Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  The duke steepled his fingers, tapping the tips together, thinking. “You are certain he wasn’t a footpad out to fleece a member of the ton?”

  “Assuredly,” Coventry replied. “He was swift of foot and determinedly headed directly for Lady Persephone.”

  “Who would want to discredit her or cause her grievous injury? And she was unharmed, you say?”

  “I have no idea but am certain I can get to the bottom of the mystery. Had she not been standing so close to her mother, she would have fallen face-first onto the sidewalk. But as I said, she was unharmed.”

  The duke had the sudden urge to pound something. He could not go to Gentleman Jackson’s. That avenue of relieving frustration was no longer an option for him at present. Mayhap when things quieted down, his brother would agree to go another round with him. Judging from the look on his brother’s face, Edward would not be entertaining anything of the sort for some time. He’d looked stricken when the duke had come to after losing consciousness.

  The waiter arrived with Coventry’s whiskey. They waited until the waiter left before speaking, not wanting to run the risk of further interruption, or chance being overheard. A quick glance around them satisfied the duke those in the vicinity were fully engaged otherwise.

  He nodded and locked gazes with Coventry. “Other than the feeling in my gut, I have no proof the gossip spreading through the ton like wildfire is connected with the attempted assault on Lady Persephone.” He paused and added, “My father always encouraged me to listen to my gut when it prompted me to action.”

  “Were there any incidents at the musicale?”

  “None,” the duke answered immediately, then added, “at least none I am aware of. Lady Farnsworth and her daughter arrived before me.”

  “Would they have told you if something had occurred?”

  “I am not certain. Our acquaintance is still quite new.”

  “And wouldn’t necessarily tempt Lady Farnsworth to confide any troubles to you,” Coventry concurred. “I agree.”

  “I feel as helpless in this regard as I do trying to go about in society acting the part of the duke. When in my heart, I still feel as if I should be at Wyndmere Hall overseeing its operations with Hawkins.”

  “I would have thought your father’s steward would have retired a few years ago. Isn’t the man nearly fifty?”

  The duke smiled thinking of their longtime steward at Wyndmere. “Actually, he is nearly sixty. His son took over the father’s duties three years ago. Although the elder Hawkins does turn up about the place now and again instead of spending his days fishing or some other pleasant activity.”

  “You always preferred working with your hands.”

  “I feel as if they are tied and will continue to be until I have completed the task I have set before me and bring the shine back to my family’s name.”

  Coventry met his gaze. “I have every confidence you will accomplish your goal.”

  The duke inclined his head. “It means a great deal that you do.”

  Raised voices had him lowering his voice. “I plan to interview the three O’Malleys I was able to hire away from their posts in the morning. Care to join me?”

  Coventry smiled. “Ought to be interesting to say the least. Did our footman’s cousin confess to trifling with Lady Persephone’s affections…or any other part of the dear lady?”

  The duke bristled but held his temper in check. Coventry meant well and was trying to lighten the dark situation with his wit. Jared did not appreciate the attempt but would not fault his friend for doing so.

  “I interviewed Sean at length and discovered more than I thought, but less than I needed to know. Suffice it to say, I believe the man. Our mission is to rout out the blackguard who started the on dit and send him a message encouraging him to quit London.”

  “You may decide to enlist the aid of the O’Malleys in that regard. They’re bound to have a vast network of friends and relatives and appear to be amiable, trustworthy sorts.”

  “I had thought to do so but would feel more at ease having your considered opinion of the men before I do.”

  “By the by,” the duke continued, “we need only hire away the other three O’Malleys before we have a personal guard well able to fend for themselves.”

  Coventry’s eye gleamed in the flickering candlelight. “Eight of them?”

  The duke nodded.

  “Fighting men, are they?”

  The duke grinned. “Apparently. Bare-knuckle is their specialty.”

  “I am looking forward to the morning meeting and tracking down the other three.”

  “Tomorrow then,” the duke said, rising to his feet. “Ten o’clock?”

  “I shall be there,” Coventry promised, rising to join the duke on his way to the door.

  Once they’d gathered the duke’s top hat, walking stick, and gloves—Coventry didn’t bother with either, simply wearing the new Royal Navy dress coat the duke had gifted him with last year—they left the confines of the club.

  Outside, Coventry asked, “Care to walk for a bit, or are you in a hurry to reach your town house?”

  “Even though the air is heavy with ash and damp, I would prefer to walk.”

  As they made their way down the sidewalk, beneath the lighted lamps, the duke and his man-of-affairs were both attuned to the sounds of the night, the position of the night watchman, and on their guard.

  They parted ways before they reached Grosvenor Square, each going in their own direction. The duke on to his town house on Grosvenor Square and Coventry to his apartments.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Jenkins greeted him at the door.

  “Interesting one,” the duke replied, handing Jenkins his walking stick—ineffectual thing—gloves and top hat.

  As his butler reached for the duke’s frockcoat, he waved him away. “I’ll be in my study, Jenkins.”

  “Does Your Grace require anything before I retire?”

  “Thank you, no. Goodnight, Jenkins.” The duke walked to his study, removed his coat and placed it across the back of one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. His cravat came next. Loosening it, he drew in a deep breath. “Hate the bloody nuisance.”

  Settling in his father’s favorite chair—it would always be his father’s and had been the whole of Jared’s life—he felt more at ease than he had all evening. “Never was meant to be the duke,” he mumbled aloud.

  The fire had been laid, but not lit—per his instructions. He couldn’t see wasting the firewood, or one of the servants’ time tending to it, when he would not have been home for hours to enjoy it.

  “I wonder if Father worried over every pence and pound as I do?” No one answered his question. He hadn’t expected an answer as he dipped the tip of his quill in the inkwell and jotted down tasks he intended to do in the morning. A glance at the clock and he corrected that thought—a few hours from now. The nightly task, ordering his thoughts and plans for the following day, kept him from quietly going insane.

  A quarter-hour later, he’d composed a list of questions and directives for himself, Coventry, and the new men he’d hired on—the O’Malleys. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d decided to employ the eight men—brothers and cousins. Once he mulled it over, he knew it would be a sound plan. He outlined what was needed to form his own private guard—a force that would secure his London household and those dear to him—his brother Edward and his sister Phoebe.

  If anyone had told him a year ago that he’d be sitting in his brother’s stead, wearing the family ring—the ducal seal and family crest—that had been in the family for generations, he’d have denied it. Yet here he sat.

  He set the quill in its holder, lined up his notes for the meeting he’d scheduled a few hours from now and scrubbed his hands over his face. Belatedly, he looked at his hands for smears of ink—thankfully there were none, or he’d be rousing Jenkins from his bed to help him remove inks stains from his face. The duke nearly made a note to either stop rubb
ing his hands over his face every night…or stop making notes in the early hours of the morning, thereby negating the need for his good butler’s aid in removing ink from his face and hands.

  Used to picking up after himself, Jared stuffed his cravat into his frockcoat pocket and tossed it over his arm. Surveying the study, he snuffed out the candles—all but the one he carried with him. Lifting it high, he made certain he’d set the room to rights before retiring.

  He needed a few hours of sleep to clear his mind. Coventry was sure to be at his best, testing Jared’s wits and his plans as he had for years. He looked forward to it.

  Making his way up the staircase, he wondered if he was neglecting any of his duties but couldn’t think of any. Thank God his brother had uncovered a few of the tutorials their father had written down for their older brother. He’d have to go over the list after his meeting.

  Mind and body ready to shut down for the night, he was surprised to see Stames waiting for him when he opened the door to his bedchamber. Then he realized his movements were always being observed by his staff for no other reason than to be at-the-ready should the duke have need of them. Jenkins must have alerted his valet the moment he’d heard the duke had arrived home.

  “I’ve got this, Stames.”

  “Aye, you do,” he agreed, picking up the duke’s frockcoat where it had been tossed across the back of a chair. “With your permission, Jared, may I collect your clothing and care for it properly? We cannot have the Sixth Duke of Wyndmere appearing in public sporting wrinkles.”

  Jared studied Stames for a few moments, waiting for him to break into a smile, but the older man’s expression never changed. “You are not joking.”

  Stames seemed taken aback. “No. Jenkins would show me to the street, probably with the help of his foot, should I fail in my duty to see you properly attired.”

  After the duke divested his clothes and donned a dressing gown, he handed the lot to Stames. “Goodnight, Stames.”

  “Goodnight, Jared.”

  He watched Stames bow and quit the room. In that moment, Jared realized the true weight of responsibility that came with the title. His siblings were dependent upon him, but so were the multitude of servants required to care for the duke’s town house and estates, his tenant farmers, and their families. He did not know the number to the person he had assumed responsibility for with the mantle of duke, but he would add it to his growing list.

  The duke got into bed, snuffed out the candle and stared at the ceiling, unable to set aside the heavy burden he’d inherited in order to sleep. Ordering his thoughts, he found himself still unable to concentrate as his thoughts drifted to a moonlit terrace and the slender slip of a woman he’d held in his arms.

  The steps of the dance led him to thoughts he had absolutely no right to…Lady Persephone was not of the demimonde. He remonstrated himself for those thoughts and tried in vain to think of his tenant farmers’ flocks of sheep and fields that would need to be harvested in the coming months.

  Every now and again, the raven-haired beauty who’d captivated him slipped back into his thoughts, distracting him until he gave up seeking sleep.

  He was up and waiting for Stames when his valet knocked a few hours later.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Persephone could not stop thinking about the duke or the waltzes they’d shared…the one on the terrace and the one in the Andrews’ ballroom. His gaze had seemed to silently question her, to ask that which she had not been able to decipher. As they danced in and out of the moon’s silvery shafts of light, he by turns smiled, or had a dark and desperate look in his beautifully brilliant blue eyes.

  The strength of his hand at her waist and the way he took command, spinning her around and around the terrace, had quite stolen her breath. Even now, the memory of it had her breath hitching in her breast until she had to rub at the feeling in order to ease the discomfort.

  She’d never waltzed before. There had not been a gentleman brave enough to seek her hand to partner her. Last night, she had been wearing one of her mother’s gowns, and not one of her off-putting colored ones, but still. The duke had seen past her ill-colored gown and spectacles the night they’d met…the night she’d fallen against him. He’d touched the tip of his finger to the corner of her spectacles, righting them on her nose. His face had been quite blurry through the borrowed spectacles. But the duke’s kindness had arrowed through her, noticing a gentleman her heart and head would deem acceptable.

  Dash it all, she was the one not acceptable. The duke deserved far better than her, a lady of consequence, one who would grace his table, oversee any entertainments hosted in his honor. Such a paragon of beauty, grace and virtue would then most likely produce delightfully perfect offspring…

  That last thought had her unable to get comfortable. She desperately wished she was able to erase the duke from her thoughts to sleep. She tossed and turned, turned and tossed until she groaned and got out of bed. “No point in lying here if I cannot sleep, is there?”

  No one was in the room. Therefore, no one answered her question.

  Exhausted beyond belief, irritable because she hadn’t slept, Persephone walked over to the window and looked out into the early morning light. She could hear the rumbling of carriage wheels as the more stouthearted residents returned home after a full evening’s round of entertainments.

  She settled on the wide windowsill, brought her knees to her chest and rested her head upon them. Watching the thin rays of sunlight peek through the last vestiges of fog, she kept thoughts of the duke at bay, instead replaying the disturbing moments she and her mother had waited for their carriage and she’d been roughly pushed from behind. It had happened so quickly that she hadn’t a moment’s thought to look over her shoulder. Would that she had been able to, she might discover the identity of the person who’d nearly sent her to the pavement—or worse yet, into the path of one of the carriages departing from the Andrews’ ball.

  “I could have broken an arm or leg.” A thought that troubled her nearly as much as the mystery of who had jostled her. “Was it by chance?” she wondered aloud. “Mayhap it was planned.”

  She shivered at that dark thought. But her thoughts continued to weigh her down and keep her from finding her sleep. A loud noise outside her window had her leaning forward to better see. A tall figure hidden by the shadow of the building seemed to be waiting for something…or someone.

  Her heart pounded as rapid-fire thoughts shattered the rest of her calm. Persephone wanted a closer look. She’d not be helpless again. She intended to see the stranger lurking in the fringes surrounding her home be sent packing.

  She donned her dressing gown, tied the satin belt securely about her and opened the door. The dim glow of early morning filtering in through the leaded glass windows at opposite ends of the long hallway led her to the top of the staircase. A murmur of voices, quickly hushed, had her approach the handrail with unaccustomed caution. Was there a problem? Were one of their servants ill? Or was it something out of the ordinary?

  Persephone was not normally given to standing still, especially when action was called for. She lifted her chin, reaffirmed her resolve and descended.

  Crompton and one of their footmen, Millhouse, immediately ceased their whispered conversation and looked up.

  “Lady Persephone!” Crompton rushed to the bottom of the stairs as she stepped onto the marble-tiled entryway. “Is anything amiss? What do you need?”

  She started to reassure him all was well but noticed Millhouse had an odd look—not his usual bland expression—he appeared highly agitated. “I…uh…that is…I saw something. From my window.”

  Crompton nodded to Millhouse who strode down the hallway leading to the servants’ wing. “Now then, milady, shall I escort you back abovestairs?”

  She frowned at him. His craggy features were well known to her as he’d served the Farnsworth family for nigh on twenty years. Every scrape she’d ever gotten into, Crompton had somehow known about befor
e she’d extricated herself from said scrape. The man was a mystery, yet one she could trust.

  “Thank you, no, Crompton. Where has Millhouse gone off to? And why didn’t he wait for me to tell you both what I saw?”

  Crompton’s eyebrows raised at her questions. “Now, milady, when did the servants’ comings and goings ever have a direct effect on you? It is our duty to serve you and Lady Farnsworth in whatever capacity she deems necessary.”

  She sighed. “You already noted the stranger in the alleyway then.”

  He answered her question with a question. “Was he looking at your window?”

  She shook her head. “He was glancing about him in a rather unsettling way…skulking, you know?”

  “Aye, Lady Persephone. There are some things best left to those who are in a position to handle them for you. You need not worry. Rest assured, I have summoned the Watch and Millhouse will stand guard near the entrance to the alley.”

  Relief speared through her. “Thank you, Crompton. You’ve set my fears to rest.” She would have said more, but there was a loud knock on the door.

  “Probably the Watch come to ask questions. ’Twould be best if you were abovestairs, milady.”

  “But I can tell him what I saw,” she said. “Would that not aid in his search?”

  Crompton shook his head. “I must answer the door before the knocking wakes the household.”

  “I’ll wait in the salon.” Before he could suggest otherwise, Persephone rushed off to her mother’s favorite sitting room. Instead of going inside and closing the door, she left it open enough to listen and observe Crompton’s conversation with the rather formidable-looking man clad in dark colors.

  Instead of advising the man what she had seen from her window, Crompton sent him on his way without that last bit of information. He closed the door and headed for the servants’ wing.

  She intercepted him as he was about to open the door to the part of the household he ruled over. “Wait, Crompton, please?” she asked. “I must know why you didn’t tell him what I saw.”