Duke of Havoc

by Blake, Whitney

  “We all agree that falling down the stairs could be perilous,” said Mrs. Humphrey coldly. “But children must not be allowed to overplay their pain. It only cultivates an unseemly flair for theatrics and manipulation. Put her down, Miss Sedgwyck. She is only shedding crocodile tears.”

  Mrs. Humphrey’s verdict was exactly what Caroline had come to expect from her. But before Caroline could reply cuttingly, Duckie blustered into the dining room again. Caroline almost held her breath.

  She did not think she could negotiate between upset children and a massive argument waged by Duckie and the Witch Sisters.

  “Well, she would not have to shed tears – crocodile or otherwise – if you had not failed in your responsibilities!”

  Duckie, a good deal shorter than either of the spindly Witch Sisters, still glowered at them both fiercely.

  Mrs. Humphrey turned imperious eyes upon her and rose from her seat.

  “Whatever do you mean by such nonsense?”

  “The poor child probably slipped on a layer of grime on the stairs – it wouldn’t have been there if the scullery maids did their jobs as they should!”

  “You fat cow,” said Mrs. Humphrey with ice in her voice. “You cannot blame me for the ineptitude of servants or the clumsiness of a small child.”

  “Better a fat cow than a complacent housekeeper who can’t direct her maids or keep a bloody house!” Duckie pointed a chubby finger at Mrs. Humphrey in nothing short of pure malediction.

  Phoebe was starting to cry harder, while Sophie was again in danger of joining her sister.

  “Enough!” Caroline said. “We shall proceed with dinner and we shall all converse pleasantly… with civility… or leave the room. Am I clear, ladies?”

  Duckie is in the right, she thought. Gently, she set Phoebe on her feet and pushed her just slightly toward her chair. But I doubt I can affirm her words without causing even more chaos.

  Mrs. Humphrey, Caroline could tell, would have contested this mandate, but perhaps because Phoebe was hiccupping dangerously, she held the peace. Duckie glared at the Witch Sisters but uttered, or shouted, nothing more to them.

  “I do apologize, Miss Caroline,” she said. Then, she began to serve dinner as though this was a normal, happy gathering. Her servings on Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey’s plates were notably sloppy, but serve them, she did.

  When dinner had concluded and she’d tucked the girls in bed, Caroline went in search of Mrs. Humphrey.

  She found both Witch Sisters in the front parlor, sipping tea and muttering abuses against Lord Malliston, Duckie, Edgar, and Caroline.

  Caroline ignored their looks of haughty guilt as she strode into the parlor and went straight to the heart of the matter. There was no call to be subtle.

  “You will begin to take your duties seriously, Mrs. Humphrey, or at least give me leave to instruct the servants to do theirs. I worry for the girls’ safety. And what will Lord Malliston say when he returns and sees how things have deteriorated?”

  In due course, after they had been digested, her words were met with indignant protests from each woman.

  “You are quite ridiculous, Miss Sedgwyck,” said Miss Ball, her expression caught between supreme dislike and amazement.

  “Hardly,” said Caroline. She directed her next statements at Mrs. Humphrey. “If the duke discovered that Phoebe nearly injured herself due to bad housekeeping – and you cannot deny that the accumulated dust and dirt make everything quite slippery – he would dismiss you without hesitation.”

  I don’t know if that is strictly true, she thought. But it sounds sufficiently serious.

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?” asked Mrs. Humphrey. She arched one thin, incredulous eyebrow. “What makes you believe he would take your word over ours?”

  “He does not have to – at least, he won’t have to if things around the manor do not improve. Why, he could be the next person to slip on something.”

  Caroline wished she knew when he was going to make his return. All of this was beyond her and for some reason known only to her heart but not to her head, she missed him. How silly it was to miss a man she neither seemed to like, nor knew well enough to hold in high esteem in the first place.

  She watched as the Witch Sisters seemed to think on the idea of Lord Malliston suffering injury within his own manor when even the fields of Salamanca had not killed him.

  Miss Ball shrugged. “The duke is quite nimble. His hearing suffered, not his gait.”

  “Is that a jest, Miss Ball?” asked Caroline suspiciously.

  It had to have been, because Mrs. Humphrey had to hide a snicker with a cough. This drove Caroline to consider harsher measures.

  While the Witch Sisters exchanged amused glances, she said quietly, “I believe Lord Malliston has told all the household never to paddle Sophie or Phoebe.” She ran a finger along the mantelpiece. Unsurprisingly, it came away brown. “However, I have it from both girls that each of you has, in fact, gone against his express wishes.”

  With deliberate slowness, she looked from the tip of her finger to the sisters. The unguarded looks on their faces were enough to confirm that the duke’s daughters were not telling fibs. Their reluctance to speak meant the Witch Sisters had paddled the girls, indeed.

  Caroline began to smile. Just as the grandfather clock above the mantelpiece struck ten, she said, “I take it I have your permission to give instructions to the servants, then.”

  Without further ado, she stepped out of the parlor.

  In the room behind her, the stunned Witch Sisters sat in their chairs with their tea growing cold.

  *

  The duke arrived home one cold morning, just when Caroline started to fret that he might not return soon at a time when he was sorely needed.

  Only a few days prior, the girls started to ask after their father and trudged about the manor with long faces, entreating her to make him come back to them.

  “Did Papa leave because we were bad, Miss Caroline?” Phoebe had asked.

  Sophie then told her sister, without waiting for Caroline to make any remarks, “Papa runs away because he thinks we are too much trouble. At least he does come back.”

  She uttered it with little self-pity, but hearing those solemn, adult words in Sophie’s girlish voice made Caroline’s stomach lurch.

  “No, Phoebe,” said Caroline. “Papa leaves because he is troubled and he likes to distract himself.”

  It was the simplest and most truthful way she could deflect the girls’ self-blame.

  But their despondency only increased Caroline’s vexation with Lord Malliston. After that exchange between Sophie and Phoebe, she told Edgar to notify her immediately when the duke returned.

  Edgar had opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish but, finally, he nodded and said, “Yes, Miss Caroline.”

  So when one of the maids, a young lady called Alice recalled Caroline, roused her at six in the morning, she conjectured that Edgar had done well by her and Lord Malliston was home.

  Sleepily, she asked Alice, “Has Lord Malliston returned?”

  Alice said, “Yes, Miss Caroline.”

  “Did he send you to me, or…”

  “Yes, Miss. Edgar informed the duke that you wished to see him.”

  And he has not delayed in seeing me, thought Caroline. She sat up, willing her heartbeat to slow down. He was a careless, callous man. He did not deserve such anticipation.

  He left his daughters alone in this enormous house with no one but the Witch Sisters, the cook, and their tutor for company for weeks, she told herself. But she said, “Thank you, Alice. Where is the duke now?”

  “In his library.”

  Alice left with a curtsy. Sighing deeply, Caroline rose. She went to her wardrobe, deliberating over what to wear for the day. She should not have cared at all what she wore to converse with Lord Malliston, but she chose her best dress, the lilac one that had so worried her the first night she ate dinner with the girls. In less than fif
teen minutes, she was dressed and presentable.

  Why was she bothering to be punctual when he had demonstrated a distinct inability to attend anyone but himself?

  “I am glad that you have returned to The Thornlands, my lord,” she said to him without preamble, as soon as she entered the library. He was standing on the other side of his desk, nursing a steaming cup of tea and gazing out of an enormous window that overlooked the vast, but somewhat stark, gardens.

  She had rehearsed several speeches on her way through the manor, the inhabitants of which were only just beginning to stir, yet that was all she could manage. Pathetic.

  “As am I,” he said.

  He appeared very well. His eyes are such a wonderful, warm brown in this lighting, thought Caroline. Perhaps it was all of the library’s wood panels casting their color onto his countenance, in conjunction with the early morning light.

  Immediately following the complimentary observation, she chided herself.

  Stop that.

  Caroline also noted that he looked the slightest bit drawn. She attributed it to his journey, and what had most likely been days on end of nefarious activities.

  At the moment, he was staring directly into her face as though trying to memorize her features. She felt it was a little strange but, for all she knew, he had entirely forgotten how she looked. If, indeed, he had ever noticed in the first place.

  “Tell me, how have my daughters fared?”

  “I must say that they would be a delight for any tutor,” she said warily. There was much she wanted to discuss with him. “They simply soak up knowledge.”

  Is this all he wants to know about his children?

  “I wonder if they got that quality from me. Their mother was not fond of learning because she was not very good at it,” he said, reflecting. Then he smiled a little. “I retained facts quite well. Although I must say I squandered the ability. I neglected my schooling, preferring instead to dream of glory found in far-off lands. Well.” He trailed his left palm along the edge of his desk. “You see where it landed me. But you must have excelled as a tutor for, before your arrival, they were incredibly disinterested in their lessons.”

  Caroline bit her lip. “There may be more reason for that than my academic prowess, my lord.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?” Then, as though recalling what sort of polite behavior was expected of the lord of a manor house, he asked her, “It is still early. Forgive me. Do you require tea?”

  Stricken, Caroline blinked. “Ah…”

  “Do sit, Miss Sedgwyck, and I shall have Alice bring you some.”

  She sat, mutely observing as Lord Malliston walked past her, and she could not help but think what a fine figure he cut in his more casual traveling clothes. He stuck his head out into the corridor to hail down a passing servant, a young boy whose mother worked in the kitchens.

  She heard the duke quite clearly and evenly state that Alice was to be sent here, upstairs to the library, with some morning refreshments for Miss Sedgwyck.

  It was the first time she had heard him be anything less than gruff with a servant. What had happened to the man?

  “My lord?”

  He returned to his space behind the magnificent desk and sat in his own chair. “Yes?”

  “As I was saying… the reason why the girls may have been so reluctant to learn their lessons before now?” He nodded, and she plunged forward into the worst of it. “They…” she shook her head, disgusted.

  “What topic is so awful that your usual bluntness has been clipped?” asked Lord Malliston. “Before I left, you were comfortable haranguing me in my own garden when I was not even properly attired.”

  His eyes glowed with humor and Caroline blushed.

  She resolved to look anywhere but at him. She was thinking, yet again, of what it might feel like to be seated on his lap.

  “I believe that they have been paddled by the Wi –” she caught herself before she could say Witch Sisters. He might appreciate the name but, then again, he was tempestuous. “By Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey.”

  The duke went murderously silent.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I did not know until the girls told me… or, rather, neglected to tell me.”

  He leaned across the desk toward her and, suddenly, she had an idea of what he might have looked like while on the battlefield. “I know what their antics can be like. Those bitches.”

  Caroline gave a short gasp, but she did not disagree with the word.

  He chuckled wanly. “My apologies, Miss Sedgwyck. I forget myself. But I can only imagine what they have put you through these last few weeks. The manor is in near shambles.” So, he had noticed the poor housekeeping that Caroline, with Duckie and Edgar’s help, had only recently been able to combat. “I can also only imagine that you took every opportunity you could to shield the girls from the sisters.”

  She thought to deny it, then nodded, instead.

  “I wish I could say I did not believe you and that I trust they would abide by my rule. You are new here. They have been with me for some years, now. Yet I don’t trust them,” he said flatly. “I have given direct orders that the girls should never be paddled, and yet…” he broke off, still leaning quite close to Caroline. “They would do it if they wished and had the opportunity.”

  “The girls are quite terrified of them, and I can think of no other reason why they might be,” said Caroline. “To be brutally frank, my lord, they often unsettle me and I am a grown woman.” She did not feel much sympathy for Lord Malliston’s predicament. In a low voice, she muttered, forgetting herself, “But at any rate, they would have plenty of opportunities to abuse Sophie and Phoebe without your knowledge. You are always gone. And the girls are almost as terrified of you as they are of the sisters.”

  As soon as the words left her lips she regretted them, if only because she might lose her position. Well, she thought, what’s been said has been said. She wondered if she would ever learn in her lifetime to be more circumspect, and what it was about this man that drew blunt speech from her more readily than a local landlord drew ale from a keg for his regular patrons.

  But she had forgotten the duke’s awful hearing.

  He peered at her warily and it was clear that he had not understood exactly what she had uttered. Her disapproving tone and expression, however, must have been unmistakable, for the beginning of anger was rising in his face.

  Not for the first time, she wished she knew if he could read lips. She did not believe so.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Sedgwyck? You will need to speak up, I’m afraid.”

  Caroline cleared her throat and said loudly, more forcefully, “My lord, I was making the point that if either sister wished to paddle the girls without you ever finding out, it would be easy to do since you are rarely here long enough to have proper conversations with your daughters,” she said. She took a long, steadying breath. “And unfortunately, they are almost as scared of you as they are of Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey. For different reasons, to be sure. They long for your approval and are convinced they do not have it.”

  She met his eyes and knew instantly that she had gone too far. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. “I do not feel in my heart of hearts that Sophie or especially Phoebe would tell you if she had been paddled. They did not even tell me, in as many words.”

  “Do I understand correctly that you seem to blame me for my daughters’ mistreatment at the hands of these shrews?”

  She sighed. “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Somewhat.”

  “Speak up, Miss Sedgwyck,” said Lord Malliston. He wore a sharp grin.

  “I do,” she said, her cheeks flaming. She purposefully spoke in a loud staccato. “From an outsider’s perspective, it seems as though there is much you could do to prevent this situation, yet you refuse to do it.”

  Perhaps I am being too harsh, she thought.

  The duke was so close to her that she read not only fury but also dismay in his count
enance. She studied him for the dreadful moments he kept his silence. It appeared that he had a habit of remaining quiet after she spoke to him, and she did not know if that was because of some effect she had upon him, or if it was his usual way of conversing with anyone. She had never seen him socialize with respectable members of the ton in his home. From what she knew of the aristocracy, his manner was out of the ordinary.

  Given the state of The Thornlands, it was better that he did not receive visitors.

  It probably contributes a great deal to his gruffness. Social graces are a disused skill for him. And no matter how charming, it would be hard for any man to counteract all of those ghastly rumors. Not everyone is so rational as Father.

  Almost a minute passed while he said nothing and she fought the impulse to squirm. He was not classically handsome in the way the heroines of novels seemed to prefer in the men they idolized.

  His features were too sharp and leonine for it, but he was engaging, Caroline decided.

  “You are overstepping your remit, Miss Sedgwyck,” said Lord Malliston, snapping her out of her reverie. “It is not for you to judge my actions!”

  “Or lack thereof,” grumbled Caroline. “That is the problem, my lord, not your actions themselves. You appear to act very little when it comes to your family.”

  “I do not think I want to have heard your comments, that time,” he said. “But would you be so bold as to repeat them for the sake of a damaged man?”

  “You do not act when it comes to your girls,” said Caroline with clarity. “That is the problem!”

  Lord Malliston was shocked. “Actually, Miss Sedgwyck, in the future, I would heartily prefer not to hear it when you make such pronouncements.” He leaned onto his elbows, using the desk for support. He stared at her as though she were an utterly alien creature brought up from the depths of the ocean. While he was in this position, they were eye-to-eye, and Caroline devoutly tried to maintain her composure. She was equally exasperated and captivated. “Thank you for putting my blunted hearing into perspective,” he said acridly.

  It was then that she realized she, a common woman with neither title nor connections, had wounded him.