Page 9 of His Extraordinary Duchess

Chapter Nine

C laudia had a dozen matters begging for her attention, including her response to her mother’s detestable letter, but she could not deny the spring in her step as she hurried to find Georgie and Sophia. Apparently, on her return from the village, Sophia had enticed Georgie out of her room for a game of billiards, for Claudia located the pair in the game room. Freddie had loved the sport so much he had taught Georgie to play, and she had taught Sophia and Claudia. Anastasia was circling the green baize-lined table, snuffling at the carpet, but she trotted to Claudia’s side with her usual grin.

“Mr. Warden has a child,” Claudia blurted out.

Georgie looked up from where she had been studying the arrangement of balls. “A child?”

“A son, to be exact,” Claudia told her, bending to give the pug a quick pat.

Anastasia wiggled appreciatively, panting.

“How delightful!” Georgie declared. “How old?”

“About ten years of age,” Claudia said, straightening. “A charming boy.”

Sophia leaned on her cue. “And Mr. Warden explained all that to you?”

“No,” Claudia admitted. “He’s here. The boy. And I’ve arranged for the three of us and Anastasia to keep him company while his father works.”

As if the pug recognized her name, she obligingly turned in a circle.

Georgie set aside her cue as if prepared to jump in at that moment. “I’d be more than happy to assist.”

Sophia regarded Claudia instead. “And Mr. Warden could not find a tutor to his liking? Or better yet, a school?”

“Young Oliver is a sensitive artist,” Claudia told her. “I cannot think a typical boarding school would be suitable to his temperament or talents. I take it he’s had a difficult time since his mother died.”

Sophia’s face softened, cue falling to her side. “I could understand that.”

“The poor boy,” Georgie agreed with a sniff.

Claudia hurried on before her daughter-in-law could reach for her handkerchief. “I thought the three of us could take turns. He doesn’t care for noise, but perhaps soft piano playing might suit, Georgie. At the very least, reading together.”

“Perhaps a turn in the stillroom,” Sophia offered. “And you say he’s an artist?”

“I saw him sketching with charcoal,” Claudia told her. “He might enjoy watercolor.”

She nodded. “Excellent suggestion. When do we start?”

“Mr. Warden is speaking with him now,” Claudia explained. “They should be up shortly. And be warned. Sir Winfred has decided to take up residence. To offer his protection, he says.”

“To sample Cook’s baking, rather,” Sophia said with a shake of her head.

“He can be kind,” Georgie protested. “I will always remember his thoughtfulness after Freddie died.” She sniffed again, and Claudia chivvied her and Sophia to the withdrawing room upstairs.

She could almost hope Ben would suggest redecorating this room, at least. Joseph would never hear of it. He’d loved the tapestries that hung from the honey-combed ceiling to the polished wood wainscoting and the heavy, brocade-covered furnishings.

Now Georgie sat beside Claudia on the sofa, and Sophia took a chair by the fire, just as Ben appeared, arm around his son’s shoulders. Oliver kept his head down, clearly uncomfortable.

“Your Graces,” Ben said with a smile to the boy, “allow me to present my son, Oliver Warden.”

The boy bowed. When he straightened, his face was as solemn as a vicar reading a funeral service.

Claudia beckoned him closer. “You remember me, Oliver. We spoke in the portrait gallery a short time ago.”

He shuffled his feet, gaze on the floral-patterned carpet. “You weren’t going to tell Father.”

“I had to say something,” she temporized. “I wanted you to meet my dear friends.”

“We are ever so eager to make your acquaintance,” Georgie agreed.

He nodded, but he did not look up.

Anastasia chose that moment to trot from behind the sofa. She skirted around Ben, then sat down in front of the boy. Face up and eyes bright, she yipped at him.

Oliver clapped his hands to his ears and backed away, paling.

“No, no, Anastasia!” Georgie scolded, going to scoop up her pet.

Claudia focused on Oliver, who looked as if he was having trouble sucking in enough air. “That is Anastasia, Oliver. She is little and fat and afraid of almost everything. Which is why she makes that sharp noise. She’s trying to scare you before you can scare her.”

He lowered his hands. “I wouldn’t scare her.”

“Ah, but she doesn’t know that.” Claudia looked to Georgie.

Georgie brought the dog closer to the boy again. “Would you like to pet her?”

He glanced at his father, who nodded encouragement. Tentatively, Oliver reached out a hand.

Anastasia began wiggling, tongue out.

Oliver yanked back. “She’s going to bite!”

“She never has,” Georgie told him. “But don’t be surprised if she licks you. That’s her way of saying she likes you.”

Once more, he reached out. Claudia held her breath. This time, his hand landed on the dog’s head.

“She’s soft,” he marveled.

Anastasia twisted enough that her tongue caught his wrist. He giggled.

Claudia relaxed. She met Ben’s gaze and shared his smile. It was going to be fine.

As Sophia and Georgie encouraged Oliver to sit beside them, Claudia rose and approached Ben. “That went well.”

“Better than I’d expected,” he said. He tore his gaze away from his son and smiled at Claudia. “But then, I’ve noticed that’s a pattern when you’re involved.”

Warmth spun up inside her. “We appear to have matters in hand. How long do you need to work today?”

“An hour or two?” he asked, tone hesitant. “If you’re certain it’s no imposition?”

“None whatsoever,” she said, silencing the protesting howls of her uncompleted tasks. “If we need you, I’ll send someone to find you. I suggest you use the desk in the library. Sir Winfred generally doesn’t invade that room. Shall I have Mr. Kinsle move your things from the dower house?”

“Please.” He glanced again at his son. “From the first moment I met you, Your Grace, I have been impressed with your ability to manage a situation. You continue to impress.”

She merely smiled as he bowed and then left them. She could not tell him that she found him equally impressive.

* * *

She would have made a marvelous mother. Ben blinked as he started for the library. What a strange thought. Claudia, Dowager Duchess of Tyneham, was not what anyone would normally think of as maternal. Between her pale coloring and regal demeanor, some likely thought her intimidating. Yet he had seen her thoughtful, even kind. And he could not doubt her admiration of his son. It was as welcome as it was unexpected.

He spent the next little while setting himself up in the library. It somehow seemed a sacrilege to sit behind the desk as she did, so he took the chair in front. The desk was open front and back, so there was room for his legs. Skimming through the notes he had taken, he outlined a plan on another sheet of paper.

Every quarter hour by the case clock along one wall, he ventured upstairs to check on Oliver. His son was always with one or the other of the dowagers, and they all appeared to be pleased about the matter if their smiles and laughter were any indication. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. But he was certainly grateful.

By dinner, Ben was settled in a fine room at the manor, with Oliver next door in a connecting room. Claudia herself had come to check on them.

“Would you prefer rooms on the second story?” she asked, glancing around at the walnut furniture and the velvet-hung bed. “We seldom have cause to open them, but they would give Oliver more quiet.”

“No need to bother the staff,” Ben said. “These rooms are perfect. You’ve done more than I could ever ask. Thank you.”

Her smile touched him softly. “My pleasure. I always hoped for a child. Georgie too, though she wasn’t married as long. Sophia was barely out of her honeymoon when she was widowed. Thank you for sharing someone so precious.”

It was presumptuous of him, but he took her hand and brought it to his lips. “You have my everlasting gratitude for your kindness to Oliver.”

Her fingers trembled beneath his, and she pulled away. But she didn’t chide him.

“We’ll see you both at dinner.” She turned and swept out.

Had he discomposed her? Surely not. She must have been courted by marquesses and earls before settling on her duke. Why would a mere architect rate more than a second thought?

If her reaction wasn’t surprising enough, Oliver was actually talkative as Ben helped him change for dinner.

“Anastasia is funny when you get used to her,” he said as Ben helped him into his navy coat. “She likes to turn in circles. I’d get dizzy if I did that.”

“You don’t mind her noise?” Ben asked, straightening.

“No. It’s not a bad noise. And Her Grace the Third let me try her watercolors. They are a little bright.”

He would never have considered the paints bright, but perhaps they looked that way to Oliver after working with charcoal. “Is that what they told you to call them?”

He nodded as he studied his reflection in the standing mirror. “They know the staff call them that, so they said I could too. I like Her Grace the First best.”

Ben rocked back on his heels. “Why?”

“She likes things quiet, like me. The portrait gallery is her thinking spot. I miss my thinking spot at home.”

Ben sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I had to take you from London, Oliver, but it wasn’t good for either of us to live there anymore.”

“London is noisy,” Oliver agreed, scrunching up his nose. “Grace-by-the-Sea is better. The waves make good noises. I’ll have to find a thinking spot there.”

A thinking spot. Claudia had never mentioned her need for privacy, for quiet, but given the way she managed the estate, he could imagine having a retreat would be important. He would need to rework the plans a little, but he should be able to accommodate her.

He and Oliver came down to dinner to find Sir Winfred waiting. His dinner coat was black superfine, and his grey waistcoat was shot with silver. He took the spot at Claudia’s right hand, forcing Her Grace the Third down a chair. Her Grace the Second patted the chair next to her with a smile to Oliver, who went to join her. Ben sat diagonally from his son.

“An excellent repast,” Sir Winfred declared after Claudia had said the blessing and the footmen began serving the lamb cutlets with spinach, pudding, and pease soup. “But then, I expect nothing less at your table, Your Grace.”

“Thank you, Sir Winfred,” Claudia said, inclining her head.

“Have you met our newest gentleman, Sir Winfred?” Her Grace the Second asked with a smile to Oliver. “Mr. Oliver Warden, late of London.”

“And the dower house,” Oliver reminded her.

Her smile deepened, and dimples appeared in her cheeks near her lips. “How could I have forgotten?”

“Warden, you say?” Sir Winfred frowned across the table to Oliver. “Related to our good architect, I take it?”

“Oliver is my son,” Ben said, wondering why he felt defensive.

“And a very welcome addition to our household,” Claudia told Ben before smiling at Oliver.

“As if you needed another, eh?” Sir Winfred joked, attacking his cutlet as if he expected the thing to bolt. “What with strangers showing up claiming to be dukes and all.”

Her Grace the Second busied herself with her meal.

“His Grace’s credentials were thoroughly examined by the College of Heralds,” Claudia reminded the baronet, pausing to take a sip from her glass.

“As were my husband’s,” Her Grace the Third put in with a hint of exasperation in her voice. It seemed Ben wasn’t the only one whose back was up at the fellow’s comments.

“Of course, of course,” Sir Winfred said with a wave of his hand as if to mollify them all. “Still, you can’t claim any of it was planned. And now we must wait on the current duke’s pleasure. Do we expect him to appear anytime soon?”

“That,” Claudia said, “is a question that keeps being asked. Alas, His Grace does not share his thoughts with me, so I have no answer, although I have been told to hope for spring.” She jabbed her fork into the cutlet.

“What do we know about him?” Sir Winfred persisted, glancing around. “Is he at least a gentleman?”

Her Grace the Third colored. When Ben had taken on the duke’s project, a few of his friends had mentioned rumors her duke had not been raised among the aristocracy.

“A historian,” Her Grace the Second supplied helpfully. “He told us a little when he surprised us at Christmas. He was so used to digging into the ancestors of other families he’d neglected to study his own.”

“Here at Christmas, and now it seems he has better things to do than to take up his duties,” Sir Winfred mused.

It was not Ben’s place, but he couldn’t help defending the man who had taken a chance on him. “My impression is that His Grace is focused on doing what’s needed to see to his responsibilities. When I met him in London, he was also meeting with solicitors and church leaders as well as staffing agencies.”

“That is good news,” Her Grace the Second said.

“We can only hope he will set things to rights when he arrives,” Her Grace the Third agreed.

Ben fully expected it. But for the first time, he wondered what the arrival of the duke would mean for his friendship with the duchess, a friendship that felt like more with each passing day.

* * *

The Dukes of Tyneham attended services at Saint Mary’s in the village when they were in residence at the manor. Dark wood box pews ran along a side aisle, and arched, stained-glass windows showing the Madonna and child overlooked the altar. The Tyneham pew had never been quite as full as that Sunday. When Joseph had been alive, there had been three of them, and then four when Freddie had married Georgie. Once in a rare while, Sir Winfred had made it five. But that day, they had a full six crammed into the paneled space, with the baronet, Ben, Oliver, and all three dowagers.

Claudia sat in the center, with Sir Winfred on one side and Ben on the other. The contrast was painfully clear. Sir Winfred tended to glance around, fingering the silver buttons on his dark greatcoat or fluffing the folds in his snowy cravat. Was he trying to discover who might be looking at him?

Ben tended to sit stiller, leaning forward at a particular point in the sermon or frowning as if in thought. And his warm voice only made the sacred hymns more enjoyable.

Oliver was quite the little gentleman in his coat and long trousers, face once more solemn. He didn’t sing, and she caught him wincing once or twice when some parishioner mangled a note. But he didn’t hold his ears or sink in the seat.

Still, Georgie took the lead with him as they returned to the manor. The day had been so pleasant for late February, the skies crystal clear, that they had elected to walk the short distance. Georgie pointed out various species of birds to him. Not to be outdone, Sophia, just behind, identified various plants.

Sir Winfred had excused himself, claiming the need to visit an old friend in the village. Claudia hadn’t been aware he was on such good terms with anyone else in the area, but he had been related to the Dukes of Tyneham for far longer than she had. So she found herself walking beside Ben.

“And what did you think of Mr. Nash, the minister?” she asked as they crossed the bridge over the stream that bubbled along the western edge of the village.

“He had a fine voice,” he said.

She started laughing. “Oh, such high praise, sir!”

He gave her a reluctant smile. “He read the sermon well. But that’s all he did—read someone else’s words. I would have appreciated hearing his insights. The theme of the first and second readings was clearly about the importance of gaining wisdom. What practices has he seen that hone this understanding?”

“Practical application is always important,” she said with a nod that made her velvet bonnet twist a little on her head. She tugged the satin bow tighter under her chin. “And while the psalmist maintained that wisdom was the true beginning of worship, it was Solomon who asked for it, directly from God.”

“I have a feeling some of us need to ask for that daily,” he said with a chuckle.

“I certainly hope you don’t include me in that number,” she teased.

He cast her a glance, as warm as the rays beaming down on them. “Oh, no, Claudia. I have observed that you have sufficient wisdom for most of us.”

In another, she might have heard sarcasm, but he seemed sincere. “I assure you, Ben, that I pray for wisdom daily as well. I don’t know how I’d manage otherwise.” She drew in a breath of the cool air, scented with the promise of spring.

“As a friend,” he offered, “I am happy to help, in any way.”

Friends. Yes, she could feel friendship growing between them, an appreciation for each other’s qualities and character. And how nice to be able to discuss the application of scripture and the possible growth of faith. Joseph had never wanted to discuss such things with her. If she’d questioned him about a sermon point, he would insist that such considerations must be private. Surely, with all the exhortations to worship in Psalms and the establishment of the church, God had meant there to be discussions as well. Did not the Bible speak of iron sharpening iron?

Yet she could not help but be gratified with how attuned she and Ben were. It was as if they had known each other years instead of less than a week.

How deeply would it hurt when he finished the work at Tyneham Manor and left?