Page 19 of His Extraordinary Duchess

Chapter Nineteen

B en didn’t have an opportunity to speak privately with Claudia until Tuesday, when he caught her alone on the terrace. February had turned into March, and Mr. Kinsle had arranged the wrought iron table and chairs outside. The day was warm enough she was taking her tea there, gaze going out across a garden that grew brighter with blooms every day.

“May I?” he asked, indicating the chair opposite her.

“Please,” she said with a ready smile. “Georgie and Oliver are playing come find me again with Anastasia. I cannot imagine why they do not tire of it.”

“Oliver tells me they have improved upon the game,” Ben explained as he sat. “No longer must he call out to Anastasia to find him. She stays in one room until Her Grace releases her with the command to find Oliver. Anastasia is clearly a clever pup.”

“That I could have told you. Have you noticed how she manages to wheedle a treat out of anyone who sits at table?”

Ben leaned back. “You seem to be immune.”

She glanced both directions, then grinned at him. “I have saved bits of lamb on occasion and offered them to her after dinner, but if you tell Georgie or Sophia, I will deny this conversation ever took place.”

Ben laughed. “My lips are sealed.”

She glanced at his lips and quickly away. Speculating on her thoughts would only lead to trouble.

But the look gave him some hope.

“Claudia,” he began, “I believe you’ve begun to see how much I’ve come to admire you.”

To his surprise, her face flamed, and she shot to her feet. “He put you up to this, didn’t he? Oh, Ben, how could you listen! I thought you were my friend.”

Ben rose as well, unsure what was happening. “I am your friend. I’d like to be more than your friend. I was hoping you might feel the same, but I seem to have insulted you.”

She was breathing heavily, the chest of her serpentine pelisse rising and falling so quickly the fabric caught the light. “Not you. That man! Did the duke entice you to court me?”

“I would not say entice,” Ben allowed, feeling as if he tiptoed along the edge of a cliff. “He noticed that I admired you, and he suggested you might find my suit acceptable. Clearly, that isn’t the case. Please, forget I spoke.” He bowed.

She came around the table before he could leave her, his heart crumpled like a discarded drawing at his feet.

“Wait,” she said. “I’m the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” She sighed. “It has become clear that the duke is trying to marry me, Georgina, and Sophia off in hopes of having the manor all to himself.”

The statement was too like what the duke had confessed to Ben. “And you find that troubling?”

“Of course! Who wouldn’t? My parents may have coerced me into marrying Joseph, but that marriage gave me a certain amount of power, and I refuse to let others take command of my life again.”

The truth slammed into him harder than a hammer on a nail. It wasn’t her husband’s infidelity, much as it had hurt, or her lack of a child that had caused her to close her heart. As Duchess of Tyneham, even a dowager, Claudia could command her destiny, perhaps for the first time in her life. Small wonder she railed at the duke’s infringement on that power.

She would see marriage, even marriage to him, as an even greater threat.

As if to prove as much, she set about pacing the flagstone terrace, heels rapping against the stone.

“If I had any intention of marrying, I could certainly let it be known,” she told him, oblivious to the despair that swept through him. “We may be short on company here in Tyneham, but there’s the spa at Grace-by-the-Sea or I could even venture to London for the Season. Goodness knows, my parents would like nothing better than to see another dower arrangement settled on me.” She cringed.

The day seemed to have darkened with his thoughts. “So you find the idea of marriage abhorrent.”

“I…” She stopped, fussed with the lace on her cuff a moment, and shifted on her feet. It was so unlike her that Ben stepped closer despite his fears.

“Claudia? Would you ever consider marrying again?”

She pressed her lips together as if to hold in words. Then she nodded. “Yes, for the right man. That’s why your question so upset me. His Grace all but offered you to me as a husband. When you spoke, I assumed he had manipulated you into it. Forgive me. You have been nothing but kindness to me.”

Ben couldn’t stand the hurt in her eyes. If there was any chance he could break through her fears, show her the power she already held over his life, his future, he had to try. He took her hands in his.

“In the short time we have known each other, you and I have built a partnership for the improvement of Tyneham Manor and all those who depend on it,” he told her. “Good marriages can be built from such a partnership, the husband relying on the wife, the wife relying on the husband, each bringing something necessary to the other.”

She dropped her gaze to their clasped hands. “I always wished for such a marriage.”

His hope would not be denied. “I have admired your intelligence, your exceptional talent for managing, and your beauty since the day I met you. But I would never have put myself forward. I realize you’ve been courted by kings and counts and could be so again at the snap of your fingers. I have little to recommend me except a heart that I fear has become irrevocably yours.”

“Oh, Ben.” His name was like a caress. “You have more to recommend you than you know. I have also admired your intelligence, your ability to see what might be, and your endless support of me.”

He tipped his head, trying to catch a glimpse of her eyes behind her lowered lashes. “I cannot give you the power a duchess holds. But I can promise you to always put your needs before my own and to ask for your counsel in every decision. In our household, you need never feel coerced or ignored. You, Oliver, and I could be a true family.”

It was his trump card, and he knew it. He waited.

A tear trickled down her cheek. “You know the words to sway me, sir. But I have been the Duchess of Tyneham for so many years. Lacking that, I’m not sure who I am.”

There was nothing for it. Anyone might have come across them, but he no longer cared. He drew her into his embrace. “I see who you are. You are exactly who God intended you to be, a woman of character and conviction. A woman who goes out of her way to see to the needs of others. What does the scripture say? Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends . You do that every day, for Oliver, for Sophia and Georgina, even for your staff and tenants.”

He pulled back. More tears were falling, but she met his gaze at last. Her eyes were bright, and he dared to believe it was hope shining back at him.

“Say the word, Claudia, and I will request the banns to be published starting this Sunday. We can move to Grace-by-the-Sea. Many who frequent the waters are building homes overlooking the cove or the Channel. They’ll need an architect. My parents are already there, so Oliver will have other family nearby. I know they will adore you as much as I do.”

Her hesitation sent fresh pain through him. “You have given me much to consider. I need time to think.”

Ben released her. “Take as long as you need. My feelings will not change.”

If only he believed the same were true of her.

* * *

Somehow, Claudia found herself in the portrait gallery for the first time in days. She didn’t remember taking leave of Ben on the terrace or even passing through the house. But she wasn’t surprised her steps had led her here. She settled on the bench in front of Joseph’s portrait, but she didn’t so much as glance at him. She could imagine him frowning well enough. But she couldn’t frown. Joy bubbled up inside her.

Ben had declared himself. He wanted her to marry him. His words cut through her concerns about whether she felt that giddy rush of emotion that Georgie had described. Their attraction went beyond the excitement of a first meeting. There was an affinity of thought, an appreciation of character. At the moment there was even a commonality of purpose.

The first doubt reached out, squeezing on her joy with greedy hands. Would she and Ben still be as close when his purpose in Tyneham ended? And what would she do in Grace-by-the-Sea? Would she find joy in managing a household so much smaller than this one? Surely no architect could afford the opulence of Tyneham Manor.

Could she leave the home that she had fought for for so many years, the staff and tenants? The current duke was showing signs of being able to manage the whole, the first person since Joseph to show such aptitude. Could she trust it? Wouldn’t she be abandoning Georgie and Sophia?

As if summoned by her thoughts, Sophia moved into the gallery and took a seat beside her on the bench. “And what does Joseph have to say for himself today?”

Claudia smiled, which she was sure had been Sophia’s intention. “Joseph hasn’t spoken to me since the day he died, and rarely even before that. I don’t know why I find comfort here.”

“Well, it is quiet,” Sophia allowed as somewhere in the distance Anatasia yipped. She held out a missive. “This came by post from Grace-by-the-Sea. I take it it’s Doctor Bennett’s answer.”

“Excellent!” The footman who had delivered Claudia’s request had related that the doctor had been called away on an urgent case and would respond when he was able. Now Claudia accepted the note and broke the seal.

“He offers three names,” she told Sophia, glancing down the page. “Miss Amelia Featherstone, Lady Catherine Downing, and Lady Miranda Howland.” She glanced up. “Do you know them?”

“Miss Featherstone, certainly,” Sophia said. “Her uncle is a regular at the spa, and she attends whenever she is in the area. I found her intelligent and charming, though she may not be what the duke is seeking.”

Claudia frowned, dropping the letter into her lap. “Why do you say that?”

“She is lovely,” Sophia allowed, “but perhaps she spends a bit too much time attempting to be lovelier? From some of the things she’s mentioned, it takes her hours to dress in the morning to her liking, and she’d been through three lady’s maids in the last year.”

Claudia sighed. “You’re right. I don’t see our unconventional duke being attracted to a proud beauty. And Lady Miranda?”

“Daughter of the Earl of Howland,” Sophia supplied. “She’s a bluestocking to the core, highly involved in the scientific study of ancient creatures along the shore. I fear it’s difficult to nudge her off the topic, and I doubt you’d convince her to relocate inland, unless you know of a likely spot for her to dig on the estate.”

Claudia shuddered at the thought. “That sounds unlikely, then. What of Lady Catherine?”

“I haven’t met her,” Sophia allowed. “We could check Debrett’s to see which title has the family name of Downing. Those are the only three he offered?”

Claudia looked down at the letter again. “It seems so.” Her jaw tightened as she read the rest of the note. “Although he adds that he found my note interesting, as His Grace had recently written him about us!”

Sophia’s brows climbed. “Us? I certainly hope Doctor Bennett didn’t divulge secrets. I thought physicians were supposed to keep a patient’s history quiet.”

“I doubt the good doctor knew anything scandalous,” Claudia said. “After all, the three of us have had no scandals. But I cannot like the duke’s meddling. You see, Sophia? He intends to marry us off, just as I said.”

Sophia wound one of her honey-colored locks around her finger. “And would that be so terrible for you and Georgie? You deserve a chance at happiness again, Claudia, and so does she. I think you and Mr. Warden could do admirably together.”

Claudia started. She tucked the letter in her pocket as she rose, trying to hold onto her composure. “That obvious, am I?”

“You aren’t smelling of April and May, if that’s what you mean,” Sophia told her with a smile. “But I see the looks flashing between the two of you. You’re thinking as a team, something I’m told is unique to married couples. And you cannot deny you are fond of Oliver.”

“I’m fond of them both,” Claudia told her. “I simply don’t know whether it’s enough.”

Sophia patted her hand. “Then pray about it. Do nothing until you know your own mind. But if you love Mr. Warden, please don’t hesitate to act on our account. Georgie and I would like nothing better than to see you happy.”

* * *

Violette perched on a chintz-covered upholstered chair in the housekeeper’s parlor, picking out a set of stitches on the wool for the second time. No one had dared use the space until Mrs. Carmichael had opened it to the upper staff, like Mr. Warden’s valet and the lady’s maids. Of course, Mr. Kinsle had his own sitting room, and Maisy as his wife shared it. The housekeeper’s parlor was cozy, with a stone hearth, rag rugs on the flagstone floor, and shelves holding account books, a Bible, and several novels the housekeeper had apparently brought with her.

Now rain ran down the windowpane. A kettle hissed in the kitchen beyond the open door even as Cook called for someone to mind the bread. It was the perfect place for Violette to finish her work in peace, yet her mind kept going to her conversation Sunday with Roland.

It was entirely too soon to be making a decision as to whether to spend her life with the man. They had known each other less than a month, been together a handful of times. Yet she sensed a rightness to it, as if this was what she’d been waiting for, even if she hadn’t realized it.

As for being the natural son of the fourth duke, that was nothing to her. How many such children had her father had to support for the late conte ? Some had risen to high ranks, with only a few of the French aristocracy daring to sneer at them. The newspapers in London had hinted at the background of some prominent members of society in England, so it was not unheard of here either. In the small village of Tyneham, however, she could see where it might cause a scandal that would affect Roland’s standing and his ability to earn commissions from his paintings.

Someone tapped at the door, and Violette looked up, expecting to see Maisy or one of the other maids. She hopped to her feet, sewing tumbling to the floor, as the Duke of Tyneham entered.

“Your Grace,” she said, dropping a curtsey.

“Miss Collier,” he said. “Busy at work, I see. A new gown for Her Grace?”

“A shawl,” Violette confessed. “Did you have need of her? I can find her.” She could not imagine why he hadn’t sent a footman instead of coming himself.

He held up a hand as she stepped forward, then he bent to retrieve her fallen work. “No need. I came to speak with you.” He handed her the material.

Violette clutched it to her chest. “Have I given offense? I promise you, it was not my intent.”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I fear I’m doing this poorly. I suppose, as the imperious duke, I should have notified someone to notify someone to send you to me, but I rather thought that going out of my way to speak to a lady’s maid might seem odd.”

No odder than the way he’d done it, but Violette said nothing.

“Regardless,” he continued. “I have a few questions for you, and I would like your answer with no fear of reprisal.”

Violette licked her lips. “Reprisal?”

“Nothing you say will have any bearing on your position here,” he clarified. “Is Her Grace more pleased with Mr. Warden’s attentions, as I’d hoped?”

“I have seen indications,” Violette said. “She takes greater pains with her dressing and her hair, she stares off into the distance at times with a smile on her face, and she speaks of Master Oliver as if she were a proud maman .”

He nodded. “Good, good. I have another idea that might encourage them along, but first I must ask you a question. What do you think of Mr. Atkins?”

She started. “Monsieur Atkins, the painter?”

“Yes, the fellow leasing the Grange,” he said. “I understand you’ve been keeping company with him, walking out, as we call it.”

Someone had been telling tales. And here she had not even had the temerity to ask Mr. Kinsle whether it would be allowed.

“It is nothing,” Violette stammered. “Please. He is a good man. You have no need to speak to him.”

The duke regarded her. “I have no intention of harming him, Miss Collier. It has been brought to my attention that the previous holders of my title may have wronged him. I only seek to make things right.”

Violette stepped closer, fingers tightening on the wool, then forced herself back into her place. “Do not send him away. This is his home. I will not see him again. Everyone can go back to pretending that a stranger leases the Grange.”

His lower lip came out as if in sympathy, but he could not know the fears that gripped her. This was a duke. He held power. He could revoke the lease on some excuse, blacken Roland’s name, ensure he was never given another commission. His Grace could turn Violette out without a reference, ensuring that she would never find another position. That’s what the powerful did, take advantage of the weak. Wasn’t that why France had seen revolution?

“Miss Collier,” he said, and his voice had grown stern.

Violette flinched.

“Miss Collier,” he repeated, as if to be certain he had her attention, “Mr. Atkins is in no danger from me, and neither are you. I would like you to introduce me to the fellow so that we may have a conversation. Would tomorrow afternoon be convenient for you and Her Grace, do you think?”

Violette managed a breath through a chest gone tight. “ Oui , Your Grace. That is, I do not believe Her Grace will require my services then, and Maisy, Mrs. Kinsle, can assist her if needed.”

“That should not be necessary,” he said, pleasant smile returning. “I intend for Her Grace to accompany us. I’ll send round my card to let Mr. Atkins know we’ll be coming. I look forward to our discussion.”

If only Violette could say the same.