Page 17 of A Duke Never Tells
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CLARA BOSLEY
“Madness, inconsistency, ill intentions, lies,” Clara recited under her breath as she put one last pin in her hair. “Bullying, mistreating his half brother, black cats, witchcraft, sneering at babies. Oh, bother.” Why a grown woman couldn’t simply wear a queue when she was traipsing about inside a house doing useful, physical things, she had no idea. Feeling like a pincushion certainly wouldn’t aid her in doing her utmost to be of assistance. And all the while looking for more dastardly things Meg could use against the duke, of course.
She would keep that foremost in her mind, because it was the reason they’d journeyed to Earnhurst Castle in the first place. An arranged marriage. Just the idea of sending Meg off with someone she’d never met because he was socially desirable made no sense, and she’d told Josephine and Gregory precisely that.
And then she’d waited a year and scampered off with Meg so they could assess this Duke of Earnhurst’s character for themselves. Perhaps going behind the Pinwells’ backs was a bit dodgy, but there hadn’t been any other road they could take. The quest for truth could be a tricky one, after all.
Tucking a piece of paper and pencil into her bodice on the chance she needed to make a note of something she noticed, she checked her hair once more and then left her bedchamber. Rapping on Meg’s door, she started to lower the handle.
A shriek froze her fingers. “Wait!” Meg yelled. “I’m not dressed yet!”
“That’s why I’m here, you silly thing,” Clara returned, pushing open the door.
Just inside, she stopped. “Oh.”
“The door!” Meg hissed, gesturing.
Blinking, Clara shut the door and leaned back against it. Halfway across the room, Meg shrugged into one of the plain, companion-appropriate gowns she’d borrowed from her maid, while a young lady Clara had never seen bent over to pull down on the hem and try to keep one-legged Meg from falling to the floor.
“Perhaps I could assist?” she offered, mentally reminding herself that she was Lady Sophronia now.
“It’s just a… bit twisted,” Meg grumbled. “I’m listing.”
Clara grinned, walking forward. “I’ve warned you about that, I believe, Mabel. Here.” She held out her hand so Meg could grip it and keep her balance. The other woman, now freed from Meg leaning on her, shifted sideways and finished settling the gown over Meg’s shoulders.
“That’s done, then,” the young lady said. “The buttons now?”
“Yes, if you please. I can’t reach them all myself.” Meg smiled. “And I’m sorry again for the inconvenience, Hannah.”
“Pish on that. I’d be sweeping out hearths if not for you. Now Timothy and Randall has to do it, or at least as far as they get before I’m finished here.”
Meg glanced up at Clara. “Lady Sophronia, this is Hannah, the downstairs maid. Hannah, my employer, Lady Sophronia.”
“I know’d it was you,” Hannah said, bobbing a deep curtsy, “as there’s only four women in the house and you ain’t Mrs. Carvey.”
Something had happened, because she and Meg usually helped each other finish dressing. They’d done so since they’d left Brundon Hall, and her help had become even more necessary with Meg stuck in bed. “Good morning, Hannah,” Clara said aloud, hiding her frown. How the devil was she supposed to ask what was afoot without either offending or alarming the maid? “I—”
“I told Hannah I could manage on my own,” Meg thankfully interrupted, “but James sent her up here to help. He said he has a surprise and I’m to be dressed for it.”
“What sort of surprise?”
“I have no idea.”
Hannah giggled. “I do, but I ain’t to say.”
“He said it wasn’t improper,” Meg added, then looked over her shoulder at Hannah. “It isn’t improper, is it?”
“No. But that’s all I’m saying. His Grace puts his mind to something, it gets done.”
Clara lifted an eyebrow. “His Grace? This ‘surprise’ was the duke’s idea?” Good deeds on his part would have to be noted, as well. That was how an investigation went.
The maid blushed bright red. “Oh! I’m not supposed to say anything about that. Don’t tell, my lady.”
It took a full five seconds for Clara to remember that she was the lady being addressed. “Your secret is safe.”
The duke hadn’t mentioned anything about a surprise for Mabel. In fact, she found it difficult to believe that the duke had given her much thought other than the perfunctory questions he asked about Mabel’s ankle each morning. This was unexpected, and possibly troubling.
Meg cleared her throat. “Hannah, I believe I can manage from here. Thank you so much for assisting me.”
The girl sighed and set aside Meg’s hairbrush. “Very well. Back to the hearths for me then, I suppose.” She curtsied at Clara again. “My lady.”
Once the maid left the room, Clara closed it behind her. “The duke has a surprise for you?”
“I have no idea. James told me earlier when he brought me breakfast that he had a surprise and that I should be dressed for it. Oh, I don’t like this, Auntie. I can’t believe that James would help him do something untoward, but what if Earnhurst means to seduce me or something?”
“If he does, he’s going to find himself lying on the floor with a broken nose. As far as he knows, he is an engaged man. And pursuing a lady’s companion? That’s questionable, even for a confirmed rake.”
Meg clapped both hands over her mouth. “What if he knows?” she whispered, her voice muffled. “What if he’s discovered that I’m Lady Margaret Pinwell?”
A shiver went down Clara’s spine. “If he has, then we will be in a great deal of trouble.” Slowly she sank down on the chair set beside the bed. Logic. She prized logic, and she had a very good grasp of it, if she said so herself. “He didn’t give any indication that he suspected anything when I saw him last evening. He merely invited me to help him sort through books in the library, as some of them have been damaged. I couldn’t refuse, because I’d offered my assistance before… before we found out about his treatment of James.”
Lowering one hand to the book on the end of the bed, Meg paled further. “Could it be this?”
“What is it?”
“A first edition of Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World, ” Meg breathed. “I told James it was too dear to lend me, but he said no one would mind.”
Now Clara wanted to look at the book for herself. A first edition? That must be quite a library the duke had. “If James is taking things without permission, he could get both of you in trouble. I imagine he’s teetering near the edge of being handed his papers as it is, half brother to the duke or not.”
“Earnhurst only hired James to keep his stuffy friends from gossiping. And James is kind and witty. If not for him, I’d still be dining on bread and water.”
“He’s not at all ugly, either, though I’m certain that has nothing to do with your supporting him.”
Her niece’s cheeks darkened. “Clara, hush. I am not embarking on an affair with a butler. I am an earl’s daughter.”
“You’re an engaged earl’s daughter.”
Meg knew all that, though, just as well as Clara did. And they both knew the rules of propriety, whether Clara had ever cared to venture far enough into Society to need to use them, or not. Until now, of course. Yes, she needed to keep them in mind now.
“Just stop speculating and help me put on my slippers, will you?” Meg said finally, leaning over to look beneath the bed.
“Only one will fit you. You’ll have to wear a mitten or something on your bad foot to keep it warm. In fact, I think I saw a pair of mittens at the bottom of the wardrobe when I looked inside the other day.”
“But those are the duke’s mittens.”
“He’s never admitted to this being his bedchamber, so they’re simply an old pair we dug up. If he should see you wearing one, that is. I do know that he shouldn’t see your bare feet, so if you can suggest something else, I’m all ears.”
Meg chuckled. “I’m still exceedingly annoyed with him for being so horrible to James, so by all means, find me one of his mittens to put on my foot.”
“I shall. And I still need my dress buttoned. Either that, or I require an extra set of elbows halfway between my actual elbow and my wrist.”
“Stop talking like that, Clara, or you’ll have the Church angry at you again.”
“Pish. It wasn’t the Church. It was only Father Michael. And it’s hardly my fault if he didn’t see the humor in my pointing out that if eating the apple taught Adam about shame and led to clothing, then clothing is evidence of our sin and should be discarded immediately.” She’d never seen a man’s face turn that shade of purple before, but he’d tried to force her to wear a scarf over her chest because her dress had been “low cut with the obvious intent of causing men to have impure thoughts,” even though it happened to have been the warmest day of the year in a very stuffy church.
“Isn’t that the time I was forbidden to see you for an entire week? Yes, let’s not do that again.”
“Very well.” After she finished fitting the heavy mitten over Meg’s tender foot and ankle and Meg buttoned the last trio of buttons up Clara’s back, she helped her niece back onto the bed so she could keep her foot elevated. “Whatever this surprise is, please remember Dr. Grimsby’s orders.”
“I will. Believe me, I have no wish to be forced to sit and listen while Earnhurst recites lewd poetry to me or something. Thirty minutes at most, and then back to bed.”
Clara couldn’t conjure an image of Earnhurst reading lewd poetry to save her life, but neither could she deny that his reputation had scandalous, improper things tangled all around it. “He and I are to be in the library all morning, but if he makes an escape I will follow him. And if he attempts something inappropriate, you can expect me to intervene. Forcefully. Feel free to pretend to faint if you don’t wish to witness the fisticuffs.”
“I don’t think Mabel is the fainting sort, but as I clearly am, I’ll keep that in mind. Go, dig into the library. I know you’re itching to do so.”
“Oh, you have no idea. Especially now that I know he has at least one first edition.” Rising, Clara made for the door. “Open, or closed?”
“Open. James has a difficult time with door handles when he’s carrying something.”
Trying not to hurry, Clara headed downstairs. In the foyer, at the foot of the now mad-looking staircase, James the butler leaned against the wall. He had one glove on and the other in his teeth as he tried to pull it onto his right hand. “Do you require assistance?” she asked, remembering at the last moment that she was lofty and lifting an eyebrow.
“Hmm? No. The previous butler evidently had the hands of a five-year-old girl, though.” Giving up, he went to strip off the left-hand glove, only to have it refuse to give way. “Good God. I think my fingers are going numb.”
“Perhaps you should locate some scissors,” Clara suggested. “Where might I find His Grace?”
The butler glanced up at her. “In the library, my lady. Do you require an escort?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Good. I’m off to locate some scissors before my fingers can begin dropping off. I’m quite fond of several of them.” With a nod he vanished into the morning room, where a moment later she heard things rattling about on the writing table.
The butler had a definite penchant for the nonsensical. Meg did as well, and she could see why her niece enjoyed spending time with him. Aside from his physical appearance, that was. If the new duke meant to make Earnhurst acceptable in time for the wedding, however, he was going to need a different butler. One that didn’t snack during dinner or engage in impudent chitchat with his betters. And one that didn’t look so very much like the most prominent portrait in the gallery. Privately, chatting with servants didn’t trouble her at all; she took meals with her maid, after all. But most people believed that servants should be silent, useful, and otherwise unnoticed. None of that described Earnhurst’s butler.
It was none of her business, of course, and since Meg had already declared there wouldn’t be a wedding she supposed the usefulness or parentage of the butler didn’t really matter, but it also seemed like a grand house should have a doom-faced, precise head of servants. James was not doom faced, and she doubted he’d done anything with precision since his arrival.
And while she was pleased that Meg had someone with whom to chat during her convalescence, if the truth about all this ever came out and Earnhurst discovered that his almost-wife preferred his bastard half brother, there would be hell to pay.
She found the duke on his knees in front of a shelf of books, gloves on his hands and a scowl on his face that matched her own. “Where did you find James Riniken?” she asked, tugging on her own gloves. She was presumably ignorant of the facts, after all. And despite them, she liked the new Duke of Earnhurst and actually didn’t want to know any more horrible things about him. “You never said.”
Earnhurst climbed to his feet, one hand on the nearest shelf to steady himself. “I need to remember not to kneel,” he said, bending down to rub his left knee. “It used to be much easier.”
“We remember things as they were, don’t we?” she responded. “My father had an old friend who’d lost his foot to a cannonball. Mr. Brimfeld said even twenty years later he would get an itch on the bottom of that foot, when he hadn’t seen it since Boston.”
“Yes, I think we do.” He smiled. “I certainly remember when I could climb stairs two at a time or swing up onto a horse and have it at a gallop before both feet were in the stirrups.”
“You ride, then? Oh, we should go riding.” That was the one thing Clara had agreed to do properly, even though having one leg hooked up sideways and the other trying to keep her attached to the mount seemed utterly absurd. But her mother had put her foot down; if there was one single instance of her being caught riding astride, all of her father’s other instruction would cease.
“I should like that. I’ll have to see if I can find a suitable mount for you.”
Shaking herself, she waved a hand at him. This trip wasn’t about going riding, however much she enjoyed it. And was he evading her question? That could be as significant as any answer he did give. “Not if it’s any trouble, Your Grace. You have enough to oversee without trotting about the countryside with me.”
“We’ll see. I can’t do these renovations myself, after all. That would have to be men with actual carpentry and gardening skills.” He looked at her for a moment, then took a visible breath. “As you can see, my lady, the library is in some distress. My… father evidently made no effort to protect especially valuable tomes. I would like to separate the first editions, signed copies, rare texts, et cetera, and put them behind glass. I’m afraid some of them are already past repair, but I’d like to save what I can. Would you care to assist me?”
“I insist on assisting you. My companion showed me the first edition of Gulliver’s Travels she’s borrowed from here. That’s quite impressive in itself.”
“James told me he’s been bringing her books. I didn’t know he’d included first editions, though.”
“I had a feeling you didn’t know he’d been removing valuable tomes without your permission. Pray don’t blame Mabel; she only asked that he surprise her with his selections. And I promise you she is being very careful with the book. She values literature as much as I do.”
“I don’t doubt it. I…” He trailed off, turning to gaze at the sagging shelves at the far end of the room. “James fancied himself a gambler,” he said after a moment, facing her again. “I hired him to give him a regular income.”
Yes, she’d reckoned he would claim to have acted benevolently, at least to begin with. Would he confess the rest, though? “Was he any good at it? Wagering, I mean?”
“Yes. He was. But the company he kept was… not of the best quality. I needed staff, and he overheard my conversation one evening. Not the wisest choice, perhaps, but the most convenient.”
“Oh, that explains so much. A man accustomed to using his wiles against possibly desperate and likely inebriated opponents might not have as delicate a touch with proper folk as one might expect.”
“Exactly. He shows some promise, though, so I’ll keep him on for now. With the house in this state, there aren’t exactly competent, well-recommended staff waiting in a queue to be hired.”
Clara waited a moment, wanting him to volunteer the rest. If he didn’t think she knew, though, there would be no reason to air that scandal in public. But she did know, and what the duke chose to confess would say a great deal about his character. “Is there another reason?” she prompted.
Earnhurst sighed. “Yes. You know there is. James informed me that you’d figured out his parentage.”
“He’s under the impression that you were embarrassed to have someone with your father’s face patronizing gambling hells and taking money from your peers. And that you ruined his reputation to give him no choice but to come and work for you.”
He sat in one of the chairs scattered through the library. “That doesn’t paint me very kindly, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“I… don’t know anything about my father’s indiscretions. Only that my mother died when I was young. And he and I, as I’ve said, did not agree on much. Anyway, James is a bit of a scamp. More than a bit of one, really. And the company he kept—well, they were not people who live long and productive lives. And those were the best of them. I thought that forcing him to take a position that requires being responsible, and ultimately allowing him to feel some pride in what he’s accomplished, would be good for him. And certainly, good for the length of his life.”
She could see that James would be considered a scamp. He was handsome, charming, had a quick wit, and evidently a talent for cards. Did he think to survive by virtue of those alone? Did he not foresee that he was likely to end up at the pointy end of a poor loser’s blade? The duke had indeed done him a favor. “I believe I understand,” she said slowly. “How is your relationship with him?”
“Devilish complicated. He resents me, I suppose for…” The duke trailed off. “For being the one to have our father’s favor and support, for being the one designated to inherit his title without having done a damned thing to earn it.”
Goodness. Introspection, from a duke. She would never have expected such a thing. “Have you considered discussing this with him? None of the things you mentioned are your doing, you know. If I’m not being too bold, it sounds as if your father allowed resentment to foment and then left you with the consequences.”
“I don’t think he realized,” the duke said abruptly, standing again and running a finger across his brown mustache. “And while I don’t wish to be rude, I prefer to keep my… private matters private.”
Clara felt her cheeks heat. “Of course. I apologize. I have a penchant for saying one thing too many.”
“As I’ve come to enjoy your forthright manner, I couldn’t very well expect you to say nothing.” He put a smile on his face that looked as stiff as his mustache. “My hope is that when I have things under control again, I’ll be able to hire enough competent staff that James’s lack of experience will be compensated for. Or I’ll find him a task or a position to which he’s better suited.”
Despite his reluctance to discuss increasingly personal matters, he’d given her more information than she’d expected. And as she suspected, there was another side to James the butler’s tale. “Perhaps you’re having difficulty finding good help now,” she stated, lifting up on her toes, “but that will change. Once word gets out about how impressive the new Duke of Earnhurst is in his station, and how swimmingly renovations are proceeding, staff will be knocking down your door looking for positions.”
His smile eased into a genuine grin. “I do appreciate your view of the world, Lady Sophronia. And your discretion.” Rubbing his hands together, he gestured toward the shelves and shelves of books. “Shall we?”
“Oh, yes.”
Belatedly, she realized that she probably shouldn’t have given him so much encouragement. Meg wouldn’t approve, and in truth, the worse Earnhurst looked when the time came to bring in Josephine and Gregory, the better it would be for her niece. But the man had such a heavy load before him, and he seemed so very alone in accomplishing it… And so regretful that the mess had happened in the first place. If she didn’t help, or at least lend him a kind word, who would?
Now, as he handed over books for her quick assessment, she had time to study him again. His movements were precise and purposeful, and he spoke with authority on any number of different topics. The duke carried himself like a man who’d seen the world at its best and its worst, and had decided which he preferred. A man of experience, and not just in knowing which utensils to use in which order.
Yes, he had a sense of humor, but it wasn’t silly, youthful humor like Meg’s. It was dry and well-considered, the very sort she keenly enjoyed and appreciated. She enjoyed him. And that was not good news. At all.