Duke of Disgrace (Dukes of Destiny Book 3) Page 9

  Either way, it did feel rather strange to be standing right before a building that looked so historical, she decided.

  She was admitted by a man who appeared to be an older butler. He had prominent blue eyes and white hair.

  “Miss Charlotte Masbeck—the dowager duchess is expecting me this morning.”

  “Of course,” said the butler, looking at her with curiosity. She was dressed handsomely in a dress the color of foxgloves with a delicate white fichu that matched her gloves. And in anticipation of her travel, she’d donned an austere but pretty cap. “I shall show you into the retiring room so that you may freshen up, if you wish.”

  Charlotte nodded, grateful that she’d have a little time to gather her thoughts. She did not feel unprepared to do the work the dowager duchess said the duke needed her for. Yet she did feel slightly out of her depths.

  Why? she asked herself.

  She shouldn’t. Her family was not noble, it was true. But they were respectable and of sound means. Like Lady Wenwood had, her own mother came from a line of successful merchants. Of cloth, to be precise. Her father, on the other hand, had trained as a clerk in barristers’ chambers, but quickly parlayed his experience into becoming the steward of the late Earl of Redmond.

  After Redmond passed, Lord Wenwood was quick to take on Mr. Masbeck due to Redmond’s earlier esteem of him.

  “This way, Miss Masbeck.”

  Charlotte tried not to look around too obviously. She was not awestruck. She was charmed. Upon seeing the inside of the manor, she hazarded a guess that it was old, not just fashioned to look old—there were the exposed beams and angled ceilings that used to be so fashionable in centuries past. The butler showed her into a small anteroom where there was a dainty mauve chaise and a dressing table with bottles of women’s toiletries. She availed herself of a comb, removing her cap, and made sure her hair was in order. Then, thinking it could do no harm, she dabbed a little rosewater on her wrists.

  Charlotte did not expect the dowager duchess to keep her waiting, and instead of sitting on the chaise, she took the chance to look out one of the windows behind the house. She hadn’t been sure if a great house so comparatively close to London would have such grounds, but these were rather bigger than she expected.

  She could just make out the stables across a lawn that was bordered by a wide dirt pathway. Still, they weren’t as large as they could be, perhaps owing to their location.

  What was the duke going to be like? she asked herself.

  She was no great lover of the gossip columns in the papers, yet the first thing she’d done after she spoke to her parents was to pour over the more recent ones. Apparently, the duke had lost his right hand to an amputation. But that wasn’t the bulk of the gossip.

  His wife, evidently, was constantly stepping out on him. She had to read between the lines to understand, but it seemed that the Duchess of Bowland was unfaithful. Shouldn’t it be the other way around? she mused.

  Regardless, one report christened him the “Duke of Disgrace”—it was half-jibe, half-pity. She wondered if he knew of the nickname. She only saw it mentioned once and knew ladies were generally most interested in gossip columns, so perhaps he did not.

  “Miss Masbeck?”

  She turned to see an older woman in earth-toned paisley, most likely the housekeeper, in the doorway. “Yes?”

  “The dowager duchess has been informed of your presence and is ready to receive you in the breakfast room. His grace will be with you both shortly.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath to fortify herself. She could get through this, no matter what the outcome.

  The housekeeper said, “It is the second door on the left. You cannot mistake it.” She gave Charlotte a quick curtsy and left, leaving Charlotte with a rapidly beating heart.

  Suddenly, the idea of not getting this post was more nerve-racking than it had ever been. She wanted new independence, a life away from mistakes she had made.

  She was so engrossed in her newfound agitation that she did not quite notice the lady who was striding in her direction at a quick clip. Well, that was to say that she noticed her, but also assumed the woman would divert her course.

  Charlotte was wrong.

  They collided because of the lady’s sheer stubbornness, it seemed to Charlotte, but of far more importance was the fact that she herself was now flailing backwards, struggling not to land flat on her back on the hard floor. Her reticule slapped at her side from where it was hanging from her dress, and she stumbled as her boots scrambled for purchase.

  However, the fall never happened.

  For the briefest of moments, she was baffled as to how it didn’t.

  Then she blinked and looked up into one of the most handsome faces she’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. After Rowling, she tried never to look, but human nature often got the better of her. And this face was regal, framed by dark hair that was brushed back, and ending in a narrow chin with a slight cleft. Blue eyes gazed back at her with confusion and concern, and although they were shadowed underneath from a lack of sleep, she could not say they were not arresting.

  Wait, these eyes were the same color as the dowager duchess’ eyes.

  The warm, male body bracing her from what might have been a painful fall was none other than the Duke of Bowland. Charlotte stiffened.

  This was not how she planned on meeting her prospective employer.

  “Miss Masbeck, I presume,” he said in a quiet voice. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” said Charlotte, willing the warmth between his arm and torso to stop tingling through her own body, and failing. “I think so. I should apologize to the woman with whom I collided.”

  She had the sinking feeling that the woman in question was not a maid or a servant, for there were no stammered apologies coming forth from that direction.

  “Of course you do,” said the woman tartly.

  The duke was still looking at Charlotte with a line forming between his eyebrows as he frowned. He said to the other woman, “It was merely an accident, Lady Hareden.”

  His wife, thought Charlotte, as a sinking weight settled in her stomach. She cleared her throat as the duke set her gently to rights. Then she said to the duchess, “Your grace, I must apologize for my lack of care. I was on my way—”

  “To the breakfast room, no doubt, which is where the dowager duchess is,” said the duchess. “Jeremy, are you not going to ask if I am all right?”

  Lord Hareden turned to his wife and addressed her mechanically. “Are you?”

  She pouted. “I’m sure I am bruised.”

  “Ask Mrs. Snow to bring you the bruise balm that she made.”

  This was not enough attention for Lady Hareden, who looked a picture despite her pouting. She really was a beauty, Charlotte had to admit.

  “I suppose you are now going to abandon me for a meeting with this most unusual candidate.”

  “I would never abandon you,” he replied, almost stonily. “But I did have an appointment with Miss Masbeck and my mother, yes.”

  Charlotte was saved from further mortification by the timely appearance of the dowager duchess. “Miss Masbeck,” she said. “Do join me—since it is still rather early, we are finishing breakfast. I daresay after your journey that you may be requiring some refreshment before we truly begin our discussion.”

  And without a word of acknowledgement to her aggravated daughter-in-law, she motioned to Charlotte imperiously from the doorway of what must be the breakfast room.

  Charlotte blushed profusely as the duchess asked, “Why on earth should such a clumsy oaf be admitted to the household?”

  “I saw you, Isabel, on your way out,” began the duke in his quiet voice, but with unmistakable firmness. “You were coming from the room very quickly.”

  Sensing which way the wind was blowing and understanding that she was most bound to abide by the duke’s instructions—especially if she was going to work for him—she glanced at him with a question in her eyes. He
nodded tiredly to the breakfast room.

  She did not need to be told again and hurried after the dowager duchess.

  “The little chit ought to have paid attention to where she was walking,” insisted Lady Hareden.

  Giving a great sigh, Lord Hareden said, “Will you do me the honor of taking a turn about the garden? It is lovely outside and we so rarely see one another.”

  Although her back was now turned to the duke and duchess, Charlotte heard him take his lady wife’s arm—she gauged the sound of his footsteps, then heard the rustle of her fine dress—and Lady Hareden gave only muttered protests. She seemed to realize that she was creating a scene, and even if “Miss Masbeck” did not rate high on her list, she still did allow herself to be steered away from the foyer outside of the breakfast room.

  “You mustn’t mind Lady Hareden,” said the dowager duchess.

  “She’s mistress of the house, is she not?”

  It didn’t sit well with Charlotte to not mind Lady Hareden.

  “Only by name. I still oversee many of the responsibilities that should be hers. Tea, Miss Masbeck?”

  “Yes, please. I…” Charlotte wanted to choose her words carefully. “Worry I have not set the right tone for my presence.”

  “You could have done everything correctly and she still might have found fault with you, I must confess.”

  Thinking on that and how candidly it was relayed, Charlotte added a little milk to the tea that had been poured for her and sipped. Off the dowager duchess’ words and their almost caustic tone, Charlotte realized that perhaps it was never the duke she’d needed to be wary of.

  Chapter Five

  Miss Masbeck seemed self-possessed and composed. That was a good sign. After such a jarring near-tumble with a duchess, Jeremy wasn’t sure if she’d be too rattled to have a sensible discussion. He didn’t hold it against Miss Masbeck that his wife was fond of dramatics. Isabel had often stormed out of a conversation at home in a huff. The servants all knew to stay out from underfoot, as it was not so much that Isabel was clumsy.

  It was more that she would simply storm through or past anyone or anything. She hadn’t managed to knock anyone over yet, but didn’t the adage say there was a first time for everything?

  And meanwhile, he’d just done what instinct dictated—he couldn’t let a woman, even a stranger, fall flat on her back in his own home. Luckily, it was his hand that had suffered and not his reflexes.

  Those were, actually, most likely too heightened. So, entirely knowing that Isabel would be disgruntled by the show of chivalry to another woman, he still reached out to catch Miss Masbeck.

  After escorting Isabel outside, speaking in a low, measured voice like he would to a scared horse, he’d quickly left her near the rose bushes. Where she remained. Pouting and fuming. He considered this to be very rich, seeing as he’d never once taken her to task over her string of lovers.

  One that he’d witnessed more plainly than he ever would have liked.

  Who was Miss Masbeck? Why did he need a secretary? Why should a duke be a barrister? Was he lying about the state of the estate’s finances?

  Isabel had had a barrage of questions as though she were the one scorned in their marriage. It wasn’t the barrage he minded. He had to admit, somewhat guiltily, that it was the person asking the questions.

  Banishing his mulish reflections for the time being, he said, “I think the best thing to do if we are serious about this arrangement would be to have you live at least locally.” He sat across from Miss Masbeck in a squat, wooden chair. The entire set in the breakfast room had belonged to his great-uncle. It was all outdated, but it remained comfortable and in remarkably good repair. “London is quite close, but not close enough that you would want to remain living there.”

  “Yes,” she said. He was taken aback by the amount of relief in her voice. Then he remembered that his mother had mentioned in passing that Miss Masbeck wished to live away from London. “That would be wise. The journey was not at all unpleasant, but it would be a great expense—not to mention time consuming—to make it every day. Do you reside in London for the season, your grace?” she added curiously.

  She was not afraid of asking questions, and he did not think she quite realized that the quality could be termed rude. He honestly did not mind it, though. Not from her, in any event. And his mother had certainly primed him for the trait of inquisitiveness in a woman.

  Still, he hardly wanted to go into the somewhat salacious state of his marriage and how it meant their family’s social habits had changed. He reasoned that there was no harm in letting Miss Masbeck know he had aspirations of becoming a career politician, but that conversation could always come later. It was probably obvious, too.

  Besides, if she was used to Wenwood, which she was—she said that her father had worked for the man for years—she could also get used to his own eccentricities.

  “We did before I went to Spain,” he said evasively. “But my residence in town is always kept partially staffed because if I work late in my office, I find it is better to stay for the night. It is not far from Lord and Lady Wenwood’s, actually.”

  “Oh,” she said brightly, “I am indeed familiar with the area.” His eyes flicked to the dimple that appeared in her left cheek when she smiled.

  “I think you shall grow to like Rosethorpe,” Mother declared, fixing her eyes on Miss Masbeck, who did not squirm.

  “I like it already,” she said evenly. “I’d imagine the village is equally beautiful.”

  Mother frowned slightly. “Why would you need to see the village?”

  “Shall I be living here in the manor?”

  “Gracious, Miss Masbeck, I don’t see why not.”

  Jeremy did not intercede and watched the two women converse. Normally, he supposed, they’d be conducting this kind of interview in his study, but his mother did have a decent point about how chaotic it had become. He didn’t think he could fit more than two people in there at the moment, even if one of them was as compact as Miss Masbeck. He’d never quite realized how tall he and his mother were, but then Isabel was also tall for a woman.

  Miss Masbeck sighed. “I would agree, your grace, if I were to be a governess or a tutor, perhaps… but…” She trailed off. “I am still wavering between thinking no one will say anything untoward about me and that they will say too much. I do not…” She blushed. “I do not wish to marry, any longer. But I still feel my reputation is important if for nothing other than my own peace of mind.”

  This was, perhaps, the only pitfall of the entire situation as far as Jeremy could see. Although it was true that she had no prior experience as a secretary in her own right, he was convinced after talking to Miss Masbeck for half an hour that she could handle everything he needed a secretary to do.

  This had surprised him as, although he’d been reluctantly open to the idea, he hadn’t been sure if her aptitude was exaggerated. But she was extremely quick and seemed even-tempered. Both essential qualities in a secretary or a clerk. After meeting her, he couldn’t really understand what he had to lose. He wouldn’t be handing her the reins to the entire estate and telling her to look after it, after all.

  If it didn’t work out, then he could let her go and find a more traditional option.

  Jeremy said, “A concern with which I sympathize, but with the presence of both the duchess and the dowager duchess, I don’t believe you are courting too much controversy.” I sympathize more than you know, he added in his mind.

  Then, without any preamble, he thought, And why do you not wish to marry? Blinking, he let it pass.

  He did not need to tell Miss Masbeck that the duchess was, to put it delicately, not always in residence. Or that he was actively trying to skirt controversy. Hiring her might not be the best way to accomplish that goal, he mused. But Jeremy’s logic was simple. He knew that people would find out he had a female secretary eventually, and it seemed to him that two things would stop it from becoming a scandal.

&nbs
p; One, if she was good at the job, then nobody could find too much harm in it—unless they wanted to make up something unsavory, which would be patently untrue. Secondly, it wasn’t as though she’d be in his London office greeting his more affluent or influential clientele. Anybody who did interact with her would be beneath his own lot in life. Or so I’m hoping.

  Mother spoke up again. Until now, she had seemed content to observe the interview, having been responsible for the events that led to it in the first place. “Luke’s governess is always here, as well. It is not as though you are walking into a bachelor’s residence. Do not fear, Miss Masbeck.”

  “Luke, your grace?” asked Miss Masbeck, glancing at Jeremy.

  “My son,” said Jeremy, with a smile.

  Miss Masbeck appeared charmed. Perhaps it is the smile? He knew that women liked it when he smiled. They used to, anyway. He had to consciously refrain from shaking his head to banish the thought. Where had it come from? Was it simply that she was the first woman near his age who had been kind to him for months?

  Ladies weren’t, strictly speaking, unkind to him. But ever since the idea that Isabel was taking lovers had in turn taken the ton’s fancies, there’d been a marked difference in how he was treated. It was confusing. He expected that if he’d been the one taking lovers, there would be certain women of the ton who strongly disapproved, while there would be others who wholeheartedly did approve. Obviously, the latter would be comprised of those women who might want to bed him.

  Jeremy had given all of this a lot of thought, generally at night while he was alone. It seemed to him that he was silently faulted for what Isabel was choosing to do. Did it signify to the ton that he was cruel to her, therefore she must be seeking comfort in another’s—well, multiple others’—arms?

  Or was it that he was being judged for not responding in kind? Was that it? Maybe remaining faithful to an errant wife comes across as weak in a man, whereas in a wife, staying true to a philandering husband signifies virtue. He had no idea, really. He could only speculate.