Page 2 of The Duke and his Muse (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #32)
Jane was well aware her expression was disposed to reflect her every thought. Such a display of her inner musings had caused no small problems several times in her life.
When her solicitor’s clerk had suggested a liaison, she was sure her surprise and revulsion had been apparent on her face. The young man was thin, pale, and oily.
“Now that you are all alone in the world, Miss Hayward, you need a man to protect you.”
“I do?” she’d asked in reply, knitting her brows.
“You have a monthly stipend and your own home. You might well become a target of fortune hunters and other unscrupulous men.”
She’d smiled kindly or hoped her smile was kind and not condescending. “I am not so na?ve as to befriend those of the wrong sort. Your employer, Mr. King, has ensured my estate is quite secure. He would never let me align myself with anyone who would take advantage of me.”
She stressed the last statement to remind the clerk of whom he worked for. Mr. King suffered no fools. If the young man didn’t watch himself, he would soon be out a position.
“Very good, Miss Hayward. I thought only to assist you in your time of need.”
Jane had nearly laughed then, biting her lip. She was sure her amusement showed on her face, as the clerk excused himself and stalked out of the lobby of the solicitor’s office and down a corridor away from her.
She turned on her heel and exited the office of the only solicitor in the area, to find her maid waiting outside the establishment.
“You’re smiling, Miss,” her maid Maisy commented softly. “I haven’t seen you smile since your father passed.”
“I believe Mr. King’s clerk wanted to ask me to marry him.” She let out a chuckle. “Oh my! He is not best pleased with me.”
“Ahh… Yes, I’m sure your feelings were on your face.”
She shrugged. “Shall we proceed to the tea shop? Oliver should be fine alone for another hour or so. Perhaps there will be ginger biscuits today.”
Maisy adored ginger biscuits, and Jane was in no hurry to return to the home she’d shared with her father the last five years.
Other than a man of all work from the village who would help with repairs around the cottage when needed, and a girl who that helped with the cleaning once a week, it was now just Jane and Maisy in the house.
* * * * *
Graham had sent Mr. Binns packing as soon as he handed over the estate ledgers. A footman watched the man box up his belongings and escorted him off of the estate. With no reference.
That afternoon he wrote and posted a letter to his mother advising her that she was a grandmother.
Graham had received word of Caroline’s death while in London and departed for Bartlett House straight away.
The dowager was still at the estate in Norfolk; he imagined she would leave there immediately upon receiving his news.
Despite his surprise arrival, Cook made a delicious meal for him and he enjoyed it alone in the small dining room.
He’d looked over the estate finances and saw nothing disquieting in the manager’s work.
He would find a new estate manager in his own good time.
He’d been brought up to manage the estate and he could do so when necessary.
As for Daniel… He had no reason to believe the child wasn’t his. His wife had despised his attentions, and he couldn’t believe she’d allowed anyone else the liberty of touching her intimately. He wouldn’t dwell on the past as the present had enough for him to be getting on with.
After he’d eaten, he made his way upstairs to the nursery. All was quiet in the corridor outside the set of rooms that comprised the nursery and a bedchamber for a nurse. Would Mrs. Blight now occupy that room?
He knocked lightly at the bedchamber door and waited.
When the door opened, it was to a sleepy-eyed nurse. “Your Grace!”
“Is the child awake?” he asked softly, realizing that it was nearly nine o’clock and possibly past when the child would go to bed.
“He has had a restless day but is finally asleep.”
The woman no longer wore a disgruntled look. There were circles under her eyes, and he felt awful for disturbing her rest.
“Perhaps tomorrow we can discuss my son’s future. I will leave you until then.”
Graham departed, strangely wishing the child had been awake so he could have spent time with him.
Although his own father had died when he was nine years old, his mother had shown him much love and care growing up. He had no idea how to be a father, but he would do his best by the little boy.
Despite the unpleasant creature his wife had turned out to be, she had given him a gift. Tomorrow, he would begin his journey as a father, whatever that might entail.
* * * * *
Jane addressed the tradesman standing on the single step leading to her cottage, “Why would you need to speak with my man of all work?”
“He might want to purchase some of my supplies. I overheard him mention he was working on a fence for you.” The man smiled widely.
“As I am the landowner here, I would be the one to discuss any purchases for my home.”
The man replied apologetically, “I wouldn’t wish to burden you with such transactions, Miss.”
“I do not currently require anything you might be selling.” She took a step back. “My man of all work does not either. Good day.”
She closed the door in his face and turned to see Maisie blinking at her.
“The tradesman insisted on speaking with James.” The employee in question lived in the nearby village of Matford and would start work on repairing the fence on the morrow. “He isn’t from the local area. By now, all the local tradesmen know to deal with me.”
It was true. James was happy to leave the bartering over supplies to his employer. In fact, she thought he liked watching her haggle over prices with shopkeepers. He was an older gentleman in his 50s, but he never cautioned Jane on her behavior in a man’s world.
“Your father always included you when he dealt with the villagers,” Maisie reminded her. “As if…”
“As if he knew he was sick?” she asked faintly.
Jane didn’t wait for an answer but walked down the corridor from the tiny entry hall to the parlor. Thinking of her father brought on the urge to draw. To create something. But what? She and her father had been a team: he the writer and she the illustrator.
The future stretched out before her, a great unknown. Royalties from her father’s books guaranteed her an income for life. With her finances secure, Jane assumed she would have no trouble finding a husband if she wanted one.
Jane had never been in love. She’d never stayed anywhere long enough to form attachments. The house in Exeter was the longest place she’d lived since her mother passed. Her father had wanted to travel around the country. She thought he had never been comfortable again in a place without his wife.
“I’m so sorry, Papa.”
“It’s worth it, my dear. If you find love, the pain is worth it.”
Jane wasn’t quite sure about that. Her father insisted she would change her mind when she fell in love. Jane didn’t know how or when such an event would occur as she had ventured no further than Matford in the last few years.
She sat in her favorite chair, let out a sigh, and her beloved cat Oliver jumped onto her lap. He seemed to know exactly when she needed his purring, paw kneading self.
“You’re such a good boy,” she whispered as her eyes filled with tears. “Father loved you very much.”
Oliver had wandered into their lives some two years ago, wet and bedraggled, alone in the rain. She and her father had arrived at the cottage, their new home, only a few hours before.
The plaintive cries of a cat had mixed with the sound of heavy rain on the slate roof of the house. Jane rose from her chair by the warm fire as her father shook his head.
She smiled softly. “You know I have to see if the animal is all right.”
“That’s your kind heart.” He smiled wistfully. “Your mother was the same.”
Jane opened the heavy oak front door and a small wet bundle raced by her into the cottage. The sodden orange ball of fluff sprinted out of the tiny entry hall into the parlor.
“He ran under the settee,” her father informed her with a chuckle as Jane entered the room.
“I guess he didn’t need an invitation,” she said under her breath as she retook her place on a stuffed chair.
Her father frowned. “Unusual behavior for an animal who doesn’t know us.”
“Perhaps he or she belongs to this place,” she replied with a shrug, glad that the little cat was safe and warm inside. “As it is time for me to help Maisie serve our meager supper, maybe the cat will come out when it smells food.”
And it did. She’d given the animal small pieces of roast beef from the sandwiches they’d purchased at the local village inn. Their journey of two days had led them to Exeter, a place where they had no ties, no past.
Returning to the present, she stroked the cat’s fur, whispering, “You’re my only family now. You and Maisie.”