Page 116 of Her Beast of a Duke

Charles stiffened and cocked his head. Slowly, he approached him.

“Why did you not step forward sooner?” he asked. “Do you not understand the severity of what has happened?”

The footman nodded frantically. He gulped noisily, and the other footmen winced, as if waiting for their own punishment.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, glancing around. “I-I am conflicted, Your Grace, for I do not want to tattle,” he said.

Charles barked a laugh. “Lying to a duke is better, then?”

“No, Your Grace,” the footman said quickly. “No, of course not. It’s more that I risk… I risk getting somebody into trouble who… who I should not.”

“Who?” Charles demanded. “If you have an accomplice, say their name, and they will be punished severely.”

The footman’s face turned bone white, and ever so quietly, he admitted, “Lady… Lady Phoebe told me that the painting was supposed to go in the salon.”

Charles started at the mention of his daughter, but quickly straightened his back.

“I-I did not question it. I didn’t know to… to question. She was incredibly persistent, Your Grace.”

Charles’s anger burned hotter, but he kept himself in check.

“I didn’t think you would believe me, Your Grace,” the footman continued. “Nor do I want to get Lady Phoebe into trouble if she—” He tugged at his collar. “If she had played another prank.”

Charles was torn between wanting to accuse the footman of accusing his daughter prematurely and being impressed by his accurate guess. He only stared at the young man, gathering his thoughts before he nodded once.

The footman released a shaky, terrified breath.

“Thank you,” Charles said curtly. “Step back.” The footman did. “I will deduct a week’s holiday from your off-season break.”

Ashamed, the footman nodded, accepting his punishment. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Charles moved back, addressing the rest of his staff. “Furthermore, if Lady Phoebe ever tells you to do something you are uncertain about, then seek either me, Mr. Cunningham, or Mrs. Andrews. Yes, my daughter is known for her pranks, but theycanbe avoided with the right precautions.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He tamped down his annoyance; his daughter had played a prank yet again, causing more devastation than she ever had. Still, Phoebe would not have known what she was doing.

Or maybe she did, and that makes it worse.

He quickly dismissed the thought. He would not accuse her without knowing the full story.

Stepping back further, he eyed his servants narrowly.

“Dismissed,” he muttered.

Then, he strode out of the parlor and headed right to Phoebe’s room.

He knocked twice on the door and pushed it open to find her sitting on the window seat, looking out at the front courtyard.

She turned to him, staring for a moment before looking away.

Sometimes he saw so much of himself in Phoebe that it ached; she could be solemn at times, and mischievous just as often.

“Phoebe.” He made sure to keep his voice low and even.

“Papa,” she responded.

Finally, he saw that wicked smile on her face, the one he loved, even if he knew it spelled trouble.