“He did, and I have taken the liberty of asking a few of my applicants to stop by so you can meet with them. The first will be here in ten minutes,” Miss Ames said, glancing at the clock atop the messy desk that stood in the far corner of the room.
“That is wonderful,” Genevieve said, beaming at Miss Ames. He would have to teach her how to disguise her exuberance. Duchesses didn’t beam, they shouldn’t show too much emotion, and they definitely shouldn’t enthuse.
All of which Genevieve did regularly.
“I am so pleased that meets with your approval,” Miss Ames said, returning the smile.
The duchess addressed the last applicant for the day. “And you are available tomorrow? If you need a few more days, that would certainly be acceptable,” Genevieve added in a generous tone of voice.
Archie uttered an inward groan. She had a long way to go before she would be able to even enter the ranks of entitled aristocrat. But how much of her natural kindness could he possibly train her to suppress? And was that desirable?
Although it could mean they spent more time together with her . . . practicing on him.
“Oh no, Your Grace, I have been waiting to work again for quite some time,” the lady replied. Miss Ames had brought three women to be interviewed, and this Miss Clarkson and Genevieve seemed to have immediately reached an understanding with each other. “Now when you go to see Mrs. Hardwick, do tell her you were sent by me. She was wonderful in dressing Lady Mowlton, and I am certain she will do well by you.” Lady Mowlton, Archie had come to understand, was the woman’s previous employer, who had accompanied her husband to India, leaving Miss Clarkson behind.
“Thank you, I am certain she will be wonderful,” Genevieve replied. She glanced at Archie, a tiny frown drawing her eyebrows together. “If it is convenient, I would like to pay a visit to her now,” she said, a questioning note in her voice.
“It is convenient,” he replied, wishing they were alone so he could remind her to be more demanding.
“Wonderful,” she said, smiling so brightly he was nearly blinded.
“And I will see you tomorrow,” Miss Clarkson said, rising. “Thank you for your assistance, Miss Ames,” she continued. “I do believe the duchess and I will suit quite well.”
“Yes, quite,” Genevieve echoed.
“That went well. I thought it would be so difficult to fix on one person, but then Miss Clarkson walked in, and I knew right away.” Genevieve settled back against the cushions of the carriage with a contented sigh.
“You should refer to her as simply Clarkson. Not Miss Clarkson.”
“Is the purpose of being privileged to speak as few words as possible? First ‘wrap,’ and then ‘Clarkson,’ when you could just add a few more words to be polite.” She spoke in a grumbling tone of voice that was undeniably entrancing. And he had never found anything entrancing in his life. He wasn’t certain he even recognized himself.
She shrugged and continued speaking. “And now we are going to the dress shop. You are certain you do not mind accompanying me? I know Miss Clarkson could have come when she arrives to take up the position, but that would mean delaying things even more. And I don’t know her as well as I do you.”
“It would be a pleasure,” Archie replied, and he found to his surprise that he was not merely being polite.
“Thank you for all your help,” she continued, leaning forward to touch his knee. And then she froze, as though realizing what she’d done. As he did, realizing just how welcome the touch was.
“I am so sorry, that was wrong.”
No, it was right, that voice clamored in his head. So right.
“No need to apologize, Your—Genevieve. Just as long as you do not do such things with . . .” and then he found himself struggling to complete the sentence because just the very thought of her being familiar with another man made his vision blur and his hands clench.
“I like how you say my name,” she said in a soft voice. “Not many people have said it in my life. I was always Lady Genevieve when I was growing up.” She glanced out the window, but it was clear she was sifting through her memories, not looking at what was actually outside. “Gran calls me Vievy, and now I am Your Grace to most people.”
“Well, Genevieve, I am honored that you are permitting me that familiarity.”
“Insisted on it, you mean to say,” she corrected with a laugh. “Thank you. I didn’t know that when I came to London to assume my responsibilities, I would have the benefit of finding a friend. Someone I can talk to, who understands what it is I need and helps me to achieve it.”
The reminder—that he was here to help her assume her responsibilities—was a punch to the gut, even though she certainly didn’t mean it as such. He relinquished his hold on her hand and folded his arms over his chest so he wouldn’t be tempted. And was gut-punched all over again at her expression, which looked hurt and guilty. As though she were the one acting inappropriately when all she had done was be true to herself.
Well. That went horribly, Genevieve thought as the drive continued. She hadn’t meant to touch him, to take his hand. It was just—it just felt right. She had grown up with touches—fond pats on the head from various servants, her grandmother’s holding on to her arm as they walked, so it just felt natural for her to touch him. And now that she had, she wanted to touch him again, only his posture—firmly seated, his arms crossed over his chest in that grim Salisbury pose—was a clear indication that she had transgressed. Done something a lady, never mind a duchess, should never do.
But what was the point of being a duchess if she couldn’t do what she wanted? Wasn’t that part of being privileged?
But you’re a lady first. And as far as she was aware, ladies should not go around holding gentleman’s hands, not if they had no indication that the touch was welcome. Although she could ask. And then even the thought of doing that made her blush, and she felt her cheeks burn, and hoped he didn’t notice.
But of course he would notice. He was observant, she’d known that from the first time they’d met and he’d caught her rolling her eyes. What’s more, he’d probably insist she demand what she wanted.
And what she still wanted was to touch him. So not only was she bright red with embarrassment because she’d thought about asking him if she could touch him, but that hadn’t relieved the desire to do so.
But he had said such nice things to her, right before he’d grabbed his hand back. So perhaps he was as conflicted as she was about all of this? Whatever “all of this” was?
With that somewhat comforting (albeit confusing) thought in her head, she began to think on the prospect of new clothing, which was much less confusing and nearly as comforting.
“That one.” He nodded in approval, and Genevieve’s cheeks turned pink as she felt his gaze on her. All over her.
Mrs. Hardwick nodded in agreement. “That color brings out the richness in your hair, Your Grace. And the other, the green, makes your eyes sparkle quite marvelously.”
Genevieve regarded herself in the mirror.
She saw a stranger—a gorgeously gowned, nearly beautiful stranger—gazing back at her. She was used to wearing whatever gowns she had been able to have made by the seamstress who lived in the nearby village. The seamstress usually only had fabrics of a serviceable color, since the rest of her clientele were working women, and Genevieve had never been able to afford more than a serviceable gown.
There would be no mistaking her as anything but a lady now. The gown was a pale blue, the blue of a winter sky. Mrs. Hardwick had pinned it in an approximation of what it would look like, and was holding up and then discarding a variety of trim—ribbons, feathers, and other items, all delightfully useless, designed just to make the gown look better.
They’d all agreed, thankfully, that the unusual circumstances of her inheriting meant that she could eschew the traditional mourning clothes. Mr. Salisbury had delivered the final death knell—so to speak—against wearing all black, since she would have
to be seen as being in authority, not in mourning.
Genevieve wondered at that reasoning, but was just as happy not to have to wear black all the time.
“What about this, Your Grace?” Mrs. Hardwick said, seeming to have finally settled on something that met her expectations. It was a flower made of fabric and she held it up against the gown’s right shoulder.
“It looks nice,” Genevieve ventured. She hadn’t minded the other things that Mrs. Hardwick had apparently deemed not good enough, so she wasn’t entirely sure what made this fabric flower any better than the myriad things that had not passed muster.
“That one is perfect,” Mr. Salisbury said in a definitive tone of voice. Apparently, as in all things, Mr. Salisbury had an opinion. About fabric flowers. “How soon may we have everything?”
Mrs. Hardwick spoke through a mouthful of pins. “I won’t have everything that is essential for two weeks. Ten days at the earliest.”
Genevieve tried not to be grateful she would have at least another ten days’ reprieve from launching herself into Society.
“Ten days.” Mr. Salisbury rose, smoothing his coat as he stood. “You will send word when everything is ready.”
Mrs. Hardwick nodded. “Yes. And if you could—?” and she gestured toward the desk where the business was done.
“Of course, how much will you require?”
It took Genevieve a few moments to realize that Mrs. Hardwick was asking for money, and that Mr. Salisbury was transacting the business for her. That was not acceptable; he was here to show her what to do, not to do it himself. She stepped off the podium where she’d been standing and went to stand beside Mr. Salisbury. “I will send you a note for half the work, if that is acceptable.”
Mrs. Hardwick glanced from Mr. Salisbury to Genevieve and back again. “It is more than acceptable, Your Grace.” From the way she spoke, it sounded as though most aristocrats did not pay half up front.
But Genevieve had already decided she would not behave as most aristocrats did.
“If you can just jot the amount down, and I can send a footman back with my check.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Hardwick replied, beginning to add a long column of numbers.
“If you could help me out of this also—?” Genevieve said, gesturing to the gown she still wore.
“Oh, of course,” Mrs. Hardwick put her pencil down and stepped from behind the desk.
“I’ll wait for you at the front of the shop,” Mr. Salisbury said.
Mrs. Hardwick guided Genevieve back to the fitting room. “Most ladies arrive for their fittings with their lady’s maid, but since you’ve just hired Miss Clarkson, that isn’t the case today. I very much appreciate Miss Clarkson recommending my work, and I do hope that the gowns will suit. It is not often I have the honor of dressing a duchess.” She undid the pins so Genevieve could step out of the gown, then retrieved her own clothing, which now looked even worse since she’d seen the alternative. She heard herself utter a sigh as Mrs. Hardwick assisted her into the gown.
“I might be able to finish one or two of the things you’ve ordered sooner than ten days.” Mrs. Hardwick began to do up the buttons. “A day dress or two, nothing that requires too much work.”
“That would be lovely,” Genevieve replied, grateful the woman seemed to understand. To be able to wear something that was beautiful, just for beauty’s sake, rather than practical or long-wearing or any of the other things she’d come to believe were necessary for a proper wardrobe—a part of her felt foolish for caring so much about her appearance, but she knew that the world she was about to enter would care even more, so she had to take pains with it.
Letter
Dear Genevieve Duchess,
I have been going over the statements from the firm that handles your affairs. It appears that some of your estates are in even more dire straits than I’d first thought. I would like to take you to the country I believe it is crucial that we go to the worst one to see what needs to be done in person. With your permission, I will authorize Chandler to make the decisions on the household staff, since you are too soft-hearted to let even the worst employee go since he and I are in basic agreement on what is to be done.
Would you be able to depart tomorrow?
I want to spend time alone with you.
Mr. Salisbury
Chapter 8
“Oh!” Genevieve exclaimed as she read the letter again.
“Your Grace?” Miss Clarkson inquired.
She waved the letter in the air. “Mr. Salisbury has suggested we go to the country to handle some urgent estate matters. It is not as though there is anything for me to do in town anyway, not without the proper wardrobe.” Yes, she was justifying her glee at the prospect of going to the country, alone, with him, but it was also true. Was it justification if it was also accurate?
“Excellent, Your Grace. When are we to leave?”
“Tomorrow. Will that give you enough time to pack?”
Miss Clarkson looked startled to be asked such a question. “Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” Miss Clarkson—or Clarkson, as she was supposed to call her—had only arrived the day before, but she’d already managed to put Genevieve’s clothing to rights, mending things that Genevieve hadn’t gotten around to (mostly because she hated mending), and had also spent a few hours with Genevieve’s grandmother.
Gran! She would have to go talk to her grandmother about the trip. She felt guilty for not getting to spend as much time with her as before, but her grandmother didn’t seem to mind—she had persuaded Mr. Salisbury to read some poetry to her, and Genevieve had found herself lingering in the room when she should have been off doing duchessy things. Listening to him read in that low, delicious voice.
Not that she yet had a very good idea of what those things were. She just knew she ought to be doing them instead of listening to her altogether far too handsome sort of servant reading poetry.
“Gran, how are you? Where is Byron?”
Her grandmother smiled and raised her cheek for Genevieve to kiss. “I am fine, I did not sleep that well, but it is an old lady’s privilege to take naps whenever possible, so I will be doing that later today. Byron is probably napping already somewhere.”
Genevieve settled into the chair next to her grandmother. “Have you had tea? Would you like anything?”
Her grandmother shook her head. “No, Mr. Salisbury came in earlier to inquire if I needed anything, and he ordered the tea for me. He is such a thoughtful man,” she said, in a warm tone of voice.
“He is very thoughtful, it is so kind for him to leave his position with Aunt Sophia to come help me.” She paused. “Speaking of Mr. Salisbury, he has suggested that we go to one of the estates. From what he has indicated, there are some pressing matters that need my attention. We leave tomorrow.”
Her grandmother nodded again. “It sounds as though you are doing exactly what you should be, Vievy.” As usual, her grandmother didn’t ask about the propriety of what she was doing, trusting that Genevieve would make the right decision. Genevieve wished she could be so assured about herself.
“I hope so.” Genevieve bit her lip as she thought about the enormity of what needed doing, and how many miscreant relatives would be waiting for her to fail. “Do you want to join us on the trip?”
“No, thank you.” She reached over and patted Genevieve’s hand. “I like being in one place. It suits me. You’ll have your business affairs to concern yourself, and Byron hates traveling.”
“I don’t know if I hate traveling, I have done it so seldom,” Genevieve remarked in a contemplative tone.
Gran smiled. “You’re young; you will likely find it invigorating. It sounds as though the end of the journey will have lots of hard work, however.”
Leave it to her grandmother to just state the truth. Truth that Genevieve knew she’d have to face.
That unhappy thought was interrupted when there was a knock on the door and Chandler walked in, a displ
eased expression on his face. “Your Grace, you have visitors. They say they are your cousins.”
More family? “Show them in to the second drawing room, Chandler, thank you. And would you mind asking Mr. Salisbury to come as well?” She was nearly confident of her ability to dismiss her family if they required dismissing, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Mr. Salisbury at her side.
Besides which, then she could have the pleasure of looking at him.
Archie walked into the room prepared for the worst. Chandler had told him only that some more of Genevieve’s family had come calling, but from what Chandler and Genevieve herself had said, the entire family was worthless.
Except for her. Which he should not be thinking about.
“Mr. Salisbury, thank you for coming.” The duchess—Genevieve—gestured to two ladies seated side by side, teacups placed on the table in front of them. “These are my cousins, Miss Lawford and Miss Maria Lawford. They’ve just arrived in town, and are hoping I could recommend a place for them to stay.”
Did she not see through that subterfuge? Of course, she was supposed to offer the two cousins—both of whom were glancing around as though appraising the items in the room—lodging for the duration of their visit.
Archie leaned against the fireplace, his arms folded over his chest. “Have you considered the Hyland Hotel? I understand it is quite respectable, and caters specifically to ladies such as yourselves.”
Miss Lawford squirmed, giving Miss Maria a sidelong glance. As though that wasn’t obvious at all. “Well, no, we hadn’t yet. We came here first, just to see our cousin.” She accompanied her words with an overly sweet smile toward Genevieve, who smiled back.
“I would offer that you could stay here,” she began.
“That would be wonderful!” Miss Maria interjected.
“Only I am about to leave town, so that is not possible.” Again, she smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. But Archie imagined only he knew that it was a false expression. The two ladies were far too self-absorbed by the ruin of their plans to pay the duchess much attention.
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