Page 2 of The Duke's List
She was so stunned by his direct question that she didn’t answer for a few moments. “I’m very good with Uncle Sid’s horses, and so I stay here to be near them, to make sure they’re healthy and content.”
The continuing skepticism in his look took her by surprise, so she made another run at explaining her current situation to a frighteningly intelligent eight-year-old. “Well, I suppose we’re still getting to know each other better before I move back to the big estate house.” When his face scrunched into a puzzled frown, she hastened to add, “It’s just a matter of time, and then I’m still getting to know the grooms so that I can determine who would make a good stable master to take over when I leave…” She trailed off when she realized Nicholas was having none of her explanations.
She was so relieved when a tap at the door signaled the arrival of Mrs. Smythe with their tea. She leapt to her feet to help the housekeeper navigate the narrow cottage door and wheel in a loaded cart. “What kind of biscuits do you suppose Cook has made for us today?”
“Ginger, I hope.” His usual cheerful smile had returned. Nicholas, thankfully, seemed as ready to end the awkward conversation about ‘Uncle Sid’ as she was.
Chapter Two
Sidmouth swallowedthe last dregs of his coffee and slammed down his cup. He rose and pulled on a bell rope in the corner before pacing in front of the tall window overlooking the stable yard. He was a Cornish landowner with vast responsibilities and tenants, Her Grace’s tin mining operation was his responsibility now, not to mention a havey-cavey family to ride herd on, and by damn, he didn’t have time for a duchess who refused to come to heel.
He said “Come” at the firm tap on the door. His butler appeared inside and quirked a question with one brow.
For a few long moments, Sidmouth matched Carrington’s silence. Finally, he spoke. “I require writing materials.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Would you like me to bring paper, pen and so forth from your office so that you can write here, or would you like me to summon your secretary, Mr. Jericho?”
Sidmouth hoped his face did not reveal his flummoxed internal turmoil to the man. He apparently hadn’t thoroughly thought through his latest fit of pique. Did he want his secretary to be privy to the tangle in which he found himself with his own duchess? Although he was sure the people he employed were not only aware of the ongoing battle in which he and Jane engaged, they were probably enjoying a good laugh at his expense nightly over their own dinner table in the servants’ hall. However, that did not preclude his clinging to his remaining shred of pride.
“Why don’t you just bring me a small supply I can use at the breakfast table? I have a few personal notes to write, and the view in here is much more pleasant than that of the large family drawing room. Sidmouth could almost smell the pity in the look the man gave him.
“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll have one of the footmen set up a writing table in here.” He stretched his hand toward the window. “Would you like him to place it near the view?”
The man was mocking him, he was sure. But he deserved every sideways look his staff had been slanting his way. He had to get control of his own domestic situation. And soon. Before he ended up the laughingstock, not just at Bocollyn, but Falmouth…and London.
The clamorout in the stable yard was unmistakable - his cousin, Harriet, must have returned from her honeymoon after bidding goodbye to her Royal Marine husband. He’d probably headed out of Falmouth Harbor the day before for the west coast of Africa on theHMS Black Condor.
Sidmouth would have liked to have seen off the staunch Lt. Richard Bourne, but had decided to leave the two newlyweds alone with their farewells. Harriet’s son Nicholas, his mastiffs, and their footman trying to bring about order were more than enough to make his stable yard sound like a coaching inn when a flyer mail coach blew through. He also detected some Nana-like screeches amidst the din. Damn that woman, and damn the two footmen assigned to dog her every step. How had they managed to let her get away from them again?
He’d had to personally head into Falmouth twice since Harriet had left for two weeks on his yacht,The Falcon, with her new husband. He could not imagine how an aged woman in full witch’s costume could trod the miles to town. However, he suspected his elderly tenant farmer who was unaccountably smitten with the old termagant may have had some part in her transport. If only he could catch the two of them.
Falmouth’s tavern owners had been warned to send him word immediately when his grandmother, an aged former actress, set up thespian shop at their establishments.
He tried to affect calm when he strolled out into the thick of the confusion in his stable yard to welcome back his cousin.
Harriet flung herself into his outstretched arms and buried her face against his shoulder. A slight tremor that might have been a sob vibrated against him, but she pushed away quickly and swiped at her cheek. “Have Nicholas and the dogs behaved themselves while I was gone?”
He matched her brave smile with one of his own. “For all I know, they’ve been as obedient as new lambs. However, knowing my ward as I do, I suspect there must have been instances of chaos. But you’ll have to ask Jane about the extent of the havoc they wreaked.”
A knowing grin formed on Harriet’s face. “So he’s still infatuated with Her Grace?” A cautious look replaced her earlier teasing one. “He spent all his time with her in the stable master’s cottage?”
Sidmouth nodded. He couldn’t bring himself to comment. He gave away his uncertainty with a quick, furtive glance toward the stables and the cottage.
“And he didn’t spend any time with you?”
“Of course he did. Have no fear.” Sidmouth leaned down to ruffle the ears of one of his hunting dogs who seemed jealous of all the attention the mastiffs were garnering. “As a matter of fact, he and Her Grace pounded me nightly with their acumen at cards.”
Harriet knelt to the ground,her shoulders shaking with laughter. When she held out her arms, Nicholas and his guard dogs rushed to greet her. “Watch out for the drool,” Sidmouth warned, and motioned for her footman, Thomas, to help manage the huge mastiffs. The two frightening-looking creatures fought and pushed at each other for the privilege of pressing their paws to her shoulders whilst whining and crying as if they hadn’t seen her in years.
Harriet watched Fleur pace the stable yard before she leaned her huge paws on the carriage step and peered inside. She leaned down to the massive dog and whispered beneath one huge, floppy ear. “He’s gone, Fleur, across the sea. But he promised to come back to us. We have to hold on to that. It will only be a year or two before we see him again.”
As soon as she squeezed her son tight and brushed a kiss to his forehead, he ran off to play with the dogs. Her son was fine. The proud man standing behind her was another matter. He was in a lot of pain and needed her much more than her resilient eight-year-old boy.
She rose and faced her cousin, Cornelius Sebastian, Duke of Sidmouth. The pain etched on his face was clear. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the family drawing room.”