew what to do or say. She glanced at the other three people in the room, and was nearly as startled to find the duke regarding her speculatively, while his half brother’s attention was still claimed by Damaris, who stared modestly at the floor.

  Hester colored at once and murmured something completely meaningless in response.

  “I don’t know how my stepmother would manage the ball without her,” the duke remarked languidly. “At the duchess’s time of life, one begins to need assistance.”