My Fair Duchess

by Megan Frampton

  Although he had seemed just as embarrassed, so perhaps they had that in common.

  Genevieve would have thought she’d be awake all night, reliving each second of that kiss—her first, but hopefully not her last—but no, apparently her body was far too pragmatic to stay awake when it could be sleeping.

  She woke very early, feeling supremely comfortable, blinking as she glanced around the unfamiliar room. In the early morning light the room was even prettier, with a pleasant floral wallpaper covering the walls, a few delicate-looking pieces of furniture, including a lady’s writing desk, and a scattering of pictures on some of the surfaces and on the walls.

  She sat up, pushing her hair away from her face, glancing out the window to the outside. If the inside was lovely, the outside was spectacular. This was all hers?

  The driveway was wide as well as long, and there was a row of bushes on either side. Bushes that didn’t appear to have been trimmed recently, but impressive for their multitude nonetheless. Beyond the bushes were enormous trees that were probably planted long before there was even the suggestion that a woman would someday become duchess. The lawn in between was lush and green although also clearly not maintained, and there were a few square beds of flowers that made Genevieve itch to go investigate.

  And then she heard the voices. At first she couldn’t discern the tone, but then she heard the voices rise in anger, and she leaped out of bed, rushing to the window to open it—only to realize she was wearing her chemise. And that was all.

  It wouldn’t matter how decisive and duchesslike she could be if she did it in her undergarments.

  So instead she picked up her gown from where she’d laid it and tossed it over her head, doing up what buttons she could. Hopefully Clarkson would be here soon, if she wasn’t already, and she wouldn’t have to back away from anybody she met so they wouldn’t see her shocking state of undress.

  “Now see here, how do I know you’re with the duchess?”

  Mr. Leonards was, as Archie suspected, not a pleasant man. He was large, though not as large as Archie, and broad, and appeared to have a habit of using his loud voice to intimidate people. At least that was what Archie gathered seeing him speak with Mr. Wickes, but it would take a lot more than a bully with a hearty voice box to frighten him. He’d been in the Queen’s Own Hussars, after all, and he’d met men of Mr. Leonards’s ilk before; all bluster, shouting at people to go on and get in the thick of danger while remaining behind nursing a drink and a poor attitude.

  “I am with the duchess,” Archie said through clenched teeth, “because I say I am. Mr. Wickes says he received the letter informing you of her impending arrival. Unless you think it is a remarkable coincidence that the Duchess of Blakesley sent you a letter and then an impostor suddenly appeared claiming to be the duchess, I believe you should accept that we have arrived. And that things are not as the duchess would wish.”

  “Oh? And what is it that the duchess finds fault with?” It seemed Mr. Leonards was not going to back down. Archie glanced around the area they stood in, assessing the ground in case there was to be a fight. He would not want to pitch over into the grass because of negligent gardening. He had no doubt he could best Mr. Leonards in a fight, but he wasn’t so certain about the horticulture.

  “Well, for one thing, that you seem to have only Mr. Wickes to maintain this entire estate while you—what do you do exactly?”

  Mr. Leonards puffed up his chest, which just made him look more like a rooster. “I oversee the tenants, take the rents, oversee the repairs, overs—”

  “Yes, you oversee things. Since you are the overseer. But what do you do?”

  Mr. Leonards began to sputter, then his expression changed as he looked past Archie. Judging by the mixed look of trepidation and pugnaciousness, the duchess was there. Hopefully she’d managed to get herself somewhat dressed, since he didn’t think Mr. Leonards would respect a duchess who appeared in—well, whatever she’d figured out to sleep in.

  Images of which were merely distracting him from the matter at hand.

  “Good morning, Mr. Salisbury.” Her tone was cold and correct. As it should be. As though she were the duchess and he was the steward. As it should be.

  So why did he feel so unsettled?

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” She came alongside him and he saw she was holding her gown closed in the back with one hand, the other wrapped around her waist. He stepped forward so as to shield more of her back from view, and she cast him a quick grateful look.

  “Your Grace, I didn’t know it really was you. And may I say what a pleasure it is to welcome you to the Blakesley Estate?” Now Mr. Leonards had turned to the obsequious portion of this morning’s performance. Archie wanted to roll his eyes at the man’s obvious pandering.

  “Thank you, Mr. Leonards.” She squirmed as though she were about to let go of the back of her gown, and Archie held his breath, his own hand tensing as he considered whether it would be less shocking for her gown to show a gap or for him to put his hand on her back.

  Thankfully, she got herself under control before Mr. Leonards could do more than regard her with a bit more suspicion than a moment ago. And Archie wouldn’t have to touch her.

  Never mind, now he was regretting her not having difficulty with her clothing.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear,” Genevieve continued, using the stern tone of voice Archie had first commended her on, “that you and my employee were discussing the validity of my arrival? Is that correct?”

  A long silence, which Archie tried not to break with a cheer resembling what would follow a particularly successful ambush on the enemy.

  “Uh, well, that is, Your Grace . . .” and then Mr. Leonards stopped speaking. Since he couldn’t really come up with anything that wouldn’t make him sound worse than he already did.

  “Yes?”

  Go, Duchess!

  “Uh . . .”

  “Thank you, Mr. Leonards. If you will be so kind as to take Mr. Salisbury to your office and allow him to examine the books.” She turned toward him, but not so much that her back was exposed. “Mr. Salisbury, would you also be so kind?” and then she stopped, and tilted her head in what was most definitely a duchesslike gesture.

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Archie replied, bowing. He rose and addressed Mr. Leonards. “If you would—?”

  “Hmph,” Mr. Leonards replied, striding back to the house, Archie keeping up easily.

  Letter

  Dear Bob,

  I am, as you know, assisting the Duchess of Blakesley with her new duties. I am also keenly aware of her as a woman. A lovely, intelligent, lonely woman. She has requested that I find no fewer than twenty men to fill various positions at the Blakesley Estate. The positions include a stable master and grooms, a butler, footmen, a gardener, and a steward a steward. Please direct the men to write to me c/o the duchess’s estate, address, etc.

  Archie

  Chapter 14

  “It was as we might have known.”

  It was a few hours after the Intimidating Men Incident. Genevieve was grateful Mr. Salisbury was with her, not just because he was nice to look at.

  She could, and would, do what had to be done in terms of managing things, but it was so much more helpful and easy that she had him as her advance guard, so to speak. She glanced up at him, her breath catching—as usual—at his overall handsomeness.

  She did not look terrible herself; Clarkson had come just after the Incident, and had clucked her tongue and put her to rights, including dressing her in one of the new gowns that had arrived.

  But she did not start with the raw materials Mr. Salisbury did. She was not tall, not muscular, not almost savagely beautiful. Nor did she exude a kind of raw power that made her all fluttery inside.

  “What might we have known?” she asked, realizing she should be speaking with him, not just viewing him. That is, she could do both, provided she could remember to speak, and not just to tell him how much she enjoyed his appearance
.

  “Mr. Leonards is a scoundrel.”

  She leaned back in her chair and regarded him, glad she had an excuse to do so. “In what way?” She shrugged. “I assume he has been skimming whatever funds come into the estate. I also assume he has allowed things to fall to ruin because nobody was here to object. Has he done more than that?” And her words faltered as she thought about what else he could have done—a powerful man out here in the country with people, especially women, who were less powerful than he.

  “Not that,” Mr. Salisbury returned quickly, obviously sensing her concern. “He did put people on the payroll, other people whose last names are Leonards, doing jobs that as far as I can tell have not actually been done.”

  “You fired him, I presume.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I did not want him to stay here a moment longer than necessary, for fear he would do more damage.”

  Genevieve rose and walked to look out the window. It was still a gorgeous sight, but there was just so much of it. So much land, so many lives out there depending on what she decided. “So now we just have Wickes and—?”

  He walked to stand beside her. “With your permission, Your Grace, I will send word to my former comrades-in-arms. I know there are many who are still out of work, and if it suits, we can hire some of them. I know they would be happy to work in such a tranquil place.”

  She turned and looked at him, hearing something in his tone. “And you? Do you find it a tranquil place? Is it a place where you think you could be happy?”

  He met her gaze, and what she saw there made her heart race. There was something so poignant and wanting in his eyes, and it seemed as though she could feel his hurt, feel whatever pain he carried inside. And yet nothing he had said would suggest he was in pain, it was just—it was just that she felt it. Felt a connection to him far more than simple friendship and one kiss would suggest.

  Far more than what should be between a duchess and her temporary steward, that was for certain.

  “I like the tranquillity. One of the things I like about working for your Aunt Sophia.” He looked as though he were lost in memories. “The one thing that they never mention about going to war is the noise. From the sound of the guns, to the men the night before, singing or talking or getting into fights. To the time after, when the battle has ended, but some men’s agony has just begun, and they’re screaming, and you can’t help them.”

  Her throat tightened as she listened, really listened to him. It felt as though she heard not only what he was saying, but what he wasn’t saying also.

  “I don’t mean to try to steal you away from Aunt Sophia, that is not why I asked,” she continued hurriedly, before she could ask something really inappropriate, far worse than seeming to want to hire him: Are you lonely? I am, too. Can we be less lonely together? “But there is work to be done here, good, honest work that is very different from the noise and rumpus of London. I am not sure I will ever adjust entirely to London. I don’t know if it will make me happy,” she said in a softer voice, now almost speaking to herself.

  “I do like it here. But as for happiness?” He paused, and Genevieve saw how his shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath. “I am not sure that is possible. I would settle for contentment. Peace.” His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Peace isn’t the same as happiness, but I would take peace over anything at this point. The obvious peace between nations, but also peace within myself. Not just order, although you know I value that.” He turned his head to look out the window, and she followed his gaze. What did he see when he looked out? Did he see opportunity? Did he just see grass, trees, and a driveway? Did he see the future?

  “But speaking of work, we do have plenty of it,” he continued. He gestured toward the door. “We can begin in what was Mr. Leonards’s office going through the books. We can make a list of the positions we need to fill here, and then I will send word ’round to my second at Lady Sophia’s, a Mr. McCready. He has all the men’s addresses, and can contact them to see about their coming to work here.”

  “Yes, let’s begin.” She had never been asked to work before. She hadn’t even ever been consulted about work before. It felt wonderful, as though this was what she should be doing. To be useful, to try to find—what had he said?—peace through this effort.

  Letter

  Mr. Salisbury:

  Would it be possible for you to tone down your attractiveness? It is quite distracting. First I think I am concentrating on one thing, something related to my duties, and then I realize I have actually been thinking about your blue eyes for nearly fifteen minutes.

  Thank you for attending to this matter.

  Sincerely,

  Duchess

  (not sent)

  Chapter 15

  Had she actually looked forward to working? She knew she had never worked so hard in her life, but since she had never worked before, it wasn’t that hard to top.

  “Try it again,” he said, leaning back in his chair. She glowered at him, but picked the pen up nonetheless, ticking off each number as she checked it against the second set of books.

  “Why did I want to do this again?” she asked.

  “Because if you want to have authority, true authority, you need to know every single thing about your estates. All of them, in specific detail.

  She exhaled, pausing to look over at him. “You’re right. I know that. I just didn’t think there would be so many details about being a duchess.”

  “You didn’t know anything,” he retorted.

  She laughed. “True enough. And I couldn’t respect myself if I didn’t know what I had to know in order to do the right thing by the position. Unlike my father,” she murmured. “How could he not have seen that Leonards was stealing? It was so blatant, even I could see it without any kind of training!” She shook her head and drew another paper toward her. “Thank goodness I have your help or I would never get through this.”

  “You’d do just fine,” he replied in a quiet tone. Quiet, but it felt as though he’d shouted from how his words spread warmth throughout her body.

  “I suppose I would,” she said after a moment. She would. She was glad he was here, of course, but she would have figured it out. Eventually.

  It was enlightening, doing the accounts. It horrified her that the cost of one of her gowns would pay for feed for the flocks of sheep on the estate for close to six months. But if she weren’t dressed as befit a duchess, she wouldn’t have people’s respect, and that went a long way toward being able to help them.

  So she might as well wear her lovely gowns since the duchy was paying for them.

  But musing about the relative cost of a gown and sheep feed wasn’t solving the estate’s problems. After only three muttered “mudpies,” and one broken pen, she finished, and handed what she’d done over to Archie, who reviewed it as she waited, hoping she’d done it correctly. At last he nodded. “It’s good, only one minor mistake, which I’ve marked here.” He showed her where she’d neglected to check off one of the many budget items against the proposed budget. “Oh,” he said, “I’ve heard from my friend Bob—Mr. McCready. He says there will be a few men arriving within the next few days, with more on the way after that.” He paused and cleared his throat. “I haven’t thanked you for giving them this chance.”

  She felt her cheeks get hot. “Don’t thank me, thank yourself. It was your idea, after all,” she said, with a wave of her hand.

  “My idea, yes, but your money.”

  Of course. Her money. Her power, her influence, her position. Her gowns. Her everything. It continued to weigh on her, all that responsibility, the knowledge that there were likely people, never mind her own relatives, who would argue she had no right to hold the position she did. That was why she absolutely had to show them, to prove to them, that she could do this, that a female was just as good as a male in the role. Better, given that the last male was her father.

  “And speaking of my money,” she said, her cheeks still burning, “I su
ppose I should venture into town and spend some of it. To show the people here, my tenants, specifically, that I am committed to restoring the estate and the lands to whatever former glory they had. Clarkson has also heard that there is to be an assembly, and I thought perhaps I would attend. Would you—could you possibly accompany me, Mr. Salisbury?”

  His hand stilled on the book, which he still held. “Are you certain that would be appropriate?” He didn’t say “Your Grace,” but then again he didn’t say “Genevieve,” either. Was he thinking about that kiss as much as she was?

  Impossible. Because when she wasn’t thinking about ways to improve the duchy and the possibility of rain—not to mention when she would next get tea—she was thinking about that kiss. Which meant she thought about it nearly ninety percent of her waking hours.

  Far more than she should be, she knew that.

  “I think it would be less appropriate for me to attend on my own,” she said after a moment. “Plus if I did go on my own, and I entered the ballroom, and I was entirely on my own, and I am already not of them, and they will turn and stare, and then someone will introduce me, and I will feel like . . .” and then to her horror she couldn’t catch a breath. Which was probably just as well, because if she continued to speak, she would end up squeaking.

  He got up out of his chair and came to kneel beside hers, taking her hand in both of his. “It will be fine. I would love to come with you.” And he smiled up at her, a smile that reached his eyes, making the corners crinkle up, and she knew she had been breathless before, but this made her feel as though she had had the wind knocked out of her. By him.

  “Only if you promise to dance with me. You have to practice, don’t you?” he asked, his mouth curling up into a lazy grin. A smile that revealed a shared joke between them, that made her insides get all squirmy and her skin feel as though it was on fire.