A Duke's Desire (The Duke's Club Book 1)

by G. L. Snodgrass

  “And young Miss Ann?” he asked. “How is she faring with her duties as a maid? Better than a fishmonger’s brat, I will wager.”

  The housekeeper scowled for a moment, surprised at the shift in topic. “She is more than adequate,” she replied. But there was something in her look that told him there was more.

  He continued to wait until she sighed heavily.

  “She is able to perform the tasks. She works hard and learns quickly.”

  “But?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, Your Grace,” she said as she looked off into the middle distance, “but it seems such a waste. Beauty, intelligence, a natural grace. I’ve known countesses with less to offer.”

  Ian snorted in the corner and shot him a quick smile.

  Brock could only nod in agreement with his housekeeper. Nothing she had said was incorrect. His mind jumped to that night in the carriage, the energy between them. The mutual need that they had both denied. As image after image flashed through his mind, he realized that Mrs. Jensen was studying him with a strange expression.

  “Yes, well,” he began, desperate to hide his thoughts from this woman who had known him his entire life and could read him like a recipe card. “Perhaps you can help her become a competent maid this week and work on turning into a countess next.”

  Mrs. Jensen smiled at his jest, but once again that strange look flashed behind her eyes before she could shield herself and curtsied and turned to leave.

  Once she was gone, Ian poured him a whiskey and handed it to him.

  “Tell me again why you are here?” he asked Ian.

  Ian shrugged his shoulders. “I am off to the Midlands. The light is perfect this time of year. I thought you might wish to join me. Some hunting, fishing. We could get away. Liverpool has assured me that there will be no more critical the next two weeks.”

  Brock scoffed. “I know you. You will be spending your time standing in some field with a sketch pad, upset because you can’t capture the hidden meaning behind a passing cloud.”

  Ian didn’t deny it, instead raising an eyebrow waiting for an answer.

  Brock sighed heavily. The thought of leaving London sounded wonderful. But …

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “my mother is due next week for her annual visit. You know our arrangement. She has my full attention for one week per year and agrees to leave me alone for the rest of the year.”

  Ian smiled, he was well aware of the prickly relationship between himself and his mother and that he would never risk anything that might result in more interference in his life.

  “You do realize,” Ian said, “that she is going to try to find you a wife?”

  Brock shuddered. Not only did he not desire a wife, but the thought of being shackled to someone selected by his mother sent a cold chill down his spine. She would insist on someone she could mold and manipulate into a copy of herself. A high toned, snobbish ice queen. The kind of woman designed to make a man’s life miserable.

  No, that would never happen.

  “Very well,” Ian said as he finished his whiskey and set the glass down. “I will be gone for a week. Maybe a bit more. I will be back for Southampton’s Ball. The man is too important to ignore. It is the only one of those things I ever go to.”

  Brock nodded as unhappiness filled him. He would have to attend with his mother. She would insist. He looked over at Ian and shook his head. His artistic friend had a less than an enjoyable relationship with his own mother. But not near as bad as his own, Brock thought to himself. No one had one as bad as himself.

  “Take care,” Brock said to him as he walked him to the front door. “Find some comely country miss and immortalize her on canvas. Perhaps walking through a field of wildflowers.”

  Ian laughed. “I always knew you were a romantic at heart.”

  Brock scowled, “If you tell anyone I will beat you senseless.”

  Ian grinned then left him alone. As Brock shut the door, he could only shake his head at how lucky his friends were. Out having adventures while he was stuck here in London by responsibility and duty.

  As he started back for his library, a quick flash of a perfectly curved hip and the swish of gray and white apron caught his eye in time to see Young Ann hurrying down the far hall and around the corner. What was it about the woman that made it difficult to ignore her?

  Chapter Seven

  Ann loved working in His Grace’s library. Something about the smell of books, candle wax, and a soft hint of sandalwood. It all made her insides flutter while soothing her very soul. Shelves to the ceiling filled with books from all over the world. Of course, she loved this room.

  With the return of Jenny, Mrs. Jensen was having difficulty finding them all work, though. She’d dusted this very room only two days earlier.

  Mrs. Jensen had also shifted the sleeping arrangements. Putting Mary in with Jenny and moving Ann to share a room with little Lizzy.

  The girl was as quiet as a mouse and the perfect roommate. The thought of what had almost happened to the girl still sent a cold shiver down Ann’s back. The new arrangement seemed to work for everyone. Young Lizzy most of all. The girl was still as frightened as any girl would be. Ann occasionally caught the girl pulling back into a shell and tried to let her know she was there for her if she was needed. What else could she do? The world was a hard place and some girls learned that at an early age.

  Both Mary and Jenny were very happy with the new room assignments. The pleasure in Mary’s eyes when Mrs. Jensen laid out her plans was an indication of just how close the two other maids were.

  When she finished dusting, she turned to examine the room. There were four books on the side table next to the chair before the fire. Should she put them back on the shelves? What if His Grace wanted them to remain there?

  It was impossible to know what the man wanted. How could she be expected to know what a Duke desired? It was like asking her how a steam engine worked. As far from her comprehension as it was possible to be.

  She was turning to leave when a book on a shelf caught her eye making her stomach clench. Samuel Johnson’s book about the lives of English Poets. It was her father’s favorite. The same binding, everything.

  Without thinking her fingers reached up and pulled the book down. Sighing with contentment, she opened it and began to read, drifting back to those nights long ago, her father scrunched next to a single candle as he read aloud. Filling her world with thoughts and ideas.

  It was his books that were the last thing she had sold. And only when hunger had become too much to endure. The memory tore a hole in her stomach at the pain of losing that last part of him. He had been such a wonderful father. And then, he had changed. The opium had replaced her in his heart.

  A tear threatened at the corner of her eye as she continued to read. Oh, how he would have loved a library like this. A room filled with books. It would have been a dream come true. She wondered how many of them His Grace had read? Did the man realize how lucky he was?

  She had just turned the page when the sound of the library door opening made her heart jump. If Mrs. Jensen discovered her shirking her duties, the woman would hit the roof.

  Taking in a deep breath, she prepared herself to take the disapproval in Mrs. Jensen’s eyes only to have her world shift.

  The Duke himself was coming into the room. His brow furrowed when he discovered her there with his book in her hand. Libraries such as this were not for the likes of her.

  Ann’s insides clenched up as she froze in place. She had erred terribly. She had allowed herself to be in the same room as him. That commanding presence made her tingle inside. But what made it even worse, she had intruded into his private things. Servants weren’t allowed such privilege.

  What if he became so irate? she was sacked. Once again to be cast into the streets. She had found a safe haven here. The luckiest of young women. And now she had risked it all because she couldn’t stop herself from perusing books that did not belong to her.


  The Duke continued to frown as he marched towards her. Ann’s insides turned over as she fought herself to stop from running away. No, she must face this head-on.

  The scowl on his face made her flinch when he reached and pulled the book from her hand. He turned it over to read the spine then looked down at her with a questioning expression.

  “Are you familiar with this work?” he asked with a strange expression.

  Ann swallowed hard as she nodded. “It was one of my father’s favorites.”

  He continued to frown then gave her back the book before turning to the shelves laid out before him. His eyes scanned the books until he found what he wanted. He nodded to himself as he removed several books then handed them to her. Filling her arms with England’s best literature.

  When he had placed a fourth book in her hands he smiled and said, “I prefer the originals instead of Mr. Johnson’s interpretation. Start with these.”

  Ann swallowed hard, as she examined the books he had given her. Alexander Pope, Johnathon Swift, Henry Goldsmith.

  “I have read these, Your Grace,” she said before she could stop herself. The idea of him thinking her uneducated bothered her to her very core.

  Instead of being upset though, he smiled and nodded. “Yes, but surely you will enjoy reading them again. I know I do.”

  She swallowed hard then curtsied before scurrying to the door. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t even been upset. Instead, he had given her books. Big beautiful books.

  “And Ann,” he called after her before she could get away. “You can borrow any book whenever you desire.”

  Her heart jumped as her eyes opened wide. Really. Any book? The thought seemed beyond reality. “Mrs. Jensen would not be pleased,” she said as she instinctively sought out the thing that would ruin everything.

  The Duke frowned, “Mrs. Jensen is not in charge of my books, I assure you.”

  Her brow creased. Her insides told her that Mrs. Jensen might not look at things that way.

  He laughed and shook his head. “I will talk to her. In fact, I will ensure she understands the policy applies to all of the staff. Books on a shelf are of no use to anyone.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with another quick curtsy as her heart raced. Books. Enough to last a lifetime. Oh, how fortunate she was, she thought as she raced to get the books to her room before Mrs. Jensen found her. The Duke might think it was not an issue, but she would prefer not to test the bounds of Mrs. Jensen’s forgiveness.

  .o0o.

  Brock watched the young maid leave, her arms loaded with the books he had given her. To think the woman had read Pope and Swift. He had seen it in her eyes when he had handed each book to her. It was as if he was reuniting long lost friends.

  Remarkable, he thought to himself. His maid was more well-read than half the people he knew. Shaking his head, he tried to put thoughts of Young Ann from his mind. A task he was finding more difficult each day.

  The girl was a mystery wrapped in gauze. Impossible to understand. Impossible to really know.

  As he pulled out the chair behind his desk, he glanced at the gathered envelopes waiting for him. Either James or John had assumed the responsibility of gathering his mail and making sure it was ready for him.

  He opened the first, an invitation from the Earl of Southampton for a Ball in two weeks Friday. Shuddering, he tossed it aside. He would have to reply, but not today.

  Letting out a heavy sigh, he lifted the next. His stomach fell as he recognized the handwriting. His mother’s secretary. The woman had been writing his mother’s correspondence for most of his life, he would know that hand anywhere. In fact, he wondered if he had ever seen something actually written by his mother.

  Taking a deep breath, he opened the letter and smoothed it out before reading. As he read, an anger began to build inside of him. It seemed his mother no longer found the London Dowager’s house acceptable and would be staying here in the principal residence during her London visit.

  Cursing under his breath, his fingers gripped the letter as he forced himself to continue. She informed him that she intended to stay for a month to oversee the necessary changes to the Dowager’s house.

  “Damn woman,” he cursed. It wasn’t the expense. It was her assumption that he would pay it without even being consulted. Besides, the house had been remodeled only five years earlier. But then, his mother had always been that way. Spending as if money were something only the lower classes need worry about.

  The estate was on a solid foundation, partly due to the decisions he had made when he had reached his maturity and could assume responsibility for those financial decisions. His uncle had managed things but been less than adventurous and things had become stale and barely maintaining the necessary levels.

  Brock had invested, made changes to the entailed lands, crop rotation. Shifting to sheep where possible, as long as it did not impact the tenants too much. New mills. Better roads, a bridge here and there. It was all finally beginning to show signs of working. The income from the rents had increased significantly as the farmer’s production increased. Things were working and now his mother wanted to waste the money on a house she hardly ever visited.

  Tossing the letter to the desk he stormed to the door, pulled it open, and yelled, “Mrs. Jensen.”

  His voice had not even finished echoing off the walls when his housekeeper came around the corner.

  “You bellowed, Your Grace?”

  He laughed, leave it to this woman to gently put him in his place. Bellowing was not what she expected from a Duke of the realm. But wait until he told her of his news.

  “My mother will be staying with us instead of the Dowager’s house,” he said as he watched the color drain from her face.

  “The Duchess is staying here?” she gasped.

  “I only have one mother. Yes, and she will be here tomorrow. The afternoon I should expect.”

  He watched as she gathered herself then nodded. His admiration grew. The woman had just been informed that her worst nightmare was about to wash over this house and she took it as calmly as if he had informed her that the French were invading and Bonnie himself would be arriving for tomorrow’s evening meal.

  “I will need to inform the agency that the temporary staff will not be needed,” she said. “I will recall James, I sent him to open the house and meet the staff, to make sure things went smoothly.

  Brock laughed, “Perhaps I should stay there. Things would be so much easier. In fact, make sure one of the rooms are made up I might want to use it as a way to escape.”

  Mrs. Jensen didn’t respond, instead, she was looking off into the far distance and he knew she was compiling a list of all the things that needed to be done.

  “I will let you get to it then,” he told her.

  Mrs. Jensen nodded, then curtsied before hurry from the room and calling the staff together. He could well imagine it would be all hands-on deck to prepare for the storm that was his mother.

  As he sat down, he looked out the window and wondered if it was too late to join Ian in the midlands.

  Chapter Eight

  Ann was amazed to see Mrs. Jensen in such a tizzy. You would think she was working for Wellington and preparing a long campaign.

  The staff was lined up in the hall outside the kitchen as she paced back and forth.

  “You will need to lay in extra veal,” she told the cook. “You know how Her Grace cannot abide regular beef.” The cook nodded in agreement. “And there is no telling who she will want to entertain. So be prepared for anything from a small dozen to half a hundred. I imagine she will want to host teas, so you must be prepared with her favorite pastries.”

  The cook swallowed hard then nodded.

  “John,” she said, “I want a tub of hot water on the landing. We are going to scrub the Dowager’s rooms to within an inch of their life. When James returns have him lower the chandeliers, I want all new candles. Mary, Jenny, start at the top of Her Grace’s room and work you
r way down. The floor will be the last. I want it clean enough to eat off.”

  Both girls nodded.

  “Ann,” she continued, “I want the bed stripped and remade with fresh linens and the curtains brought down and beaten. That includes the secretary’s room next to Her Grace. Her Lady’s maid will be down here with us. And be sure you do a good job. As I remember, the secretary will be quick to point out any deficiency. I swear the woman lives to find fault with others. As does Her Grace.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” Ann said as her stomach turned over. The Duke’s mother sounded like exactly what she had always imagined a Duchess would be like. Exacting, would be the kindest way to put it.

  With their dismissal, the staff hurried to carry out their duties. Each knew the importance of the situation. The thought of the Duke’s house being judged inadequate would be laid at their feet and under no circumstance would Mrs. Jensen allow that to happen.

  As Ann pulled the sheets from the bed, she wondered how the Duke was feeling about this. For some reason, it was hard to imagine him being cowed by his mother. Oh, Granted, every man was a boy in his mother’s presence. But she was rather positive that he was less so than most.

  Once the two rooms were finished, Mrs. Jensen came in to inspect. She ran her fingers along edges and peered into corners. Even getting down on her knees to look under the bed.

  Only when she was satisfied did she nod and smile to them, obviously pleased with their performance.

  “Good job,” she said, “Now, the rest of the house,” she added with a heavy sigh.

  The staff worked late into the night and were up early the next morning to make sure everything sparkled. Ann was cleaning a mirror in the entranceway when a sense of foreboding washed through her. His Grace, she realized as she turned to find him descending the stairs with papers in his hand.

  Her body naturally just knew when he was close.

  He looked up from his reports to lock eyes with her. She froze. What was it about this man that made her feel like a deer trapped in a lamp’s light, frozen, unable to move, unable to think? Tall, broad shoulders, handsome, but there was something else. The way he moved, the way he looked at the world. As if everything was under his command.