Page 30 of A Duke Never Tells

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MEG PINWELL

“But I can walk, yes?” Dr. Grimsby had said the words, but even so, they bore repeating. This was important. Vital to her sanity.

The doctor chuckled. “Yes. With a cane, for a short time. No more than half an hour at a time. Otherwise you’ll aggravate the sprain, and we start all over with a week in bed.”

“Oh, I’m not doing that,” Meg said, meaning every syllable. “Walking shoes are acceptable?”

“Yes, or dancing slippers. But no dancing. And nothing tight. Your foot may swell again. If it does, elevate it and apply a cold compress for twenty minutes or so.”

“I am memorizing everything you’re saying, Dr. Grimsby. You may trust me on that.”

“Good. That is what a doctor likes to hear. Oh, and no stairs. Not for another two or three days, at least.”

On the far side of her bed from where he’d been watching the doctor like a hawk, James nodded. “That’s manageable. Thank you, Dr. Grimsby.”

“You’re quite welcome, James. And if I may, the garden is looking better than it has in three years. Almost a place to come and stroll, as I used to.”

“You are welcome to stroll here anytime, sir,” the butler replied.

It wasn’t precisely the butler’s place to give strolling permission, but Meg imagined the duke would agree. After all, thanks to the doctor, she and Clara would be able to leave in a week. And from what she’d heard from her window, the garden had been dug up and raked and replanted almost nonstop for the past four days, with only a lull long enough for carrying her downstairs, and for a quick phaeton drive into Remiton yesterday. As Clara walked the doctor down the hallway, no doubt asking for further information as they went, Meg sat up straighter.

“I can walk,” she said, grinning.

“So I heard.”

“And the first place I would like to walk is the garden. I want to see what you’ve done. And don’t think I’ve been fooled by the giant tree poking through my window. I know you’ve been down there. I’ve heard you cursing, quite clearly.”

“I do curse a great deal,” James agreed, coming around the bed to sit in her “visiting chair,” as she’d taken to calling it. “But no, you may not walk in the garden. Not until Sunday, at the earliest.”

He hadn’t hidden his intentions very well; the garden was to be a surprise. For her. If he’d been the duke and if she’d been, well, who she was, that would have been charming and romantic and quite touching. But he was the butler, and she wasn’t going to marry the man who owned Earnhurst Castle, which meant she certainly wasn’t going to live there, and so she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about a garden made as a surprise for her. But she did like that he’d done it.

“Very well,” she said aloud. “But I’m walking somewhere today, even if it has to be up and down the hallway.”

“I think we can manage something better than that.”

She smiled again. “Oh, I was hoping you would say that. Remiton?”

“Remiton, or the follies, or down to the pond. Workers have been raking algae and overgrown reeds and dead sticks out of it for two days. I have… I’ve heard the duke has fish being delivered today.”

“He’s restocking the pond? That’s grand. Perhaps he’ll allow you and me to go fishing! So much progress is being made. I can hardly believe this is the same house whose stairs I fell down a week ago.”

“It’s the same house. The duke is what’s changed, I think,” he mused, his gaze toward the tree-obscured window.

Well, that was interesting. That was what Clara had been saying, endlessly, but Clara seemed to be besotted with the man. “You think the duke has changed? How so?”

Shrugging, he stood again, wandering over to look at the items on her dressing table, picking things up and then setting them aside again. “He and our father didn’t see eye to eye very often, as you know,” he said quietly, half to himself. “I think anger at old Earnhurst translated to a dislike of Earnhurst Castle and all it represented. But now that he’s been here, and now that new things are coming in so that it’s not full of only old, harsh memories, he’s enjoying it more. He’s been reminded of what he actually liked here, growing up. And that he can put his own mark on it.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And I’m glad that you and the duke are dealing together better than you were.”

“Yes, we’re fairly compatible now, I think.” He turned around, facing her. “I feel a need for fresh bakery biscuits. What do you say? Shall I have the phaeton brought round so you can confine your walking to the inside of shops?”

“Oh, yes, though it was fun to have you sling me about in the milliner’s. But I’ll only agree if you stop blaming me for all the biscuits you’ve been eating. I may have pointed them out to you, but you’ve led the charge the last two outings we’ve had.”

“Agreed. Shall I summon Hannah?”

“Yes, if you would. I think Lady Sophronia is looking at bookshelf and gazebo drawings with His Grace this morning.”

He nodded. With a glance toward the open door, he leaned both hands on the bed and caught her mouth for a swift, hot kiss. “Half an hour.”

She twisted her fingers into his open waistcoat, holding him there to extend the moment. Another week spent in his company would be so very tempting. Her parents would be horrified if they even suspected that she wanted to be ruined by a butler, but they couldn’t possibly understand that she’d found the man she wanted, or that she could barely stand the idea of a single Season in London without him. A life without him… No. She didn’t even want to think about it. That was for later, when it happened and she couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“If you don’t let me go right now I’m going to do something we will both regret,” he murmured, kissing her again, openmouthed.

With a growl she straightened her fingers. “If not for the prospect of biscuits, I would very likely keep you here.”

Straightening a little, still gazing at her, he ran a forefinger along her cheek. “If not for the biscuits, I would insist on it.” He sighed. “Thirty minutes, Mabel.”

“I’ll be ready. Just knock first, will you?”

He swept an elegant bow. Goodness, he knew how to do that well. “As you wish.”

She watched him out the door until he’d shut it behind himself, then carefully swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up. It didn’t hurt, thankfully, but her ankle did feel weak and stiff. Caution would be the word of the day.

It should have been her word for kissing the butler, too, but it was far too late for that now. Last night she’d dreamed that she’d been at the grand ball where the duke had announced that his half brother was now his heir apparent, and that Society should welcome him. She’d been so ecstatic, so eager to dance with him, so relieved that now they had a chance for a future, and then just before they could take to the floor the duke had appeared sporting a giant mustache and declared that he meant to dance every dance with his wife, which she’d then realized was her.

She’d always meant to fall in love with the man who would be her husband. But now she’d gone and fallen for a butler, the illegitimate brother of a duke, a man who’d previously spent his evenings in gaming hells across London. It wasn’t fair.

Even Clara had admitted that with the world as it was, the daughter—the only daughter—of an earl could not marry a butler and expect to be anything other than shunned and ridiculed.

On top of that, the butler would lose his employment and his half brother’s support, and then no one else would hire him even if he’d had the faintest idea how to buttle. She could sew a little, and play the pianoforte, but assuming she could earn a living wage doing those things was beyond silly. They would have to live on a dairy farm or something, but first they would have to find some money and learn how to milk cows.

In books, doomed love was so romantic, so horrible and beautiful all at the same time. In life, it was simply heartbreaking. And even knowing how it had to end, all she wanted to do was keep pretending, keep imagining that everything worked out as it should, and keep ignoring what would happen once she and Clara left Earnhurst Castle for London.

Given the way Clara took every excuse to chat with Earnhurst, her aunt felt the same way. If not for the lies, Clara and James Clay might have had a chance, because Meg certainly wouldn’t have stood in their way. Seeing Clara so very happy, so overjoyed at meeting a man who treated her as an equal, who respected her knowledge and who actually agreed with some of her causes…

Clara and Earnhurst would be perfect together.

Meg sat down on the bed again. Could she manage that? Replace herself with Clara? She’d sent word to her parents that she meant to break the engagement, but no one other than they and Clara knew about that. With some maneuvering, perhaps if she took all the blame for this costumed fiasco, the duke would forgive Clara at least, and they could be happy together.

That didn’t leave her anywhere but pining after a butler, but Clara would be happy. And for heaven’s sake, her auntie deserved someone who found her unique and wonderful, especially after Clara had given up on ever finding such a person.

The odds were very much against any of this succeeding, and common sense made her acknowledge that, but considering they’d managed to keep their disguises on for more than a week now, perhaps they had a chance. Or perhaps at least Clara Bosley had a chance, and that would have to make everything they’d done worth it. It would have to be.

She wouldn’t say anything yet. Not until she’d thought it through with logic and reason and all the other things that she wished would go jump into a lake and leave all four of them alone to be who they wished, with whom they wished. No, today was for biscuits and kisses. Tomorrow she would quite possibly doom them all.