Page 4 of His Extraordinary Duchess

Chapter Four

“D o you see there, around the chimney?” Ben directed the stonemason’s gaze to where the pot touched the roof and the unmistakable hole beside it.

“Ah, yes,” the older man said. “I see it now. We’ll get that settled, sir.”

Ben clapped him on the shoulder, then rose to carefully navigate across the flat roof of the dower house toward where the other workers were clustered around a tree limb that must have fallen during the most recent winter storm. It was a miracle the weight of the limb hadn’t caved in the roof as well, though it must have hit the raised lip of white stone that edged the entire roof.

“Can you lift it off and throw it down?” he asked.

One of the men scratched a grizzled chin. Ben had managed to locate the stonemason and a carpenter, but these three men had been called up from the estate’s Home Farm, where they generally labored in the fields.

“Might need one or two more lads,” their leader hazarded.

“Nonsense,” Ben said. “Three of us should be able to handle it.” He bent and pointed along the branch. “You there, and you there, I should think.”

They exchanged glances, but two of them positioned themselves as he directed, and Ben nodded. “On the count of three. One, two…”

“What do you think you’re doing!”

The other two men straightened and joined the third in whipping the wool caps from their heads, faces reddening, as if they’d been caught stealing the offerings from the church box. Ben raised his chin and leaned forward to cautiously peer over the edge of the roof.

Her Grace stood in a blue pelisse with black braiding all up the front, arms akimbo. She looked like a general come to inspect her troops only to find them playing at cards. In a red wool cloak, Maisy Kinsle waited just behind her. The maid hastily wiped a grin from her face.

“Why are you up there?” the duchess demanded.

“I’m fixing the roof,” he called down. “As we discussed this morning.”

“I do not remember you mentioning that you would climb up on the chimneys yourself.”

He hadn’t mentioned needing plaster and brick either, but somehow he hadn’t thought she’d care about such details.

Around him, the men were glancing between her and Ben, then at each other, clearly uncertain as to what they should be doing.

Ben waved a hand at them. “Continue as we planned, but wait to throw down the branch until the yard is clear. I’ll speak with Her Grace.” He made his way to the opening to the house.

“Everything all right?” Peters, his valet, called from the sitting room as Ben cut through the house.

“Her Grace is out front,” Ben said. “You know what to do.”

“Yes, of course.” His doubtful tone belied the confident words. A tall, gangly fellow who nevertheless knew what he was about when it came to taking care of clothing, Peters always did his best in all matters entrusted to him.

And it was in the best interests of them all if Ben encouraged the duchess away from the dower house.

He found her pacing back and forth, skirts swishing against the grass.

“Your Grace,” he said with a bow. “Forgive me for not including you in this work. I had no idea you’d want to inspect the roof.”

Her lips tightened a moment, as if she were fighting words. “I have no need to climb about on rooftops, Mr. Warden. And neither should you. That is clearly dangerous.”

“No more dangerous to me than to the others working at heights,” he reasoned. “I have some experience with the matter. And I find it encourages the men if I work alongside them on occasion.”

She stood taller. “There is something to be said for a gentleman who leads by example. Still, I felt compelled to seek you when you once more failed to appear when expected. Do you have things well enough in hand that you can come up to the manor and interview the staff now?”

He glanced back up at the roof. The stonemason had stopped his work to peer over the railing as well. The other three men were clearly staring. A look from him was enough to send them back to their tasks.

From the window of the dower house, Peters waved both hands wildly. Ben’s stomach twisted. Couldn’t he have stayed put for one hour?

Immediately, he chided himself. Jane had always been able to handle things. His wife’s death had only proven her brilliance. Two years later, and he barely managed to make it through the day.

“I fear now is not a good time, Your Grace,” he said, backing away. “But I promise to come up as soon as I can.”

Her gaze went past him, and he stepped into her line of sight to prevent her from noticing his nearly frantic valet. He could only hope his smile didn’t look as painful as it felt.

Her eyes narrowed, and he steeled himself to offer some plausible excuse for his behavior.

“I think Her Grace is calling us, Your Grace,” Maisy Kinsle said. As the duchess glanced back at the manor, the maid flapped her fingers at him, urging him toward the house. Bless her! The duke had informed her and her husband about Ben’s situation, though Ben still couldn’t understand why His Grace had advised Ben to remain silent on the matter until the duke arrived.

Maisy dropped her hands and her gaze as Her Grace turned to him once more. He nearly slumped in relief when the duchess nodded.

“Very well, Mr. Warden. Settle what you need to settle. But do not dawdle. Some of us have better things to do with our time than hop about on the chimney pots.”

In a swirl of blue, she spun and stalked away from him. And Ben ran for the house, hoping he could resolve the issue quickly, before she suspected there was more to his need for the dower house than a desire for privacy.

* * *

He was up to something. Claudia had seen the valet beckoning. What could possibly be wrong with Mr. Warden’s clothing that he needed to run from her to heed the fellow’s call? Or were they colluding on some nefarious dealings in that dower house?

“Have you had cause to interact with Mr. Warden?” she asked Maisy, whom Claudia had asked to accompany her when Violette had gone into the village.

“Only a little, Your Grace,” the lady’s maid admitted. “Though my Charlie says he seems a decent enough fellow.”

“Then perhaps I should speak with Mr. Kinsle,” Claudia mused.

“Oh, I’m sure there’s no need,” Maisy said breezily. “And Her Grace is looking for you.”

Claudia raised a brow as they reached the terrace. “Which one?”

Maisy hesitated. Was she in on it too?

“Your daughter by law,” the lady’s maid said at last, being so inelegant as to point toward one of the library windows, where Georgie could clearly be seen waving.

Only slightly mollified, Claudia went in.

“Is something wrong with the dower house?” Georgie asked as soon as Claudia had handed her pelisse to the footman on duty and entered the library. “I had intended to take Anastasia out to the garden for a walk, but I noticed men up on the roof.”

The pug sat on her plump rump beside Georgie’s black silk skirts, jeweled collar around her thick neck. She grinned up at Claudia.

“Apparently the roof is leaking,” Claudia supplied. “I’m not surprised we didn’t notice the problem. We can’t see much of the house at the best of times.”

Whoever had originally landscaped the estate had planted trees all around the dower house. Now they had grown taller than the two-story house, so that the walls and roof were only visible in a few places. Or had the first duke decided any leftover duchess should be neither seen nor heard?

“Oh, how uncomfortable for the poor man,” Georgie said, fingers tightening on the handkerchief that was never far away. “I knew we should have him stay at the manor.”

As if she agreed or heard the concern in her owner’s voice, Anastasia yipped. Georgie smiled down at her.

“I suggested the very thing when he told me about the leak this morning, but he refused,” Claudia told her. “Do you think he could be doing something untoward in the dower house?”

Georgie frowned at her. “Untoward? Like what?”

Nothing she could imagine. Claudia shook her head. “Never mind. Flight of fancy.”

Georgie patted her shoulder. “You are naturally protective of the estate. I understand.”

“I wish I didn’t have to be so protective,” Claudia said, turning from the view. “I wish the Dukes of Tyneham would take responsibility for once.”

Georgie sucked in a breath. Claudia nearly cringed, but she put an arm about Georgie’s shoulder instead. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to disparage your Freddie. He was a good lad.”

“He tried so hard,” Georgie said, lips trembling. “He wanted you to respect him.”

It had been difficult to respect a man she had known since he was eighteen and who still at times seemed to think like a child. Frederick Darling had been sweet-natured, kind, and thoughtful, the perfect companion for the gentle Georgie. But Joseph had coddled him terribly, and his son had never quite managed to rise to the stature of a true duke before his untimely death by drowning.

“You know I loved him,” Claudia said. “And, like you, I miss him to this day. But you cannot deny that Robert Darling made a very poor duke indeed.”

Georgie shivered. “I’m glad he’s gone. Not glad he’s dead!” she hurried to add. “But Sophia is happier without him.”

They were all happier without him.

“Did I hear my name?” Sophia asked as she came through the door, Mr. Kinsle at her heels. Anastasia hopped up and ran to greet her, leash trailing along the carpet.

“Just remembering the previous Dukes of Tyneham,” Claudia told her.

Sophia’s face tightened before she bent to retrieve Anastasia’s leash, skirts puddling. The smoky blue color was the closest Sophia came to the black of mourning, though no mourning gown had ever sported the wide lace-trimmed collar or cuffs.

“The roof of the dower house is leaking,” Georgie told Sophia. “Mr. Warden is attempting to fix it.”

“Good for him,” Sophia said, straightening.

Claudia was more interested in what her butler had to say about the matter.

“What do you know of Mr. Warden, Mr. Kinsle?” she asked, motioning the others into seats.

“Mr. Warden, the architect?” Sophia asked as she took one of the chairs around the table at the other end of the library.

Claudia didn’t answer, waiting for her butler to speak.

“I know he hails from Dorset,” Mr. Kinsle offered. “He met His Grace in London while he was working with some dancer.”

Sophia turned her face as if to hide the laughter in her eyes.

“George Dance the Younger,” Claudia corrected as Georgie took her seat as well and reached down to pick up Anastasia. “He was at one time the architect and surveyor for the Corporation of London, having succeeded his famous father, George Dance the Elder. And yes, I knew all that from our discussion over dinner last night. You spoke of arranging the dower house to his liking. Did he ask anything out of the ordinary?”

Mr. Kinsle stuck out his lower lip. “No, Your Grace. Nothing I wouldn’t have expected for his situation.”

“His situation?” Claudia pressed.

The butler shifted on his feet. “You know, being an architect and all.”

Sophia frowned. “Do architects have unique needs aside from somewhere to draw?”

The butler grimaced. “I couldn’t say, Your Grace.”

Claudia affixed him with a look. “What are you hiding?”

Mr. Kinsle reddened, but a rapping sounded. He brightened, backing away from them. “That must be Mr. Warden at the door now. Allow me to bring him to you, Your Graces.” He nearly ran from the room.

“What on earth was that all about?” Sophia asked.

“Very odd,” Georgie agreed, releasing the leash from Anastasia’s collar.

Claudia sat on another of the chairs as the butler brought in the architect. Mr. Warden’s hair had been neatly combed, his cravat retied in an elegant knot, and he boasted a fine bottle-green coat with a green-striped waistcoat. Had the valet simply panicked at his master speaking with a duchess in working clothing? Or had he too been worried about Mr. Warden clambering about the roof? Certainly the sight had made Claudia’s breath come quicker than she’d liked, seeing him risking his life for a little leak.

“Mr. Warden, Your Graces,” Mr. Kinsle said before once more fleeing. He should have stayed as protector, the coward, but of course she, Georgie, and Sophia provided a chaperone for each other.

“Your Grace, Your Grace, Your Grace,” Mr. Warden said, bowing to each of them in turn.

“Mr. Warden,” Sophia returned, leaning back in the chair. “How are you finding the dower house?”

Claudia shot her a look of gratitude for broaching the subject, but Sophia kept her gaze on Mr. Warden.

“It is a lovely home,” he assured Sophia. “And perfectly suited to my needs.”

Well! Claudia could hardly demand to know his needs. That could sound intrusive or flirtatious in the extreme.

“Then you don’t intend to renovate it?” Georgie asked.

“Aside from fixing a few minor issues, no,” he said. He turned to Claudia. “Are you available to speak with the staff with me, Your Grace?”

“Delighted,” she said, rising and sweeping past him for the door. “Let’s start with Mr. Kinsle.” She glanced back at the other two. “Did you care to join us, my dears?”

Mr. Warden paused as if unprepared for three duchesses to watch his every move, but Georgie shook her head and Sophia merely waved them on with a knowing smile.

The butler had only retreated as far as the front door. Seeing them approaching, his gaze darted from Claudia to Mr. Warden and back. “Your Grace?”

“Mr. Warden has some questions for you,” Claudia said.

The butler frowned. “Something more amiss at the dower house, sir?”

“No, Mr. Kinsle,” Mr. Warden said with a smile. “I truly appreciate all you and your staff have done to make us welcome. My questions actually pertain to the manor. Have you worked here long?”

Mr. Kinsle glanced at Claudia again. “Since I was a boy, twelve years ago now.”

“That is a long time,” Mr. Warden mused. “And what would you say you like most about the manor?”

“My wife.” He grinned at the architect. “We married at the start of the year.”

“Ah. Congratulations.”

“Mrs. Kinsle was recently promoted to lady’s maid,” Claudia explained. “She generally helps the other duchesses. I have my own maid. I am told that Violette has gone into the village for some reason.”

“My fault, Your Grace,” Mr. Kinsle put in smoothly. “I gave her leave to shop. Something about ribbons?”

Claudia didn’t recall requiring ribbons. She generally didn’t employ a lot of fussiness in her gowns. She nodded to Mr. Warden to continue his questioning.

“Tell me, Mr. Kinsle,” he said, “do you find the rooms for the staff sufficient for your needs?”

“The butler’s suite is more than adequate, sir,” he said. “And when I was a footman, I didn’t mind sharing with the others.”

Mr. Warden pulled a stub of a pencil and a small pad of paper from his breast coat pocket to note something on the page. “How many staff generally share?”

“When we have all positions filled, three or four to a room, sir, often two to a bed.”

Claudia frowned. That sounded uncomfortable and rather unsanitary. She’d let their previous housekeeper and butler deal with such matters, but she hadn’t realized that things had been quite that cramped.

“I’ll need a list of all positions and which you expect to fill in future,” Mr. Warden told him, “as well as a look at the current quarters.”

“I can arrange that, sir,” Mr. Kinsle promised. “Will there be anything else at the moment?”

Mr. Warden tucked the pencil and paper back into his pocket. “No. Thank you very much for your time.”

“How many great houses have you studied?” Claudia asked, turning for the corridor that led toward the east wing of the house, which held the kitchen.

“Quite a few,” he allowed. “I had always hoped to be able to design one myself.”

“And are all the staff so stuffed together?”

“By no means,” he told her as they approached the plain wood door that marked the beginning of the staff area. “In some of the newer houses, each staff member has a room with light and a source of heat. Small by your standards, mind you, but sufficient. It’s the older houses that tend to squeeze too many into one room. That’s how illnesses spread.”

She shuddered, remembering how Joseph had hacked the last few days of his life. They’d lost him and two of the older staff that year. Had the disease started because the quarters were so tightly packed?

Guilt yipped for attention more stridently than Anastasia ever did. Claudia was the mistress of Tyneham Manor. It was her responsibility to see to the well-being of everyone associated with it. She’d made that point abundantly clear to Mr. Warden. What must he think to find her failing in her duty?

And why did she care whether he thought the less of her because of it?