Page 16 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

T he morning after Hester had arranged a delightful embroidery station in her office, she settled into her work with a contented sigh after breakfast. However, her rhythm was abruptly interrupted by a knock on her door.

“Come in,” she answered.

Slater walked in and bowed. “Your Grace, a party of ladies awaits you in the front hall.”

Her brows furrowed. “Ladies? I am not expecting anyone. Do you have their cards?”

“They do not possess cards, Your Grace. They are from the village.”

“Very well. I shall join them shortly. Please show them to the drawing room.”

Hester set aside her silks and rose, smoothing her skirts as she made her way to meet them. As she entered the drawing room, a small group of women sat waiting, each cradling a woven basket brimming with homemade treats and small tokens. They all stood when they saw her.

“Good day to you, Your Grace,” one woman greeted, her bright smile illuminating her face, cheeks flushed with excitement. “We are the wives of your tenants.”

Hester stepped further into the drawing room, her curiosity piqued by their warm welcome. “It is a pleasure to meet you all. I am delighted to see such friendly faces.”

As she scanned the group, Hester noticed the eagerness in their eyes. “May I ask your names?” she inquired, her tone inviting.

“I’m Mrs. Dibbs, wife of the village carpenter,” said a stout woman with a rosy complexion, her voice filled with pride. “And this is my dear friend, Mrs. Ambrose,” she added, gesturing to a woman with a warm, yet curious demeanor, for her eyes were a bright blue and her smile wide.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ambrose said with a deep curtsy.

“And I’m Mrs. Milton” chimed in the third woman, her expression earnest. “I help with the village market. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Hester responded warmly, “It’s lovely to meet you all. Thank you for coming.”

Mrs. Ambrose grinned. “We brought you some of our best baked goods, Your Grace. I hope you enjoy them.”

Hester gestured for the footmen to collect the baskets, already intrigued by the treats they had brought. “Thank you so much. I look forward to trying them.”

“Oh, I never thought I’d live to see the day that Lushton would welcome a duchess,” Mrs. Ambrose exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she settled into a chair.

“Yes, it’s true,” Mrs. Milton added, her expression earnest. “The late Duke never took a wife. Lived a life of debauchery, he did.”

“Now, Mrs. Milton,” Mrs. Ambrose interjected, elbowing her companion gently, “the Duchess does not need such gory details.” She turned to Hester, her expression shifting to one of sheepish apology. “Forgive my friend, Your Grace.”

Hester waved her hand dismissively, a faint smile dancing on her lips. “No offense taken. I assure you, I am quite accustomed to the realities of life.”

Mrs. Ambrose cleared her throat, her demeanor turning earnest. “We came to express our gratitude, Your Grace,” she began, and the other women nodded vigorously, their expressions sincere.

“Gratitude? For what, if I may ask?” Hester replied, genuinely puzzled. She had only just met these women and had not yet engaged in any meaningful interactions with the village.

“Why, the Duke has ordered repairs on all our houses,” Mrs. Milton explained, leaning forward with palpable excitement. “It is a kindness we have not known in many, many years.”

Hester furrowed her brow, shaking her head slightly. “But he was merely fulfilling his duties. You needn’t trouble yourselves with thanks.”

“Ah, but the late Duke never took notice of such matters, Your Grace,” Mrs. Ambrose asserted, her gaze unwavering as she leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “We have ample cause to be grateful now.”

Mrs. Milton edged closer, her eyes sparkling with a mix of nostalgia and indignation. “I remember well the day old Farmer Andrew was whipped for merely beseeching the Duke for newer ploughs to ease the toil.”

“Enough with these grim tales, Mrs. Milton,” Mrs. Ambrose interjected, casting a sharp glance at her companion.

Hester’s breath caught in her throat, her hand instinctively flying to her chest. The sheer cruelty of it all sent a shiver down her spine, igniting a fierce pride within her that Thomas was bringing forth a change in their lives.

“Now you see why we are so grateful for your husband, Your Grace?” Mrs. Dibbs chimed in, her eyes glistening with admiration.

“Yes,” Hester murmured, feeling their gratitude wrap around her like a warm shawl. I am indeed proud of him.

“And it does not end there. Our village orphanage and children’s hospital have not known kindness or charity in decades until your husband ascended to the title,” Mrs. Dibbs added, and they all nodded in agreement, their expressions earnest.

“There’s an orphanage?” Hester sat straighter, her brow lifting in surprise.

They confirmed her inquiry with eager nods, and her heart swelled with excitement. It meant she could extend their charitable efforts to this corner of the country as well. With Thomas already a benefactor, she felt a renewed sense of purpose to support him.

“I should very much like to meet the children soon,” Hester declared.

The women beamed, their faces lighting up with gratitude. “A gracious Duchess we have indeed,” Mrs. Ambrose proclaimed.

Hester felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she waved away their kind words. This was but their duty as patrons of the village, after all—the least they could do.

Once the women had taken their leave, Hester’s mind danced with ideas about what gifts to offer the children. She summoned the housekeeper, hoping to glean some insight. After all, two heads were better than one, even if Mrs. Smith’s demeanor was often uninviting.

“You called, Your Grace,” the housekeeper said as she entered, her face blank.

“Yes, I would like to discuss a matter with you regarding the orphanage in the village. Please sit.”

The woman’s expression immediately softened, and she sat in the seat Hester gestured toward. “The orphanage is doing well thanks to His Grace’s generosity, but he is a very busy man, and we feel reluctant to bring somethings to his attention.”

“Like what?” Hester asked.

“The immaterial, Your Grace. The presence of a caring soul.”

Hester nodded, but she did not speak immediately as she contemplated.

“I would like to embroider something though I cannot quite decide what,” she mused after a moment.

“Perhaps some blankets would be fitting, Your Grace,” Mrs. Smith suggested, her tone surprisingly gentle.

“Blankets! Why did I not think of that?” Hester exclaimed. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile flicker across Mrs. Smith’s face.

“We could procure the blankets, and you could adorn them as you see fit to make them more presentable, Your Grace,” the housekeeper proposed once more.

Hester felt a swell of gratitude for her advice. Blankets were practical, indeed. She could also embroider handkerchiefs for the girls, and perhaps even for the boys as well. They settled on a day to visit the markets and select the necessary supplies.

After her meeting with Mrs. Smith, Hester wandered through the grand halls of the castle, her thoughts still occupied with the children. She soon found herself in the library, a vast expanse of bookshelves and rich mahogany furniture. As beautiful as it was, she felt it lacked a certain liveliness.

Perhaps a few adjustments, as she had done in her office, could breathe new life into the room.

She began to examine the shelves closely when her gaze fell upon a collection of the most scandalous volumes she had ever encountered.

The illustrations within were bold and audacious, leaving little to the imagination.

Hester’s cheeks burned as her curiosity urged her to flip through the pages. “Goodness gracious, does Thomas read these?” she muttered to herself, astonished.

“What do I read?” came Thomas’s voice from behind her, causing her to jump and swiftly hide the book behind her back.

“Oh, nothing in particular,” she stammered, her heart racing. “I was merely admiring the sheer number of books in this room and pondering if you’ve read them all.”

A light chuckle escaped him as he stepped closer, his expression shifting in a way she couldn’t quite decipher. “To have read all the tomes in here would imply I’ve led a rather solitary existence, Hester.”

“Right,” she replied, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

“Besides, I do not read, Hester,” he continued, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“No? Not at all?” she asked, feigning surprise.

“Not unless those volumes are ledgers and accounts that help organize my finances and perhaps increase them,” he replied, a playful glint in his gaze.

“My, what a shrewd merchant you prove,” Hester teased, her laughter lilting through the dusky chamber.

“I bear the care of some hundreds beneath my charge, Hester,” he replied, his expression sobering as if his responsibilities pressed down upon him like a heavy cloak.

“With you at the very helm of it all,” he added, sliding a finger beneath her chin and lifting her gaze until her eyes met his.

She felt a flutter of disquiet. At his forefront she stood—yet in truth she was but another duty to be tended. A faint shadow passed across her heart, and a strange longing ignited within her—if only he could see her as more than merely another obligation.

She blinked. What manner of thought was that, and what would such a shift mean for her? For the carefully constructed rules she had so diligently maintained? Dangerous currents stir here, warned the cautious voice in her mind.

Just as she contemplated her tumultuous thoughts, Thomas opened his mouth to speak but then halted, his gaze shifting to something on the desk behind them.

“Why, weren’t you having a fascinating read without me?” He reached behind her and plucked a book from the surface, his brows arching in playful curiosity.

Hester’s heart sank, mortification gripping her like a vice when she recognized the volume in his hands—the third book from the scandalous collection she had been perusing. The second volume still hid behind her back, and she had completely forgotten the first lay exposed on the table.

“I—I merely stumbled upon them. I wasn’t reading anything of consequence,” she stammered, heat flooding her cheeks.

“With these books, one hardly needs to read anything,” he remarked, flipping through the small volume with mischief in his eyes. “The illustrations convey far more than mere words, do they not?”

“H—how would I know? I’ve never read them to judge,” she dismissed, her voice wavering slightly. Turning, she put some space between them.

He regarded her in silence, an inscrutable brow raised, the seconds stretching between them like taut string.

“Are you perhaps embarrassed by these pictures, Hester?” His amusement was palpable, and she bristled at his teasing tone.

“Have you seen those pictures, Thomas? Who wouldn’t be?” she retorted, crossing her arms defensively.

“I’m not,” he shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And you just contradicted your claim of not seeing the pictures nor reading the text.”

Her blush deepened, and she cursed the warmth flooding her skin. Of course, he must be well-versed in everything contained within those pages; it was likely nothing new to him. Yet, a wave of unease rose in her throat at the thought.

“So, what do you think of us reading these books together, Hester?” he asked, taking a step closer until the desk pressed against her back, effectively pinning her in place.

She swallowed hard, the air crackling and her heart racing as she searched his expression for anything besides jest.

“The books?” She let out, her breathing quickening as her mind scrambled to collect itself but to no avail.

He was close to her. Too close. And she had no escape from the warmth of him. Not that she wanted to. No. If anything, she desired the opposite of an escape from this man before her.

“You could read them to me,” he suggested, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lingering just a moment longer on her jaw. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine. “We could bring the library to life, aye?”

Hester held her breath as his fingertip traced along her jawline, a gentle caress that felt both thrilling and dangerous. “I—” she stammered.

“Hester,” he murmured, as if her name alone could bridge the distance between them.

But just as she was about to succumb to the magnetic pull of his presence, a loud rap echoed through the room, jolting them both back to the stark reality of their surroundings.

“Your Grace, the butler seeks your audience,” came the voice from beyond the door.

A sigh slipped from Thomas’ lips, low and frustrated, as he stepped back, creating space between them that felt unbearably vast. He cast her one last inscrutable glance, his eyes darkening slightly, before turning toward the door.

Hester’s heart sank at the sudden loss of his warmth, an emptiness settling in the pit of her stomach.

As she watched him stride away, disappointment washed over her like a cold wave. What was wrong with her? Why did her pulse quicken at the mere thought of him?

Surely it was the influence of those scandalous volumes, planting wild ideas in her mind.