‘There, there, my dear, don’t distress yourself.’ Mrs. Aston smiled at her younger daughter. ‘You must expect every gentleman you meet to be overwhelmed by your charms and prepare yourself for all manner of unwelcome attentions.’
‘Perhaps so, Mama, but I still think Mr. Sanderson behaved improperly.’
Harriet heard little of this exchange, too accustomed to Charlotte’s self-centred existence to pay it much heed. Instead, she nibbled at the end of her quill, mulling over their precarious situation, still unable to account for the duke’s silence. Mr Sanderson’s dashed hopes in respect of Charlotte might make him resentful, but surely that wouldn’t have prevented him from passing on her letters? Her dislike of the man didn’t give her reason to question his efficiency.
The late duke had come to see them all just before he was taken ill, and he had sent for Harriet alone not long after that. Seeing him amidst the splendour of his nearby country seat, Endersby, he appeared a shadow of the robust gentleman she had known since her infancy. Harriet knew he was dying. He had talked to her for a long time about his life and precious art collection, but revealed frustratingly little about the arrangements, made before she was born, regarding her family’s residence at Matlock House. He kissed her, gave her a valuable gift to remember him by, and assured her he had made provision for their future. Provision that his heir, whom he described as a decent man, would honour.
So why hadn’t he? Harriet had heard much about the new duke, even though she had never laid eyes upon him. He was generally held to be a cold and aloof gentleman. That being the case, she wondered why Uncle Frederick, as she had been encouraged to address the old duke, thought so well of him. Another case of blood being thicker than water, Harriet supposed. Anyway, it was exceedingly impolite of him to ignore her missives when it must be apparent, even to a man as detached as the duke supposedly was, that her family was in dire straits. She had a good mind to tell him as much when she finally had the dubious pleasure of making his acquaintance.
As things stood, she would probably be unable to pay the wages when they fell due on the rapidly approaching quarter-day. The few employees who remained were exceedingly loyal, and she wasn’t about to exploit their good nature if it could be avoided. If only so much of this year’s crop of apples hadn’t fallen prey to disease! The timing couldn’t have been worse. Just when she had needed it the most, her precious harvest failed her. But she refused to wait upon His Grace’s pleasure while her efforts to keep the business afloat were reduced to mulch.
‘Mama,’ she said speculatively, ‘I think I will write to Lady Calder and ask permission to call upon her in town. If anyone knows what is in the duke’s mind, it will be her. After all, she is his aunt, and I understand they enjoy a close relationship.’
‘Oh no, Harri. I don’t like the idea of you going to town alone. What if some mishap were to befall you? What would become of us all, then?’
‘Don’t worry, Mama. I shall go with her.’ Charlotte showed an uncharacteristic desire to be helpful for once, but Harriet wasn’t deceived. Her true motive was a trip to town, where she would doubtless find reasons to spend yet more money they didn’t possess.
‘No, Charlotte, I need you to remain here and supervise the boys. Besides, Mama can’t manage without us both. I shall only be gone for a few days.’
Charlotte pouted and dug her toe into the threadbare rug. ‘It is so unfair!’
‘Should we not consult Mr. Binstead on the matter?’ asked Mrs. Aston. ‘He will be able to advise us.’
Harriet frowned at the mention of their parish beadle, and her mother’s growing reliance upon his opinion. He was a charismatic man, but Harriet had always disliked and mistrusted him. He had been a close friend to her father until something happened to sour their relationship. Harriet never did discover what that was. Since her father’s death, his visits to Matlock House had become more regular than they once were, and he interfered with everything that happened there. He invited himself to dine at regular intervals, and plied Mrs. Aston with his attentions. Harriet did everything she could think of to discourage his growing intimacy with her family, but the infuriating man had the hide of a rhinoceros and heard only that which it suited him to hear.
‘No, Mama, I cannot see that my to visit Lady Calder is any concern of his.’
‘How will you get there?’ asked Mrs. Aston querulously.
‘I shall take the mail coach from Ramsgate.’
‘Oh, I am not sure about a young lady travelling alone.’
‘Don’t worry Mama,’ Harriet replied wearily. ‘As Charlotte is so fond of pointing out, who is likely to look twice at me? Come now, boys.’ She stood and ran her hands down the breeches she habitually wore when working in the cider mill. ‘I require your help with the scratting.’
James jumped to his feet. ‘Of course we’ll help! Come, Tom, there’s work to be done.’
Chapter Two
Early on the morning after Lady Charington’s ball, Marc received a summons to attend his aunt’s establishment. Having no intention of being dictated to, he delayed his response to the point of rudeness, dealing with his business affairs before walking the short distance from Moon Street to the house in Berkeley Square which he had inherited with the rest of his uncle’s estate.
The bereaved duchess had made a great play of vacating the principal suite of rooms in favour of Marc, from whom she made little attempt to disguise her antipathy. He had given his aunt permission to remain in Berkeley Square, in the company of her long-time companion Mrs. Sanderson, but did not care to share the premises with the two women, whose dislike he returned tenfold. His old rooms in Moon Street were quite sufficient for Marc’s needs when he was in town.
‘Ah, Broadstairs, there you are at last.’ The stout figure in black crepe and bombazine fixed Marc with a steely glare.
‘Your servant, ma’am.’ Marc inclined his head a few inches in his aunt’s direction, ignoring her companion all together.
‘I have been waiting all the morning to speak with you. You have no consideration for my feelings.’ Marc made no effort to deny the assertion, causing the duchess’s glower to deepen. ‘You wouldn’t have treated me with such discourtesy if my dear husband was still alive.’ She plucked a scrap of cambric from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
Marc regarded his aunt dispassionately, aware that her grief was entirely a product of her imagination. He wondered for the thousandth time how his kind-hearted uncle could have borne life with such a vindictive shrew. She was widely acknowledged to have been a beauty in her youth. His uncle, in urgent need of her fortune to fill the depleted Broadstairs coffers, had made the most of his striking appearance and persuasive charm to win the hand of the lady whom he had persuaded himself he felt genuine affection for. That misconception was quickly rectified when she revealed her spiteful character to him after their marriage, by which time it was too late to do anything about it.
‘What was it you wished to discuss with me?’ he asked.
The duchess regained her composure with a speed that belied her supposed distress. ‘I understand you were at Lady Charington’s last evening.’
‘Your informants did not mislead you.’
‘I am glad you acknowledged the claims of society upon your time, even if you did not favour Miss Gibbons with your attentions.’ The duchess somehow managed to look down her rather long nose at Marc, even though he was still standing and towered over the chair she occupied. ‘She has expectations and was offended by your neglect.’
Marc raised a brow—an arrogant gesture which he knew would anger his aunt—but didn’t dignify her comment with a response. Instead he asked a question of his own. ‘Was there anything else you wished to discuss, ma’am?’
The duchess shared a look of disapproval with her companion, and the two ladies sniffed their displeasure in unison. ‘Indeed there was. Pray be seated, you are making my neck ache by forcing me to look up at you.’ With obvious reluctance, Marc seated
himself as far away from his aunt as civility permitted. ‘That’s better. Now then, when did you last consider the affairs of Matlock House?’ Marc was surprised his aunt had nothing further to say on the matter of his dance partners. ‘I presume you have at least acquainted yourself with your uncle’s affairs sufficiently to know where Matlock House is.’
Marc inclined his head. ‘Matlock House is a small estate not ten miles from Endersby, given over to the production of cider, and has been tenanted by the Aston family for two decades.’
‘Ah, so you do know. Then tell me this, Broadstairs. Why have you not acted upon the restrictions placed on the Astons’ tenancy before now?’
Marc frowned, wondering what the devil this was all about and why his aunt was so interested in such a comparatively small part of the Broadstairs’ duchy. ‘I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, ma’am.’
‘I dare say you do not.’ The duchess shook her head, causing her heavy jowls to wobble quite violently. Once again, Marc wondered at her transition from beauty to…well, to an ugly and vindictive woman, puffed up with a spurious sense of self-importance. ‘Your uncle, too kind hearted for his own good, granted the Aston family a lifelong tenancy provided they kept the cider business profitable.’
‘I am fully conversant with the terms of the tenancy.’ But why his uncle felt so charitably disposed towards the family was another matter entirely. Marc was more curious than ever about the Astons’ peculiar tenancy arrangement, especially since it had engaged his aunt’s interest. ‘I am also aware that Aston passed away over a year ago and the business is now supervised by his eldest child. Since the agreement allows the Astons’ tenure to continue until the demise of Mrs. Aston, I fail to understand your concerns.’
‘I should be surprised if you could understand them.’ The duchess spoke with what Marc knew was intentional disdain. ‘It is fortunate therefore that Sanderson performs his duties diligently.’
Marc bristled. Sanderson was the son of his aunt’s companion, employed as his late uncle’s steward at Endersby. Although efficient in the execution of his duties he was, according to Marc’s valet, universally disliked by all the staff on the estate. Marc shared their dislike and was waiting for an opportunity to dismiss him. Sanderson had an inflated opinion of his own worth, combining an approach that managed to be both obsequious and resentful in his dealings with Marc. Worse, he lacked any form of common decency in his exchanges with his subordinates.
‘If Sanderson has reason to question the profitability of the operation, he has not seen fit to mention the matter to me.’
The duchess must have realised she had overplayed her hand, but was clearly not about to be silenced. ‘He happened to communicate his fears in a letter to his mother,’ she said with a dismissive wave.
‘Indeed he did.’ Mrs. Sanderson spoke for the first time. ‘He is such a dutiful child, so full of concern for my welfare.’
‘Have the goodness to communicate those fears to me now,’ Marc said, aware that his temper, never far from the surface in his dealings with Sanderson’s equally odious relation, was in danger of snapping.
‘The cider business at Matlock has experienced a marked downturn in profitability since Aston’s death,’ the duchess said. ‘That negates the agreement affected by your uncle and gives you the opportunity to evict the family, who are clearly less than appreciative of their good fortune. I have a fancy to occupy the estate myself when I’m in the country. You will not wish to have me under your feet at Endersby.’
‘The dower house is always at your disposal.’ Marc stood before his temper finally got the better of him. ‘And I will look into the Matlock situation when I have received my steward’s report first hand and when I am next in the country.’
‘See that you do.’ The duchess glared at her nephew, her expression one of unmitigated dislike. ‘And I have told Lady Gibbons you intended no slight to her daughter and will be sure to single her out at the next assembly you attend.’ She fixed Marc with a gimlet gaze. ‘See that you do so, Broadstairs. Miss Gibbons is everything she ought to be, and I would see the two families united.’
It was on the tip of his tongue to remind his aunt how matters had turned out when she had last tried to influence his choice of a wife. In the end, he decided not to stir up that particular hornet’s nest and left Berkeley Square without entering into any commitment regarding Miss Gibbons. He sauntered the length of the street, deep in thought, too well acquainted with his aunt’s disposition to imagine she wished to see the Astons evicted simply because their business was undergoing a lean spell. He wondered what her true motivation could be, and was more curious than ever about the situation with the Astons. He had enjoyed a congenial relationship with his uncle and mourned his passing with genuine regret, especially since he had no desire to assume the role of duke. His uncle had shared many of his aspirations regarding his estate with his heir, explaining his strategy in investing his wife’s fortune to ensure that the dynasty flourished. He had not, however, told Marc why he had favoured the Aston family in such a singular manner and had become very evasive when questioned on the subject.
Perhaps he would vacate the capital earlier than planned. By making an appearance at Lady Charington’s the previous evening and taking the trouble to dance with so many single ladies, he had issued a clear message that he was of a mind to marry. Sighing, Marc rued the fact that ladies couldn’t be encouraged into matrimony without his having to go through the tiresome rigmarole of literally dancing attendance upon them. All the same, if he sent out the cards for his house party from Endersby, the recipients would immediately understand his intentions, and he doubted if any would decline. He had no wish to waste further time in ballrooms—and besides, his interest was now more than a little piqued in respect of Matlock House, its unusual tenancy arrangement and his aunt’s desire to interfere with it.
He would spend a few days finalising his business affairs and then call on Lady Calder to discuss the plans for his house party. Hopefully, he would be successful in persuading her to act as his hostess. Marc almost smiled at the prospect of having his infinitely more amiable relation living beneath his roof for as long as she wished to remain.
Harriet was admitted to Lady Calder’s imposing Sloane Square residence by her rather forbidding butler. His behaviour was assiduously correct, but his prolonged scrutiny of her ancient travelling gown reminded her that the bodice was too tight and the hem too short, revealing an inch or more of petticoat. It couldn’t be helped. She dismissed his disapproval from her thoughts, reminding herself that she hardly ever had occasion to wear gowns, and there were certainly no funds available to replenish her meagre wardrobe.
Twisting the ribbons of her bonnet nervously between her gloved fingers, Harriet hoped her godmother would overlook her precipitous arrival. She had only received word yesterday that Lady Calder would be delighted to have her come to stay and here she was already, too anxious about her family’s delicate financial situation to delay her arrival by even one day. Lady Calder appeared in the vestibule, her face breaking into a delighted beam as she enfolded Harriet in a fierce hug.
‘My dear, I am enchanted to see you looking so well.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Alicia, and I you. I hope you don’t mind me arriving so soon.’
‘Not in the least. Now, let me look at you properly.’ Lady Calder walked around Harriet, taking in her appearance from all angles. If she shared her butler’s disapproval of her shabby gown, inappropriately revealed petticoat or down-at-heel half boots, she made no mention of it. Instead her eyes misted over. ‘Your father would be so proud if he could see you now,’ she whispered. ‘But come, what am I thinking of, keeping you standing around like this? Spendlove, take Miss Aston’s things and we shall have tea in the drawing room immediately.’
‘Very good, my lady.’
Comfortably settled in front of the drawing room fire a short time later, Lady Calder cast appraising glances at Harriet over the rim of h
er teacup. ‘Now then, how are things in Kent? How fares Charlotte?’
‘Oh, she’s as lovely as ever.’ Harriet smiled. ‘And already anticipating spending time with you next season. It is so very kind of you to have her, Aunt Alicia. I only hope you won’t live to regret your generosity. Charlotte can be quite exhausting.’
‘Nonsense, I shall enjoy myself. I only wish I could persuade you to follow her example.’
‘Oh no, Charlotte is the beauty of the family, and I am never allowed to forget it. I am well aware I could never hold a candle to her. It makes far more sense for me to remain at home and oversee the business.’
‘You underestimate yourself, Harri. True beauty comes from within. You shouldn’t set too much store by physical characteristics. Besides, you are quite Charlotte’s equal.’
‘Nonsense!’ Harriet flapped a hand and laughed. ‘Charlotte tells us that being beautiful is exhausting and I am already quite exhausted enough by all the duties I have to discharge.’
‘You are not only physically attractive but also level headed and intelligent.’
‘Intelligence in a woman frightens gentleman off, so I am told.’
‘Don’t believe that either, my love.’
‘Besides, Aunt Alicia, I’m too old to consider matrimony.’
Lady Calder laughed. ‘Nonsense, you are still a child.’
‘I am almost twenty. Charlotte says it’s a disgrace to be so old and still unmarried.’
‘Charlotte talks too much.’
‘That is undeniable.’
Both ladies laughed. ‘You’re in the first flush of youth, and if I had my way, I would force you to remain in London for the season and prove it to you.’ Lady Calder sighed. ‘However, we will say no more of that since I can see you are determined, and I suppose you mother would find it hard to manage without you. Speaking of whom, how is she?’
A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3 Page 2