She shook her head. “No need to thank me. For tis the job you retained me for, is it not?”
He inclined his head. “Indeed.”
They sat in silence for a while, and then she drew in a breath as if she meant to say something but then blew it out without a word.
“You have a question?” Harry asked.
“I…simply wondered if you know what the problem is. And will she be all right once the surgeon sees her?” she looked quite honestly concerned.
Harry shook his head in bemusement. “We do not know much. The local physician suspects some sort of growth in her windpipe. But he does not have the tools nor the knowledge to help us further. He seems quite confident that this surgeon will be of assistance, however.”
She reached out and covered his mother’s hand with hers. “I shall be sure to pray for her every day.”
“That is very kind of you, Miss Raby. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome, Your Grace.”
* * *
Dorothea flung the missive in the fire, fury choking her. How dare the Duke snub her in such a manner.
This is unacceptable!
She was expected for tea at the Carroll residence. They would be expecting an announcement. Now she would have to act as if she had never implied that the Duke was about to make an offer.
She wanted to tear him apart with her bare hands. Yet she still wanted to be his wife, which was a quandary in and of itself.
“Mother!” she ran down the corridor in petulant anger, seeking out her mother’s sitting room.
“Yes dear, what’s the matter?” her mother got to her feet, her face mirroring Dorothea’s urgency.
“Mother, the Duke failed to honor our appointment!”
Lady Cornhill frowned. “Did he now? What reason did he give for such a breach of etiquette?”
Dorothea waved her hand dismissively. “Something vague that I didn't understand. Mother! What shall we do about it?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t know that we can do anything. Did he not give you some new date or time?”
“No, Mama. He did not. Are we just going to allow him to disrespect me like this?”
“Of course, not my dear. But we must tread lightly. He is a Duke, after all.”
“Oh posh! He cannot be allowed to treat me like this, Mother!”
“And he won’t, darling. I’m sure your father will take care of it. But you need to calm down.”
Dorothea took a deep breath. “All right, Mother. I know Father only wants what’s best for me.”
“We both do, darling. You know we’d do anything for you.”
“I know, Mother.” Dorothea reluctantly smiled, reassured once again that she was the center of her parents’ world and that nothing would be allowed to touch her there. She sighed, subsiding, as Mrs. Andrews, their housekeeper, entered the room.
“I have the week’s accounts for your perusal and the menu as well.”
Lady Cornhill looked toward Dorothea, “Honey, are you all right for now? I must look at these.”
Dorothea waved a hand. “Go ahead. I shall just sit here and brood.” She proceeded to do just that as her mother watched her unhappily. It was enough—for now—that her mother was upset on her behalf. Dorothea knew without a shadow of doubt that her mother would do everything in her power to make sure her daughter was content.
She listened absently as Mrs. Andrews listed all the household expenses for the week, her grocery and butcher bill and all the other minutiae that made up their daily life.
When I’m Duchess, I shall do the same for my household.
She smiled, imagining herself sitting on a gold upholstered sofa, her legs demurely crossed at the ankle as her housekeeper tabulated the household accounts for her. She would feign anger if the housekeeper got anything wrong and perhaps, a little tongue lashing would be prudent—just to remind her of her place.
Dorothea could hardly wait.
But first, she had to snag her Duke.
* * *
Harry woke up the next day feeling like something was different. He frowned, trying to think what it could be and then he remembered Miss Raby and the mystery that surrounded her. For some reason, it was something to get excited about again. He had not had that in a long time.
Michel breezed into the room, ruthlessly drawing the heavy velvet drapes and letting the sunlight in. “Good morning, Your Grace.”
Harry just glared at him. “Michel, how many times must I tell you that there is no need to wake me up so early? I am a Duke. My word should mean something.”
Michel just huffed, going to the wardrobe and opening it as he studied the various articles of clothing in there. “I think today is a day for gold and white. What do you think, Your Grace?” he snagged a golden cravat, passing the luxuriant silk through his hands as he enjoyed the feel of it.
“Why?” Harry said sulkily, “I do not think I have any pressing appointments to attend.”
“Indeed, you do not, Your Grace, but that does not mean you cannot look your best.”
Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his valet. “Michel...what are you up to?”
Michel turned to him, eyes deceptively wide and innocent. “Not a thing, Your Grace. I am merely fulfilling my duty.”
“Is it your duty to cause me a great deal of aggravation? Because it seems that way to me.”
Michel laughed airily. “So many jokes, Your Grace. You’re such a bounder.” He laid out a pair of white breeches on the bed with a matching silk shirt and a yellow waistcoat.
“I was not joking, as you well know,” Harry grumped.
“Well, I choose to think you are, otherwise I might take you seriously and who knows where that might lead?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you would take my concerns into account once in a while.”
“C’est impossible!” Michel declared with full dramatic flair and a toss of his long dark hair. He and the Duke had fought side by side in France and their relationship was rather more relaxed than most Dukes and their valets. “Now come and sit in the chair so I can shave that unsightly beard.”
The Duke dragged himself reluctantly from the bed and flopped down onto the chair, promptly closing his eyes as Michel busied himself, making Harry presentable to the world.
“Will you break your fast with your mother? I believe her new nurse is already by her side.”
Harry hesitated, flicking Michel a glance. His valet had never asked him such a question before. It was disconcerting. “I…no. I shall eat in the breakfast chamber as usual.”
There was a loaded silence.
“Has the nurse eaten?” he felt compelled to ask.
Michel smiled. “I’m not sure. I shall inquire. Would you like me to sit with your mother while she breaks her fast with you? It would be a good opportunity to find out more about her.”
“Hmm. I did not know you were so interested.”
“It is an intriguing situation, is it not, Your Grace?” Michel quirked an eyebrow at him in the looking glass and Harry quirked one back.
“If you say so, Michel.”
* * *
The door slid open a few inches and Adelia looked up from her watch to see who it was. A strange man peered into the room, sporting the most extravagant moustache Adelia had ever seen. His hair was held back in a queue that hung halfway down his back. He was dressed in a frilly white shirt and green pantaloons.
“Good morning to you, Miss Raby,” he said.
“Er, good morning. I’m sorry, I do not know who you are.”
“Of course, apologies. I am Michel Caron. I am His Grace’s valet.”
“Oh. Well, it is nice to meet you. I am the Dowager Duchess’ nurse.”
“Yes, I was aware. I came to relieve you so that you may go and have a meal with His Grace.”
Adelia stiffened, “Uh, I already had some porridge.”
“Pish!” Michel waved his hand in the air dismissively. “That is not a proper breakfast.
Now go on. Hurry. His Grace awaits you.”
Adelia stood up reluctantly. “Are you sure—?”
“Oui, oui, I am sure. Go on. I shall watch the Dowager, don’t you worry.”
“All right then.”
She pushed her chair back and got to her feet, flicking one more doubtful glance at the valet before leaving the room.
The Duke wants to have breakfast with me? How strange.
Despite the implied invitation, she knocked on the dining room door before entering. “Good morning, Your Grace,” she murmured.
“Good morning, Miss Raby. Did you sleep well?”
“I did, Your Grace…er, your valet said you wished to break your fast with me?”
“Yes, indeed. Please, sit.”
She looked around the table, seeing that a second place had been set to the Duke’s right. She hesitated a moment longer before shrugging inwardly and taking it.
Chapter 6
Investigations
Poor child, she looks so confused.
Harry bit his lip to hide his amusement as he offered Miss Raby the tureen of turtle soup. She drew two scoops into her bowl and then he passed her some fresh-baked bread. He watched as she ate it, not so much as flinching at the pepper.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s very…”
“Strong?” he smiled as he said it.
“Yes. But delicious, nevertheless.”
He laughed. “Good. I’m glad you like it. I was beginning to despair of finding someone who would enjoy my turtle soup with me.”
She smiled back and he took it as a victory. Her smile really did transform her. It lit up her whole face so that it seemed as if the sun was shining from it.
“Well, I should be glad to share your turtle soup any day.”
“That is good to hear. And you are settling in well?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Everybody has been very kind.”
“Good. Good. Uh, if you like, you may write to your parents to apprise them of your new address. Can you read or write?”
“Yes, I can. And that is very kind of you…but my parents cannot read.”
“I am sure there is a pastor close by who could read your letter to them.”
She nodded shyly. “Of course, I quite forgot. Pastor Johns could do it.”
“Pastor Johns? Is he your local priest then?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “Yes.”
“I suppose he baptized you then? Have you lived in that village for your entire life?”
Her brow furrowed as if she was perturbed at all his questions. She answered them anyway. “Um, no. I believe we moved there when I was but a year old.”
“Oh? Where were you before then?”
She smiled uncertainly at him. “I do not know. My parents do not talk about it much.”
“Were they…fleeing anything?”
“No! Why would you say that?” she seemed genuinely annoyed.
“No reason. I just…well I suppose I read too many of those mystery novels. I see mysteries everywhere.”
She stared at him as if she could not believe he had said such a thing to her. Harry supposed it was a rather familiar thing to say, but he was not one to stand on ceremony. Furthermore, she or rather her visage, was very familiar to him, even though he was not familiar to her.
“Well there is no mystery about me to be solved, Your Grace. I am just the daughter of poor farmers, trying to make a living for herself.”
“Indeed you are.” He turned to his soup to stop himself from staring at her. He had been looking for something in her physical appearance that was different from Lady Dorothea but could not find one thing. Aside from their very different personalities they were veritably the same person.
How can this be?
He knew there was only one thing left to do and that was to speak to their respective parents. If there was some foul play involved, Miss Raby’s parents might not want to incriminate themselves—understandably…but perhaps he could make some discreet inquiries anyway.
What can it hurt?
He looked up, smiling at Miss Raby, and changed the subject.
“How is my mother doing this morning?”
Miss Raby put her fork down. “Well, when I went to sit with her early this morning, she woke up.”
“Oh, she did?”
“Yes.” She glanced at him, full of shy eagerness, “I introduced myself to her and she said I was very comely.” She smiled wide, a dimple appearing in her cheek. Harry was intrigued. “I fed her some of the tomato soup left over from last night and she ate a little bit but then her breathing started to become difficult and I think she fainted. I put a cool cloth on her feet and soon she woke up again and apologized to me.”
Harry’s brow furrowed with worry and he prayed for fast winds to bring the surgeon to their shores soon.
“She finished the soup and then I cleaned her a little and she fell asleep in the midst of it. I am thinking of collecting some sprigs of thyme and lavender from the garden. Their smell is said to be very soothing to the spirit.”
Harry smiled affectionately. “That is very kind of you, Miss Raby. Although not part of your duties as a nurse.”
She shrugged airily. “I do not mind. As long as Michel will agree to sit with her for just a bit longer…”
“Oh, no worries. If he is too busy, I shall sit with her.”
The footman entered the room with a note on a tray and Harry took it with apologies to Miss Raby. She waved them away, giving her attention to the soup as he read it.
My Lord Duke,
My mother and I would be most gratified if you joined us for tea this pm. I feel sure you wish to make up for missing our walk yesterday morning.
Yours Faithfully,
Lady Dorothea Harrington.
Harry sighed in annoyance. The very last thing he wanted to do was have tea with Lady Dorothea and her mother. But then he thought again. It might be an opportunity to get some information on the circumstances of Lady Dorothea’s birth, although he had no idea how he might bring that up. In any case, it was a chance to study Lady Dorothea closely and see if there was anything about her that was different from Miss Raby.
Why is it so important to you?
A voice that sounded eerily like that of his father spoke up and he dismissed it because he had no answer. Perhaps it was just a welcome distraction from thinking about his mother but he was grateful to have something else to think about.
He could also admit, if only to himself, that he was intrigued by Miss Raby, was curious about her, and wanted to get to know her better. That would be easier if she was the daughter of an Earl rather than a nurse in his household.
* * *
The Duke was late and Dorothea was fuming. She knew better than to let it show on her face as he apologized—profusely—saying something about parliament having to be prorogued and the King’s speech ran long or something equally uninteresting. She knew little about politics and cared even less.
“It’s a good thing we waited to make the tea otherwise it would be stone cold by now,” she gritted her teeth, even as she smiled through her ire.
“Yes, that was fortuitous.” The Duke said blandly, kissing the air above her gloved fingers.
He did the same to her mother and then she seated him between them, offering him a tray of cakes as the butler placed the silver pot of tea on the table. Dorothea offered to ‘be mother’ just to demonstrate how gracefully she could pour a cup of tea and the Duke thanked her before picking up his cup and taking a sip.
“Do you need more sugar, Your Grace?” Dorothea asked sweetly.
“No, thank you, My Lady. This is just right.” He took another sip to demonstrate how much he was enjoying the tea.
“Lady Dorothea and I were just discussing this year’s Christmas Eve ball,” her mother said and Dorothea hid a smile. “We were wondering if you would be going.”
“Hmm. I’m not at all sure about that. It dep
ends.”
Dorothea approved as her mother leaned toward the Duke, not letting him get away with that. “Depends on what?”
He took a deep breath and then smiled sadly. “My mother is not well,” his voice was reluctant and Dorothea frowned, wondering why he was being so reticent. “We are awaiting a surgeon from the New World.”
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 5