The Duke's Challenge (4 page)

The windows
on this side were in equally good repair, which was a relief, as replacing the
tiny panes inside their lead surround would no doubt be a difficult and skilled
job. She walked some way down the drive in order to view the towering red-brick
chimney pots built to match the herringbone pattern of the bricks between the
black beams of the house itself.

As she scanned the roof she felt the hairs on the back of the neck
stand up, became aware someone was watching her. She spun, but could see
nothing. She caught a flicker of movement in the undergrowth and then all was
still again. Had she imagined it? The sun was beginning to set and the shadows
were lengthening, perhaps that was what had caught her eye. She no longer felt
comfortable on her own in the empty space of the turning circle. She would go
in at once to find the children and inspect the kitchen and the other offices.

The front door
was too heavy for her to open and she was obliged to knock. She hoped her
demand for admittance would not disturb the duke. She had no wish to speak to
him again today, or indeed anytime soon.

*

From his
chair in the drawing-room Jack heard the knock and cursed loudly. Surely he was
not be pestered by more visitors? He heard his butler at the door and the soft
murmur of voices. He relaxed; the visitor was only Miss Carstairs, nothing to
fret about.

He slid down
the chair until his feet reached the seat opposite. He grinned as he recalled
the girl’s reaction when she had inhaled the smell. His stomach gurgled loudly,
reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since dinner the previous night. Dinner!
Good God! Was he to be expected to do the pretty each night and appear in full
evening rig and escort Miss Carstairs to the dining room?

God forbid!
No - he settled down again. He would continue to eat in his rooms, as usual,
and she and the brats could eat in the dining room, or in the stables, for all
he cared. He filled his glass, his aim erratic, and sadly watched a large
quantity of cognac vanish between a
crack
in the
floorboards.

Two months
from now Miss Carstairs would depart and leave him alone. He had set her an
impossible task; a challenge even a woman twice her age and experience could
not hope to complete. But at least he had given her a chance, not turned her
away immediately, he would have a clear conscience when she finally packed her
bags. It would not be his fault - it would be hers, for failing to improve the
estate.

He nodded and
the room spun unpleasantly. He closed his eye and drifted off into a pleasant
alcoholic stupor. However, as he began to lose consciousness he saw, for a
moment, the image of a lovely girl, her chestnut hair aflame in the sunlight,
glaring at him, her large green eyes snapping with anger.

His feet
slammed to the floor and he sat bolt upright, his mouth open. Good God! The
girl had not flinched at his face, had stared straight at him, seeing through
his scars to the man beneath. His mouth curled and for the second time that day
he felt a stirring in his groin. The girl, what was the name? Yes…Charlotte -
that was it. She had treated him as a human being. There had been no pity, no
revulsion, in her gaze.

He chuckled
as he remembered her anger, relived her tirade in his head. She had no time for
malingerers, for self-pitying drunkards. He ran his hand over his unshaven
cheeks and recoiled as the stench of unwashed flesh filled his nostrils.

He supposed
it wouldn’t hurt to have a bath, shave, and change his raiment. He smiled at
the thought that, although Charlotte Carstairs hated him, she didn’t hold him
in disgust like another had. It had been too long since he had enjoyed the
company of a woman, any woman, and he felt his body stirring, waking up after a
sleep of almost two years.

He would get
cleaned up, have something to break his fast and then write the letter
summoning his lawyers to Thurston Hall. He was going to enjoy watching the
delectable Miss Carstairs struggling to be an estate manager. His mouth curled
in a predatory smile. He wondered just how far she would be prepared to go to
save her family from eviction. Maybe she would accept a different sort of
challenge when this one failed; one that involved her body not her brain.

*

Charlotte
found her brother and sister sitting at the freshly scrubbed kitchen table
munching slabs of warm bread and strawberry preserve.

‘Ah! Here you
are.’ She glanced around the smoke stained room and her eyes were drawn to the massive
fire place upon which various black pots bubbled and hissed. ‘Good grief - have
they no range here? I cannot believe an establishment of this size still cooks
on an open fire.’

Betty
laughed,
her arms flour dusted, her cheeks red from the
heat. ‘They have an oven of sorts and a spit for chickens and such, but I shall
manage, never fear, Miss Carstairs.’

‘Who has been
preparing the food up till now? Is there no cook of any kind?’

‘No, the
footmen had been taking it in turns. It seems his lordship dismissed all the
female staff when he arrived and has not bothered to replace them with extra
menservants.’

‘It’s no
wonder the place is a disgrace. But all this is going to change,’ Charlotte
announced firmly. They turned to stare at her.

‘Whatever do
you mean, Lottie? Have you spoken to Lord Thurston this afternoon?’ Beth asked.

‘I certainly
have. He has said that if by the end two months I’ve made demonstrable
improvements to his estate and home then we can stay, make this our permanent
residence.’ Both children yelled with delight, presuming their sister would
have no difficulty completing her task. Annie and Betty, wiser in the ways of
the world, exchanged worried glances. Annie raised her eyebrows and nodded
towards the scullery. Charlotte pretended not to understand and ignored the
request for a private conversation.

With false
enthusiasm she explained the lawyers were to be sent for and as soon as these
men understood she was now in charge, she would have access to the funds and be
able to start work. It wasn’t until after Beth and Harry had retired that
Charlotte had a moment to reflect on what she had taken on. Improving the
estate could not be too hard, could it? Whatever she did would be more than the
duke had done these past two years.

She unpacked
her small
escritoire
and found her
pencil and pad. She would make notes, plan her actions methodically. After all
she had been successfully running the Carstairs household since poor papa had
returned from Waterloo. What she needed was a factor, an estate manager, a man
who understood how things should be, and could deal with the artisans and
labourers directly.

That was it!
She would get Meltham to take on some of the men from the nearby village to
tame the gardens and the park and she would interview any of their wives or
daughters who might wish to be employed with the herculean task of cleaning
Thurston Hall.

She fell
asleep, her head awash with unanswered questions. What had happened to
grandfather in his declining years? Why had he neglected his home and land?
Indeed, were there any funds available to do the work? One thing was quite
sure; she would not go to Lord Thurston for the answers. She would use her
initiative; speak to Meltham and the footmen. She would also go and see the
vicar and Dr Andrews; they would surely be able to answer many of her queries.
There were no end of people she could ask without having to bother the owner of
Thurston Hall one jot!

Chapter Four

Charlotte
decided the children could continue their existence unfettered by schoolwork
for a while longer; she was far too busy at the moment to spend time teaching
them.

‘Beth, I’m
relying on you to take care of Harry. Can I trust you to keep away from the lake
and to stay in sight of the Hall at all times?’

‘You can,
Lottie. I promise we’ll come to no harm. There’s so much to explore here; it’s
much better than Romford.’

‘And I can
climb really big trees, Lottie,’ Harry said helpfully.

‘I’m sure you
can, darling; but please do not do so for there’s no one here to assist you
down if you become stuck.’ She pressed her lips into a stern line and waited.
Eventually he nodded.

‘All right,
Lottie. I’ll only climb little trees then I shan’t get stuck.’

‘Good boy; now
off you go and remember, if you hear the stable bell ringing, you must come
back immediately. That means you have always to stay in earshot - is that
clear?’

‘Yes,
Lottie,’ they chorused.

She watched
them race off, eager to be outside in the unseasonably warm autumn sunshine.
September was a lovely time of year, the trees still green, but the bramble
leaves already painted crimson and gold. It must be time for harvest supper.
She frowned. The lord of the manor was responsible for providing all his dependants
with a celebratory meal when the crops were safely gathered and the tithe barn
filled with their contributions.

This was
another thing she would have to add to her list. She had invited the butler to
join her in the library at ten o’clock and she didn’t wish to be tardy for her
first official appointment. She placed her pad of notes carefully on the
freshly polished mahogany desk, arranged her sharpened pencils in a straight
line and pulled out the chair. When the expected knock came she was ready. ‘Come
in please, Meltham.’

The old man
entered warily, he was obviously uncertain why he had been summoned. ‘Good
morning, Miss Carstairs, you wished to see me?’

‘I do. Please
be seated.’ Charlotte indicated a chair to one side. He sat. ‘Have you spoken
to Lord Thurston this morning?’ He nodded. ‘Excellent. Then you will know he
has asked me to take Thurston Hall in hand and to organise its refurbishment.
In order to achieve this I need to employ extra staff. That is the matter I
wish to discuss with you.’

‘You wish me
to find you the people you want?’

‘Yes, I do. What about those women who were laid off, are any of them
still in need of employment?’

He smiled.
‘Yes, miss, several are still without a position. They will be more than happy
to come back.’

‘Good; I
shall leave it to you to send for them. Do you know if the housekeeper is
amongst them?’

‘She is, Miss
Carstairs. Mrs Thomas is…’ he hesitated.

‘Not a young
woman, Meltham?’

‘Exactly so,
miss. Because of this she has found it impossible to find employment. There are
also two parlour maids living locally and some of the kitchen staff, but Mrs
Blake, the cook, has a new position elsewhere.’

‘That is no
problem, Betty,’ she paused, ‘I suppose she must be referred to as Mrs

Gibson now,
is more than happy to continue in that role.’ This was going to be far easier
than she had anticipated. ‘What about outside staff? I should like to have the
garden cleared and the park restored before winter sets in.’

‘I have no
connection with such men, Miss Carstairs, but if you will allow me, I should
dearly like a few more footmen. Extra staff inside will mean that they can help
with the repairs and the decorations to the interior.’

‘That is a
good idea.” She stood, terminating the interview. ‘I shall leave you to make
the necessary arrangements. As soon as Mrs Thomas and the girls are back,
cleaning can begin.’

Charlotte was
pleased with her first attempt at management. She had no intention of
interfering with the farm or villages until the lawyers had been, but she could
start on the Hall, no one would consider it odd of her to be running the house.

She stared
down at her pad. Betty had given her a long list of essential items needed for
the kitchen. Where could she obtain these goods and what would she use for
payment? She had no choice; in spite of her determination not to speak to the
duke unless forced, she did not have the wherewithal to fund the improvements.
She needed to arrange for money to be transferred to her. Indeed, needed
her own
banking account if the arrangement was to run
smoothly. She could not be for ever going cap in hand to him

She pushed
back her chair, shaking out the skirts of the same green gown she had worn the
previous day. She looked around for a mirror in order to check her hair was
tidy, no auburn curls escaping from her chignon. There was a lighter mark above
the empty fireplace indicating where a mirror should be but it had been
removed. She supposed Lord Thurston had done this when he arrived. She ran her
fingers over her hair and felt the painful ridge of her own recent injury.
There was nothing she could do about that. Her mouth curved. He was hardly in a
position to object to her unsightly appearance.

She didn’t
ring for a footman to announce her, she knew in which room to find him. She
hesitated. Was that him moving about inside? He was up as the butler had
already spoken to him earlier that day. However, if he was drinking in the same
fashion he had been last night, he might well be asleep in his chair. Should
she leave it until the afternoon when he might be in a better frame of mind?
She was so immersed in her thoughts she failed to hear the footsteps behind
her.

‘Stop
dithering, Miss Carstairs, are you intending to knock on my door or not?’

She shot round,
her hands to her chest, but her intended protest at his ill-mannered approach
remained unspoken. Shocked, she stared at him. Was this smiling giant, smartly
dressed in a navy, superfine topcoat, clean buckskin
inexpressibles
,
and, good heavens, polished Hessians, the same Lord Thurston of yesterday?

Finally she
found her voice. ‘You startled me, my lord,’ was all she could manage. For some
reason her pulse was fluttering and her throat constricted.

He bowed. ‘I
apologise, Miss Carstairs. Did you wish to speak to me?’ She nodded, unable to
form a coherent reply. Why was he staring at her so strangely? It made her feel
decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Then let us repair to the library. For although I
have improved my own appearance I am afraid I have not yet had the same done to
my apartments.’

He took her
elbow and she found herself being escorted, firmly, back to the room she had
just vacated. She watched him stride over and take
her
place behind the desk, leaving her to sit where she would. Her
eyes narrowed. Was his declared intention, to leave her to her own devices, to
be so soon abandoned?

‘Lord
Thurston, I wish to know if the letter to your lawyers has been sent this
morning.’

‘It has, Miss
Carstairs.’ He waited, politely, adding nothing further.

She flushed
under his scrutiny. ‘I have no money,’ she blurted out.

‘Patently –
or you would not be in this predicament,’ he answered, obviously enjoying her
discomfiture.

‘I mean,
there is no money to pay for repairs and renewals. I should like some to be
made available if you
please,
your grace.’

He nodded all
amiability and compliance. ‘How much would you like, Miss Carstairs?
One guinea?
One hundred guineas?
More?’ He pretended to pat his pockets as if looking for the gold coins.

She
stiffened; she didn’t like to be made fun of. ‘I do not require it at this
precise moment, Lord Thurston. But it is my belief tradesmen and employees
should be paid. I have no time for those with enough to pay who deliberately
run up debts.’

He
steepled
his fingers and nodded. ‘Indeed, Miss Carstairs,
those are laudable sentiments and I applaud you.’ He leant back on his chair
and, to her annoyance, swung his feet up on to the newly polished surface.
‘However, my dear, I am as impecunious as
yourself
.
Until the lawyers arrive to sort things out, I am afraid I cannot help you.’

She was
aghast
‘No money? Then how am I to begin improvements?’

He shrugged, and although his smile was lopsided, it sent shock waves
down her spine. ‘I thought we had agreed that your two months does not start
until the lawyers have drawn up the necessary documents?’

Her nostrils
flared. ‘I don’t intend to live in squalor whilst I wait on them. This place is
a disgrace. Do you not realise rodents roam around unchecked? That there are
holes in the ceilings and…’

‘Quite, quite, my dear.
Please do not bore me with such
domestic trivia. If you wish to instigate improvements then you must do so
without the funds to pay. I can assure you no tradesmen will refuse your order.
They will be happy to wait for their remuneration.’

She stood up,
glaring at him. ‘I have told you, my lord, I do not wish to buy goods that I
cannot be sure I can pay for. I shall have to postpone my purchases until the
money is available.’

‘That is
entirely your decision, my dear girl. As I explained, I do not wish to be
bothered with the estate.’

He crossed
his legs at the ankle and linked his hands behind his head. Charlotte had an
overwhelming desire to push him, violently. She began to move forward, her hand
raised, her intent written quite clearly on her face.

Realising he
was about to be upended the duke attempted to remove his feet but, in his
hurry, lost his balance and without her assistance toppled backwards. The
resulting crash and the melee of wildly waving arms and legs
was
accompanied by profanities that only a soldier would know.

Not sure
whether to laugh or retreat with her hands clamped firmly to her ears she
hesitated a moment too long. The injured party erupted from behind the desk and
lunged forward, grabbing her hand as she attempted to back away.

‘Not so fast,
Miss Carstairs, we have unfinished business here.’

‘Let go of me at once, Lord Thurston; you have no right to detain me.’

‘Have I not?
I have been reliably informed that I am your legal guardian. So I have every right
to treat you in any way I damn well please.’

This was
outrageous. He could not pick and choose his duties. Either he was their
guardian or he was not. ‘Lord
Thurston,
am I to
understand you are now accepting

responsibility
for myself and my brother and sister?’

Instantly he released his grip and stepped back, his expression cold.
‘You do not catch me so easily, my dear. You are nothing to do with me.’

‘In which
case,’ she interrupted rudely, ‘you shall not molest me a second time.’ She
nodded her dismissal. ‘Pray, do not let me keep you, Lord Thurston. I am sure
you have urgent business elsewhere to attend to.’

For an
instant he was nonplussed. Then he rallied. ‘This is, I believe, my house and
this my library. If you do not wish to be in my company, then might I
respectfully suggest you retire to your rooms?’

She almost
stamped her foot. ‘You are impossible. I think I preferred you in your cups.’

Allowing him
no time to reply she flounced out, back straight, her skirts swinging,
revealing far more of her ankles than was proper. She barely refrained from
banging the door behind her.

*

Jack rubbed
his scar, his head thumping in time with his heart. God - he needed a drink!
Sparring with Miss Carstairs was exhausting. He grinned as he recalled how her
eyes had sparkled and her bosom heaved with indignation. She had almost tricked
him into admitting he had responsibility for her and the brats. Never! He had
vowed, when Sophia had rejected him, he would take no further part in the
world, would never marry or produce offspring of his own.

Why should he
raise someone else’s children? He glared round the book lined room. Why was
there no decanter on the octagonal marquetry side table? Meltham was slacking.
His brandy had better be waiting for him in his own apartments or there would
be hell to pay. He slammed out of the room and strode down the corridor. His
sudden arrival scattered Miss Carstairs, two footmen and the butler.

Ignoring them
he vanished into his lair. The pungent aroma and semi-darkness eased his agitation.
Yes, this was where he belonged. Not dressed up like a popinjay bandying words
with a schoolgirl.

*

Charlotte
recovered first. ‘As I was saying, Meltham, how far is it to the vicarage?
Would it be possible for me to walk there and back before noon?’

‘You could,
miss, but it would be a wasted journey. The vicar died a year ago and his
lordship has not seen fit to reappoint.’

‘Do you mean
I cannot attend service on a Sunday? That is scandalous!’ She eyed the closed
door, but decided one session with the duke was enough for that morning. ‘Well,
what about Dr Andrews? Does he reside nearby?’

‘He does,
miss, about two miles from here. He has a snug mansion with a small estate; I
believe it was left him by his uncle.’

Charlotte
smiled and waited for him to continue. The old man shook his head. ‘But you
cannot visit him
either,
miss, as he is not a married
gentlemen.’

‘No matter; I
shall request that he calls on me instead.’ She turned to the footmen, lurking
in the shadows, watching the drawing-room door in case their master emerged
again. She addressed the younger of the two. ‘Jenkins, you shall take a message
to Dr Andrews for me. Come to the library in one quarter of an hour to collect
it.’ The young man bowed and Charlotte hurried off to compose her note. As she
was sealing it with a wafer the significance of the butler’s casual comment
about the doctor’s marital status hit her like a thunderbolt.