Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  “Except for when I had to use the necessary.”

  Her mother’s face flamed. “No need to mention that particular event, my dear.”

  “I am certain someone saw me heading in that direction. Mayhap that’s when I supposedly met that strapping footman.”

  “You can make light of this situation at a time like this?”

  “I have an aversion to tears…my other option.”

  “If only your father were still alive, none of this would be happening.”

  “Will you be sending a note around to Lord Whithead?”

  “I daresay I shall not. By the by, it did not go quite as planned the other day when I called upon the Duke of Wyndmere.”

  Persephone drew in a deep breath and held it until her head felt light and pinpricks of darkness glistened at the edge of her vision.

  “Let it out, dear,” her mother said as she rubbed a hand up and down her daughter’s back. “There’s a girl,” she said when Persephone was breathing normally once more.

  “You failed to mention your visit, Mamma.”

  “Did I?” Her mother smiled. “He is a very handsome man, even with the ghastly yellowish bruises surrounding his strikingly blue eyes.”

  “Indeed.” Persephone tried not to be interested, but the man had snagged her attention when he righted her spectacles during the Hollisters’ ball.

  “We had a very short, but pointed conversation, and he has agreed his actions were untoward. However, he is recently come to town and not accustomed to going about in society. He prefers life on his family’s country estates in Sussex and the Lake District.”

  “And you believed him, after cautioning me about his elder brother, the fifth duke?”

  “I know how to navigate society and have tried to teach you. Had you listened, you might not be in the predicament you find yourself in.”

  When Persephone lowered her gaze to her hands, her mother continued. “I have taken the measure of the man, and find my opinion much changed. He is nothing like the former duke.”

  “Did he have anything to say about me?”

  Her mother stared at her for long moments without speaking. At last she said, “He is quite perturbed by the unintentional impact his brief contact with your spectacles seemed to engender.”

  “And?” Persephone said, hoping her mother would get to what she wanted to find out. When she might see the duke again.

  “He has been unable to go about in society as his injuries are still visible.”

  “I see. And is he much recovered?”

  “You seem to have an inordinate amount of interest in the duke’s comings and goings.”

  “Not really,” Persephone replied. “It’s just that he seemed to be a bit ill at ease, reminding me how out of place I felt at the Hollisters’.”

  “You haven’t any other interest in the duke?”

  “Really, Mamma. We hardly spoke.”

  “Many an arranged marriage has begun with less contact. Best you remember that, my darling.”

  “Are you suggesting you’d accept an offer of marriage without my knowledge?”

  Her mother glared at her. “If you do anything to jeopardize the plans I have put into place, hoping to find a proper gentleman who might appeal to your sensibilities, rest assured I shall.”

  “But—”

  “Enough, Persephone,” her mother said. “Please go to your room and rest until Mrs. Peele sends a dinner tray. We are to attend the Darnleys’ musicale later this evening.”

  “But what about the rumors?”

  “You’ll need to do as I ask and go about as if you haven’t heard them. They aren’t true,” her mother said, drawing her daughter close. “Soon enough, someone will speak up and right this Banbury tale.”

  Held tight in her mother’s arms, she felt her world right itself once more.

  “I love you, Persephone.”

  “I love you, too, Mamma.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Word reached the Duke of Wyndmere of the Chellenham indiscretion, as Lady Persephone’s tryst was being called.

  “And all of society knows of this indiscretion and believes it to be fact?” The duke was incredulous. Why would anyone believe such a tale from one who tried so hard to blend into the background as if a part of the very fiber of the walls themselves?

  Coventry stood before Jared’s desk with a somber look on his face. “Need I remind Your Grace most of the ton have little else to do with their time as most have stewards looking after their estates and affairs?”

  Jared pushed back from his desk, stood and walked around to stand beside his man-of-affairs…his friend. “No. You do not. Especially since you know I’d much rather be in Sussex or Wyndmere than stuck in this bloody town house in the middle of a city far too crowded. No fresh sweet air to breathe, no stable of horses to exercise as I go on my rounds visiting tenants. Dash it all. I cannot even get my hands dirty diving into the thick of things.”

  Coventry chuckled. “You shall soon enough. See the Season through, Jared.”

  Their eyes met and Jared knew his friend understood more than most. “Aye, Gordon.”

  Jared walked to the window overlooking the square and stared unseeing as he was transported back to the Hollisters’ ball and the vision of a wisp of a woman wearing a bilious-colored gown and spectacles.

  “Do you truly believe my being a duke would give credence to anything I happen to do or say about whomever started this latest thread of gossip?”

  “Yes.”

  A carriage rumbled past his town house, the slow cadence of the horse’s hooves as they clopped on the cobblestones reminding him that he’d been a virtual prisoner for a fortnight. It was time to brave the streets of London…and its society once more.

  “I shall pay a call on Lady Farnsworth and her daughter this afternoon.”

  “And the yellowish cast to your ducal countenance?” Coventry inquired, his lips twitching in an effort to hold back a smile.

  “Damn nuisance,” he mumbled. “Thank you for keeping me informed.”

  “At your service, Your—”

  Jared’s clamped his jaw shut and hissed through clenched teeth, “Say it at your peril.”

  Coventry bowed and quit the room.

  After he left, Jared wondered how to handle the upcoming visit. He’d promised Lady Farnsworth he had not intended to call attention to either himself or Lady Persephone at the Hollisters’ ball. But now that someone had begun a scathing rumor about the lady’s daughter, how could he stay away if he could help?

  Lending his aid, though mostly of a physical nature, had been a part of him for as long as he could recall. His father had lent his aid in a more cerebral way: speaking in the House of Lords, supporting his peers, lending his ducal presence at society functions as if to give such his seal of approval.

  “Did the ton actually believe it possible?” He couldn’t recall his father lecturing Oliver on the subject. He’d listened to a few of his father’s lectures—out of curiosity, mostly—and had decided he was better off rebuilding their tenant farmers’ rock walls and rethatching roofs than being forced to travel to London.

  Striding to the open door, he quit his study and followed behind his man-of-affairs, finding Jenkins closing the door behind the man.

  “Jenkins?”

  “Yes, Your Grace?”

  “I will be calling on Lady Farnsworth this afternoon, please have word sent around to expect me.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  Jared walked up three steps before pausing to add, “Oh, and Jenkins?”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Please have Mrs. Wigglesworth send tea and Stames to my bedchamber.”

  “At once.”

  He’d no sooner entered his bedchamber when there was a knock on the door.

  Opening it, he was not surprised to find his valet there. “You wish to change for your outing, Your Grace?”

  He motioned for the man to enter the room, closed the
door behind him before saying, “Devil take it, Stames, quit Your Gracing me!”

  Stames’ mouth fell open, but not one sound emerged.

  Jared sighed. “If I have to keep up appearances while in public and in my own bloody study, then I will. But I’ll be damned if I’ll do it in my own bedchamber.”

  “Yes,” Stames said. “Of course.”

  Jared turned to stare at the man. He’d been a footman in his father’s time, advanced to the role of valet under his brother’s reign as duke. Stout of heart and body, Stames had been valued by his brother because the man did not speak about his position as one of the Duke of Wyndmere’s household staff.

  His hair had begun to gray at the temples, and his ruddy complexion led Jared to believe the man spent as much time out of doors as possible. Mayhap running errands for the household.

  “Jared will do when we are behind closed doors.”

  “Begging your pardon, Your—”

  Jared glared at the man until Stames cleared his throat and began again. “As you wish, Jared.”

  “Much better. I may have need of your services in a different aspect this evening, Stames.”

  “I’m at your service.”

  While Stames selected another finely-tailored black frockcoat from the duke’s wardrobe, Jared opened the door when summoned. “Ah, Mrs. Wigglesworth, you are a treasure. Promise me never to change. I’d be quite lost without you and Jenkins running my household.”

  Her mouth gaped open for a moment before she was able to compose herself. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Her relief was palpable, leaving him to feel as if he’d smoothed over whatever misgivings his butler and housekeeper had prior to him assuming the role of duke. He relaxed, confiding, “I missed your smile and sneaking berry tarts to my room when I was away at school.”

  She beamed. “Always were down in the kitchens, getting in Cook’s way until we had to fill your pockets with the promised treats to get any work done at all.”

  Stames cleared his throat as he emerged from the dressing room. “Your Grace, I have taken the liberty of setting out your clothing for this afternoon and ordered a bath drawn.”

  “Very good, Stames. You may go.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll ring if I require your assistance.”

  “As you wish, Your Grace.” Stames bowed and let himself out.

  “Mrs. Wigglesworth, I need your assistance on a very private matter.”

  “Anything, Your Grace.”

  “I know servants hear rumors…perhaps before their employers do.”

  She nodded.

  “I am to pay a call on Lady Farnsworth and her daughter Persephone.”

  “Both fine ladies. Your mother was acquainted with Lady Farnsworth,” she told him.

  “Have you heard where the ugly rumor started about the Chellenham indiscretion?”

  She sighed. “One of our footmen heard it from his cousin who happens to be footman to Lord Chellenham.”

  His need to rush her along had never worked as a lad, he doubted it would now. “And?” he prompted.

  “His cousin was the one who carried Lady Persephone down to their carriage when the poor mite stumbled on the side staircase. Would have injured herself—and the footman, had he not been mindful of his duty to protect the ladies from harm while seeing them to their carriage.”

  “Does this footman have a name?”

  “Sean O’Malley, his cousin is our Patrick. Jenkins depends on the lad quite heavily in greeting guests, accompanying you on your outings—”

  “Ah, the tall light-haired footman with the green eyes?”

  “That be him,” Mrs. Wigglesworth confirmed. “Strong as an ox, used to cart…er carry the fifth duke abovestairs when he’d arrived home from his…”

  When she closed her eyes and sighed, he said, “Social events. I’ve heard about my brother’s penchant for married ladies of his social strata and gaming hells. You’ve no need to watch what you say about him when it is the two of us.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  He nodded toward to the teapot. “Would you join me in a cup of tea? I’d rather enjoy your company.”

  “Unheard of, Your Grace.”

  He smiled at her. “There was a time when you called me laddie.”

  She smiled, and he was five years old again, sneaking into the kitchen and hoping to snitch a tart or three. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Aren’t members of my staff to do as I instruct?”

  “Yes, of course, Your Grace.”

  “Fine. Good. Call me Jared when it’s just us.”

  She sighed. “Aye, Jared.”

  “Now then, please pour and tell me more about the O’Malley cousins. How many are there, just the two?”

  She poured and told him about the cousins.

  “Eight of them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And spread out all over town?”

  “That they are. And from what I’ve heard from Patrick, they do not have the same day away from their duties. Sad actually, to be so close in town and only see one another in passing while seeing to their duties.”

  He wondered more than once over the years how different his life would have been had he been a servant instead of a duke’s son. “Do you think it would be bad form for me to hire one or more of the O’Malleys away from their current situations?”

  Her eyes lit up. “It would be Your Grace’s prerogative to do so. But why would you, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  He sipped from his cup and set it back on its saucer. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped the tips of his fingers together before answering. “If I am going to survive the whole of this Season without going mad, I will require the service of more than one stalwart footman at my side. One never knows when one will come up against adversity in the form of a disgruntled member of society for one reason or another.”

  “’Tisn’t your fault what your brother did, or how he acted.”

  “I am resolved to right the many wrongs done and restore Father’s… and this family’s, good name.”

  “You are more like your father than you realize, Jared. He’d be so proud.”

  “Thank you. Now,” he said, reaching for the last berry tart. “How does one go about hiring a footman from another household?”

  “You could send word around with your man-of-affairs. That is so much more efficient than calling with the express desire to hire away one of another lord’s household.”

  “Thank you for your time and company, Mrs. Wigglesworth.”

  She smiled and gathered the remnants of their tea, stacking china and silverware back on the tray. “It was my pleasure. Shall I send in Stames?”

  “Very good.”

  Jared watched her leave and wondered how long it would take to acquire another man’s servants to add to his household staff.

  Stames arrived, followed by buckets of hot water to fill the enormous copper slipper tub in his dressing room. Preferring to see to the chore of bathing himself, he kept up a conversation with Stames while he bathed.

  “I wonder if I could prevail upon you to get to the bottom of a recent rumor flying around the ton.”

  “I shall do my best. Which one would that be?”

  “Is there more than one at the moment causing a stir?”

  “Two come to mind,” Stames replied. “The Chellenham rumor and the rumor about a certain Lady Hampton returning to town.”

  “Hampton?” The familiar name whirled around in his brainbox while he dried himself off and stepped from the tub, donning the silk dressing gown Stames had laid out for him.

  “Lady Hampton—” a cold chill ran up Jared’s spine as the name brought with it the memory of the bloody scene in her bedchamber and his brother’s lifeless body.

  “See if you can find out what the lady is about, and why she is returning to the scene of her most infamous crime.”

  Stames nodded and handed Jared his linen shirt, standing back
when Jared insisted on putting it on without help. “There are many who thought her the injured party.”

  “How so?”

  “Without a doubt, her involvement led to your brother’s demise, but ’twas her husband’s jealous rage and then guilt that led to her becoming a widow.”

  “And society would feel for her and not my family?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Many’s the man who feel women are weak and easily led, especially the brightest gems of society.”

  When he’d turned to his valet to have him check his appearance to see that all was as it should be, Stames gave a nod. “Well done, Jared. You’d make a fine valet.”

  Jared’s brow raised in surprise as Stames hung his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anyone in your station in life would ever want to, or should ever be referred to as—”

  “I understand perfectly. If you have news before I return, please send a message to me at Lady Farnsworth’s.”

  “You can count on me. Do you want me to look into the Chellenham matter?”

  “Yes,” Jared said. “If you will.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.”

  Jared was about to remind Stames of their agreement but heard someone clearing their throat behind him. “Jenkins?”

  “Your carriage is ready.”

  With a nod to the butler and one to his valet, he replied, “I shall be down directly.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “His Grace, the Duke of Wyndmere,” Crompton announced.

  Lady Farnsworth rose and motioned for Persephone to do the same. “Delighted to receive you, Your Grace.”

  He bowed over Lady Farnsworth’s outstretched hand. She curtseyed and the duke bowed before Persephone. She stared at him for long moments before remembering her manners and curtseying.

  “Won’t you sit down?” Lady Farnsworth swept her hand in front of an array of empty seats.

  The duke stood before the dark blue velvet chair and waited for the ladies to be seated. When they had, he sank gracefully into the chair.

  Persephone noticed he did not appear fully healed from his injuries—the yellowish cast was faint, but noticeable—but knew better than to discuss such a personal topic in polite company. Rather awed by the man’s presence, she waited for her mother to take the lead in their conversation.