Page 14 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)
CHAPTER 14
Charity
“M arket days fall on Mondays and Thursdays,” Mrs. Frames stated. “Typically, I meet with the duchess on Sundays and Wednesdays to review the menu for the week, so the maids are apprised of what to procure.”
“Very well,” Charity replied. “We shall proceed with this arrangement.”
“Excellent. Now, regarding this week’s menu, I have outlined my proposals.” She placed a piece of parchment before Charity, who accepted it. It contained a list of suggested meals for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner, along with an array of items proposed for tea and light refreshments. Charity found her hands trembling slightly.
Charity let out a sigh. When she first awoke that morning, all had felt rather normal. It was only now, after taking breakfast alone and sitting down with the housekeeper, that the realization struck her: she was indeed the Duchess of Leith. The load of responsibility for the management of this household now rested on her shoulders.
Her mother had fulfilled such a role as the Viscountess Pembroke, and she had always anticipated the day she would run a household of her own. Yet it had never crossed her mind that it would occur so abruptly. She felt entirely unprepared.
To her surprise, the housekeeper placed a hand on her forearm. “Your Grace, I understand this is a significant change, but I assure you all will be well. Every new duchess, every lady of title, faces this challenge. It is only natural to feel apprehensive. Yet there is no cause for concern. This household and its servants have been established for a considerable time. There is nothing you could do to fail.”
“I would beg to differ,” Charity retorted, her voice tinged with skepticism. “My husband does not appear to have any confidence in me.” Why she said this, she didn’t know, as he had not mentioned anything of the sort.
The housekeeper withdrew her hand. “His Grace is a man of great patience. The Hayward family has always been exceptionally kind to their staff and to those who are joining their ranks. I have served many noble families throughout my life, yet it was only on my arrival at Hayward House that I found myself truly welcomed, made to feel part of the family. You shall feel likewise.”
“What are they like?” Charity inquired, relieved to finally gain insight.
“The Haywards? They are a delightful, extensive family—boisterous, indeed. Most of his aunts, uncles, and cousins reside nearby. You shall meet them all in due course. There are his aunt and uncle, Arabella and Harry, the Duke and Duchess of Sheffield, who spend part of the year in Ireland, as they have relations there. Then there are Emma and Evan, the Duke and Duchess of Wells, who are avid travelers. I believe they are currently abroad in India. Yet they always gather for the major holidays. And of course, His Grace’s sisters are lovely. As are his aunts on his mother’s side. Lady Cressida and His Grace are especially close friends. I am certain you will meet his sisters soon as well.
“Right,” Charity interjected. “Lady Marjorie, and Lady Hazel? I cannot recall.”
“Lady Hazel keeps a residence in Brighton with her husband, Sir Stewart. Lady Marjorie maintains a townhouse in London. The dowager duchess resides with her. I believe your wedding breakfast was arranged there.”
“Indeed. However, I have yet to make her acquaintance.”
“You shall soon enough. They often come for tea—though less so nowadays since the dowager no longer resides here—but still frequently enough.”
“Will I be expected to host them, then?” Charity asked, the reality settling in.
The housekeeper nodded. “Yes, but do not fret. As I mentioned, Mrs. Paddington, the cook, myself, and the butler have been here for many years. We shall assist you, Your Grace.”
Charity rested her hands in her lap, tapping her fingertips together in an attempt to quell her mounting anxiety. “Does His Grace reside at Hayward often?”
“Generally, yes. Though we do not see much of him. He is quite diligent in the management of the estate and is also involved in several business ventures. He and his cousins took over their father’s important export business some years ago, thus he often departs for town to attend to matters therein.”
“I see.” She yearned to inquire more, though she hesitated.
She sensed that Eammon concealed certain truths from her. His constant, self-appointed guardianship felt suspicious; what, exactly, was he shielding her from? Why had he chosen her for marriage? An additional question plagued her, one she believed might provide some semblance of reassurance.
“So, he is successful in business, my husband?”
The housekeeper beamed. “Indeed! That is one matter of which you shall never need to worry. Hayward itself is a most grand estate, possessing numerous sources of revenue. Moreover, the businesses beyond its confines stand secure.”
The woman interpreted Charity’s inquiry as one of financial concern. Such a perspective made sense. Yet Charity’s curiosity lay in determining why Eammon had opted to marry her. She’d thought it was perhaps that he needed her inheritance, but that wasn’t the case.
There was no prior connection between them; why would he care that she was destined for a union with the insufferable Lord Markham? It appeared absurd. He must be concealing something. But what?
With the conclusion of the meeting with the housekeeper, Charity found herself free to explore the estate.
Ordinarily, Eammon should have taken it on himself to show her around, yet Mrs. Frames informed her that he had departed post-breakfast to meet with his cousin on business.
Left to her own devices, she wandered the expansive halls. In many ways, it resembled Pembroke, but was far larger. As she roamed, she discovered three separate libraries, an enormous ballroom, two dining rooms, a drawing room upstairs, another below, and an assortment of other rooms whose purposes eluded her comprehension, perhaps parlors or sitting rooms, she could not ascertain. Indeed, there were far more chambers in this house than any two people could possibly require.
The upper floors housed a variety of guest rooms and secondary dressing rooms, and a staircase concealed behind a white door led to the servants’ quarters tucked away in the attic.
Not wishing to intrude on their privacy, she turned and returned downstairs.
The gardens sprawled before her as well, yet a light drizzle had started, leaving her unable to use the outdoor areas. Mrs. Frames had told her of a gazebo by the lake, as well as a pretty brook that fed into it. There were stables and even a maze, accompanied by sculpture gardens and an roses. She looked forward to visiting all of these, for they would provide a pleasant diversion, yet this was neither the time nor the place.
She ambled down the hall beyond the staircase. She had anticipated it would lead to another entrance to the servants’ quarters, but instead, she discovered an imposing oak door to her right. Grand and adorned with old sconces on either side that seemed to have stood sentinel for decades, the brass doorknob likewise spoke of age, prompting her to wonder how many souls had entered the room beyond.
Curiosity overtook her, and she opened the door, gasping as she saw what lay within—a study. Eammon’s study, no doubt. She hesitated briefly, contemplating whether to leave, yet a thought stopped her:
Her own father had always kept his important documents locked away in his study, and perhaps her husband maintained the same discretion. Determined to uncover the secrets hidden from her, she nudged the door wider and stepped inside, ensuring to close it quietly in order to avoid alerting the servants to her presence.
Once inside, she surveyed her surroundings. A heavy crimson carpet covered the majority of the floor, while a grand marble fireplace, accented by gilded grates, adorned one wall. A pair of wing chairs faced the hearth, and cabinets lined the walls, with a sturdy oak desk stationed near the window, cluttered with books and papers akin to those in Eammon’s bedchamber.
Should she rummage through it all to unearth what secrets lay hidden? Or would it be wiser to inspect the drawers? Unsure, she scanned the chamber for an ideal starting point when her attention was drawn to a painting hung above the fireplace.
A beautiful piece with intricate detailing depicted a family: a couple and their three children. She recognized the little boy immediately as Eammon himself, evident in the dark hair, blue eyes, and the squared features he had preserved into adulthood. The woman, too, was unmistakably the Duchess of Leith; although her hair appeared more auburn in the portrait than it did in life, her countenance bore a striking resemblance, albeit slightly aged. The tall, blonde gentleman beside her must be her deceased father-in-law, and the two girls, sharing their mother's auburn locks, were undoubtedly Marjorie and Hazel.
From the fashion displayed in the painting, it was clear that it had been crafted during the early reign of King George the Fifth, the attire being distinctly Regency—an empire waist for both mother and daughters, while a heavily adorned cravat adorned the gentleman, indicative of the style's prominence.
Yet something about the portrait suddenly gave her pause. She scrutinized it again and realized what it was—Eammon bore little resemblance to his parents. His complexion was darker, his eyes a shade lighter. His stature echoed that of his father, yet his features remained distinctively his own.
Had he perhaps taken after his grandfather? She had observed other portraits throughout the estate and made a mental note to seek one of the Earl of Worcester.
To her astonishment, the door handle rattled. Panic surged within her as she turned to face the door, a growing sense of dread gathering as the knob turned. Someone approached.
For a fleeting moment, she contemplated hiding behind the heavy desk; however, her voluminous skirts would certainly give her away.
Could she open the window and leap outside? The gardeners would undoubtedly be startled, yet it would afford her an escape…Perhaps?—
No, it was too late. The door hinges emitted a sharp creak, and then the door swung open.
To her horror, the one person she wished to see the least stepped inside.