Duke of Havoc

by Blake, Whitney

  How? she internally questioned. Was it what I said? The reminder of his shortcomings with his daughters? Or of his impairment? At least when he was angry that I played the pianoforte, I knew exactly what I had done to cause offense.

  Softening, she said, “My lord, I am sorry if I offended you.” She consciously did not say, “If I hurt you.”

  “And I am sorry if I goaded you.”

  That surprised her. “It must not be pleasant to be reminded of one’s inability,” she replied carefully. “Besides, I am told that I have a rather cutting temper.” She offered him a small smile.

  “You have a quick wit,” said he. “It seems to join forces with your temper. I do not know if I would consider it to be a disproportional temper, however.”

  “I will consider my words more carefully in the future, and also try to speak more clearly.”

  “For my part, Miss Sedgwyck, I shall listen better, and not allow my pride to flare,” he said. “You are correct… my daughters are rather nervous around me. It does not help anything, and I am their father. It is entirely my fault. I have not been raising them in the manner that young titled ladies should be. I have even relaxed many matters of decorum since my late lady wife’s passing.”

  “Such as?” Caroline was too ignorant of the finer points of society to notice.

  “Well, the use of their titles, for one. Technically, they should be addressed as Lady Sophie and Lady Phoebe. I suppose I will need to amend that before long but, fortunately, due to my own reputation, they have not been around other children of their status. They do not know it is not quite the done thing to always be called by their given names.”

  “I see. That makes sense, because my father is always careful to use his students’ titles if they have them… until he wins them over, which he almost always does. Then they are too comfortable with him to stand on ceremony,” she said fondly.

  “Arthur was a refreshingly unassuming and warm man when I knew him. He is unconventional, but I could not imagine many young people being uncomfortable with him.”

  Emboldened by the girls’ misfortune and the opportunity to help change it, as well as, to some measure, the duke’s physical closeness and kinder words, Caroline said, “May I ask, my lord… why are the sisters still in your employ?”

  She felt it was safe enough to inquire, as their abrupt spat seemed to be behind them.

  Lord Malliston sighed and rubbed his temples, causing some of his brown hair to fall forward. She itched to touch it.

  “Because, Miss Sedgwyck, Lady Malliston made me promise that they always would be.”

  Caroline accepted this explanation, letting it seep through her mind. She better understood the Witch Sisters’ arrogance as well as their complacency.

  She could barely believe it in light of his behavior, but his short, simple answer made the most sense. He was only trying to keep his promise to a dead woman as a widower should.

  Carefully, she considered the issue. That was all well and good, but it seemed to her that the time had passed to honor the agreement.

  He must have more integrity than I gave him credit for, or else he would not mind breaking his word.

  Alice broke the silence, entering the library after a respectful knock at the door. Since there was no table save the one near the fireplace, which was opposite the duke’s desk and across the large, stately room, she simply set the tea tray on the desk itself.

  Lord Malliston eased back into his chair, surveying Caroline seriously.

  “Might I propose an idea, my lord?”

  “Please do,” he said as Alice poured Caroline her tea. There were even buns for her to eat.

  “I have studied the sisters’ characters, trying time and time again to find something redeemable about them. But they have no sense of affection for the girls. Nor do they have any respect, it would seem, for you.”

  She waited to see how the duke would respond to this. When he only gave her the slightest of droll smirks, his eyes crinkling at the corners, she continued.

  “While my suggestion may seem cruel and might offend your sense of responsibility to your late lady wife, I think you should let Mrs. Humphrey and Miss Ball go.” She paused and took a sip of tea.

  Alice slipped by Caroline just in time to hear this, but the expression on her face was unreadable.

  “Do you?” said Lord Malliston. He was quite calm.

  This calmness confused Caroline, given he’d just shown his considerable temper not a quarter hour past, but she swallowed and carried on.

  “If I had the influence, I would insist upon it. Think of Phoebe and Sophie, my lord. They are miserable with the sisters here in residence. You would not need to be cruel. It is possible that you could serve Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey their notice, yet still help them find new positions.” Daringly, she added, “Not that they deserve such consideration. And ideally those positions would be well away from any children.”

  Lord Malliston gave a hearty bark of laughter. “Very well. But how do propose this might be done?” When she wavered, he prodded, “Go on, then.”

  “Well, one way could be to settle them in your country homes as housekeepers. I imagine that with reasonable compensation, they would be content to spend the rest of their days being as lazy there as they are here, but without the consequence of driving us all mad or the girls to nervous fits.”

  Stubbornly, she took a bite of one of the buns so she would not have to speak for a few moments.

  Eventually, and much to her relief, he grinned. “What an elegant solution.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said. “So… you will see the sisters resettled?”

  “Yes. Without delay, I should think. They’ve done enough wickedness in their time here.”

  Caroline studied him as covertly as she could. There was one more topic she wanted to raise with him. Although he had responded far better than she hoped to her proposal regarding the Witch Sisters, she knew that Phoebe and Sophie could provoke him unduly.

  This, she suspected, had most to do with his feelings of inadequacy as a father. What else would make such a competent man so surly? Surely, this was the root of many of his problems. The neglect of his daughters… his inability to keep control over the chaos in the manor…

  She drank a little more tea to steel her nerves, trying to decide what to say.

  But Lord Malliston resumed the conversation for her.

  “You have something else you would like to discuss, Miss Sedgwyck,” he said.

  Irritably, she thought, Good gracious, can he just see inside my head?

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Go ahead. You have been invaluable, thus far.”

  There was that disconcerting note of amusement, again.

  “I daresay that I have grown attached to Sophie and Phoebe, and they to me,” she began stoutly. “Because of this, they are very frank when we are alone. While you were away, not at first, but as time went on, they began to ask where you were. Then they began to blame themselves for your absence.”

  Lord Malliston went very still.

  “My lord, it is not my position to take you to task for your lifestyle,” said Caroline. “But I am afraid that your daughters do not regard themselves as well as they should because they believe they have failed Papa. They feel that you leave when they have been naughty, or when you cannot stand them.” She fixed him with a pleading gaze.

  The duke became very interested in the tea tray. Presently, he said, “May I have a bun, Miss Sedgwyck?”

  “You do not have to ask, Lord Malliston,” she said hurriedly, wondering if he was ignoring everything she had just said, or if some war injury that affected his mind was finally making itself known and he was becoming distracted.

  She nudged the tray closer to him and, with his marred hand, he took the last bun.

  “You must think me very wicked,” he said after he had taken a few small bites. Even his small bites were large; there was scarcely half a bun left.


  Perhaps in some ways.

  “No… I think… well, it isn’t for me to say.”

  “How could you believe I’m anything but? My behavior has not contradicted the rumors you must have been aware of before you came, for one thing.” He shook his head. “All I can say is that I am appalled that my own daughters believe they are the cause of my… restlessness.”

  Slowly, Caroline said, “They are young and their minds are very impressionable. I am sure that they would not want to hurt you with their words. But they… they just want their father. Do you understand?” She tilted her head. “I believe that if you were home at The Thornlands more often and made an effort to spend some of your leisure time with them, it would go a very long way. The damage is not permanent.”

  He was quiet as she spoke, staring at her from across the desk. Caroline had no means of knowing what he thought of her advice. All she could do was continue to sit and wait for his response. Her tea had gone rather tepid, but she drank it anyway.

  “Very well.” There was a strange hoarseness to his voice that Caroline had never heard before and she wondered at its cause. She did not quite think that he was about to cry, but it was encouraging that their discussion of his girls’ feelings about Papa had roused his emotions. “Yet again, you have been very frank with me. You are correct.” With a reluctant smile, he repeated, “Again.”

  His acquiescence was all that Caroline could wish for and, in truth, his smirks and smiles were starting to go to her head in the same way brandy did. She had never been truly drunk, but she felt as though she had imbibed a few fingers’ worth. Her limbs were warm and her mind was starting to retrace its familiar dangerous paths.

  She wanted to find the girls. They must have been at breakfast, by now.

  “Thank you for listening, my lord.”

  He held up his right hand as though to quiet her. “You could have ignored everything you have ever brought to my attention and still received your pay. Some of the things you have said might have earned you your notice from another employer,” he said. “But I should likely be thanking you.” His smile broadened.

  Even she, in all of her inexperience with men, could not mistake the warmth in his next words or the appraising glint in his eyes while he said them.

  “It seems Mr. Arthur Sedgwyck sent me an angel guised as a tutor.”

  Chapter Nine

  Following the duke’s return, many shifts began at The Thornlands.

  The most notable was the departure of Mrs. Humphrey and Miss Ball to another of Lord Malliston’s country houses outside Matlock in Derbyshire.

  True to his word, he had firmly told the women to avail themselves of his kindness. Otherwise, he’d said, they could always return to their families as burdens without positions.

  They chose the former option. With the Witch Sisters gone, all the other occupants of the manor breathed a collective sigh of relief. Phoebe and Sophie were so exuberant during the sisters’ departure that Caroline felt obligated to tell them not to be so rude while Miss Ball and Mrs. Humphrey could still observe them.

  Of course, secretly, she shared in their joy.

  The next change was more of a shock to her.

  At his steward’s behest, Lord Malliston was summoned to oversee some matters of estate. He had only been back at The Thornlands for a fortnight when the summons arrived, and he promised to be gone only about a week. Neither Sophie nor Phoebe fully believed him, but they dutifully nodded and kept from any shows of crying, which they knew he patently hated.

  It was only the middle of the week, and Caroline and the girls were engaged in reading through a French primer. She had their full attention. Phoebe, in particular, seemed to love learning the foreign language. The weather outside was foul. Thus, they were using the back parlor – freshly cleaned and rearranged – to conduct their studies. Gradually, she realized that the girls were no longer paying attention to the words on the page.

  Finding this odd because the girls had never let their attentions stray during lessons, she glanced up to see what captured their interest. A short gasp escaped her lips.

  “My lord,” she said. “I had no idea of your return. What has brought you back so soon?”

  Lord Malliston stood in the doorway, staring into the room with such hesitant longing on his face that Caroline was sure she misread it. His clothes were damp and rumpled from travel.

  Has he come directly from the carriage? And how long has he been standing there?

  His daughters regarded him warily. They, too, were surprised. He had never once bothered to see them at their lessons, and he certainly had never returned home early from an excursion.

  “Nothing of concern,” he said. “I just wanted to see Sophie and Phoebe, and so… here I am.” He took long strides into the room and although his boots left mud on the carpets, Caroline would not stop him. She beamed at him and, for some reason, this made him falter, but he carried on toward the girls. Though still shocked, they jumped from their chairs and went directly to him.

  “Papa!” exclaimed Sophie.

  The duke enfolded his daughters in a cautious embrace. He was unaccustomed to showing fatherly affection, but he was trying. Caroline smiled to see how the children clung to his trousers. She, too, rose.

  “Welcome back, my lord.”

  “Ah… my thanks, Miss Sedgwyck.”

  “We must resume our lessons, young ladies,” she said, by way of rescuing the duke.

  “Papa only just returned,” said Phoebe. It was the first time she had ever voiced an issue with any of Caroline’s directives.

  “And so, you must allow him to wash,” she said.

  She smiled at Phoebe, who pouted a little, but did not raise another protest.

  “Miss Sedgwyck is right,” said the duke. “I must go for now, but I’ll return if she permits it.”

  Caroline gave her leave, and the girls finally, albeit reluctantly, released their hold on Lord Malliston’s dirty trousers.

  Scarcely an hour went by before he came back to the parlor. Much to Sophie and Phoebe’s delight, he sat with them for the remainder of the lesson, unobtrusively listening and saying nothing. Briefly, Caroline wondered if they should switch to anything but French, arithmetic, even, but he did not seem to mind it being spoken around him.

  The same thing occurred the next day, and the day after that.

  At dinner on Friday, for as it happened, as well as frequenting lessons, he had also been taking dinner with Caroline and the girls, he suggested that the family go for a Saturday picnic in town. The girls were beside themselves with joy. Caroline was both surprised and pleased by his suggestion.

  Then Phoebe demanded of her father, “Papa, may Miss Caroline come, too?”

  Lord Malliston looked from his daughter to her tutor and grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Caroline, who had been quickly planning a somewhat lonesome afternoon, blushed at his expression. He does need someone to mind the girls, she thought. It was really the most practical arrangement. He was not yet used to looking after both of them.

  So it was that, together, they sat in the park watching the passersby while eating a cold luncheon that Duckie had packed for them.

  Almost everyone peered at them in surprise, and Caroline realized that most of the people of Easingwold must still know the Duke of Nidderdale by sight. He did not spare them a glance, and encouraged his daughters to do the same. Caroline was slightly more bothered than her charges or their father. She supposed that she, unlike anyone of the ton, was simply not used to being the subject of such obvious and garish speculation.

  But it worked. With morbid curiosity being unrewarded by either a spectacle or hysterics, people soon left them to their own devices. After some time had passed, the girls wanted to engage their father in a run.

  He will say no, thought Caroline. She readied herself for the girls’ tears.

  They were not to come.

  The duke said to Sophie, who had suggested the race,
“You do know, Daughter, that my ability to run has not been at all compromised.” He raised his eyebrows at her.

  “I still think I, at least, could best you,” she said.

  Phoebe was less certain, but seemed to be willing to run against Papa and Sophie.

  “Then, let us see who is the better runner.”

  The three of them took off at a fast pace, but Lord Malliston soon lagged behind his daughters, glancing behind him with a fond look at Caroline. Sophie and Phoebe made it several yards away from him before they realized they had won, and were gleeful in their victory.

  When the group departed the park near sundown, they were all pleasantly tired. The day, however, threatened to turn sour upon their return to The Thornlands.

  After a short respite, during which Caroline attended to the girls, changing them from their mussed day dresses to frocks more suitable for dinner, and changed her own attire, they joined Lord Malliston in the drawing room.

  Quite innocently, Phoebe asked, “Papa, would you please play for us before dinner?” She nodded to the pianoforte.

  “Yes, Papa, do – you never play,” said Sophie. “Miss Caroline probably doesn’t even know you can!”

  A dreadful silence fell across the room as the duke gazed helplessly at his daughters for a moment. Caroline soon deduced that, in all their innocence, somehow the girls did not understand – or had never noticed, given his extensive absences from their short lives – their father’s wounded left hand.

  Caroline recollected Mrs. Humphrey’s words about the duke and the pianoforte, and grudgingly acknowledged that there was truth in at least one of her statements. I need to say something to distract them, she thought desperately. But she was afraid of adding coal to the fire, so to speak. He had made such solid progress that she did not want to make him feel angry or nervous in front of his daughters.

  The duke was quick to recover, though. With a smile, he gathered his daughters into his arms and settled them on one of the deep blue sofas. “Perhaps you recall how Papa went to war with the Duke of Wellington?” he said.