Page 16 of His Extraordinary Duchess

Chapter Sixteen

C laudia hadn’t been sure what to expect of dinner with all the changes in staffing, but everything went well, from the delicious ragout of chicken to the festive strawberry trifle. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits, though Sir Winfred kept watching the duke as if he didn’t trust the man. Because His Grace had proved he had indeed been listening to her, she was willing to give him a chance, but she intended to keep an eye on him too.

Everyone pleaded weariness after dinner, so they all retired to their own rooms rather than adjourn to the withdrawing room.

“And where did you put it all?” Claudia asked Violette, glancing around her spotless room, which had been much more crowded the last time she had been in it.

“In the wardrobe, under the bed, wherever it would disappear,” her maid said, coming to help her undress. “What should be done from there, I cannot say.”

Neither could Claudia. She would have to find a way to excuse herself from company tomorrow so she, Ben, and Sophia could visit the Grange.

She thought she might wake early after an early night, but sunlight was attempting to break past the closed draperies on the windows when she opened her eyes. She must have overslept. She sat up in bed, frowning. Her grate was empty. No dress waited on the dressing table stool or the foot of the bed for her consideration.

Where was Violette?

Claudia rose, padded to her dressing table, and peered into the mirror. Her hair had come loose of the braid she generally wore at night, falling in waves past her shoulders. She clearly needed help before she would be presentable. She gave the bell pull a tug and waited.

And waited.

Shaking her head, she ventured to the wardrobe to choose a dress, although she would need help to don her stays and the dress itself. As she opened the door, a painting tumbled out nearly on top of her toes. She shoved it back in place and returned to the bell pull.

Still nothing.

Huffing, she threw on a silk dressing gown, tugged the sash tight, and stormed out of her room. No maids worked along the corridor. She didn’t hear a single sound. Where was everyone?

So much for having sufficient staff now. Something had clearly gone wrong. With a sigh, she walked to the breakfast room, hoping to catch Mr. Kinsle or a footman.

Instead, Ben looked up from the table as she entered.

Claudia froze, hand flying to her hair.

He rose and pulled out the chair next to his. “Allow me.”

“I didn’t intend,” she started. “That is, I couldn’t find…”

He tipped his head toward the sideboard, which carried the usual supplies for morning. “I understand you prefer coffee in the morning. May I pour you a cup?”

She might as well. Claudia sank onto the chair he had pulled out for her and nodded her thanks as he handed her a steaming cup.

“Sugar?”

“No, thank you.”

“Cream?”

“Today, I think I need it undiluted.” She took a sip and closed her eyes.

“Bad night?” he asked.

She opened her eyes to find him smiling sympathetically. He did not appear to have had any trouble this morning. His chin looked freshly shaved, and the cream-colored cravat against the bottle-green coat was perfectly tied and very stylish.

“Good night,” she countered. “Bad morning.” She sat straighter. “I cannot think why Violette wasn’t there when I woke. No one answered the bell pull.”

“Odd,” he agreed. “I had no trouble, but then Peters sees to my needs.”

Mr. Kinsle came through the side door of the room then, bringing another platter of bacon. As soon as he set it down on the mahogany sideboard, he bowed to Claudia. “Good morning, Your Grace. What would you care for this morning?”

“My maid,” Claudia said. “In my room. Immediately.”

His brows rose, but he nodded and hurried out.

“You needn’t leave on my account,” Ben said. “I think you look charming.”

He seemed utterly sincere, gaze warm and lips curved. How extraordinary! From childhood, she’d been raised with the expectation of perfection. Her hair must be styled, her gown must be stylish. She must glide through a room, graceful and serene, despite any disturbances around her.

Yet Ben had seen her furious, dejected, and even in dishabille! And he seemed equally pleased to be in her company. But those expectations clung harder than a jeweled pin on velvet.

“I would prefer to change,” she said. “Have you seen the duke this morning?”

“He was here when I arrived. I took the liberty of mentioning that I had agreed to accompany you on a drive this morning. He seemed to have no concerns.”

Claudia shook her head. “He seldom has concerns. That’s entirely the problem. I’ll meet you in front of the manor in a half hour.”

He rose. “I’ll see about the carriage.”

She felt oddly ill at ease as she returned to her bedchamber, but at least Violette was waiting.

“ Mille pardons, madame ,” she said, hurrying to help Claudia into her navy wool day dress. “With all the new staff, I was not able to escape the kitchen this morning. But I brought you a tray, so you could eat quickly before your outing with Monsieur Warden.”

Apparently everyone knew she was going driving with Ben.

Unfortunately, Sophia had other ideas for the morning.

Claudia found her in her bedchamber, which was in a shambles. Two of the new maids were stripping all the linens from the bed, and a footman was rolling up the carpet.

“I can’t possibly go with you today,” Sophia said, watching them. “Mrs. Carmichael has apparently decreed that we start spring cleaning, immediately. She asked that I be on hand for questions.”

Claudia drew herself up. “Shouldn’t that be my role?”

“It certainly has been,” Sophia allowed with a cheerful smile. “But I was the last official mistress of Tyneham Manor, and we all know you’re going driving this morning. Never fear. If you take an open carriage, your reputation should be safe.”

Claudia could hardly confess that she intended to speak with Mr. Atkins, not with so many ears listening. She did not know which of her new staff she could trust not to gossip just yet.

She considered asking Georgie, but her daughter-in-law would be needed to watch over Oliver. And Claudia didn’t need more tears added to an already sensitive situation. So, she merely requested her serpentine pelisse, tied a feathered bonnet on her hair, and went out to where Ben waited on the drive.

She eyed the two-seat gig the stable hands must have prepared for them. The groom holding the horses, a man she’d known since she’d first come to Tyneham Manor, refused to meet her gaze.

“Feckless, the lot of them,” she fumed after Ben had handed her up. “Sophia cannot join us. Mrs. Carmichael is taking orders from her. I haven’t even laid eyes on His Grace this morning. Instead of a sensible carriage with a driver, we have this. Every decision seems to fall to me, and I despair of ever having a moment to myself!”

“And here I was congratulating myself for having a moment alone with you for once,” he said, coming around and climbing up beside her.

She settled back against the squabs. “Well, there is that.”

With a smile, he directed the horses down the drive.

The Grange was a short walk from Tyneham Manor across the fields. By roads, it took a while longer. They followed the lane to the bridge and through the village, where various residents curtsied or tipped their hats to her. The sun, which had been hidden behind clouds, dared to peek out, sparkling on the frosted grass. The cool air brushed her cheeks.

On the other side of the village, a drive intersected the lane. Ben turned onto it and slowed the horses over the more rutted roadway.

“This is the way to the Grange?” Claudia asked with a frown.

“From what I was told by your coachman. The drive looks as if it needs leveling and fresh gravel.”

More signs of neglect. “I should have visited sooner,” Claudia said. “My husband never wanted me to concern myself with it. And then when Frederick died and the last duke came in, I simply never found the time.”

“You cannot do everything,” Ben said. “But I’m sure His Grace would appreciate knowing your assessment of the situation.”

At least, as they approached the house, she could see few reasons for concern. Indeed, the Grange was much like its painting. A thatched roof covered two stories of whitewashed farmhouse, with six multipaned windows overlooking a front garden and the main entrance on the side. As they drew up to it, a manservant came out to see to their horse and carriage.

Claudia accepted Ben’s hand to alight, then looked up to find another man standing in the open doorway. He was tall and well built, with dark hair and a charming smile. His navy coat looked rumpled, as if hastily donned, and his breeches were speckled with flecks of green, brown, and red. Had they caught him at his trade?

“Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “Welcome to the Grange.”

Claudia frowned as she approached the door. “Forgive me, sir. Have we met?”

“Alas, no,” he said. “I know you only by reputation.”

“Allow me to make the introductions,” Ben put in smoothly. “I am Benjamin Warden, an architect employed by the Duke of Tyneham to improve his holdings. Your Grace, the dowager Duchess of Tyneham, I believe I have the honor of introducing you to Mr. Atkins, the artist.”

Mr. Atkins swept her a bow. Though he did not have the russet hair or clear blue eyes of the Tynehams, the movement reminded her of Frederick for some reason. And she could not mistake that stubborn chin or the long aristocratic nose.

“I am at your service, Your Grace,” he said as he straightened. “How might I be of assistance?”

“I believe we have family in common, Mr. Atkins,” she said. “But I would prefer to discuss it in private. Might we impose?”

He stepped aside and spread his arm. “Be my guest. You do, after all, own the house.”

She moved past him, Ben behind her. The entry hall was tiled with flagstones, and a staircase wound up one side while a corridor lined with paintings stretched the length of the house. She could not help noticing that the landscapes were much like the one on the wall in the duke’s bedchamber, which most likely meant they were a showcase for Mr. Atkins’s art. The air smelled faintly of turpentine.

He led the way to a white-washed sitting room with chintz-covered armchairs near a stone hearth. He waited until Claudia and Ben had seated themselves on flanking chairs before taking the one opposite them.

“Family, Your Grace?” he prompted, head cocked.

How to broach the subject tactfully? Or perhaps boldness was called for. Claudia folded her hands in the lap of her pelisse. “Did you ever meet your father, Mr. Atkins?”

A sad smile curved his lips. “No. He was a soldier. He died before I was born.”

A pretty story. But she could not forget the room or his resemblance to Frederick. “And your mother?”

“Gone these last twelve years.” He leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I do not see how we could be related. Surely you know both your mother and father and likely theirs. And we look nothing alike.”

“No,” Claudia allowed. “But you bear a strong resemblance to the last Dukes of Tyneham.”

He shook his head, settling back in his chair. “If I were related to a duke, I promise you I would no longer be residing at the Grange. I fear you’ve been misled, Your Grace.”

Claudia puffed out a sigh. What more could she do unless he was willing to talk?

As if he thought she’d done her best too, Ben rose. “Our mistake. Thank you for hearing us out.”

Mr. Atkins rose with Claudia. “My pleasure. If you or the duke should ever need a portrait painted or want to immortalize the manor, please let me know.”

Ben nodded, then offered Claudia his arm, and she had no choice but to take it and let him lead her out.

The manservant had been walking the horse about the drive as if he did not expect their visit to be of long duration. Now he held the horse while Ben helped Claudia up and then resumed his seat.

“I don’t believe him,” Claudia said as they started down the drive. “He has Joseph’s chin and nose, and he is too like Frederick in expression and manner.”

“Perhaps no one told him the truth,” Ben mused. “You said your husband never introduced you to the mother because of some scandal. Perhaps Mr. Atkins was the scandal.”

Claudia threw up her hands. “But how can we know? Should we press him?”

Ben shook his head. “Perhaps this really is a matter best dealt with by the duke. I think you should tell him what you found in that room.”

She drew in a deep breath. “Oh, Ben, but the shame of it if I’m right!”

“Not your shame,” he said. “Remember that. This does not reflect on you. But it could well reflect on Mr. Atkins.”

He was right. It was possible an illegitimate son of a duke might be welcome in some circles, but others would shun him if his parentage became widely known. She could cost Mr. Atkins his reputation and his livelihood. She must go carefully.

“I’ll think on it,” she promised Ben. “Thank you for coming with me today. We have no answers, but at least we know what questions we must ask next.”

* * *

Ben had hoped Claudia might broach the subject with the duke that afternoon, but as soon as they returned to the house, Mrs. Carmichael begged a moment of her time. Later, he spotted Claudia going up the stairs with Her Grace the Second on some errand. They might have more staff, but Claudia’s ability to manage things was still being relied upon.

He wasn’t sure whether he’d be allowed to continue his work in the library, which the duke seemed to prefer as a place to relax, but his client waved him toward the desk as soon as Ben poked his head in the room.

“Please, Mr. Warden,” he said with an easy smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m attempting to make sense of these proposed bills for Parliament.”

With an understanding nod, Ben seated himself at the desk. But he had barely taken up pencil to make a note, when he felt a presence behind him.

Turning, he found the duke smiling apologetically. “Sorry to intrude. If I might have a look at the plans again?”

“They aren’t finished yet,” Ben cautioned as the duke slid in next to him. “But I’m hoping to have everything ready by the end of the week.”

His Grace nodded. “Excellent. What does Her Grace the First think?”

“I haven’t shown her,” Ben admitted. “But I believe she’ll be amenable.”

The duke poked a finger at an extension off the sculpture gallery. “And that?”

Ben couldn’t help his smile. “A conservatory. She likes a quiet place to think.”

“Inspired. And what does she think about the changes you’re proposing to the staff quarters?”

Ben’s smile faded. Every time he’d met with the duke, His Grace had been entirely sure of himself. He might speak quietly or narrow his eyes thoughtfully, but Ben had never been in doubt as to his decisions. Now, the duke did nothing but defer to Claudia. Ben would have thought he might be in awe of her, but His Grace had shown no such inclination.

“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” Ben asked.

The duke regarded him a moment. Those blue eyes, clear as glass, seemed to be seeing down to Ben’s soul. “May I trust you with a sensitive matter, Mr. Warden?”

Ben blinked. Had this to do with the house? Or were the Darling finances in some trouble that the duke could not afford the changes he’d wanted? “I believe you can, Your Grace.”

The duke went to shut the door, and Ben’s spirits plummeted further. Was he about to be discharged?

“You have seen Tyneham Manor and the dower house,” His Grace said, returning to his side. “Are they, in your opinion, in good condition?”

“The dower house will require some modifications,” Ben allowed. “The manor itself seems to be sound. But I think you know that.”

“I hoped,” he said in his quiet voice. “It heartens me to hear you confirm it. I inherited a great deal of property, you see, after living in a London flat for much of my life. I had dreams of starting my own family.”

Despite himself, Ben’s smile turned up again. “You’d like me to add more bedchambers?”

“No, no,” the duke assured him. “The rooms we have should be sufficient. But it struck me the moment I learned of my other responsibilities that the sort of wife I want to marry might be hesitant to move in with three other beautiful women, particularly one who manages the estate so very well that all look to her for guidance.”

Cold washed over him. “You intend to evict Claudia?”

His Grace grinned from ear to ear. “Claudia! You are calling each other by your first names!”

“Forgive me,” Ben said hurriedly. “I could not refuse her.”

“Of course you couldn’t! I knew you two would hit it off. You are exactly what she needs.”

Ben put a hand to his forehead to find that that troublesome lock of hair had tumbled free again. He pushed it back and focused on the duke, who was smiling so pleasantly at him. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but could we speak plainly?”

“By all means.” His Grace clasped his hands behind his back. “I hired you to renovate the manor because your designs are thoughtful, a masterful blending of what was and what could be. But I also hired you because you would make an excellent second husband for Her Grace the First.”

Ben gaped. “Me?”

The duke chuckled. “You, sir. By all accounts, you are patient and supportive. You listen more than you speak. And you have a son and heir. You will not mind if there isn’t another.”

So, His Grace knew of what Claudia thought of as her failing. “But the differences in our stations…” Ben started.

The duke waved a hand. “I was a historian, sir. I have studied more than one family’s history. I know a good man when I see one. And I think Her Grace does as well.”

“She won’t have me,” Ben predicted. “She’s flown too high.”

“You will have to be persuasive,” His Grace allowed. “I think you have that in you. But you must move quickly. I want to see all our dowagers happily settled by harvest. If you cannot come up to task in the next fortnight, I fear I shall have to look elsewhere.”