A Duke by December

by Sabrina Darby

  Nate nodded. “You’ll join me in the study in the morning, and we’ll discuss all of the details pertaining to the house then. I would like you present when I confer with the butler as well.”

  Lizzie nodded, and again he was grateful for the simplicity of her acceptance. At first, he had considered Lizzie and John’s presence in his life a burden, but there was no doubt in his mind that the meeting had been fortuitous, that they offered him the closest thing to family he’d had since his mother’s death.

  They walked side by side through the garden toward the west front of the house. As the stables came into view, he remembered his conference with Mr. Coyne.

  “What do you think of horse racing, Lizzie?” She had grown up on a farm, but he had rarely seen her ride.

  She raised an eyebrow. “For business or pleasure?”

  Nate laughed. “An excellent question, and in this case, I hope both. It seems the last duke was rather fanatical about his stables, and Mr. Coyne is much in demand for his skill in training horses. Do I wish to keep the current inhabitants of our stables and Mr. Coyne’s service or dismantle the operation?”

  She looked at him oddly. There was no mask in place, and yet he wasn’t certain what lay behind that look.

  “I know this must all be very strange for you. It’s strange for me.”

  She laughed with him and then turned her gaze back to the stables. “Do you enjoy the sport? I would ask about the profitability of the venture, but it seems if it were to provide you pleasure, continuing it might be worth the expense.”

  “I cannot say I have much experience with it. I attended a race or two while at university. It had a certain thrill, but much of my friends’ concerns were the stakes and what they could make from gambling.”

  “And you prefer to gamble on the stock market.”

  “I understand it better,” he admitted.

  “You understand people,” she said with a small smile. “Perhaps it would be best to hold off on deciding until you’ve had a chance to test your love for the sport.”

  “Wise advice.” He gestured toward the house. “Neither of us is wearing gloves. Shall we go back inside before we turn into ice?”

  Chapter Four

  Five days after arriving at Beckworth, life settled into a pattern. Nate rose early, stole in a quick ride across the park before breakfasting in the quiet of his study without all of the distractions of any of the house’s residents. He liked to look out his window at the neatly organized rose garden, or what would have been the rose garden were it not the beginning of a winter at the end of a year that had seemed to forget its summer.

  But in Nate’s mind, he could imagine what it would look like when it bloomed again, and that vision lightened his heart and the loneliness he felt.

  Lizzie’s appearance, about an hour later, was part of the pattern, and that private half-hour conference was one he had come to cherish.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she said with a bright smile as she slipped into the room after briefly knocking.

  He made a face. “I depend upon you to be the voice of sanity, Lizzie. At least when we are in private.”

  She laughed. “It was strange to say at first, but now it amuses me endlessly.”

  “I prefer to hear you say Nate.”

  “Yes, Nate,” Lizzie said, mirth lining her words.

  He grinned as well. It didn’t matter that she was teasing him, or maybe he even liked that also, but he preferred to hear her say his name.

  It made him feel more… at home.

  “How do you do this morning?” This question, too, had become part of his daily pattern. He had rarely asked such a thing in New York, but now that he was as unsettled as Lizzie, it seemed natural. A way to anchor them both.

  “Rested.”

  He peered at her closely. She did look well, despite the long days he knew she kept, tending to all the details of the house and keeping close counsel with the housekeeper as Nate tried to address the myriad concerns that had befallen the estate with no authority figure present to make essential decisions. But there was a tension at the corners of her mouth, and he knew there was more that troubled her.

  Not that she ever would utter a complaint or word if she were unhappy. He didn’t know how to bridge the space between them.

  “And how is John?” he said finally.

  “You saw him only last night at dinner.”

  “Yes, but we were not alone, and I am certain if he hated his new home, he would not be so vocal about it then.”

  The noon and evening meals were awkward hours of pointless chatter. Dinner was worse, as a houseful of strangers struggled to find topics to discuss. At lunch, at least the vicar, Mr. Beebumbler, kept up a cheerful patter that allowed Nate to nod at appropriate places without having to overly exert himself.

  Lizzie smiled. “He is well. While I believe he looks forward to a new tutor, he liked the governess well enough, and your new ward, Thomas, is seemingly in awe of him and all of our adventures, which I suspect John has embellished for effect. I, for one, do not remember a single skirmish with the native population on the farm.”

  Nate laughed. “I should invite him to ride with me.”

  “He’d like that very much,” Lizzie said, no humor at all in her voice, and he understood the import immediately. Although John, too, would never complain, he was as unsettled by the new situation as Nate.

  Of course, everyone at Beckworth Park was somewhat on edge as they took stock of their new duke. Nate could see it in every face and hear it in every conversation. People were concerned that he would upend their lives.

  “And you, Nate?” Lizzie said. “How do you do this morning?”

  “Tired,” he admitted, breaking the barrier of pretense. He needed this utter honesty somewhere in his life, and Lizzie was a safe receptacle for it. She would understand.

  “Do you… are you happy here? Do you wish you had pretended no one had found the newest Duke of Beckworth?”

  He considered the questions. They were dangerous ones, because there was no path backward and regret was useless. But happy?

  “It is certainly a new adventure,” he said slowly. “And I have little doubt that I am needed. And no, I would not change my actions… but happy… I won’t pretend to happiness.”

  “I suppose it is too soon to expect such warm feelings, in any event.”

  He laughed. He wasn’t certain he would ever be happy. Satisfied, yes. Pleased with his achievements. However, happiness was a relic of childhood. “Enough of melancholy, ephemeral subjects. Shall we begin?”

  • • •

  Lizzie had hardly seen anything of the estate beyond the house for the first week at Beckworth. Instead, her time was taken up with meeting all of its inhabitants down to the very last scullery maids. Nate had charged her with addressing all of Mrs. Pemberley’s concerns as well as most of those of Mr. Phillips. Although everyday she learned more about the house and its needs from the housekeeper and brought the most pertinent issues to Nate’s attention, it was difficult to focus on her task this morning and to address all the small concerns that had come up over the course of the previous day when she was aware that Nate needed her.

  Or perhaps not her, but something.

  He had always seemed stoic, a fortress that could withstand anything, and had provided shelter and protection for John and herself with ease, but in the past weeks, cracks had started to appear. Even the way he admitted his lack of happiness was a sign that the burden of the new estate or perhaps the reminder of everything he had run away from when he’d left for America weighed on him. And even more, that weight was coupled with a sort of emptiness.

  Lizzie ached to see Nate in any pain at all, and she wasn’t certain what to do.

  Especially as she was not in any sort of position to give advice on achieving felicity.

  “I almost forgot. Mr. Beebumbler mentioned yesterday that he hoped to bring Lady Cartwright by for a visit this afternoon as she was no
t yet in the country this past Sunday.” Nate grimaced and she understood. Church had been a strange phenomenon filled with not only an unusual service but also dozens of people who were eager to make the new duke’s acquaintance. “You do have a stack of cards from all of your neighbors that should be considered. We’ve met many of them briefly, and I am given to understand that it is the appropriate thing to extend some invitations or to accept them?”

  Nate took a breath and then nodded slowly. “Fine. Will you take care of that for me?”

  She nodded. She had often handled his correspondence, and she would have to trust that if he was confident in her abilities, then those abilities must be sufficient for the situation.

  They discussed a handful of other issues, and then Lizzie left. She wished there were reason to stay by his side, to act as his secretary truly as she had in the past year. But he had entrusted her with a new position for the moment, and she was determined to perform its duties as best she could.

  However, once Lizzie took charge of Nate’s correspondence and the visitors started, she wasn’t certain what the extent of her duties were. Everyone was very curious about the new nobleman. With the Beckworth estate so close to London—and it being the beginning of winter when, as Mrs. Pemberley informed her, everyone retreated to their estates until at least Twelfth Night—there were more than the usual number of society events in the area.

  At tea, Nate had an odd look in his eyes, as if he felt he were the fox on a hunt, and perhaps he was with all the fathers and mothers introducing their daughters with a speculative gleam in their eyes. Lizzie had been there when the solicitor had advised Nate to marry soon for the health and future of the duchy, but Nate didn’t seem particularly excited at the task. In fact, after four days of visitors, he retreated to his study, burying himself in estate business perhaps a bit more than necessary.

  Leaving Lizzie to soothe the disappointed visitors.

  Visitors who looked at her askance, wondering, as everyone seemed to, just who she was and how she had come to act very much like hostess in a single duke’s home. But the only one who had ever actually voiced her surprise was the elderly Lady Maude, who seemed to think age gave her the freedom to say anything she wished.

  First there had been the conversation they’d had shortly after meeting. “You are his… secretary?” Lady Maude had repeated the word as if it were something very foreign.

  “I suppose it is rather unorthodox for a woman, but I’ve handled his correspondence, his agenda, and his business papers, for over a year.” Lizzie didn’t mention that it had taken her three months to feel comfortable reading more than the basic primers from which she had studied during the two years a schoolmaster had resided in their town.

  “Americans are unconventional, but I cannot imagine His Grace will be satisfied with inferior support with all of his estates and business to conduct. And once he marries…”

  “It is kind of you to be concerned for my situation. It is very difficult for an orphaned woman to make her way in the world with only her younger brother as companion.” But it was hard to maintain her calm smile when, truthfully, Lizzie was worried about her situation. Particularly since that awkward conversation about her new wardrobe. If it weren’t for the fact that he had demanded she gain a new wardrobe, she would have instantly donned her old clothes and hoped the whole matter forgotten. It was possible he had suddenly realized that a woman who wore frills was not a serious enough assistant.

  After that initial conversation, although her conversation was not again so direct, Lady Maude continued to unsettle Lizzie. The woman often had a small smile on her face, one that seemed mischievous, as if she were hatching a plan. She reminded Lizzie of a woman she had known in Arkansas Territory who had liked to cause trouble and interfere whenever possible, simply for her own amusement. Not that Lady Maude had done any such thing to Lizzie’s knowledge. However, it was she—during tea, when one of the neighbors, a Lady Cartwright, had called in hopes of seeing the new duke but was disappointed to find him unable to break away from his work—who had hatched the plan for a Twelfth Night masquerade.

  “I’m not certain,” Lizzie had demurred, thinking a ball a rather large undertaking for the first month in residence and wondering who they would invite considering they knew almost no one. Nate had not yet made much effort to meet the local gentry and nobility who lived in the vicinity and came to call upon the new duke.

  Then at luncheon the following day, Lady Maude mentioned the idea to the vicar, who seemed to be a frequent guest at the table, so much so that he treated it much like it was his own. With Nate taking his meal in the study once again, Mr. Beebumbler was the eldest male at the table.

  The idea really took root as the vicar animatedly imagined the languishing ballroom festively decorated and hosting all of the area’s best families.

  “There are so many lovely young ladies in our neighborhood,” Lady Maude agreed. “Miss Casper, for one. Lady Penelope as well will return home if there is a ball to be attended. It will be good for the duke.” A significant look passed between Lady Maude and Mr. Beebumbler, and as it briefly settled on Lizzie, unease permeated her.

  As if they thought that Lizzie’s presence somehow thwarted Nate from meeting all these eligible young ladies he should consider for marriage.

  “What is the usual method for celebrating the holiday here at Beckworth?” Lizzie asked, hoping to keep any discussion of a ball limited until she could advise—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say warn—Nate of the suggestion.

  “In previous years, the duke and duchess were often away from the estate at this time of year,” Mr. Beebumbler mused. “But we have always held a festival for the poor.”

  “Perhaps I may assist with that in some way,” Lizzie offered impulsively. “I am certain from everything I have heard that this year some cheer would be even more welcome to anyone struggling and impoverished. In fact, Mr. Beebumbler, please let me know if there is any way I can be of service beyond the festival.”

  The vicar and Lady Maude exchanged another significant look, and Lizzie wished she had said nothing at all. She wished, too, that John had chosen to take his lunch down here and provide a familiar face. Instead, despite Nate’s suggestion to the contrary, although he did attend dinner, her brother had begun to take his lunches in the schoolroom with Thomas and Miss Vere. Lizzie wished she had such an easy excuse to flee from the social demands of taking sustenance.

  “That is very kind of you, Miss Smith,” the vicar said with a slightly dismissive tone to his voice as if he didn’t expect, or perhaps wish, her to follow through.

  Lizzie struggled to ignore the subtly unwelcoming behavior. But the vicar’s attitude and Lady Maude’s as well had already been echoed in each interaction with Nate’s neighbors. Surely she was not overly sensitive and imagining it.

  The arrival of trunks of new clothing from London the next day, along with a seamstress who insisted Lizzie try on every single item so that any final adjustments could be made, provided a momentary respite. They stopped the fittings only for a quick lunch of cold sandwiches, and nearly the entire day was spent closeted in her bedroom with the woman and two dozen garments, including a selection of hats, gloves, stockings, and other accessories that Madame Allard had felt it necessary for Lizzie to acquire.

  She harbored a vague hope that if perhaps the foreignness of her accent and her clothes together had been off-putting, the new clothing might put Beckworth Park’s residents at ease. As if anything in life were that simple.

  She looked at herself in the mirror. A strange woman stared back.

  “You look beautiful, miss,” the maid said.

  Lizzie smiled tightly at the encouraging words. Objectively, she knew the reflection in the mirror was one likely to impress those judged on such standards, but she also looked frivolous, as if she expected to live a life of leisure.

  She didn’t want anyone to think that, most of all Nate. Yet he had been the one to insist on th
e wardrobe, and a very small part of her—or maybe a secretly larger part of her—wanted to know what he thought of the result.

  Would he think her beautiful as well? Would that matter?

  • • •

  Although he had seen her briefly that morning, at the light knocking on the door Nate was convinced it would be Lizzie. Something about the confidence and the tone in the rapping. And perhaps a bit of wishful thinking. The land manager had left his office only a few minutes earlier, and although over the past few days they had worked through a great deal of the most pressing issues, Nate had the beginnings of a headache.

  The door opened and Nate’s breath caught in his chest as he stared at the fashionably attired woman who stood at the threshold of the study.

  “Do you like my dress?”

  She looked like Lizzie about the eyes and mouth and nose, but with her hair swept up in an elegant twist and her dress… the new lavender blue dress she was asking about…

  Yes, he liked it. Especially the way her breasts filled the bodice and her hips swelled out beneath the straight lines of the gown. He was aware of her in all the ways he shouldn’t be.

  For the past year, he’d successfully sublimated his attraction beneath his sense of honor. But with his trousers growing uncomfortably tight across the groin, he was having difficulty remembering exactly what the definition of honor was.

  This was Lizzie, who depended upon him. What kind of man would salivate over a woman he was supposed to protect?

  “It’s rather distracting. Perhaps while I am working, you could wear something plainer.”

  She looked away, and his stomach twisted. He’d hurt her, but it was better than him staring at her lasciviously, entertaining all sorts of fantasies in his head.

  Like pushing that dress up inch by inch and revealing the legs he’d only glimpsed in the past year.

  He swallowed hard.

  “I do not see how I could distract you when I have hardly seen you this last week but for dinner.”