Page 7 of His Extraordinary Duchess

Chapter Seven

C laudia was waiting for Mr. Warden in the rear entry hall again the next morning, even though the grey day held more of a hint of winter than a promise of spring.

“And what do you propose today, Mr. Warden?” she asked as he strode in dressed in greatcoat and boots. She calmly reached for her cup as if she hadn’t been sitting here for a full hour, shivering even in her blue wool gown, and counting the moments until she sighted him.

“I took the liberty of touring your stables after I left you yesterday,” he said. He looked to the chair across from her then met her gaze, dark brows up in question. Claudia graciously waved him into the seat.

“I hadn’t realized you intended to raze the stables as well,” she said, setting down her cup.

“Not raze, Your Grace,” he said. “And I hadn’t intended to change anything about the stables. I merely wanted to see whether you had riding horses available.”

Claudia drew herself up. “We have an excellent stable, thank you very much. I see no reason to question it or change it.”

“Then you won’t mind if I borrow a horse and ride around the estate this morning. I’d like to get a better perspective of the manor from all sides.”

She pushed away her cup and saucer, and Mr. Kinsle quietly came forward to relieve her of them. “Give me a moment to change into my riding habit, and I’ll join you.”

She rose, forcing him to his feet as well, then sashayed down the corridor as if she had no trouble making him wait. Once around the corner, she hurried her steps up to her bedchamber.

Violette was just putting away the nightclothes. She straightened from the drawer as Claudia burst in.

“Riding habit,” Claudia barked. “I’m accompanying Mr. Warden.”

Her maid threw open the doors to the wardrobe. “You will want the green, then.”

Claudia paused. The black was more commanding, with jet buttons all down the bodice and braid on the hem and cuffs. Then she shook herself. She’d never asked a maid’s approval for a gown in her life! She stiffened her spine even as Violette brought out the emerald-colored, nip-waisted wool riding habit.

“And if I should want the black?” Claudia asked her imperiously.

Violette was not the least cowed. “You want the green. The black is too severe with your coloring. The green will make your hair shine. And I have emerald netting I can add to your hat. It will take only a moment.”

Claudia turned to give the maid access to the ties at her back. “You have a very good eye for color, Violette. Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, Your Grace,” she said, her French accent heavy on the words.

Violette had her out of the gown and into the habit in good time, and Claudia hurried back downstairs. She paused at the end of the corridor, smoothing down her skirts, which were caught up at her waist to allow her to walk, and took a deep breath.

Then she stepped between the columns and into the rear entry hall.

Mr. Kinsle had been speaking quietly with Mr. Warden. Her butler leaped back as if she’d caught him stealing the silver, then hurried to gather up the last of the dishes even though he might have called a footman to do so.

Mr. Warden’s eyes brightened at the sight of her, and her cheeks warmed.

“Perhaps I should have called for a cavalry escort,” he said. “You deserve nothing less than the Prince’s Own Royal Hussars.”

“Pshaw, Mr. Warden,” she said. “There is no need for such praise.”

“I respectfully disagree,” he said. “And I only give praise where praise is due.”

He bowed, and she swept past him for the door.

The stables were a short distance to the west of the manor. Unlike the house, they showed every evidence of being renovated over the years. They had been built of limestone blocks and were shaped in a U around a center courtyard, with rooms above for the staff. The stalls on the left had been converted to a carriage house before she’d ever arrived at the estate. Joseph had changed the old wooden stalls in the center block to stone with pillars at the end of each half-wall. Nothing had been too good for his horses.

She didn’t know if the current duke even rode horses.

Mr. Warden apparently did. He must have mentioned his intentions, for her grooms had already saddled a horse for him. They hurried to put her sidesaddle on her favorite, Darcy, a clever dappled grey with a black mane and tail and the longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a horse.

But when it came time to hand her up, Mr. Warden stepped forward before a groom could.

“Allow me.”

Again breath became difficult, but Claudia inclined her head in permission. She’d thought he’d cup his fingers for her foot, but instead he put his hands on her waist. She stiffened.

He paused, brow raised once more, waiting for her permission. Every moment she felt the touch more acutely, as if his fingers warmed her skin through fabric and corset. She managed to incline her head again without trembling.

He lifted her effortlessly and set her on the sidesaddle. She was only glad he turned immediately to his own horse, otherwise he would have seen the blush that heated her face.

Two of the stable hands grinned at each other. Her glare sent them hurrying back to their duties.

Mr. Warden brought his mare alongside hers, and they cantered out of the stable yard.

She directed him around the west wing for the front approach, where the long water reflected the columned portico of the manor on a summer’s day.

“You don’t intend to change the landscaping,” she ventured as they crossed the circular drive in front of the house, the horses’ hooves crunching on the snowy white gravel.

“Not unless it’s necessary to expand the house,” he said.

Claudia stiffened again, and Darcy’s stride faltered. She made herself relax, giving the mare a pat on the neck. “We have sufficient rooms in the manor that I see no need to add more. It’s a question of how those rooms are arranged.”

“I agree,” he said as they came around the northeast corner of the house. The morning light made the windows along the east wing sparkle. “Though I had thought additional space for the kitchen might be wise.”

“But that would throw off the symmetry!” Once more, Darcy shifted as if in protest, and Claudia could only shake her head. She’d faced down three dukes and was more than willing to take on the fourth. Why did this man have the capability to overset her with only a few words?

He looked to her, smile evident. “I would never suggest altering symmetry, Your Grace. I know beauty when I see it.”

She had chosen the wrong riding habit after all. This one was entirely too warm. Claudia tugged at her collar as she looked away.

Still, she felt as if she should apologize. He had been nothing if not courteous, and she continued to doubt his least statement. “Perhaps we can dispense with my title,” she suggested. “There are three of us to call Her Grace. I suppose it can be confusing at times.”

“So I’ve heard,” he commented.

“You may call me Claudia,” she offered graciously. “In the interest of clarity, of course.”

“Of course.” Again that smile. “I would be honored if you’d call me Ben. That’s what my friends call me.”

Ben. It somehow didn’t do him justice. Yet how could she refuse the opportunity to be counted among his friends?

“Very well, Ben,” she allowed, her own smile broadening.

They came around the end of the east wing just then, bringing the terrace into view. A small figure bounced across it, as if hopping from stone to stone.

Shock had her reining in. “There! Do you see him?”

Ben drew his mare to a stop as well. “Who, Your Grace?”

Was she going mad? Surely he could see the figure as well. She nodded toward the house. “There, on the terrace, a child.”

She turned to watch Ben’s face as his gaze veered across the lawn. His jaw tensed, as if he thought whatever she had seen might be some danger. Then he frowned. “On the terrace, you say?”

Claudia swiveled as best she could in the sidesaddle. The terrace was empty.

She closed her eyes a moment, opened them again. Still empty.

“Never mind,” she gritted out. “Have you seen what you wished to see, sir?”

“For the moment, Your Grace,” he assured her, his face now puckered in obvious concern. “I’ll want a more thorough look later as plans progress. Shall I escort you back to the stables?”

“No need,” she said. “I must have words with my staff. I shall expect you for tea this afternoon. Four of the clock.”

She didn’t wait for his polite refusal. She touched her heels to Darcy’s side, and the mare obligingly trotted forward, moving flawlessly into a canter, then a gallop.

Someone must have seen her coming, for a footman was waiting on the terrace when she pulled Darcy up short. He took the reins from her, then helped her down.

“Did you see a child here?” she demanded.

He shook his head, eyes widening. “No, Your Grace. Should I have?”

“Apparently not. Return Darcy to the stables. Where would I find Mr. Kinsle?”

The footman was paling, as if he heard the tension in her voice and feared what it portended. “I believe he’s in the kitchen with Cook, Your Grace.”

With a nod of thanks, she strode in that direction.

Both her butler and her cook had been sitting at the worktable, cups of tea before them, as if taking a well-earned break from their toils. They sprang to their feet as Claudia barreled into the kitchen.

“Is there a child in this house?” she spat out.

Mr. Kinsle and Mrs. Bettleton exchanged glances. Very likely, they’d never seen her in this state. She felt nearly frantic herself. But there had to be an explanation. She refused to believe all the strain of being both duke and duchess had driven her mad.

“In the manor, Your Grace?” her butler asked carefully. “No.”

But there was something. It was evident in the way he’d shuffled his feet, as if longing to escape. “Among the servants then, perhaps coming in with a day maid?” she pressed.

“No,” he answered, more surely this time. “None of us on staff have been so blessed.”

“Is something wrong, Your Grace?” Mrs. Bettleton asked, face clouding.

Perhaps there was. The fire was already leaking out of Claudia, leaving her tired, heavy. She rubbed her forehead. “I begin to wonder. I think I’ll rest for a time. Would you have Violette bring me up a tisane?”

Her cook bit her lip before answering. “At once, Your Grace.”

Claudia turned to go, feeling their gazes on her back. She hadn’t had to take a rest since before Joseph had died. Had she lost all sense of decorum?

From down the corridor, a voice boomed. “Ho, the house! I have returned!”

She stopped at the kitchen door and closed her eyes a moment. “Never mind,” she told her staff. “It seems I’ll be entertaining. Tell Sir Winfred I’ll be down shortly.”

* * *

This could not continue. Ben drew in a breath as he strode up to the manor that afternoon, reporting for tea, as commanded. He’d thought the dower house would be suitable, but Peters simply could not manage things alone. On the other hand, Ben could not afford to spend more time away from his project, the key to everyone’s future.

And just when Claudia had begun to see him as a partner in this business! He would have his work cut out for him to convince her all was well again.

Mr. Kinsle let him in the terrace door. “Be warned, Mr. Warden. Her Grace the First is in a snit.”

He nodded. “I feared as much after she mentioned seeing a child on the terrace. Did you have to answer some uncomfortable questions?”

“None I couldn’t handle,” the butler said. “But we have company, and it is a gentleman who tends to wear out his welcome within minutes, if you take my meaning. Sir Winfred Darling. He’s a baronet and a cousin of sorts. We thought he might be the next duke until the College of Heralds found the current duke. You’re expected, so go right in.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. Straightening his shoulders and putting on his best smile, he strode down the corridor to the room Mr. Kinsle indicated.

This, he had learned, was the sitting room. The walls were paneled in perfect wooden squares, each joining and the center of each block adorned with a brass head, as if the entire wall was tufted in wood. Rich landscapes in gilded frames hung suspended from the high picture rail, also brass, and the white marble fireplace was sculpted with allegorical figures. The bright rose furniture looked oddly at home beside the black lacquered piano.

Claudia, now in a gown of deep blue wool, was seated on a high-backed chair, the queen on her throne. Sir Winfred lounged on the curved-back sofa opposite her, booted feet stuck out onto the carpet. He was broad-shouldered and heavy-chested, with a neat mustache. If he had once had the russet hair that Ben had noted in His Grace and many of the ancestral portraits, it had now turned white.

“Ah, Mr. Warden,” Claudia said as if she had been watching for him. “Sir Winfred, allow me to introduce the architect His Grace hired to tear down the manor.”

That she was back to making it sound as if he would rip her home apart stone by stone could not be good.

Sir Winfred stood, face reddening. “Tear it down? Surely you jest.”

“Indeed,” he said, bowing to the baronet. “I have found Her Grace to have a dry wit.”

“Better than no wit at all, eh?” Sir Winfred quipped, sinking back into his seat. “Though we’ve had enough of those through the house the last few years, haven’t we, my dear?”

She merely regarded him.

Ben wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to sit or stand to give some sort of report. When no one enlightened him, he took the lower-back chair near Claudia.

“Sir Winfred was passing through on his way to Grace-by-the-Sea,” she offered. “He likes to check on us on occasion.”

“Three beautiful women, alone in the wilds?” The baronet humphed. “Someone should be seeing to their protection.”

“I’m sure His Grace will be along eventually,” she said. “After all, he will want to view Mr. Warden’s progress.” She turned to Ben without a hint of her usual smile. “And how are you progressing, Mr. Warden? Should we expect plans soon?”

“Plans?” Sir Winfred interrupted, glancing between Ben and Claudia. “Then you really are intending to rebuild the manor?”

“Simply looking for ways to offer improvements,” Ben told him. “As His Grace requested.”

He had hoped invoking the duke’s name might reassure the fellow or at least remind him who held sway over the property. But Sir Winfred drew himself up.

“And I say Tyneham Manor needs no improvements, sir! Why, this house has stood through storm and surge for more than two centuries. To think of the character of the house being altered. No, it is not to be borne!”

Help came from a surprising source. “Mr. Warden has already discovered several areas where the manor is lacking,” Claudia pointed out. “Efficiencies in the kitchen. Perhaps a bigger wine cellar.”

Sir Winfred collapsed back against the sofa. “Oh, well. That sort of thing might be tolerated. One can always do with a larger wine cellar.”

Ben offered a tight smile. He could not promise that that was the only change he’d propose to the house.

Claudia turned to the baronet. “I regret that Georgina and Sophia could not see you this trip. Sophia is in the village, and I’m not sure when she’ll return. And dear Georgie still has her moments.”

His eyes dipped down. “Mourning him, is she?”

“Every day,” Claudia said. “The addition of her sweet Anastasia after Christmas helped, but this pain is the price when true love is torn from you, I fear.”

Ben understood. When Jane had died two years ago, he’d struggled to get up every morning, to sleep every night alone in the bed they’d shared. But he hadn’t had the choice to remain in his sorrow. And he’d had someone who needed him badly.

“Poor little mite.” Sir Winfred sat taller, as if having come to a decision. “I’ll send word to my friends in Grace-by-the-Sea. I’ll stay with you for a time to offer my support.”

Claudia’s eyes widened a moment before she schooled her face. “That is very kind of you, sir, but we couldn’t impose.”

“Family is no imposition,” he promised her, “as I’ve told you before. With His Grace absent, it is the least I can do to offer my protection.”

Apparently whether she wanted it or not.