Page 18 of Lady Emily’s Matchmaking Mishap (Merry Spinsters, Charming Rogues #5)

Chapter Nine

As luck would have it, Emily ran straight into the peeved, plagued and panic-stricken Duke as soon as she left the drawing room to fetch a book for Cissy.

He paused at the top of the stairs, ready to descend. He was dressed in a dark green coat and breeches with gleaming Hessians, a frothy cravat at his neck and a riding whip in a gloved hand. For a morning ride, he was dressed rather extravagantly, Emily thought. But what would she know, it might be the newest fashion to do so?

Emily struggled with an intense feeling of antipathy. The man was the embodiment of everything she loathed and despised. Yet she had to ignore those feelings and feign grace, even gratitude towards him. She schooled her features.

“Your Grace.”

He turned, lifting an eyebrow upon seeing her. He glanced over his shoulder as if searching for someone, then made a brief bow.

“Lady Poppy, is it?” He raised a haughty eyebrow.

She was aware that she had to be on her best behaviour, regardless of her actual feelings towards the Duke. So she inclined her head. “I wanted to thank you for your kindness to my sister and for your hospitality.”

He waved her away. “Your sister, Lady Lydia, is she well?” He glanced down the corridor to see if she was there.

“Her foot is badly sprained. The doctor has prescribed rest. She is recuperating in the Chinese drawing room today. We hope her ankle will have healed sufficiently by tomorrow for her to join us.”

“I hope she is not in too much pain,” the Duke responded politely.

“She can’t move, unfortunately.” The cogs in Emily’s brain set in motion. “She does, however, require some reading material and has asked me to procure a book for her.” Emily hesitated visibly. “I’m not sure where the library is. It would be forward of me to explore the house alone in the hope of finding it... ” Her voice trailed off. She looked at him expectantly.

Fortunately, the Duke had his wits about him this morning. “I’ll be happy to get Lady Lydia a book or two from the library,” he offered immediately.

Emily gave him a bright smile. “Oh, could you, indeed? I am sure my sister would like that. She gets terribly bored just sitting around doing nothing.”

“One must find a remedy for that, surely.”

“She reads everything,” Emily said, “preferably romances and novels by Radcliffe, Austen and Burney.”

“Romance novels.” He nodded. “I like to read them myself. I’ll see what I can find.” He smiled, looking younger, more boyish, and there was an eagerness in his manner that was not entirely unappealing.

A touch of confusion came over Emily. Who was he? She found it difficult to reconcile the man in front of her with the choleric despot in her mind.

She clasped her hands together. “Oh, would you? How kind of you. Deliver these to her yourself,” she instructed, as if he were a footman and not a duke.

“It will be my pleasure.” With a quick bow, he left.

Emily looked after him.

This brief attempt at matchmaking had gone better than expected. It was a good move to get him together with Cissy as soon as possible, before the other ladies sank their claws into him.

For a fleeting second, Emily deigned to feel sorry for him.

Then she shook herself. Was she out of her mind?

He was Wolferton.

A man she most heartily disliked.

He was about to become her brother-in-law, if it was the last thing she ever did, so she’d better work on overcoming that feeling of antipathy.

Most of the remaining guests arrived that afternoon.

Cissy remained in her room, resting her injured foot, while Emily took on welcoming the new arrivals. Cissy would join the company tomorrow, provided the doctor agreed and her foot improved.

Among the arrivals were Lord and Lady Willowthorpe and their three daughters, all fresh out of the schoolroom. The girls were dressed in pastel-coloured dresses and clung to each other, giggling and looking around with wide-eyed excitement, as if they expected the Duke to jump out of every corner. Each time the door opened, and he did not appear, their faces would drop in unison, only to rise again in anticipation moments later. It was very amusing to watch.

Then there was Lady Blakely and her daughter, Miss Cowley, who carried themselves with an air of haughty superiority. Mother and daughter barely acknowledged Emily, holding out their hands as if expecting her to kiss them. Awkwardly, Emily shook their hands instead, aware of their arched brows and slightly disapproving expressions.

Last to arrive were Lord Hamish and his sister, Miss Ingleton. Lord Hamish appeared to belong to the Duke’s set, the dandy set, with shirt points so high that Emily wondered how he managed to turn his head. Yet his cheerful demeanour and sharp humour made him seem less affected than others of his ilk.

“Has His Grace already fled the scene and hidden away in his hermit’s cave?” he joked as he looked around, a mischievous smile on his face. “Or should I say wolf’s lair? Seems more fitting, doesn’t it?”

He leaned closer to Emily and whispered behind his hand, “Do wolves even live in caves?”

Fighting back a smile, Emily replied, “I believe they live in dens, my lord, though I can’t say for certain.” Lord Hamish radiated good cheer. Emily liked him very much and wished he could be a suitable candidate for Cissy instead of the Duke. Unfortunately, he was already married. Lady Hamish had stayed at home as she was expecting a baby. Their estate was only a stone’s throw from Ashbourne House, as Hamish explained.

“Neighbours with Wolferton, imagine that. I have spent my whole life in the area, yet we never actually met until we both sat next to each other at White’s Club in London, picking up the same newspaper. Like Wolferton, I spent my childhood growing up elsewhere,” he explained. “It’s a shame, really, because this is the most beautiful countryside. I will make sure my children grow up here.”

After the introductions, the guests were shown to their rooms, and Emily took the opportunity to retire.

She’d received a message from Cissy asking to speak to her urgently, but when she knocked on her door she found her asleep. She returned to her own room, ready to turn in for the night.

Yet sleep wouldn’t come.

Emily tossed and turned until, with a sigh, she lit the candle again.

She could ring for the maid and ask for some milk.

Her hand on the bell, she hesitated. Better to let the poor thing sleep and go down to the kitchen herself. A walk might calm her restlessness.

She put on a pair of slippers, picked up a candle, and ventured into the corridor.

The house was silent, but the kitchen was bustling with activity.

The cook was preparing for the next day, chopping, slicing, pickling, stirring and frying. Scullery maids were washing dishes and scrubbing pots, and footmen were polishing silver. The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air, and her stomach made an unladylike growl.

“My lady!” The housekeeper, Mrs Smith, rose from the table where she was counting damask napkins with the help of a maid.

For a moment, the entire kitchen froze as everyone turned to look at her. A maid turned and stared at her with wide-eyed curiosity as she stirred her pot. The cook paused mid-slice, frowning and holding his knife in the air. And a scullery maid dropped the pots into the sink with a loud clatter.

Emily raised her hand awkwardly. “How do you do?” She was clearly inconveniencing the servants with her presence.

Mrs Smith’s expression didn’t change as she raised an eyebrow. “Lady Poppy. Is the bell pull in your room not working?”

“It is working.” She cleared her mind. “But there was no need to disturb Mary. Besides, I thought a walk might do me good.”

Mrs Smith gestured for the staff to get on with their work. “How can I help you?”

Emily looked at her apologetically. “I was having trouble sleeping and wondered if I could have something warm to drink.”

“Certainly.” Mrs Smith nodded briskly. “I suffer from insomnia myself and have a special blend of tea that helps. It is a mixture of lavender and valerian. I will have it brought to your room.”

“If you don’t mind,” Emily said with a sweet smile, “I’d rather drink it here. In your parlour.”

The housekeeper pursed her lips briefly. “Certainly, my lady. If you would follow me.”

Her parlour was surprisingly cosy, with a flower-patterned armchair in front of a fireplace, and a little table draped in lace. Small porcelain figurines lined the mantelpiece and lace doilies covered almost every surface.

Emily sat down on the sofa and watched as the housekeeper filled a kettle with water and placed it on the iron stove by the fireplace. She set the table with a simple blue and white tea service and a plate of shortbread. Emily was clearly interrupting the housekeeper’s schedule, for surely she had more important things to do than entertain one of the house guests in her drawing room for a late-night tea party.

“You’re very kind,” Emily said as she poured the tea into Emily’s cup, the aroma of lavender and valerian filling the air. It was soothing. “Have you worked here long?”

She placed a small porcelain bowl of honey in front of her. “Since the time of the old duke. Thirty-three years, if I remember correctly.”

Emily spooned three spoonfuls of the golden liquid into her tea. “What was the old duke like?”

“As a person? I wouldn’t know.” Mrs Smith’s tone was calm but clipped. “Inconceivable, is it not? I never spoke to him. All I ever had was a brief glimpse as he stepped out of his carriage outside the Covent Garden theatre. I was in London on a brief leave. Ironically, I saw him there, not here. He never visited Ashbourne House. He preferred Wolferstone Abbey. The estate is twice the size of this one.” Mrs Smith had clearly warmed to the subject, as had Emily.

“And the present duke? He didn’t live here either, did he?”

She shook her head. “Alas, no. Ashbourne House has been the summer residence of Lady Dalrymple and her sisters, Lady Jane and Lady Mabel, the last few years. His Grace rarely visits, though he has come more frequently in the last five years, but never for long.”

“Why?”

Mrs Smith shrugged. “One can’t be sure. I think he doesn’t like this place. There was a dispute with the steward and His Grace was so angry that he dismissed the entire staff.”

“The entire staff!” Emily’s teacup paused mid-air. “Over a disagreement with the steward?”

Mrs Smith shrugged. “His Grace can be rather quick-tempered.”

“They don’t call him the Devil Duke for nothing,” Emily muttered into her cup.

Mrs Smith didn’t hear the comment, or chose to ignore it. “He demands absolute loyalty from his subordinates. Once he loses faith in people, they are dismissed. He is rather pernickety in this matter.”

“Sounds like an absolutist monarch. Or a tyrant.” She looked up at Mrs Smith. “But you—you stayed on, apparently. He must trust you very much.”

“Indeed. I was one of the few exceptions.” She took a sip from her cup.

Emily set her teacup down. “Thank you for the tea. I think it’s working already. I am beginning to feel rather tired.”

Mrs Smith inclined her head as Emily rose to return to her room.

As she made her way back through the servants’ hall, she noticed the Duke’s valet handing a pile of garments to the laundry maid.

“These need to be pressed with haste,” the valet instructed.

The maid nodded and took the garments, but her hands fumbled, and several pieces tumbled to the floor.

“Careless girl,” the valet scolded. “These are His Grace’s precious neckties.”

Flustered, the maid bent quickly to retrieve the fallen items, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. However, as she hurried off, Emily spotted one tie that had been overlooked, lying in the shadowed corner near the door.

She stooped to pick it up, the smooth silk cool and luxurious against her fingertips. A thoughtful smile played on her lips as she examined the finely crafted fabric.

“His Grace’s necktie. Hm,” she murmured to herself, as a mischievous thought occurred to her.

Casting a quick glance around, Emily deftly slipped the tie into the folds of her skirt. A cheeky grin spread across her face as she turned and continued back to her room.