Mending the Duke’s Pride

by Admirand, C. H.

  He dropped his hand and turned around to face her. “Lady Persephone, there are times in life when one listens to one’s inner voice, though it goes against what one’s head directs. Do you understand?”

  She sighed deeply. “You believe he was here for nefarious reasons as well, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “Best if you tell no one about this, milady.”

  “But—” she began.

  “No one,” he reiterated. “With all that has transpired in the last thirty-six hours, you must trust this will only add to…” He closed his eyes. “Forgive me, milady. I should not have mentioned or alluded to…” he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  Persephone gave voice to what a man in his position could not and should not. “The Chellenham indiscretion? Thank you for your concern, Crompton. It does you credit and only endears you to me all the more.”

  The big man blushed to the very roots of his thinning white hair. “I should not have—”

  “Yes, you should. For you and Mrs. Peele and more than half of the servants employed by my family know all about the rumors. Probably a bit more than would be comfortable. Then again,” she added, “mayhap you’ve heard the truth of the matter as well.”

  He stood at attention, shoulders back, chest…and his considerable girth…out. “Lady Farnsworth would sack me in a moment if she thought I was speaking above my station.”

  Persephone’s delighted laughter rang through the empty hallway. “She would note it was due to my wheedling ways that I induced you to spill all you know.”

  He smiled then, a broad grin from ear-to-ear. “She would. But, still, Lady Persephone, it’s unseemly for those of your station to converse with such familiarity to those in mine.”

  “We all know I do whatever I please.” She grasped his hand, squeezed it briefly and reached for the door he’d been about to open. “Shall we see if Mrs. Hughes has the kettle on? I’m dying for a spot of tea.”

  He sighed, looked about them and ushered her into the servants’ hallway. “Best be quick about it, lass, else your mother finds out.”

  “That’s what you always say.” Persephone’s heart felt light as she followed the mumbling butler to the kitchens.

  “’Ere now, Mr. Crompton.” Mrs. Hughes frowned at him. “Ye know ’er ladyship said we’d best not be serving tea to Lady Persephone, lest it’s in the main part of the ’ouse.”

  He nodded.

  “Why did ye bring ’er ’ere?”

  “Fill the teapot and serve up a bit of breakfast for the lass, if you please. In the green dining room.”

  Mrs. Hughes sniffed, but turned to do his bidding.

  “Now, Lady Persephone, do you wish Lady Farnsworth to ring a peal over the heads of each and every one of us this morning?”

  Crompton was right. Her mother would after the trouble Persephone had caused in the last fortnight. “No,” she reassured him. “I do not.”

  “This way if you please, lass…er, milady.”

  She followed their butler from one side of the town house to the other…marveling once again that two such vastly different worlds coexisted. One she might never have experienced had she not been so curious a child. She was forever grateful her parents felt she should learn all aspects of running a household from an early age. That she had a bit more information about the servants would be to her credit as she would understand more of their situation, living conditions, and lives.

  Her mother had taught her well by her actions and the way she treated her household staff with a certain respect for the duties each and every one performed in order to see to the smooth running of their London town house…or their country estate.

  Though she never intended to have her own household to run, it was information that would aid her in life. Learning to treat others and the tasks they performed with the proper amount of respect was essential. She’d seen the effect treating servants as if they were of no account at all had on other households growing up and vowed to follow in the footsteps of her parents. The hardest part for Persephone was not forming great friendships with the maids and footmen her age growing up. They were far more fun to chase after and riddle with questions than the rather stuffy young ladies and gentlemen of her parents’ acquaintance.

  “Lady Persephone?”

  “Hmmm…oh, sorry, Crompton. I was woolgathering.”

  He nodded. “Please be seated. Mrs. Hughes should be along presently.”

  “Thank you, Crompton, for looking out for us. And me especially this morning.”

  “It is my duty…and my extreme pleasure.” He turned to go, but paused and looked over his shoulder, warning, “Have a care.”

  “Yes,” she promised. “I will.”

  He left her to her ruminations while she waited for the coveted tea. It wasn’t long in coming. Mrs. Hughes herself rushed into the green dining room followed by one of the maids carting a rather large tray.

  “’Ere ye are, Lady Persephone.” She placed the teapot and accoutrements on the table, “Shall I pour for ye?”

  “I know you’re busy,” she said. “I can manage.”

  Mrs. Hughes frowned before saying, “Ye’re up early and probably ’aven’t slept a wink, ’ave ye?”

  She shrugged. “Couldn’t turn my thoughts off.”

  The kindly cook bustled about setting all of Persephone’s favorite breakfast foods in front of her, arranging it prettily. Her mother was correct, the woman was indeed a treasure.

  “Thank you,” she said as Mrs. Hughes poured the tea, adding Persephone’s preferred dollop or two of cream and a bit of sugar.

  “Take yer time, milady. Just ring the bell pull, and I’ll send someone around at once.”

  “I’m sure everything I could think to ask for is already here,” Persephone said, her throat growing taut the longer she stared at the veritable feast. Her favorite sweet biscuits, cream scones, and coddled eggs—thankfully, no kippers. She abhorred the sight of them before noon.

  “Don’t forget to ring,” the cook reminded Persephone as she quietly closed the door behind her.

  Persephone sighed at the enveloping silence. Quiet mornings were her favorite time of day…especially in the country. She’d go for a long walk after breakfast to clear her head and take in the beauty of the day. Then she’d repair to the library with a book and spot of tea…which invariably included a favored berry tart or cream scone.

  She sipped her tea and longed for the idylls of the country life. After her morning tea, she’d accompany her mother on rounds to visit their tenants. They would drop off a variety of items, ranging from poultices, tonics, and calves’ foot jelly, to a much-favored length of ribbon or cloth for the lady of the house and her daughters.

  “Definitely not the normal way of things, giving of gifts to tenants,” she murmured, slathering clotted cream and raspberry jam atop a second scone. “Mmm…” she sighed, delighting in the flavors dancing upon her tongue. “Would that I could spend my entire day drinking tea and eating scones.”

  “No doubt, you’d be as large as Harriet, my second-cousin once removed.”

  She looked up and smiled. “Morning, Mamma. Could you not sleep?”

  Her mother frowned and was about to answer when the door opened, and Mrs. Hughes arrived with a second set of breakfast trays.

  “I’ll just see to yer tea, Lady Farnsworth.” Their cook supervised the serving of breakfast for Persephone’s mother. When she was satisfied all was as it should be, she motioned for a few of the empty dishes and bowls to be removed. “Ring if ye ’ave need of me, yer ladyship.” She curtseyed and once more closed the door behind her.

  “I heard you get up earlier,” her mother said, sipping from her teacup.

  Persephone noted it was from an old set of china belonging to her grandmother. Tiny lifelike blackberries and whorls of stems and leaves adorned the fragile china cup and saucer. Her mother always had her morning tea in the same cup. Tradition, she thought, mattered.

  “I thought I
was quiet.”

  “You were, Daughter, I was not asleep.”

  “Ah. I could not quiet my mind or stop the thoughts sprinting through my brainbox at an alarming speed,” Persephone confessed.

  Her mother was pale and looked strained, worrying Persephone. “Do you need me to ring for Mrs. Peele?”

  Lady Farnsworth waved the offer away. “I’m just tired and feeling a bit more of my age than warranted this morning.”

  She stared at her mother’s virtually unlined face. So youthful, Persephone thought. Lovely with her delicate features and silky soft hair the color of meadow-flower honey. Not for the first time did she wish to have her mother’s coloring, rather than taking after her father.

  “I’m always amazed you appear no older than me. What is your secret?” She leaned close, hoping to erase the tired look in her mother’s eyes.

  Her mother smiled as Persephone had hoped. “I hardly think that possible.”

  “Oh, but it is, Mamma,” Persephone insisted. “Just the other day, Phyllida and Cressida were asking if you used any beauty treatments you would share with them. Phyllida does despair she’ll end up with similar age lines like her mother…around her mouth.”

  Before Lady Farnsworth could reply, Persephone continued, “And poor Cressida is beside herself worrying about the deep creases between her mother’s eyebrows and the thinning hair at her mother’s temples, fearing she shall end up with similar problems if she does not do something about it now.”

  Smiling, Lady Farnsworth reached for her daughter’s hand and held it for long moments. “You are the light of my life…and your father’s for as many years as we had him with us. One of your many gifts is your ability to understand another’s feelings without that person giving voice to them,” her mother said.

  “But what always gladdened your father’s heart and mine was your need to cheer one who seemed in the doldrums or deepest despair. You cared not whether it be a contemporary or servant. Dashed if your father or I could stop you from spending time belowstairs. We did try to amend that habit,” Lady Farnsworth added, pausing to eat a spoonful of coddled eggs. “You would one day run your own household, and we wanted to be certain you were trained to know what would be expected of you, should you receive an offer from a gentleman your father deemed worthy of you.”

  Her mother fell silent and stared at the pale green walls. Persephone wondered at the dearth of green in the room’s sumptuous ivy patterned rug, the cream and green striped upholstered Chinese Chippendale chairs—the same striped material used in the drapes pulled aside to allow the sunlight in to lend a bit of warmth to the room.

  “Do you favor green?” she asked.

  Her mother snapped back to attention. “What?”

  “Sorry, I was just wondering why there’s so much green all in one room.”

  Lady Farnsworth softly smiled. “It was your father’s favorite color.”

  “He did favor this room to breakfast in,” Persephone said quietly. “I never asked why. I thought it was the cozy size.”

  “That, too,” her mother said. “He had the smallish dining room and his study in Sussex in the same shade of green…not that I could be certain it was. I had to rely on Mrs. Peele and your father advising of such.”

  Persephone smiled, not at her mother’s inability to see colors, but imagining her father sitting at the head of the table, sharing a bit of news from the morning post with his wife while Persephone would add her own spin on the news, drawing it out into a tale of epic proportions…not at all resembling the article she’d drawn inspiration from.

  She missed those days quite desperately. “The library is done in darker shades of green,” Persephone noted. “I never gave it much thought before.”

  “As our plans for your future have changed,” her mother began, “it’s a fine thing you are paying attention to different aspects of our home. When you have your own home and husband to care for, you’ll want to ensure his comfort and ease above all things.”

  Persephone mumbled, “Not bloody likely.”

  “Persephone Amelia Farnsworth!”

  “Now I will be in the suds,” she mumbled.

  “You most certainly shall be,” her mother agreed. “After you dress, I wish to speak to you in my upstairs sitting room.”

  “Mamma—”

  “It has become quite clear you have little or no regard for others in your sphere.”

  “But—”

  “A lady would never use such coarse language…ever. You forget yourself, your elevated consequence and station in life, Daughter,” her mother said. “After our discussion in one hour’s time, you will not do so again.”

  Her mother rose and walked out of the room.

  Persephone stared at the unfinished meal and half-cup of tea her mother had left behind. A feeling of abandonment welled up from her toes. “Why can I not curb my tongue, especially around Mother?”

  The answer eluded her, as it had for the last few years. She’d been determined to make herself into an independent woman, one who would forge her own life the way she chose. Answering to no one, living her life in the country where no one would bother about her.

  She had seen it so clearly until the night her father collapsed. The image faded into one where she and her mother stood side-by-side at her father’s graveside. And now…now, it winked out like a star as the sun’s rays overpowered the night.

  Persephone would not be in charge of her future. If she were to have the tiniest bit of say in it, she’d best remember her manners, guard her tongue, and mend her hoydenish ways. Otherwise, she’d be married to a man twenty years her senior with hairy eyebrows and a preposterous proboscis.

  The image brought to mind Lord Dixon and poor Lady Victoria. She pushed to her feet and rang the servants’ bell to advise she and her mother had finished their meal.

  Her mother’s lady’s maid was waiting for her in her bedchamber while another maid emptied cans of hot water into the copper slipper tub.

  “Here now,” Mrs. Peele said, bustling into the room, helping Persephone out of her dressing gown. “You look all done in,” she said briskly. “A nice hot bath will set you to rights. Hannah, Lady Farnsworth is waiting for you.”

  The maid curtseyed and left to do their housekeeper’s bidding. “Your mother wanted me to attend to you personally this morning, Lady Persephone.”

  She stared at yet another of their longtime servants, wishing she could throw her arms around the woman as she had just a few short years before. But she knew Mrs. Peele would not welcome the hug as it was no longer acceptable. They were in London, not the country. Persephone was a lady about to be hoisted off on an unsuspecting gentleman, no longer a child. What was marginally acceptable in their own household then, would not be now.

  Persephone answered as she felt her mother would wish her to. “Thank you, Mrs. Peele.”

  No conversation. No laughter. Duty and nothing more…no more dances in the moonlight with the disarmingly delightful duke. How would she ever manage life if she had to follow such restrictions?

  Had her future ever been hers to decide?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The duke nodded to the six O’Malley men as they filed in. The lot of them were a striking bunch, similar in looks and coloring. Light hair and green eyes, broad of shoulder and long of limb. Probably were every bit as talented as reputed to be in bare-knuckle fighting. Coventry was rarely wrong.

  Lined up in front of him, he felt another of the knots inside him loosen a bit. The men presented a strong and united front. That they were related to one another would add to the unity he sought in the new guard protecting his family.

  “I am sure by now you are all wondering why I’ve hired the lot of you,” he began.

  As one, they looked to the eldest—Patrick, the duke’s footman. When the man nodded, the rest did, too.

  “I have need of men of your caliber and talents to form a secure…force, if you will.”

  If the group of me
n before him thought the request odd, not one gave an indication of such.

  “As privileged footmen serving the lord and lady of various houses throughout Mayfair, you have been in a position to hear rumors—half of which were utter rubbish, the other half have had a grain, possibly two, of truth to them.”

  “Aye, Yer Grace,” Patrick answered for the group. “We have.”

  “As Patrick has no doubt informed you, my sister, Lady Phoebe, will be coming to London in a few weeks.” The duke rose, grasped his hands behind his back and paced in front of the windows facing the square.

  “I had hoped to have quelled the gossip surrounding my late brother, the fifth duke’s death, before her arrival. However, a situation has arisen in that regard.”

  He stopped in front of the men and took his time meeting the gaze of first Patrick, his cousin, Sean, and the rest. Satisfied he had their undivided attention and interest, he addressed them. “I would have you perform your regular duties as footmen at the moment, while at the same time you will act under my direct orders as guards for my family—traveling to whichever of our homes we currently reside in. If necessary, you may have to divide and conquer, if you will.”

  Coventry spoke up. “If I may interject, Your Grace?”

  “Of course.”

  “We know you can and have handled yourselves admirably in the last few years whenever the need has arisen,” Coventry said. “Most recent of which has been Sean’s part in coming to the aid of acquaintances of the duke’s, Lady Farnsworth and her daughter, Lady Persephone.”

  They nodded while Coventry continued. “It will not be an easy task, maintaining your job serving the duke and his family all the while protecting them. There are those who actively continue to try to discredit the duke and his family.”

  “With your help,” the duke said, “we will rout out those who seek to continue to destroy the Wyndmere name and my father’s sterling reputation.”

  No one spoke for long moments as that information was digested. Finally, Patrick cleared his throat, “If I may, Yer Grace?”

  The duke nodded.