The Way to Capture a Marquess's Heart: A Historical Regency Romance Book

by Bridget Barton

  Duke Somerset looked over at Anne in surprise, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. Anne felt slightly insulted by that. His dark eyes sparked, but the light of indignation died out before he ever spoke. “My upbringing in America was comfortable. Not anything like this,” he said as he waved his hand to the surrounding room, “but comfortable. I have no real complaints over it.”

  “Then why do you attack my mother so when she has done nothing but come here out of loyalty to your own mother?” Anne put her hands on her hips and stared the man down. If he was going to be improper, then she might as well do so too.

  Baroness Moore interceded. “Anne, remember yourself, and stop this nonsense. He has a right to be angry at how his brother treated his mother and himself. That right stops with his brother, of course.” Baroness Moore looked at the Duke of Somerset pointedly, and the man conceded to her as he hung his head.

  Anne relented and cupped her hands in front of herself while looking at the floor. She had not meant to get so defensive, but her mother was a fair woman and of good standing. Baroness Moore sighed. “Now, about the Season, you really should have a new wardrobe.”

  Anne looked up as she heard Duke Somerset grunt. “Why? To spend money?”

  “Because you are not properly attired,” Baroness Moore said as she gestured towards the man’s clothing. “You are practically unfit for company let alone to be out in society.”

  The Duke looked down at his clothing. When the man looked up, Anne could see his eyebrows firmly knitted together in confusion at Baroness Moore’s words. “And what is wrong with this?”

  Baroness Moore tapped the fan she held against her dress sleeve. “I know that America is a bit less stringent on modesty, so allow me to be gentle. Men here wear more clothing than that unless of course you are not concerned with your reputation.”

  “Well then I’m not concerned with my reputation,” Duke Somerset said as if that would end the matter.

  Anne shook her head at the man. Baroness Moore squared her shoulders. “You will care by the time I am done with you. I owe that to your mother. You cannot go shaming your father’s name.”

  “I suppose my brother was a fine example of a good English lad.” He hit his hand against a nearby table causing Anne to jump slightly. “This country has some strange ways of holding people accountable only when it does not matter.”

  Baroness Moore inclined her head. “Your mother had a hard time adjusting as well. I know it seems daunting, but it will get easier.”

  “I don’t know that I want it to get easier.” He rubbed his face. “I appreciate that you are trying to do right by my mother, but I don’t know that I’m cut out for all of this.”

  Baroness Moore leaned her head to the side, a motherly softness taking over her stern gaze. “You are cut from the right material, we just may have to hem a few seams.”

  ***

  Thomas sat in the library after the ladies had taken their leave. His mother had told him that the Baroness would visit, but he had not expected the woman to be so determined. He felt as though he had little choice but to let her help him even if he did not feel it necessary.

  He had been well-regarded at home, and surely England could not be that different. What was it his mother had said? The English were a queer lot.

  Perhaps he should have taken his maternal grandmother’s advice to simply remain in the states. He could have had a fairly comfortable life, even if it was not one dripping in luxury. He sighed up at the ceiling.

  His fate and fortune were here, and he had to accept that. There would be no running away this time. Thomas would stand firm and shove the fact that he was Duke right down their stuck-up English throats. A smile crossed his face at the thought.

  His mind, without his agency or permission, brought forth the image of the Lady Hope. She had not been what he was expecting. Truthfully, he had not prepared for her at all. Baroness Moore was the only person that his mother had spoken of, but clearly, the daughter would need to be taken into account now.

  A knock at the door brought his head around. “Yes?”

  Gerald stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if he had not knocked at all. The man was swifter than an Indian brave and as stealthy as one too. “The cook sent me to ask if you would like your tea now?”

  Tea. There was a dreaded word. Thomas grimaced. “I don’t suppose I can get coffee?”

  Gerald chuckled. “I can instruct her to make some, but I do not think you will appreciate the brand that we have on hand.”

  “I shall decline and make my own,” Thomas said with a shake of his head.

  Gerald offered, “Do you think it an offence to your American roots to indulge in tea?”

  Thomas slapped his leg as he lost himself in mirth. “No. I simply find the idea of putting so much milk in tea offensive. The cook makes it taste like a caramel treat more than a tea.”

  “She does have a heavy hand, but I can insist that she leave it plain. You are, of course, welcome to drink coffee if you choose. I shall instruct the cook that you will see to your own teatimes if you like?”

  Thomas nodded at the man’s words. “I’d be obliged if you would. Truth is the woman is a bit frightening.”

  “I think all cooks are,” Gerald said with a grin as he dropped into an elegant bow. Thomas wondered if the man would teach him how to bow like that. Apparently, such skills might come in handy. Soon enough, Gerald was gone, and Thomas was left to the quiet of the library again.

  Thomas got up finally and headed towards the kitchen. He might not want any of that fancy English tea, but he could do with something to drink. When he reached the kitchen, he paused and listened for a moment. He could hear a woman’s voice humming.

  He hesitantly pushed the door open. “Ah, Mister Tom come to call on me,” chimed out Ellie the cook.

  The woman clearly remembered Thomas from his youth, but Thomas could never place her. He had only vague memories of England as he was so young when his mother had fled with him. “Ellie,” Thomas responded as discomfort made his collar feel too tight and his hands too large as he wrung them.

  “Gerald said you would be by to make your coffee. Teach me how ye like it, and I can whip it up for you next time.” The cook wiped her hands on an apron that clearly was once a crisp white under the stains.

  At least the cook did not seem offended by his very manner of breathing as the Baroness had been. He relaxed a bit. The cook had been nothing but kind to him, and he could not hold her clinging to a fondness for the child he had been against her.

  “I can try, but I fear that making coffee is more of an art.” Thomas brought out a tin from his coat pocket. “I fear that when I run out of this, I might not be able to get anymore.”

  Ellie peered at the tin. “If we can’t get it here, then I am sure we can have it shipped. It is a benefit that your brother has afforded you by dying before he wasted the family fortune.”

  Thomas sat down on a stool and eyed the woman curiously. “You are the only one here who ever speaks of James openly.”

  “See no reason not to speak of him.” Ellie shrugged. “He was just a man. I knew him when he was a youngster, as I knew you. His mother hired me on right before she passed away. I think that’s why he kept me around when he let so many of the others go.”

  Thomas set the tin on the table in front of him. “Gerald is on to me to hire some more, but I fear I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Well, some maids would be nice,” Ellie suggested.

  Thomas laughed. “Yes, I do suppose so.” He was quiet for a bit. Ellie picked up the tin and eyed it curiously. He smiled and told her how his mother had prepared it. Ellie was an astute woman and quick too. She picked up the recipe quickly, and soon they were sitting around two cups of coffee, steam rising off the brown liquid.

  Thomas leaned over and breathed in the scent of the coffee. “Ah, there’s home.”

  Ellie gave him a warm smile as she dropped some sugar into he
r own cup. “The variety of coffees here tend to be a bit bitter,” she said almost as if to explain her sugar use.

  Thomas took a sip of the coffee and let it stay on his tongue as he visited memories of home. “I would not know. I grew up as a youth drinking coffee with my stepfather. He liked a large cup to start his day.”

  “They do say that it helps keep the mind sharp.” Ellie sipped the coffee. Her face screwed up a bit. “I think I might stick to tea.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Still you made it well. I shall have to write home and see if I can’t get Mother to send another tin to me.”

  “I do not think you’ll have to worry about anyone else but you drinking it.” Ellie shook her head as she dropped another spoonful of sugar into her cup.

  Gerald came in. “Sir Edmonton is here to see you, Your Grace.”

  “Oh, right.” Thomas could not muster any enthusiasm. Sir Edmonton was the solicitor that was responsible for the handling of the estates and such. The man’s arrival meant droll hours of him rambling about properties that Thomas had never seen or heard of, let alone found interesting. He would have to sign things, and Thomas always dreaded that. The flowery language of the papers left a bad taste in Thomas’ mouth.

  Gerald nodded as if Thomas had not muttered the phrase with contempt. “He is waiting in the observatory. I shall tell him you will be along shortly, Your Grace.” Gerald did not wait long enough for Thomas to dispute his words.

  “Gerald is a slippery fellow.” Thomas shook his head and took another sip of coffee.

  Ellie tapped the table. “You should listen to his advice on things. He has a good head on his shoulders. One doesn’t get to be a butler for as long as him without good sense.”

  Thomas saw no reason to doubt her words. He nodded his head. Perhaps Ellie was not as frightful as he had thought her. She might just be the nicest person he had encountered since he stepped off the boat from America.

  He got up reluctantly. “I suppose I should not keep my guest waiting.” Thomas made his way out of the kitchen wondering why he had to accept guests anyway. Could he not simply send them away? What was the good of having a title if all it did was make him powerless?

  It was not until a few minutes later that Thomas realised he had forgotten where the conservatory was. The townhouse was larger than any house he had been in previously, and he stared at the hallway blankly. “Hello?” Thomas looked down the hallway and waited.

  A few moments later, Gerald called, “Your Grace.” He came around the corner and waved for Thomas to follow him. “I feared you had forgotten your way.”

  “Indeed.” Thomas sighed. “I feel as if I should carry string with me.”

  Gerald gave Thomas a look of amusement, his moustache quirked up as he smiled. “I dread what you will do when you visit the family estate then. This London home is much smaller in comparison.”

  Thomas turned and followed Gerald as the man led him back onto the right path. “I predict that I shall only use a small percentage of the rooms. Why are these places so large if it is just the Duke that lives here?”

  “Well, often family members stay on the ancestral estates when visiting and such. Plus, sometimes the duchy offers guests rooms after parties.” Gerald’s voice was light and measured. He clearly saw nothing wrong with a personal home being practically open to the public. What sort of life must royals live?

  “I do not like the idea of having strangers stay in my home,” Thomas admitted.

  Gerald replied, “Well, they would not be strangers by that time, Your Grace.” He stopped outside a set of double doors. “Here we are. Shall I bring refreshments for your guests?”

  “Better bring alcohol if I have to listen to much of this,” Thomas muttered as he opened the doors to the conservatory. He caught a glimpse of his reflection and grimaced at the way his brown locks were going whichever direction they chose at random. Perhaps Gerald’s suggestion of getting a dedicated valet to help him get ready and such was worth considering.

  “Your Grace,” Sir Edmonton exclaimed as if merely being in Thomas’ presence made him rapturously happy. It was a strange trait of the English that Thomas had noted in others when they addressed him.

  He took the hand the man offered him in a hearty shake. “Sir Edmonton, I forget… what were we due to see about today?”

  “I was to go over the Eastern holdings, but more importantly ask you what your plans of enterprise were? Your brother sold a couple of your father’s ships to amend some costs that he put upon the duchy, but there are still a considerable amount of ships that are set on courses to bring cinnamon and such into England.”

  Thomas cleared his throat and tugged at the top button of his button-up shirt. “I do not feel as if I am the right person to make a decision concerning the fleet. Whatever my father and brother have set in motion surely will be good enough.”

  “For the time being,” Sir Edmonton agreed. “Plans do need adjusting occasionally though, Your Grace, and we should stay on top of it.”

  “I have all this information at my disposal, Sir Edmonton. You have already given me the documents pertaining to the spice trade and the fleet.” Thomas sat down heavily on an overstuffed chair that looked out on a garden that Thomas never got a chance to visit. “I fail to see why you must keep coming to check on me.”

  “You have not yet appointed a steward, and in that respect, I have to act as one.” Sir Edmonton acted as if that should be perfectly clear.

  Thomas schooled his face not to show how annoyed he was. “I was not aware that I needed a steward. I shall find one. I have a lot of hiring to do for the household, and I should get on that. Actually, I think I shall do so right this instant.” Thomas stood up and walked out of the room while the man spluttered out some nonsense that Thomas had no interest in listening to.

  Thomas located Gerald easily enough. The butler generally stayed near the front of the house so he was alerted when people came or left but close enough to the butler quarters that he could hear if Thomas rang the bell. “Gerald,” Thomas said as he approached the butler who was wiping down a table.

  “I thought you were in with Sir Edmonton.” Gerald looked at him in surprise. “I was just about to go round up some brandy.”

  Thomas waved off Gerald’s words. “I think it is time that I get my household set up as well as I can. What do you know about stewards?”

  Gerald’s face brightened. “Ah, well, they fill in for the master or mistress of the house while they are gone or simply otherwise occupied. Often there is one for each estate.”

  “I need one of those, thing is, I don’t know anyone who fills the role better than you do. So, is it against a rule to ask you to promote yourself?” Thomas gave the man a hopeful look.

  Gerald chuckled. “There is no rule against it, Your Grace. If you wish me to be steward, then I will gladly do so. We will need to hire support staff and such.”

  “Is that something a steward can do?” Thomas felt a bit overwhelmed at the prospect of filling out the household ranks.

  The newly appointed steward nodded. “I can, but do you want a steward for both this estate and one for the country estate as well?”

  “Is that customary?” Thomas did not really want to step on anyone’s toes, but he honestly had no idea.

  Gerald put his hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “I don’t think you will have to worry much over the country estate. Bradley House has been a family seat for the Seymours for generations. The head of staff there does a good job of keeping things running smoothly. I can write to him if you wish, and we can coordinate with him on what needs to be done.”