At most, she could likely manage not being a miserable, inappropriate duchess. It was a goal.
With that in mind, she drew her duchess demeanor over her like a cloak and nodded to Archie. She had to stop thinking about who she wished she could be and start being who she really was. “This time, I would like you to pretend to be a man.” And she had to suppress a laugh, since of course he was a man; that was the problem in the first place. “I would like you to pretend to be someone I will be dealing with in business matters,” she clarified. “Someone who doesn’t think I should be in my position”—in other words, likely everybody—“who makes his opinion known by his attitude.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Are you certain you want that?” It looked as though he was about to move closer to her, to bridge the duchess distance, but then he paused and clamped his lips together. She saw a muscle tic at his jaw.
“I do want that.” She paused, then took one step forward herself. Closer to him, but not as close as she’d like to be. “That is, of course I don’t want that. I’d be foolish to actually want that, but I need to know how it will feel, and to prepare myself for it. It’s an eventuality,” she said in a rueful tone of voice.
He kept his eyes on her for a long moment, and she felt her breath hitch inside her chest, quickening as it seemed she felt the impact of his scrutiny all over her body.
“Let us begin, then.” He straightened up to his full height and widened his stance, folding his arms over his chest. “I am someone who deals with your estate in some form of business.” His eyes narrowed and his lip curled, and now the impact of his scrutiny was much different. It felt as though his scorn was a physical thing, something that was traveling over her body.
“Your Grace, you need not concern yourself with these matters,” he said, his voice cold. If she didn’t know he was pretending, she would have felt as though he truly disliked her. As it was, she couldn’t help a shiver run through her at how terrible he sounded. But the truth of it was, she was going to encounter these people in actuality. It would be better if she learned how to react now.
What had he said before? Assume that you are correct and superior. She could do this.
“You are mistaken, Mr.—?” and then she paused, tilting her head as she waited for his reply.
He quickly smothered the grin as he heard her speak. “Mr. BetterThanYou.”
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Well, Mr. BetterThanYou, these matters are my matters. All matters relating to the duchy are my purview. Unless you disagree—?” and again she let the words hang there, lingering in the silence as she felt her position gathering strength in the pause.
“It is just that I am not accustomed to dealing with a lady in such things,” Archie said, shrugging dismissively. “Surely there is a gentleman with whom I may have this conversation?”
“No.” The word was out before she even realized she’d spoken. Sharp, peremptory, decisive.
She resisted giving a triumphant yell.
“No, there is no gentleman with whom you may have this conversation. I am the person to whom you should be speaking. And will be speaking. Unless you wish me to take my business elsewhere?” And this time she accompanied her words with a raise of her chin and an arch of her eyebrow, feeling as though she was the duchess in truth for the first time.
Granted, in a room with just her temporary steward who was playacting to build her confidence, but still.
“No, no, of course not, Your Grace.” Now Archie’s tone had changed to one that was bordering on obsequiousness. “I did not realize just who I was dealing with. If you will allow me to show you what we’ve been doing on your behalf,” and then he unfolded his arms and smiled broadly at her. “That was excellent. Remarkable. You found your tactic and made it work for you. Dealing with people is a strategy, every bit as much of a battle strategy as actually being in battle.” His brows drew together in thought. “I had never realized that before.” His eyes widened, and his next words came out all in a rush. “If only more battles and business meetings had you at their helm the world would be a far more prosperous and peaceful place.”
She could only blink at him in shock. “I—that—thank you,” she said at last. How could you tell someone that they had just paid you the best possible compliment ever? “So you don’t believe as Mr. BetterThanYou does, that these things should be best left to the gentlemen?” She retreated to a teasing tone, unable to say what she was really feeling. Mostly because so much of what she was feeling was—was so much.
He snorted. “Of course not. While I admit that at first I found it unusual that you had inherited your position as you had.”
“You’re not alone in that,” she muttered.
“It seems ridiculous that men are given this power simply because of their gender. Was your father a better duke than you are a duchess?” He nodded at her eye roll. “Of course not. But far fewer people will dispute his right to be the duke simply because of what he was. Not who he was.” And now he had somehow moved closer to her, his gaze intense. And then he placed his hands on her shoulders, grasping her in place. Not that she was planning on moving. “You are magnificent, Genevieve. You will be wonderful in this position.”
She nodded. “I will.” It wasn’t an affirmation of what he’d said. It was a statement.
The pads of his fingers caressed her skin. “You can do it.”
And now she was finding it hard to breathe for some reason. As though she didn’t know why.
“Your Grace,” he said, his voice showing concern, “are you all right? We can do this another time.”
Apparently her breathlessness had crossed over into asphyxia when she hadn’t noticed. Or breathed.
“I am fine, thank you.” She glanced up at him. Struck, as always, by how large and handsome he was. But more than that now—now she knew he was a caring man, one who took his duties seriously. As she did.
“Should we ask for tea?”
She snorted. She couldn’t help it, and what was more, she didn’t want to help it. “I am not feeling so poorly that you have to ask for tea, your most loathed beverage.”
“It is not that I hate tea,” he retorted, removing his hands from her shoulders. “It is just that the act of tea itself can camouflage the lack of so many other acts. When people sit around and drink tea they are not doing things. They are just . . . sitting.”
“And you prefer to be in motion? To be accomplishing things?” Now that he’d explained it, it made so much sense. And there was also—“Your family. Did they sit around and drink tea rather than do things?”
His expression froze at her words. She wished she could take it back, could pretend she didn’t know about his family, nor about how she could see how they affected him. But she couldn’t. To pretend otherwise would be disingenuous, and he would know it for a lie. He would think she pitied him, when really she just wanted him to be happy.
“I am sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”
“No, no, it is fine.” He held his hand out to her and she took it, allowing him to guide her to one of the chairs at the edge of the room. She sat down and waited as he dragged another chair opposite her, his long legs nearly touching hers.
They both turned as they heard the door open. “Pardon me, Your Grace?”
Sir William stepped into the room as he spoke, and Genevieve resisted the urge to shriek at him to leave.
“Yes, sir?” she said instead, using the cold duchess voice she seemed to have mastered within the past ten minutes. She saw Archie smother a grin out of the corner of her eye.
“Your Grace, my sister was hoping to ask your opinion on a few things before tea is served.” Now it took a concentrated effort not to laugh, which would be incredibly rude. “We expect to return to London in time for her to enter Society, but she is very anxious about it all. I told her you would be able to ease her mind.”
Before she would have wondered how she could possibly ease anybody’s mind, given how disheve
led hers was. But now? Now she knew she could.
“Of course. Tell your sister I will be up momentarily.”
Sir William waited as she stood, holding the door open for her. Was he being polite, or just ensuring she and Archie were no longer alone together?
“I will see you for tea, Mr. Salisbury,” Genevieve said over her shoulder as she walked out.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard him mutter some sort of curse.
Letter
Dear Genevieve,
You asked me about my family. I never thought I missed them until I met you and have seen how you collect people around you who become your family—people like Clarkson, and Wickes, and even me.
I wish they held as strong a feeling about the importance of family as you do. Maybe then I wouldn’t be dreading and anticipating our return to London.
Archie
(not sent)
Chapter 20
“Miss Evelyn,” Genevieve said, handing the younger woman a cup of tea, “would you like to go to town with me later today?” The thought made her stomach get all fluttery, an after-effect of having felt so unsettled at the assembly, but she had to enter Society eventually—probably as soon as a few days—and this would be dipping a toe into the vast waters. The very vast waters filled with potential derision and doubt.
“I think it would be good for me to do some shopping, to show myself so my tenants know what I look like, and that I am just another person. Like them.” She only wished that were so, but going to the village would show that she was striving to be an approachable owner. Not someone who collected rents via an intermediary, who didn’t care.
She cared. Perhaps too much.
“That would be wonderful.” Miss Evelyn sounded honestly thrilled, and Genevieve found herself smiling in reply.
“Thank you for seeing to my sister’s comfort.” Sir William lifted his teacup toward Genevieve in a toast. “You are a most gracious hostess.” He settled the cup back down in the saucer. “When are you returning to London? Evelyn and I have taken a house, and we will certainly wish to see you as often as we can.” He glanced at Miss Evelyn. “I know my sister will be overjoyed to have a friend, especially as she enters Society.”
Miss Evelyn’s expression turned bright and hopeful.
“Yes, well, Mr. Salisbury and I were discussing that very thing,” via letter, oddly enough, although typical for them, “and I was saying that I should return soon. It is past time for me to show myself.” Would she suffer a return of the anxiety she’d had at the assembly? But Miss Evelyn and Sir William would be there. Mr. Salisbury would be there as long as he could withstand Aunt Sophia’s entreaties to return.
She could do this. She could.
“Excellent!” Sir William replied in an enthusiastic tone. “Perhaps we can travel together.”
“Yes, that would be perfect,” Genevieve said, wishing she wasn’t already regretting the fact that she would not be alone with Archie. Mr. Salisbury. Although that also meant there wouldn’t be a repeat of their earlier encounter.
Whether that was in the positive or the negative column, she couldn’t say. Or wouldn’t, more precisely. She nodded to Miss Evelyn. “Would you be free to depart to the village in about an hour?”
Miss Evelyn nodded enthusiastically as Genevieve finished her tea. Swallowing down all her feelings along with the liquid.
“Going to town?” Clarkson said, adjusting Genevieve’s gown.
“Yes, I thought it would be a good thing to show my people, the people in the village, that I am a real person. Not someone who just takes the rents and forgets about them the rest of the time.”
Clarkson’s face grew concerned. “Are you certain that is wise?”
Genevieve had told Clarkson some of how she’d felt during the assembly—she had not confided what she had done in the carriage ride on the way home because she wasn’t entirely foolish, but she’d said enough to make her maid worried.
“Do I have a choice?” Genevieve swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “I mean I do have a choice, but I choose not to be an absentee duchess. To be someone unknown to my people.” She shook her head in disbelief. “That I have people at all is remarkable. But they need to know I am not any of my relatives,” not even Sir William and Miss Evelyn, who thus far had been the best relatives she’d met yet.
Clarkson made a disapproving noise. “I know that I am the first to want a woman to have as much responsibility as a man, but it depends on the woman.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow. “And you think I am not the right woman for the job?”
Clarkson shook her head. “No, not that. I can’t imagine anyone better for what you have to do. It is just that I worry about the toll it will take on you.” She patted a ribbon on Genevieve’s gown, a movement that Genevieve had come to recognize as a soothing measure for her maid, regardless of the ribbons’ need to be smoothed. Clarkson cleared her throat. “And I’ve seen how you’ve come to rely on Mr. Salisbury, and I don’t . . .” and then she stopped speaking.
“Don’t want me to fall in love with him?” It might be too late for that, Genevieve thought.
Clarkson blanched. “No, that is not what I was going to say at all.” She peered at Genevieve. “Is that what is happening? Are you falling in love with him?”
“Uh, no, not at all.” Genevieve felt herself start to color up. Apparently blushing was not restricted to when she was with Archie; it also applied to when she was talking about him. Or even just thinking about him. “It is just that is what everyone assumes, because I am a—well, me, and he is . . .” and then she twirled her hand in the air, not quite sure what she should say since she really shouldn’t say he was possibly the handsomest man of her very limited acquaintance, not to mention the best kisser out of a field of one. None of that.
Now Clarkson looked both shocked and appalled. Genevieve wanted to ask specifically what was causing that response, but she didn’t want her maid to think things were happening when they—when they absolutely were.
“But he is working for you. He is certainly not a peer, and besides, he is dependent on you for a good name.” Clarkson frowned in thought. “I know his being with you is only temporary”—unfortunately, Genevieve added inside her head—“but while he is working for you,” and she stressed the last two words, “he is vulnerable.”
Genevieve felt a bubble of hysterical laughter welling up inside her, but knew she had to contain herself. But still. “He is vulnerable? I am the unmarried duchess whom no one thinks should have inherited.”
Clarkson came as close to snorting as Genevieve had ever seen her. “Yes, and you also have the position, the wealth, and the leverage to ruin his life, should you wish to.” She clasped her hands in front of her and narrowed her gaze at Genevieve. Was this how it would have felt if she’d had a mother?
“I don’t wish to,” Genevieve replied in a low voice.
“Of course you don’t,” Clarkson said. “I just—it is just that you don’t have anyone taking care of you, and I wanted to remind you that . . .”
“That I am a duchess, and therefore able to ruin people’s lives with one sweep of my hand,” Genevieve finished. She tried not to sound bitter, but she knew she failed. What else would she fail at?
“I am not expressing myself well.” Clarkson shook her head in obvious frustration. “I don’t wish to put more pressure on you. It is . . .” and then she reached out and took Genevieve’s hands in hers, “I know it is difficult. It would be difficult no matter who was in the position.” She squeezed gently. “But it is you, and you are so kind and thoughtful and caring.”
Genevieve felt her eyes start to prickle. She couldn’t speak for a moment. She looked at the older woman, still smiling down at her, and returned the smile, a few tears spilling down her face. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice. “I never thought that when I inherited that I would also find friends.” She’d said the same thing to Archie, hadn’t she? And now she
had two friends. Perhaps three, if Miss Evelyn could be coaxed out of her shell.
“But I am keeping Miss Evelyn waiting,” she continued, withdrawing her hand and wiping her face. Clarkson made that clucking noise and pulled a handkerchief from somewhere to dry Genevieve’s face properly. “Thank you,” she repeated. Clarkson nodded in reply, patting another ribbon on Genevieve’s gown.
“I will be joining you, if that is acceptable,” Sir William said, in a tone that assumed it would be. Mr. Salisbury would likely compliment Sir William on his confidence.
Genevieve smiled. “Of course, you are welcome. Although I will warn you, I have my heart set on purchasing a new bonnet.” No more ribbons, at least—Clarkson’s attentions to them would likely ensure she would never be without perfect ribbons for the rest of her life.
Clarkson held her cloak out and Genevieve slid her arms through the sleeves, waiting as Clarkson tied it around her neck. She had gotten accustomed to someone doing something she had always done herself; the privilege of being a duchess, apparently, was never having to lift a finger when someone lower in the hierarchy could do it.
Genevieve hoped she was never alone with the Queen, or she would be forced to relearn everything she had likely forgotten in her duchess tenure.
“Mr. Salisbury, we are going into the village.” He could see, even if nobody else would notice, the tension in her expression. He gritted his teeth as he stopped himself from going up to her, from touching her to reassure her it would be all right.
“I have errands to take care of as well,” he said, nodding to Norris, who stood at attention in the hallway. Norris nodded and left, presumably to retrieve Archie’s coat. He couldn’t touch her, not without causing inappropriate notice, but he could be there for her, physically.
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