“I am so grateful to all of you for helping me. Honestly, I haven’t a clue what I would have done without you.”
Ida grinned. “You are family. We always help family. If this helps you keep your fancy job at that newspaper, then we’ll gladly do it. You’re famous.”
Rose nearly snorted. Famous was a relative term, especially considering few people knew she and the author of Mrs. Walker’s Weekly were one and the same. “I am grateful nonetheless. I will return to the dining room, if you are settled.”
“Good as gravy, Rose. Now, you get up there and charm those board members.”
Seconds after Rose’s departure Henry Walker pushed away from the table as well. He excused himself and strode out of the dining room.
“Hope our food ain’t on the ground,” Cameron murmured at Duke’s side.
Duke agreed. Tonight’s meal must be perfect. He continued the small talk at the table, acting as host as best he could. Yet his attention kept wandering back toward the corridor. Where were the Walkers? A weight built up in his gut, a growing concern over the lingering absence of their hosts. What had gone wrong?
“…to replace Pike?”
Duke swung toward the board member who had spoken. “I’m sorry, what?”
The man’s mustache twitched. “I asked if you have anyone in mind to replace Pike. I was thinking maybe someone from the outside instead of one of the other senior editors.”
Duke did not want to have this conversation now. Not at this dinner party, and not while the two hosts were missing, tonight’s other courses possibly scattered on the kitchen floor.
Perhaps he should follow, see if he could be of any use. Waiting patiently for bad news was not his strong suit. He had to do something.
He had not forged a publishing empire with his bare hands by sitting around.
Pushing his chair back, he placed his napkin on the table. “Excuse me. I’d like to check on Mrs. Walker.”
A footman stood at the hallway door. “Which way to the kitchens?” Duke asked him.
The man’s skin turned the color of plaster. “Sir, Mrs. Walker asked that the guests—”
“Never mind that. Just point me in the direction of the kitchens or I will find it myself.”
The footman pointed a shaky finger to the right. “Stairs are behind the second door.”
Duke moved into the corridor. He was no idiot; this was overstepping his bounds as a dinner guest. No one should leave the table to wander about the host’s home, especially to wade into a domestic matter.
However, this was no normal dinner party. This was business and everything connected to HPC tonight, even Mrs. Walker herself, was his concern.
Nearing the second door, he heard…heavy breathing. Then the rustle of clothing. What in God’s name…?
He slowed and peered around the doorjamb into the landing. Duke jerked in surprise. At the top of the stairs was Henry Walker…kissing one of the housemaids. Walker had the girl pressed against the wall, his lips locked on hers, hands greedily roaming over her uniform-clad body.
That bastard.
Anger flooded Duke’s veins like lightning, quick and fierce, and he shook, fighting the urge to punch Walker in the face. It was not uncommon, unfortunately, for the master of the house to dally with a maid, but Duke was fucking furious to learn that Walker fell into this disreputable group. Rose deserved better.
Had Walker no respect for his wife in her own home, especially tonight of all nights?
As much as he longed to beat Walker senseless for this, Duke backed off. He had no right to get involved. He marched back to the dining room, his head spinning with what he’d witnessed. As he retook his seat, Cameron asked, “Well, did you learn anything?”
“No.” Duke was not one to gossip and this was a private matter between husband and wife.
Perhaps she takes lovers as well.
Lust raced along his spine, the possibility causing his skin to grow both hot and cold. Yes, that was a very real possibility. He’d been fascinated with her, yet stifled the interest out of respect for her husband. Turned out the husband did not deserve such respect and there was no need to stifle any interest.
Have you forgotten? Married women are not worth the trouble.
Indeed, that was one of the many things he’d learned in his adult life. As a young man, he had bedded a married woman for a short period of time. Then her husband found out and tried to blackmail Duke for ten thousand dollars. An investigation had uncovered many infidelities on the part of the husband, a charge the man had brushed aside as his right as a living, breathing male.
Further digging revealed he’d also been stealing funds from several top Wall Street investors, the details of which Duke happily printed in the Gazette. That was the last he’d heard of blackmail.
After that, Duke had sworn off married women and also vowed to remain faithful to his own wife should he ever marry. Otherwise, why bother standing in a church and repeating the vows?
A man’s only as good as his word.
What were Rose’s views on marriage? Her columns brimmed with joy over a woman’s lot in life. She was not inspiring rebellion or calling for women to join the suffrage movement; rather, she encouraged her readers to run a tidy and efficient household, to please their husbands through good food and well-mannered children.
Did she know of, or even suspect, her husband’s infidelity? Perhaps Rose encouraged lovers outside the marriage bed; many married wives did, after all. Yet he had read all her columns, even the ones that dealt with relationship advice. He could not foresee a situation where Mrs. Walker would approve of such an agreement. She seemed a romantic at heart.
Though he had to say, meeting her in person, he was having a hard time reconciling her with the woman who wrote the column. She seemed strong-willed and independent. Outspoken. Ready to cosh the unenlightened Cameron over the head with a blunt object.
While he admired Mrs. Walker the columnist, he found himself entertaining other feelings—physical feelings—about the fierce and fiery Rose.
It was a terrible idea, taking her as a lover. He never mixed business with his personal relationships. Yet he could not help but imagine those clear blue eyes clouded with desire. Her pale skin flushed with pleasure, slim limbs wrapped around his frame… He was shocked by how much he wanted that.
Stop. Remember your purpose tonight.
The Walkers returned just as the second course was cleared. He shifted closer. “Is everything all right?” he asked under his breath after she settled.
“Oh, yes. Nothing to worry over,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Just a minor slip with some porcelain.”
“Good help is impossible to find nowadays.” Cameron shook his head regretfully. “It’s all those middle-class jobs available. The good servants are being wooed by the false promise of independence.”
Duke frowned at the comment, which smacked of the social entitlement and privilege that he’d come to hate about New York society.
“And how is that promise false?” Rose asked the question innocently enough, but she leaned in, like a fencer awaiting an opponent’s next parry.
“Putting ideas in their heads,” Cameron said with a wave of his hand. “Tell me, what could be better than working in a household? They have a roof over their heads, meals to eat. Clothing provided for them. There is a sense of security in domestic service not found in other employment.”
Rose’s gaze narrowed on Cameron. “Have you any idea of the hard work that goes into being a footman or a maid? Have you seen the aches and pains, the gnarled fingers? A servant’s life is grueling and unrewarding, with little to show for it except exhaustion at the end of the day. At least with an office or shop position, you retain some semblance of freedom, leaving the job behind when you clock out.”
An uncomfortable silence descended as the footmen appeared with the next course. Duke lifted his wineglass and drained the contents, all the while contemplating her answer. She se
emed intimately aware of the perils of domestic service, as well as unexpectedly progressive in her attitude regarding the status of servants. What would she think if she learned her husband was screwing one of the housemaids?
Mr. Walker laughed at something down the table, a comment from another guest, and Duke’s jaw clenched. The adulterous bastard….
Duke shifted toward Rose. “Will you and Mr. Walker be traveling this holiday? Visiting family nearby?”
She stared at him blankly for a few seconds before saying, “Oh, no. We remain here for the holidays. I like to be surrounded by familiar things, I suppose. And you, Mr. Havermeyer? Will you travel?”
“No. The papers keep me quite busy.”
“Over the holidays?” Her brows drew together. “Come now, even publishing magnates surely deserve a break at this time of year.”
“Havermeyer works so the senior editors are able to celebrate with their families,” one of the board members explained. “It’s a Havermeyer family tradition.”
Instead of appearing impressed, Rose’s jaw fell open as she locked eyes with Duke. “Are you saying your father never spent Christmas with you and your family? That is…terrible.”
For as far back as Duke could remember, Havermeyer Christmases had lacked fanfare and affection. His father would depart for work at dawn, leaving Duke alone with his mother. She hated rising early, so Duke had been forced to wait until after luncheon to open presents. The anticipation had nearly killed him as a small boy, but it seemed a silly thing to complain about now.
Not to mention his father’s dedication had strengthened the Gazette, which developed into one of the country’s biggest and most influential newspapers. It had become the foundation of Duke’s publishing empire. Hard to bellyache over his father’s absence during his childhood when he now understood what had driven the older man.
Duke straightened. “He was devoted to the company, as I am. I did not acquire eight newspapers in the last five years by taking vacations and relaxing at home. Everyone who works at HPC depends on me—including you, Mrs. Walker.”
“Depends on you, certainly, but also on those you have hired to oversee the operation. There must be others who could take your place?”
No need to argue about a practice he had no intention of changing. “Perhaps, but it is tradition. Just like how you always plant a new hydrangea shrub each spring.”
The most appealing flush stole over her cheekbones and she bit her lip. Heat wound through him at the sight, and he longed to pull that plump wet flesh between his own teeth.
“You truly are a devotee of my column,” she said.
He reacted on instinct, ignoring all his good sense. He shifted toward her and pitched his voice low. “I am indeed. It is one of the highlights of my week.”
When he heard her swift intake of breath, his skin prickled with satisfaction. He had broken through her cool reserve.
And, though this exchange had been the height of recklessness, he was not sorry. Not sorry at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dinner continued with two more stellar courses: delicious broiled salmon and perfectly braised beef. Wine flowed and lively conversation filled the elegant dining room. Duke watched Rose carefully through his lashes, transfixed by how her expressive features changed as she ate. She relished each bite and he wondered what she’d look like in bed as he pleasured her.
Her eyes met his and she blinked, wiping her mouth with her napkin. “Have I food on my face?”
“No,” he murmured for her ears alone. “I merely enjoy watching you.”
She grabbed at her wine and drank deeply. Good. He’d unnerved her. For the next few moments, she avoided looking at him and engaged in conversation with the two elderly men on her left. Though disappointed, Duke could hardly hide his smirk. Unfortunately for her, those two particular board members were extremely loquacious. And boring.
When she finally shifted toward Duke, he leaned in. “Were you able to get a word in edgewise? Board meetings always run an hour longer than necessary when those two attend.”
Her lips twitched. “We should not laugh at the expense of others.”
His brows shot up. “They are both obscenely rich and have their own teeth. Still visit their mistresses weekly. We should all be so lucky at that age.”
“You are lying. How would you know about their personal relationships?”
“I publish ten newspapers. There are over sixty reporters on staff at the Gazette alone. There’s nothing stopping me from learning every single detail about someone if I wish.”
“Like me?” Her voice cracked in the middle of the question. Was she worried over his answer?
Her fears were unfounded, as he had not investigated her. There hadn’t been a need, really. Her background seemed straightforward. Yet there had been a hint of something in her voice… “Have you something to hide, Mrs. Walker?”
“Of course not.” She reached for her wine once again.
“Does the possibility bother you?”
“Yes. Everyone has the right to privacy. I would not care for someone poking about in my affairs.”
An interesting choice of words considering Duke’s earlier thoughts. “There is an old proverb: If you do not wish for anyone to find something out then refrain from doing it.”
“Everyone makes mistakes. It’s unfair to punish people for them.”
He thought of her husband, daring to kiss a housemaid not ten feet from the dinner party. “Most people are only sorry when caught, however.”
“Now that is cynical.”
“Perhaps, but it is also true. And I would never publish something unverified.” He remembered the recent bribery scandal and cringed. “Try not to anyway.”
“Does it matter to you, getting the facts right?”
“Of course,” he said without thinking. “That is the only thing that matters. The reputation of the paper depends upon its credibility.”
She glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Cameron, who was involved in a serious discussion in the opposite direction. Then she lowered her voice. “So why fire Mr. Pike?”
He frowned. Had she also been fond of the old editor in chief? “Because, at the end of the day, he is responsible for those on his staff. The error happened on his watch.”
“Yes, but are you not also responsible? The error occurred on your watch, too. And they are your staff, more so than his.”
He did not quite understand this logic. “Are you suggesting I fire myself?”
“No. What I am saying is the person directly responsible has been dealt with. Is that not enough?” She took a sip of her wine. “Are you aware Mr. Pike has a large family? Grandchildren? How shall he explain this injustice to them?”
Injustice? “This scandal could ruin me. It could ruin Havermeyer Publishing. Do you honestly believe any of the men sitting at this table or the shareholders care about Mr. Pike’s grandchildren?”
“No, but you should. Mr. Pike worked for your father. He’s been at the paper for more than forty years and is now cast adrift for someone else’s mistake. How is he supposed to hold his head up after this?”
A small wave of guilt rode through him. He quickly squelched it. When he had imagined a private conversation with her, this was not even close to what he had hoped to accomplish. She had shamed him for doing his job, for maintaining the integrity of the newspaper.
He didn’t like it.
The board expected him to act swiftly and harshly in a circumstance such as this, a scandal that threatened all for which he’d worked so hard.
And yet Pike had been a damned good employee. Had served as Duke’s right hand at HPC ever since Duke took over the reins ten years ago. Almost everything he had learned about the practical side of publishing had been from Pike…
Christ almighty. She’s got you doubting yourself. Make a decision and keep going. Was not that the Havermeyer way?
He straightened and leveled her with a glare normally reserved for rebellious e
ditors. “You seem to believe that life is fair, Mrs. Walker. Let me be the first to assure you it is not.”
A hint of something—Disappointment? Dismissal? Disdain?—flashed over her face before she schooled her features. “Thank you. I am certain Mr. Pike appreciates that lesson, especially at this most charitable time of year.”
He frowned. What had happened to their flirting? He didn’t wish to argue with her—though he had to admit, the fire inside her appealed to him. No woman had stood up to him before, not like this. “Has anyone mentioned that you are quite opinionated?”
A smile twisted her lips, transforming her from lovely to breathtaking, amusement sparkling in her blue gaze. “That quality was precisely the reason I was hired, Mr. Havermeyer.”
“Indeed, I suppose you are right. Tell me, from where did you gain your impressive wealth of knowledge, Mrs. Walker?”
She began lining up the silverware at her setting, ensuring the pieces were perfectly straight. “Oh, it is not that impressive.”
Her modesty was charming. “I disagree. There seems to be no topic on which you are incapable of opining. Plants and shrubbery, cooking, household matters, relationships… You are truly a marvel.”
“An adventurous upbringing, I suppose. I’m not afraid to read and ask questions as well.”
“You know, I once asked Pike if he selected the questions for you, to find the easy ones. He told me the questions were chosen at random, that you had insisted on it.”
“That is true. Otherwise, the column would grow boring—for both the readers and me. Quite frequently, I am forced to investigate or research my answers. That is what makes it interesting.”
“Have you ever been wrong?”
“Once.”
The tone of her voice changed with that one word, revealing a quiet sadness underneath. It was rude to pry, but curiosity urged him on. Besides, he was her boss. Hadn’t he a right to know? “What happened?”
“I…” She reached for her wine and took a long swallow. “In the early days, before I received as many letters as I do today, I used to write every single person with an answer, whether it was printed in the paper or not.”
How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 32