by Kate Pearce
“Do you not intend to visit your sister and stepmother first?”
“God, no.” He shuddered. “Let’s start with the remnants of my grandfather’s family. I suspect they will be far easier to deal with.”
Margaret set down her fork. “We can leave tomorrow if you wish?”
“You are ready to go?”
“I’ve been packing for a month, so yes.” She shrugged. “I hate being disorganized. We can say our goodbyes in Millcastle today and be ready to travel onward tomorrow morning.”
He gazed at her in admiration and bent to kiss her hand. “Yes, duchess. We will indeed.”
She balled up her napkin and threw it at his head.
Chapter 8
Hellsdown Park was even worse than Margaret remembered. When they pulled up at the front door with all the baggage, no one even appeared to assist them. After shoving open the protesting door, Alistair went inside and bellowed for help so loudly that Margaret could hear him in the carriage.
Eventually, two young men appeared and Margaret’s maid Eileen began directing them where to take her mistress’s belongings. Alistair came around to hand her down from the carriage.
“I need to go around to the stables and make sure the horses are properly seen to—although that is one area of the estate my cousin and grandfather lavished money on, so I suspect it is still well-staffed. Do you think you can deal with our baggage?”
“Of course.” Displaying far more confidence than she felt, Margaret nodded.
“Good. I’ll meet you upstairs in our bedchamber as soon as I am able.”
He went off and she was soon busy making sure that everything was unloaded carefully from the second carriage. When the majority of the items were inside, and it began to drizzle with rain, she stepped into the cold stone hall.
Lilly appeared, and Margaret offered her a warm smile, which was not returned.
“How lovely to see you again, Lilly. Can you direct me to Alistair’s suite?”
“It’s straight up the main staircase and to the right.”
“Thank you.” Margaret paused to take off her bonnet. “Would you order some tea to be sent up to me?”
Lilly looked her up and down. “Surely that is your job now?”
Suppressing a sigh only because she knew all too well how it felt to be supplanted by another woman in your own house, Margaret continued up the stairs. She would ask Eileen to brave the no-doubt-frosty reception in the kitchens and bring up the tea herself.
It was easy to guess which door belonged to her husband, because it was open and there was the sound of loud voices coming through it.
“You can’t put all that there!”
“The new duchess says different, Mr. Clarkson.”
“I don’t give a fig what the new duchess says, I want you all out of here.”
Margaret paused at the open door to remove her gloves and survey the chaotic scene in front of her. The bedchamber was very large, but her belongings were now taking up more than half of it. The man who was protesting both her arrival and her possessions currently had his back to her as he continued complaining. His hair was black, and he wore what she could only consider a very casual attempt at a valet’s uniform.
He turned suddenly, as if aware of her presence, and she simply stared at him as the two footmen disappeared behind her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Never seen a black man before?”
“No, I have not.” She continued to study him. “Are you the duke’s valet?”
“Yes, I am. What of it?”
“Then you are lamentably bad at your duties. Do you have any idea how to starch a neckcloth?”
His mouth opened and shut at least twice before he managed a reply. “Probably better than you do, your grace. How many times have you been down to a kitchen and washed and ironed a ten-foot piece of linen?”
Margaret smiled serenely at him. “Probably more times than you have, from the look of the duke’s attire.”
“You—” He shook his head. “You aren’t supposed to speak to me like that.”
“In truth, the boot is surely on the other foot?” Margaret raised her eyebrows. “You are in my employ, I pay your wages, and I expect you to do your job.”
Behind her, someone delicately cleared his throat.
“I see that you two have met, then.” Alistair came to stand between them. “Clarkson, this is my new duchess.”
“I’d worked that out for myself, your grace, seeing as she arrived with enough luggage for a queen and has already told me I don’t starch your neckties properly.”
“She’s right.” Alistair smiled at Margaret. “Do you want to rest, or would you prefer to leave Eileen to get on with the unpacking and come down for tea?”
“I think I’ll let Eileen make a start on this.” Margaret gave Clarkson another gracious smile. “After sitting in the carriage for hours I would prefer to stretch my legs.”
Alistair took her hand as they went back down the corridor. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to introduce you properly to Clarkson.”
“Oh, I think we understand each other,” Margaret said lightly.
“He isn’t what you might call a conventional valet. I met him during a prize fight when he was down on his luck, and offered him employment.”
“As your valet?”
He shrugged. “He’s well-qualified. He grew up in a merchant’s house and tried his hand at every task before the old man died, and he was put out on the streets with nothing but his fists to defend himself with.”
“I’m sure we will get along perfectly once he realizes who is in charge.”
Alistair laughed. “Ah, you see, that’s where I went wrong. He runs roughshod over me.”
Margaret didn’t respond, her attention on the drawing room where she could already hear the murmured conversations of her husband’s family. Desperate not to show that she was nervous, she gripped Alistair’s hand a little more tightly.
He drew her through the door and nodded to the assembled company. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m sure you are all eager to welcome my new duchess?”
His gaze went to Lilly, who was sitting by the fire. “You have ordered some tea. How nice.”
“I thought you might appreciate it after your journey, Alistair.” Lilly smiled fondly at the duke.
Just as Lilly went to pick up the teapot, Margaret leaned in and took possession of it. She might as well establish that she was the mistress of Hellsdown Park from the beginning. “May I pour you a cup of tea, Alistair?”
For a few tense seconds, it looked as if Lilly might get into an unsightly wrangle with her over mastery of the teapot, but, after one martyred glance, Lilly relinquished her spot behind the tea tray and moved over to sit by her aunt.
Keeping her smile fixed firmly in place, Margaret began to pour the tea and Alistair distributed it around the room. There was a second pot of boiling water, which she added to the pot.
“Do we have lemon?” she asked, as she finally poured herself a cup and someone sniggered.
“Not at the moment,” Alistair was quick to reply to her. “There used to be a conservatory and hot house on the side of the house where such exotic fruits flourished, but it has since fallen into disrepair.”
“Perhaps we should renovate it?” Margaret asked as if they were alone and she was not being stared at and judged by a dozen dependent relatives. “I will make sure to visit it on my tour.”
The same person snorted, and Margaret raised her gaze to meet the hooded eyes of a man who obviously didn’t care for her presence. With a murmured excuse to Alistair, she picked up her cup, and walked over to where he sat to the side of the large room.
“Good afternoon. May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?” Margaret asked pleasantly.
“I’m nobody of importance,” the man growled. He wasn’t as old as she had first imagined. His face was lined and his hair was greying only at the temples.
“As a relative of my husb
and who lives in his house, that cannot be true.”
“I’m Brandon Hill.”
Margaret shook his hand. “I am very pleased to meet you. My name is Margaret.”
He regarded her with suspicion before easing his hand free of hers. “You sound more like a parlor maid than a duchess.” His own accent was as crisp and autocratic as Alistair’s.
“That is probably because I was born not far from here in Millcastle. Have you heard of it?”
“I remember a village of that name, but as I haven’t left the estate and village for the last ten years, I can’t say I am familiar with it.”
“Why haven’t you left?”
He glanced down at his blanket-covered lap. “Damned legs don’t work. That’s why I ended up here in the first place. When I came home from India, the last duke took pity on me and let me live here.”
“What regiment were you in?” Margaret asked as she set her tea down beside his.
“Life Guards.” He looked down his nose at her. “What other regiment is there?”
“Is that the same one as my husband?”
“Good lord, no.” He raised his voice. “Alistair can you come here and talk to your wife? She is displaying a distinct lack of knowledge about the British military.”
If Brandon Hill expected her to be embarrassed, he was sorely mistaken. She greeted Alistair with a smile as he approached.
“Mr. Hill has reminded me that I don’t know which regiment you served in, Alistair?”
“The Prince of Wales Hussars.” Alistair glanced from her to Brandon and lowered his voice. “Is he annoying you?”
“No more than any of your relatives are,” Margaret said. “At least Mr. Hill is honest about his lack of approval for me, and my apparent ignorance about all things military.”
“It’s Captain Hill.” Brandon sighed and looked over at Alistair. “She’s a feisty one, I’ll give you that.”
“She certainly is, and I’m fairly certain that she would prefer to be spoken to directly rather than talked over.” Alistair nodded, and left them to it.
“Do you have a proper wheeled chair?” Margaret asked.
A look of revulsion spread over her companion’s face. “Of course not.”
“Then no wonder you are so cross.” Margaret reclaimed her cup and sipped her cold, weak tea. “Being stuck in this place without any way of escaping would sour the sweetest of natures.”
He cracked a reluctant laugh. “I can assure you, duchess. I was never sweet.”
Margaret rose and smiled down at him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain Hill.”
“Likewise, your grace.” He inclined his head an inch. “I suspect we are in for some changes, eh?”
“I certainly intend to improve the house and grounds,” Margaret said diplomatically.
“And turf out all these hangers-on? I know Farrell intended to clear the decks, so to speak.”
“I have no intention of doing that, I can assure you.” Margaret met his skeptical gaze. “As far as I am concerned, you are all part of Alistair’s family.”
“You are far too nice, your grace, when you must know that most of these people hold you in contempt.”
She swallowed the insult and concentrated on remaining outwardly composed.
“I must go and find Alistair.”
His hand shot out and caught her wrist. “I’m sorry. That was unconscionably rude.” He sighed. “Perhaps you should start the evictions with me.”
“Perhaps I will. Please excuse me.”
Margaret picked up her cup and walked back to the fire. She couldn’t entirely blame Captain Hill for his comments. She was the one who had gone looking for him.
“Are you all right, Margaret?” Alistair murmured in her ear as he removed the cup from her hand. “If you wish to retire, you have certainly done your duty for the day.”
“By upsetting Lilly and annoying Captain Hill?”
He smiled at her. “Absolutely.”
“You—”
His fingers curled around her elbow, and he leaned in close. “You may say whatever you damn well like, my dear. I mean it. Some of these people deserve to be rattled after blithely accepting my grandfather’s largesse for their entire lives and then having the nerve to complain about you.”
It suddenly occurred to Margaret that she wasn’t the only one who had been circulating amongst the relatives, and that Alistair was even angrier than she was.
“Perhaps we should both go and see what progress has been made on our rooms?” Margaret suggested.
He held her gaze. “What an excellent idea. And if they have managed to find the bed, maybe we should take a much-needed nap?”
Still holding her hand, he swung around to face the room.
“Such a pleasure to see you all gathered here today.” He bowed. “I’m sure we’ll be welcoming you all later for dinner as well, but for now, my wife and I really must get on.”
No one moved from their spot, and after a nod to an unsmiling Lilly, Alistair drew her arm through his and marched them both up the grand staircase. They could already hear the shouting before they reached their suite.
Alistair paused on the landing and looked toward the still-open door of the suite where Eileen and Clarkson were still arguing. “I wish the whole bunch of them would go to the devil!”
“Your relatives or our staff?” Margaret inquired.
“The whole bloody lot of them.” He tugged on her hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going now?” she protested as he towed her along with him.
“To my old room. At least I know it’s clean, and there’s a lock on the door.”
They reached another door set into a circular wall and he opened it. “Hold my hand.”
The steps were narrow and at an angle, and she had to concentrate not to bang her shoulder against the wall.
“Here we are.” He unlatched the door. “I chose this room because my cousin and grandfather were usually too drunk to manage the stairs.”
Margaret stepped into the bedchamber, which contained a simple bed, a rug by the fireplace, and a spectacular view of the surrounding countryside.
“It is beautiful.”
“It will be even better once I’ve lit the fire and set a few candles about the place.” Alistair locked the door, went over to the fireplace, and busied himself there while she walked over to the narrow window and the seat beneath it.
“I feel like a princess in a fairytale,” Margaret murmured.
“Which is amusing because the only person being rescued here is me.” He straightened up and brushed off his hands. “The bed linen is fresh. Do you want to lie down with me?”
She glanced longingly at the bed. “There is so much to do…”
“And it will all still be there tomorrow.” He sat on the side of the bed and took off his boots. “Come here, duchess.”
“I do wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Why?” He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps I keep saying it to remind myself that I am apparently a duke?”
His annoyance with his family had disappeared beneath his familiar laughing tone. It reminded her that he wasn’t as easy to manipulate as one might first think.
“Won’t everyone wonder where we have gone?” Margaret asked.
“They’ll all be too busy gossiping about us to care.” He reached her side and took her hand. “Come on, it’s a very comfortable bed.”
Alistair smiled as she slid off her perch on the window seat and moved with him to the bed. She’d behaved impeccably in front of his appalling bunch of relatives, some of whom who deserved to be shot for the disparaging comments they’d made about his choice of wife. He suspected that he might need to have a few intimate conversations with the more vocal of her opponents and offer them the opportunity to leave his house entirely. They’d soon fall into line if their comfort was threatened.
He drew back the covers and patted the mattress. “See? It really is quite safe.”
“I swear I will be the perfect gentleman. If you simply wish to sleep, I will do nothing to stop you.”
“I am rather tired,” she acknowledged, her gaze drawn to the crisply starched sheets. “It has been a very long day.”
He took off his coat and waistcoat. “Can I help you undress?” Alistair looked up at her, as she made no move to get in.
“I’m quite capable of doing that for myself,” Margaret answered him. “I didn’t always have a maid, you know.” She paused. “I’m just not sure how much to take off.”
“Everything?” Alistair asked and received a roll of her eyes in return as she struggled out of her dress. “Do you need me to unlace your stays?”
She regarded him suspiciously, and he tried to look innocent as she presented him with her back.
He took his time, deliberately touching the skin he revealed until her breathing was harried, and she was unconsciously arching her back, pressing her rather fine arse firmly against the rising swell of his cock.
“Mmm…” He buried his face in her neck. “You always smell so sweet.”
She made a choked sound, and he gently released her, patting her rounded derriere as she climbed into his bed. He liked seeing her there more than he had anticipated.
He stripped off his buckskin breeches and, leaving his long-tailed shirt on, got in beside her. He lay on his back and gathered her against his side.
“If you do change your mind and wish to do something other than sleep, please feel free to tell me.”
A tiny snore greeted his softly worded suggestion. He fought a smile and allowed his own eyes to close. He was the duke now, no one had authority over him in his own home, and he would decide when to get up and have his dinner. Sometimes privilege did have its advantages…
Chapter 9
“Give it to me.” Margaret held out her hand.
“It’s perfectly fine, your grace!” Clarkson glared at her.
“It is not. It is wrinkled, and needs to be properly ironed,” Margaret said. “Give me the shirt.”