Page 10 of A Duke Never Tells

CHAPTER NINE

CLARA BOSLEY

“You can’t tell me this happened just over the past year when you were in mourning.” Clara reached down to pick up an apple, brown and wrinkly and soft, before she dropped it again. She wiped her hand on her skirt and looked up at the tree, where delicate twigs reached toward the sky, raising new green leaves like miniature flags that waved in the wind. The apple trees themselves weren’t dead, then, but it looked like most of the fall crop lay where it had fallen, unpicked and uneaten except by squirrels and deer. “I do enjoy being contrary, but that has nothing to do with my reasoning here.”

“Six years ago, His Grace—my father, of course—announced that the house and grounds of Earnhurst were to be my responsibility. Nothing was to be done without my approval. I, however, lived at Clay House in London, and didn’t wish to be put in charge of this place. Especially not when I considered it a ruse to rein me in.”

“I see,” she said slowly, surprised he would simply admit that this was his fault, whatever his reasons for allowing it to happen.

“That’s why the house and gardens are a disaster, anyway,” he continued. “The orchard, though, isn’t entirely my doing. His Grace came down with a cold a little better than two summers ago. We all, him included, thought it nothing but an annoyance that lingered longer than it should have. It never went away, though. In the course of tending him, things were… neglected or forgotten. Including the apple harvest.”

The duke kicked at another apple, and it turned to mush beneath his boot. With a curse he plucked a handful of grass and cleaned off the toe of his shoe as she watched him. She’d never thought much of the aristocracy, even after her family officially stepped well inside it upon her sister’s marriage to the Earl of Brundon. In her admittedly prejudiced view, the higher the rank, the more useless the man or woman who held it.

Nothing she’d seen at Earnhurst Castle dissuaded her from that opinion, except she never would have imagined a duke cleaning off his own shoes, or yesterday, freeing Meg’s foot from the stair railing and then correctly assessing the injury as a sprain. “Your reluctance to be here continued after your father’s death, too?”

“I… Yes, I suppose it did. I avoided this place for years, ignored multiple letters from his solicitors and man of business, and when he wrote me himself, I replied that Earnhurst was his property and so he should manage it. He had people he employed to see to all those things.”

“I’m not asking for details, but am I to assume this disagreement with your father was a serious matter?”

Earnhurst glanced at her. “To me it was. But I’m not here to regale you with my private grievances. Aside from the fact that we are barely acquainted, Lady Sophronia, this is hardly the only example of my questionable behavior.”

Drat. She was being too direct again. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” she said hurriedly, curtsying. “You asked for my opinion on the state of the… well, estate; you did not ask for my opinion of your familial relations.” She took a breath.

He gestured her back toward the curricle. “Let’s put it to two stubborn men who each refused to be the first to apologize, and be done with it. Now. Shall we continue?”

“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You haven’t offended me.”

That was good, because she still had some questions to ask him. And she liked the way he didn’t offer flip answers, despite his reputation. “If I may, then, in my experience, when my father made a household budget for the year and then something unexpected happened, it caused a great deal of cursing and the curtailing of other, less necessary things to pay for it. And this,” and she gestured at the land around them, “is not possibly something the estate would have budgeted for.” She forced a laugh. “It makes me hope that your bride-to-be comes from a very wealthy family.”

“I believe she does,” he commented, handing her back into the curricle. “I don’t know that that was on my father’s mind when he arranged the marriage, however. Earnhurst is more than self-sustaining, even as it is now.”

Clara wanted to believe him. All morning he’d been straightforward, hesitating only for a moment when she asked rather sticky questions about the property and his father, and declining to answer only a few of them. From everything she could recall reading and hearing from Meg, Earnhurst was a wealthy title, despite Meg’s current misgivings. The idea that Meg might have been bartered for money, whether her father had realized that was the case or not, horrified her.

“You seem a man with a good head on your shoulders, Your Grace,” she said crisply, folding her hands over her lap. “You’re being very courteous, but I find it difficult to believe that you haven’t traveled your property before now and assessed precisely what needs to be done. And that then leads me to the question of why you asked me to join you today.”

He looked sideways at her. “I’m not certain,” he said after a moment, frowning. “It’s genuinely pleasant to have someone with whom to commiserate, I suppose. And I’m relieved to be away from the madness of Mayfair and have a moment simply to chat with someone.”

No one enjoyed the company of women or navigated soirees more skillfully than the new Duke of Earnhurst, but possibly that was his public face and he was truly a man who enjoyed the country and quiet conversation. Hmm. Perhaps it was all for show, then. That didn’t seem likely, but the past day had been full of surprises, and she saw no reason why the next fortnight wouldn’t continue to be the stuff of her wildest imagination. If she’d known nothing about him before their meeting yesterday, for instance, she would say only that she enjoyed his conversation, his manner, his dry humor, and his appearance. And he’d certainly been the epitome of a gentleman all morning, piratical epithet or not. “Very well, then.”

“And for the sake of efficiency,” Earnhurst went on, squaring his shoulders, “let us pretend that the James Clay who allowed this mess to happen and the one who wishes to see the estate restored are two different people. Then neither of us will have to fret over my tender feelings. Do you find those terms acceptable?”

Clara understood being frustrated, and she understood disagreeing with family and how that could color every subsequent conversation and even her behavior. She nodded, reaching up to straighten her silly, impractical bonnet. “Yes. My father used to say that no two battles are ever the same; his point being that dwelling on or reliving old ones only prevented him from seeing something with fresh eyes.”

A smile disrupted the stern crevices of the duke’s face, the altered landscape both warm and attractive. “Your father and my father would have been friends, I think.”

Oh, my. “As I hope we can be,” she said, her heart fluttering. She felt warm and tingly inside, and she dearly hoped her sudden… awareness of him didn’t show on her face. Her niece was presently engaged to this man, even if Meg meant to sever the agreement. And he hadn’t even said anything flirtatious, for heaven’s sake. All he’d done was smile. Clara shook herself. She had the duke’s true character and motives to discover. “Now,” she said briskly, clapping her hands against her thighs, “you are to have a wedding here. An outdoor one, I presume?”

He hesitated, looking at her, then faced forward again. “Yes. That is the plan.”

“Then in my opinion you must begin your repairs with the garden. And the entire exterior of the house. Followed, I would recommend, by the common areas indoors. Drawing room, dining rooms, library, sitting rooms, et cetera. Also bedchambers for any guests—and if the invitations haven’t yet gone out, perhaps aim for a very modest number of attendees. I doubt even the most herculean effort would result in every room and hallway being set right in time.”

“Fewer guests, fewer rooms to have to refurbish,” he muttered, nodding. “And how do I explain the rest of it?”

“You could always say your father’s taste isn’t your own, and you’re doing an extensive renovation. Then block the doors to the rooms where this ‘renovation’ is ongoing.”

“I like it. It’s a good beginning.” He nodded. “With your permission, I would like to show you the pond and the pair of follies overlooking it. They are also possibilities for the ceremony, and, even if they aren’t used, they must be either repaired or concealed, because they can be seen from the garden.”

“Certainly. I would be happy to. And, of course, render my opinion. I do enjoy rendering opinions.” With their new agreement she couldn’t ask him why they’d fallen into disrepair, but she imag ined it all came from the same root—two stubborn men unwilling to settle their differences until it was too late.

In fact, the only thing that didn’t quite make sense in all this was the tone of affection and admiration that touched Earnhurst’s voice whenever he spoke of his father. The anger or frustration that had allowed the estate to crumble seemed far too great to allow for an equal affection after so short a time. That could just be her and her fondness for puzzles, of course, but she was willing to wait for more evidence before she arrived at a conclusion.

At the same time, she doubted any of that would be relevant to Meg. Her niece had made up her mind. She was not going to marry this man, and if she couldn’t use one excuse, she would come up with another. Neither the belated repair of the estate nor his convoluted relationship with his father mattered—not as far as this holiday in Dorset was concerned, anyway. All Meg needed was a few previously unknown facts and anecdotes, and the union of Pinwell to Clay would be finished, Clara’s task being only to gather those facts.

“How is Miss Mabel this morning?” the duke asked, interrupting her tangled thoughts.

“The swelling has gone down a little, but her ankle is still very tender. Thank you again for engaging Dr. Grimsby. I am quite aware that we are both relying on your kindness.”

He snorted. “I think having guests visiting Earnhurst will prove to be a motivation for… myself, and for the staff, my lady, so I thank you as well.” His expression dropped into a scowl. “Not that I’m grateful for your companion’s injury, of course. Your timing, however, was impeccable.”

“I’m beginning to think that lingering here for a few days might benefit all of us.”

No, they hadn’t expected to encounter the Duke of Earnhurst himself, and he hadn’t helped his cause by announcing that he was drunk and unreliable. Large parts of the estate were a disaster, and Clara didn’t blame Meg a whit for wanting to flee with all possible speed.

At the same time, this man with whom she was conversing today had been polite and earnest, with a willingness to listen to a stranger—a woman—simply because he thought she might have a new perspective to offer. That spoke well of him, as did his apparent determination to set things right here. Given those facts, simply putting him in the column of “villain” after one day’s acquaintance felt shortsighted and even lazy.

Perhaps she needed to advise Meg to follow the same agreement she and Earnhurst had just made, that whatever had happened previously needed to be set aside, and that she should base her decision on what he did with this mess rather than on the many ways it had happened. That her niece should acquaint herself with the man before she declared him unworthy of her hand in marriage.

They would be there for two weeks, regardless, so they might as well make use of the time. At least one of them needed to view all this with an open mind to render a thoughtful, well-considered opinion or two. If it needed to be her, then so be it.