A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (3 page)

His eyes narrowed. “First, Miss Tweed, I don’t need you to make suggestions for me as to what to do. Secondly, it’s rather late in the day for that. And thirdly, there is the possibility I have the papers from Mr. Milton somewhere on my desk. As I mentioned before, I’m behind on my correspondence.”

The thought that he might have the means to clear up this misunderstanding quickly brought Henrietta to her feet. “Then shouldn’t we go look for them at once so you’ll know I speak the truth about who I am and my circumstances?”

The duke rose, too, as his gaze darted over to the clock on the mantel once again. “I don’t doubt you speak the truth. Quite frankly, your story is too preposterous to have been made up. And we will get this situation straightened out as to what to do about you. Eventually. But right now, I haven’t the time to look into this as I’m already late for a pressing appointment.”

Another thing the past twelve years had taught Henrietta was to know when to back away from a conversation and save her argument for another day. She had done all she could for the time being.

“Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you from your engagement, and I do appreciate your hospitality in allowing me to stay here. I’ll try not to be of any further trouble to you.”

Ignoring her apology, he said, “Mrs. Ellsworth will show you upstairs and see to your supper and anything else you might require.”

At the mention of food, Henrietta’s stomach rumbled softly. Dining would be most welcome as she’d been traveling since before daybreak with only cheese and bread to eat along the way.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

The duke acknowledged her gratitude with a simple nod, went to the doorway, and called for Mrs. Ellsworth. The short, stodgy housekeeper with kind, dark brown eyes and silver-streaked hair walked hesitantly into the drawing room. Ashby, the tall and thin butler with a dour expression, materialized too. The two servants listened dutifully as the duke gave instructions concerning Henrietta’s welfare.

He then turned to Henrietta and said, “Ashby and Mrs. Ellsworth will take over from here. Until later, Miss Tweed.”

Henrietta stood in the drawing room, watching her new guardian grab his cloak, hat, and gloves from his butler’s hands and disappear out the door. How could the most handsome man she had ever met also be the most infuriating one she had ever met? He was autocratic and high-handed, too!

Mrs. Ellsworth and Ashby remained in the doorway of the drawing room, speaking softly to each other and occasionally looking in her direction. Henrietta couldn’t hear what they said, but she was certain they were discussing exactly what they should do with her.

It didn’t take a scholar to know they had no idea what to do beyond their employer’s pointed words of “See she has a room and food.”

This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself in a situation where the staff was perplexed by her arrival. It had happened to her far too many times. They didn’t know what to do. But Henrietta did. It was time to take control of the situation and put order back into her life.

She took a deep breath, lifted her shoulders and chin, and started towards the duo with a kind smile on her face. “Mrs. Ellsworth, why don’t I go upstairs with you, and together we can decide which room is best for me. And perhaps we can find a small space on the servants’ floor for my maid. I assure you, we’ll do our best not to disrupt your efficiently run household any more than absolutely necessary.”

Little less than half an hour later, Henrietta’s packed trunks lay open on the floor of her elegantly furnished bedroom. The décor was soothing in a pale shade of green that reminded her of spring’s first blades of grass. Her maid shook out the folds of a green velvet dress while Henrietta splashed cool water from the basin on her face.

When Henrietta was twelve, Peggy, who was more than twice Henrietta’s age, had been hired to be her maid, and they had been together ever since. The short Irish woman had no trouble taking orders from the younger Henrietta. Peggy’s round figure was always hidden beneath a simple, dark grey dress and white, starched apron. Her thick red hair was always neatly covered with a white mopcap trimmed with delicate lace.

“I don’t think you have ever been given a room this splendid, Miss Henri,” Peggy said. “Look, there are two wardrobes in here. You don’t have enough clothes to fill one of them, much less two. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll leave one of them empty, of course,” Henrietta said in a good-natured tone as she patted her cheeks dry with a small towel.

No doubt the kind of women who usually stayed in this spacious room brought several dresses for morning and afternoon as well as gowns for the evening and bonnets, gloves, and shawls to match them all. They would attend parties held in the best homes and go to balls that lasted all night. They would probably be at all the operas and take long walks along the secret paths of Vauxhall Gardens.

For a moment, Henrietta closed her eyes and imagined herself at a fancy ball where hundreds of candles brightened the room with golden light. Men were twirling beautifully dressed women across the dance floor. She heard music and laughter. She felt the excitement of the moment. She imagined herself drinking champagne from a crystal glass and smiling at a handsome gentleman.

Suddenly her eyes popped open. The gentleman standing in front of her at this imaginary ball was the stimulating Duke of Blakewell.

Henrietta shook her head in exasperation. She wasn’t usually given to such fanciful notions. She had read about the lavish soirées of High Society London and had often wished that some day she could attend one of the extravagant events. Or perhaps one evening she could go to Vauxhall Gardens and watch the fireworks display. She believed it would be as lovely as drinking champagne, which was something else she’d like to do some day—when she was no longer controlled by the whims of a guardian.

In the small country towns where she had always lived, there had been a few dances to attend from time to time, but Henrietta had had no need for a wardrobe full of fancy dresses and lavishly trimmed ball gowns that were ghastly expensive and would seldom be worn.

“You know what I mean, Miss Henri,” Peggy said, interrupting Henrietta’s thoughts. “This is a mighty fancy house, and His Grace looked like a dandified gentleman for sure. Pardon my big mouth for saying what wasn’t asked, but I don’t think he’s going to want us around all the time like your other guardians. He didn’t seem at all happy to see you.”

From the looking glass, Henrietta watched her maid worry over a wrinkle that ran down the front of the green dress. She was trying hard to press it out of the thick fabric with her hand.

“He wasn’t happy, Peggy, but the Duke of Blakewell is an honorable man, and he will see to it that we are well cared for.”

Peggy shook her head. “I hope you are right, Miss Henri, because we don’t have any other place to go.”

“Chin up, Peggy,” Henrietta said with more cheerfulness than she was feeling. “He will not neglect his duty to us. Have no worry on that point, as I am sure of it.”

Henrietta looked at her reflection in the mirror. She would do all the worrying for both of them, but she didn’t want her maid to know that. Peggy could be excitable, and Henrietta was hesitant enough herself without having to constantly reassure her maid that they indeed had a home with the duke.

Later that evening, Henrietta headed back down the stairs, feeling much more relaxed than when she had gone up them a few hours ago. She had washed off the day’s journey and changed into a simple, pale-green dress with a round neckline. The long sleeves and high waistline were trimmed in a matching satin ribbon, and one simple flounce adorned the hem.

Cook had had a scullery maid send up a bowl of piping hot lamb stew, a thick slice of bread, and a delicious serving of cooked plums, which Henrietta had eaten with relish.

It was much too early to think about retiring, so Henrietta had left Peggy to finish unpacking her trunks. After sitting in the lumpy carriage for most of the day, she felt the need to stretch her legs for a bit. A tour of the duke’s house would give her that opportunity.

Night had fallen quickly in London, but a lamp had been left burning on a side table, giving off a golden, welcoming glow. As she stood in the vestibule, she realized the house was surprisingly quiet for the number of servants in attendance. She could only assume that Mrs. Ellsworth, Ashby, and the other servants were allowed to retire to their own rooms or attend private matters after their chores were done for the day and the duke was out of the house for the evening.

Henrietta picked up the lamp, walked over to the drawing-room doorway, and looked inside. This time

she saw things she hadn’t noticed before when she was in the room with the duke: a large floral painting hung over the fireplace; a tall, brass candelabra stood in one corner, and a pianoforte occupied a place against a far wall. The room was well appointed and seemed in perfect keeping with what she expected of a bachelor’s home.

She turned away from the doorway and started down the dark corridor, stopping to glance inside the dining room, which held a lovely rosewood table with fancy carved chairs sitting around it. A large fruit compote had been arranged on top of a corner table.

The honeyed glow of light reflected off the highly polished furniture, showing there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Opposite that room was a doorway that led to the kitchen, which she didn’t bother to enter, but she could smell a welcoming scent of fresh baked bread wafting from inside. Farther down she found another smaller room that looked far more cozy and inviting than the perfectly decorated room where she’d met the duke.

Each area seemed well proportioned and elegantly decorated with fine furniture and expensive artwork. Gold tassels hung from classical swags framing the windows, and luxurious carpets covered the floors.

The duke had a large, comfortable home. It was just the kind she would like to have as her very own, but Henrietta had learned long ago not to get too contented in any one house.

Opposite the rear parlor was another room. Before she even approached the entrance, something told her this was the duke’s exclusive domain.

She hesitated. Should she infiltrate it?

Maybe just a quick peek inside to satisfy her burgeoning curiosity about the man who now had control over her life.

Without further thought, she stepped over the threshold into the book room and instantly caught the mellow fragrance of beeswax, the acrid smell of burned wood, and the masculine scent of leather. She couldn’t resist turning up the lamp so she could get a better look at the contents of the room.

One side of the room held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, completely filled. She ran her hand over first one and then another of the thick, handsome, leather-bound volumes of science, history, and poetry. Suddenly she stopped and smiled. The duke even had copies of her favourite books: thin, cheaply bound, horrid novels. It was the largest collection she’d ever seen. She couldn’t help but wonder if the duke had read them all.

A perusal of the spines told her she had read some of them, but not all. Her hand rested on the title
The
Forbidden Path
. That one sounded like a delicious read. She slowly traced her hand across every book, seeing many titles she hadn’t read.

Having all these wonderful books at her fingertips would be heaven—if she were allowed to stay in the duke’s home. After talking to him, that didn’t seem a likely possibility, and that thought caused the same deep longing inside her to have a home of her own.

Surely he wouldn’t mind her borrowing a book to read from one of his well-stocked shelves.

She turned away from that feeling, and the books, to scan the rest of the room. On one wall was a fireplace with a stately mantel that held ornate candlesticks. Soothing warmth emanated from the banked ashes. In front of a set of windows stood the duke’s desk. She felt a little naughty and a little guilty perusing everything without his knowledge or permission, but that didn’t keep Henrietta from walking over to the desk and giving it a closer look.

Two upholstered wingback chairs had been placed in front of a richly dark mahogany desk, and an important-looking leather chair sat on the opposite side. A tall stack of ledger books and several jumbled stacks of envelopes littered the top of the desk, along with many loose sheets of vellum, foolscap, and parchment. There was no place on top of the desk where you could see the fine wood.

How could anyone live with such disarray?

No wonder the duke hadn’t known she would be arriving today! From the looks of all the unopened mail, she would guess it had been weeks, not mere days, since His Grace had tended to his correspondence. A reasonably competent secretary would have this hodgepodge of papers straightened, sorted, and properly filed or answered in no time at all.

Obviously the duke didn’t have a well-organized secretary, or could it be that he didn’t have one at all? No, he was a duke. He probably had more than one secretary taking care of him.

Henrietta remembered him telling her that a lady wasn’t capable of managing an inheritance. What nerve he had to say that when his desk looked like a winter storm had hit it!

Henrietta had no idea how someone as important as a duke could be so neglectful. If this were her desk and she didn’t go crazy from the disorderly look of the stacks of mail, she’d surely die of curiosity from wondering who had written her and what they had to say.