Giving another quick bow, she started to turn away, but his voice stopped her.
“If it is my presence that distresses you, I will leave, of course.”
She winced, aware that he sounded almost eager for the prospect, and forced herself to stop and turn around. “No, please, finish your breakfast. I am not distressed. Not exactly. I mean . . .” She stopped again, aware she was stammering, unable to help it, and feeling like a prize idiot in consequence. “It’s just that I’m so . . . so late. I am . . . I am always in my office by this time . . . by now. Always,” she finished lamely.
A puzzled frown knit his brows. “Does it matter if you are a bit tardy? You do manage the company.”
“That’s true.” She gave a little laugh, one that sounded a bit desperate to her own ears. “But my staff will be arriving at any moment to begin work, and when they do, they will not find me there. They will worry.”
“But since you cannot be transported across town by magic carpet, taking an additional half hour to have breakfast will hardly make a difference. I cannot allow a guest of mine to go without breakfast, Miss Deverill,” he added before she could reply. “As for your concern that others will wonder where you are and will worry about you, that is a problem easily remedied. Boothby can telephone them.”
“You have a telephone?” The moment the question was out of her mouth, she sighed. “Of course you do.”
“It’s a convenient device.”
“Not very convenient. Most other people don’t have one.”
“Enough do to make it worthwhile. My club, my solicitors, my home in Dorset all have telephones, as do several of our friends, including you. I observed the telephone in your offices when I was there. Please, do sit down.”
Deprived of her only excuse, Irene accepted with good grace. “Very well, then. Thank you.”
He turned to the footman, who was at the sideboard, arranging warming dishes. “Edward?”
The servant moved to his side at once. “Your Grace?”
“Have Boothby telephone to Miss Deverill’s offices and inform them she is delayed, and will be arriving in about an hour. The number to give the exchange is . . . ?”
At his inquiring glance, she turned to the footman beside him. “Holborn 7244.”
The servant departed, and Irene accepted the chair Torquil pulled out for her.
“Would you like tea?” he asked, gesturing to the sideboard behind him. “Or coffee?”
“I can wait for my tea,” she said as he turned to fetch her a cup, his solicitous manner making her even more discomfited, for it was so clearly for the sake of politeness and nothing more. “Surely the footman will be back in a moment. There’s no need to serve me yourself, Duke.”
“On the contrary,” he said over his shoulder as he poured tea for her from the pot on the sideboard. “The duty to wait upon you falls to me as your host, since no servant is present. And I never ignore my duty. Milk and sugar?”
“A little of each, thank you.”
He returned to the table a moment later, setting the teacup and saucer before her. “Would you care for eggs and bacon? Or perhaps you would prefer porridge?”
“Eggs and bacon would be lovely, thank you.” Irene removed her gloves and unfolded her napkin as he filled a plate and brought it to her, and the fact that she was being waited upon by a duke made this entire episode of her life seem even more surreal.
“I’m actually glad of this chance to speak with you,” she said as he resumed his own seat. “I have a request to make.”
“I will do my best to fulfill it.”
“Your mother’s maid has somehow become mine, it seems.”
He did not seem surprised. “Yes, of course. That is always the case when a guest has not brought his or her own servant. Do you not like her? We can—”
“No, no, it isn’t that. I haven’t even met her. But we don’t need her. We don’t need anyone, truly. I meant what I said last night. My sister and I are accustomed to dressing ourselves.”
He studied her for a moment, then he said something wholly unexpected. “You’re a very proud woman, aren’t you?”
Irene’s face flooded with color. She could feel it happen, even before he said, “My apologies. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
She looked down, pretending keen interest in her bacon. “I have my fair share of pride, I suppose,” she admitted after a moment. “I suppose you think that a bad thing?”
“Not at all. I’m very proud myself. I bring it up only because I would like to advise you without hurting your pride, and given what occurred last evening, I am concerned I might inadvertently do so.”
She wriggled in her chair, appreciating that after their altercation, he might have a point, and she looked at him again. “Go on, please.”
“I suggest you accept my mother’s hospitality with good grace. To do otherwise would reflect badly upon her as a hostess, and I’m sure you would not wish to do that.”
Irene was confounded. Sometimes, the aristocracy was truly baffling. “I did not understand that it would be discourteous to refuse the use of your mother’s maid. I’d have thought the opposite.”
“My mother is far too considerate a hostess to see you do without a maid. It would distress her enormously to see two young ladies in the season doing for themselves.”
“But what will she do, then?”
“In cases such as this, precedent decides. My mother will take Carlotta’s maid. Angela and Sarah, who are unmarried and therefore share a maid, will give their maid to Carlotta, and a housemaid will be brought up to assist them.”
Irene groaned. “I now see what Lady David meant about how my sister and I would be causing everyone inconvenience. I thought at the time that she was just being catty.”
“You mustn’t mind Carlotta, truly. I took her aside last evening, and I don’t expect there will be any more trouble from that quarter.”
“But it sounds as if she was right. If the staff is short a housemaid, the other servants will have to pitch in to help cover her duties, won’t they?” She sighed. “It was a decision of pride,” she admitted. “I did not consider the impact my choice might have on other people.”
If he discerned that she was acknowledging his words to her from the first time they met, he was too polite to crow about it. “In this case, it’s perfectly understandable. Your own household is quite small, I daresay.”
“A cook, a housemaid, a housekeeper, and my father’s valet comprise the whole lot.”
“While we have a staff of over fifty servants, half of whom are here with us in town for the season. You would think in a house like this, a decision so small wouldn’t matter, but it’s actually the opposite. In a large household, duties demonstrate rank, and rank is everything, even below stairs. No servant is happy doing work that might be considered to be beneath him. You would not believe the hard feelings even the smallest decision can generate.”
“All the more reason not to deprive your mother of her maid, then, for we are definitely a comedown from a duchess. Can she not be persuaded to take her maid back?”
“I doubt it. And though you don’t yet know it, your fortnight in society will be much easier if you have someone to assist you.” He paused, then gave a cough. “I should like to make a suggestion, if I may? I am going to Merrick’s Employment agency today to engage a nanny for my nephews. I could engage a maid to assist you during your stay. That is, if you’re willing to trust such a personal selection to my care.”
“Oh, no, please, don’t trouble yourself.”
“It shall be no trouble, Miss Deverill, for as I said, I have to be at Merrick’s anyway. My nephews simply must have a nanny, for they have been in the care of maids and footmen for several days now. If you want to talk of unhappy servants, let us discuss that! No footman or maid should ever be required to look after my nephews, believe me. They’re good boys, but they are a handful. My family has become thoroughly exasperated with them. So has my staff.
If I do not find a nanny soon, I expect a mutiny.”
“Shouldn’t your brother-in-law be the one to find his son’s nanny?”
“Yes, but as Angela pointed out last night, Jamie’s efforts in that regard have been less than successful. When I offered to assist, he was glad to allow me to do so.”
“Do you always feel obligated to solve other people’s problems?” she asked, curious.
He shrugged as if that particular obligation was inevitable. “It is often necessary. I am the duke.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” she said with mock solemnity. “Or coronet, in this case.”
His answering look was wry. “You’re misquoting Shakespeare,” he told her. “On purpose, I expect.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed with a grin. “It suits you better that way.”
“Because you want to tease me, you mean? That’s not very nice, especially since I’ve just offered to do you a favor.”
“Sorry,” she said, not the least bit repentant. “But you sounded so preternaturally solemn, I couldn’t help teasing you.”
“I do take my position seriously, I confess. And solving problems is a great part of what I do. Of all people, you ought to understand that, since solving problems is also what Lady Truelove does, is it not?”
She considered. “Not really. Ultimately, Lady Truelove’s advice makes little difference. I know you don’t see it that way, given the effect your mother’s course has had upon your family, but it’s true, I promise you. Most people don’t write to Lady Truelove because they want advice.”
“What do they want, then?”
“Reassurance. By the time they take the step of writing to an advice column, they know—even if they don’t realize it themselves—what they are going to do. All they really want is to be told the course they’ve already chosen is the right one.”
He looked as if he might be tempted to debate that point, but before he could do so, a shout was heard, followed by laughter and the sound of running feet along the corridor.
A moment later, two boys of about seven or eight years entered the room. As they came to a skidding halt side by side near Torquil’s chair, Irene thought for a moment she was seeing double, so alike were they in their matching dark blue knickers and jackets, with their identical mops of ginger hair and nearly identical smatterings of freckles. Once she blinked, however, Irene was able to discern one distinct difference between them. One of the boys had a covered picnic basket in his hands and the other was clutching the mangled, bright blue remains of what might once have been a kite.
“Uncle Henry, thank goodness you’re up,” the boy with the kite said. “We’ve had a spot of bother and need your help.”
“Hmm.” Torquil glanced over them. “Yes, so I see. But is your need so urgent that it requires interrupting my breakfast and that of my guests? You don’t seem to be bleeding. You don’t seem to be ill. And what requires all this running and shouting? Are you being chased by wild dogs, that you behave this way?”
They wriggled. “No, sir,” they mumbled together.
More hurried footsteps were heard, and a footman entered. “I am so sorry, Your Grace,” he said, panting as he came to a halt behind the boys. “I’ll have them out of here. It’s just . . . I couldn’t quite . . . catch . . .” He paused, obviously trying to regain his breath.
“It’s all right, Samuel. I’m sure you’ve had a difficult time with them, for they seem determined to break rules today, behaving like heathens instead of gentlemen and with no consideration of the others who live here.”
This withering speech caused both boys to hang their heads, and Irene quite felt sorry for them.
“I am sorry they disturbed your breakfast, Your Grace,” Samuel apologized again, still breathing hard. “Sorry, Miss Deverill. They wanted to fly kites, so I packed up a breakfast for them and we went across to the park. Owen’s kite crashed into a tree and got broken, and while I was trying to mend it, Colin’s kite got . . . ahem . . . lost . . .” He paused again, looking pained. “So we came back, but before I could catch my breath, they decided they needed to see you, and came racing up here before I could catch them. Again, I am so sorry they disturbed you.”
“Please, do not distress yourself, Samuel,” Torquil said. “This is not your fault in any way. It is mine. By tomorrow, they will have a new nanny, and you will no longer be required to go chasing them hither and yon, I promise you. You may go.”
The footman straightened with a nod, but instead of departing, he hesitated, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say more. He glanced at the boys, however, and seemed to change his mind, for he closed his mouth again, gave another nod, and departed.
“Miss Deverill,” Torquil said, gesturing to the boys standing on the other side of the table from her, “may I introduce my nephews, two of the finest scapegraces in London? Colin, Owen, this is Miss Deverill.”
“How do you do?” they mumbled, not looking at her, clearly knowing they were in trouble.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she answered, trying not to smile.
“Well, gentlemen,” Torquil said, tossing down his napkin, “you’ve had a very exciting morning.” He rose and moved to stand before the two apprehensive boys, hands on his hips. “You’ve lost a kite, broken another, run Samuel ragged, shouted and run through the house, and disturbed Miss Deverill’s breakfast and mine. What have you to say for yourselves?”
They hung their heads, silent and chastened. Irene, who knew very well what it was like to be caught in his sights, looked at the twins with sympathy.
He turned to the boy holding the basket. “Colin, what happened to your kite?”
“It got caught in a tree. I went up and tried to get it—”
The boy stopped abruptly and bit his lip, his blue eyes widening with the unmistakable realization that he’d just said something unwise.
“You climbed a tree?” Even in profile, Torquil’s disapproving face seemed rather daunting, but then, a slight curve tipped the corner of his mouth upward, making Irene aware that he wasn’t quite as disapproving as he wished to appear. “Did we not make a rule about this last summer when Owen broke his arm? No climbing trees until you’re how old?”
“Twelve,” Colin said.
“Just so, and have you turned twelve since that rule was made?”
“No, sir.” Colin looked up, his face brightening as if he’d been struck by a sudden idea. “But I had a good reason for climbing the tree, Uncle Henry. It wasn’t just to get the kite.”
Torquil’s mouth twitched unmistakably. “Indeed? And what reason could possibly justify breaking the rule about tree climbing?”
Colin set down the basket and bent over it, disappearing from Irene’s line of vision. When he straightened, he had in his hands a small bundle of gray-and-white fur which he held up for his uncle’s inspection. “I had to get this.”
Irene stifled a laugh with her napkin, and Torquil pressed his lips tight together, clearly trying not to do the same. It took a moment for him to speak. “You rescued a kitten from the tree?”
Colin nodded. “It was stuck, and crying, so I had to rescue it. I couldn’t just leave it up there, scared and all alone, Uncle Henry, could I?”
The kitten blinked up at Torquil and gave a soft mewl.
He made a choked sound. Pressing a fist to his mouth, he turned away from the boy and the animal, and only Irene caught his expression.
He was laughing. She stared, amazed, for she’d never seen him laugh before. He wasn’t looking at her, but down at his plate. He made no sound, but his fist was pressed against a wide smile, and his shoulders worked with silent but unmistakable laughter that he was trying desperately to hold back. The sight had the strangest effect on her; her amazement ebbed away and another sensation took its place, one both sweet and painful that pinched her chest and made it hard to breathe.
After a moment, he lifted his head, gave a cough, and lowered his hand. “Rescuing an animal is a com
mendable thing,” he said gravely, returning his attention to his nephew, no trace of laughter in his face now. “But should such a circumstance occur in future, you will fetch an adult to assist you in your rescue attempts. The rule about tree-climbing remains in effect. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Colin lowered the animal, hugging it to his chest. “Can we keep it?”
Torquil frowned, but though Irene knew firsthand how intimidating his frown could be, it didn’t seem that way to her at all after what she’d just witnessed. “With all the rules you’ve broken today, I see no reason to think you can be trusted with the welfare of an animal.”
They wilted, poor boys, and Irene had to press her hand to her mouth to prevent a sound of commiseration from escaping her lips.
“On the other hand,” he went on, “you did save the animal’s life, which means you are now responsible for its future well-being. So, if your father does not object, and if you promise most sincerely to take proper care of it—see that it is fed and groomed and if you handle it gently and with respect when you play with it, you may keep it.”
With a shout of happy celebration that was quickly smothered, a chorus of promises to always care for it and never break any rules ever again, the two boys departed for the kitchens with their new friend to obtain for it some milk and gruel.
The moment they were safely gone, all the humor Torquil had been holding back was unable to remain suppressed. He fell into his chair with a full-bodied, merry laugh.
Irene laughed with him, but after a moment, her laughter faded. His did, too, as he turned his head to look at her, and Irene’s heart seemed to stop beating in her chest. Time seemed to halt as well, and the silence, as it had last night, seemed to fill the room, every bit as charged as before, but in a very different way.
His face bore its usual impassivity, and she had no idea what he was thinking, but just now, that didn’t seem to matter. She’d seen him laugh. Her heartbeat resumed, quickening until it was a hard, panicked thrum in her chest, so loud to her own ears that she feared he might be able to hear it.
The Truth About Love and Dukes Page 15