Wish Upon a Duke

by Jamie Salisbury

  Savannah wasn’t so sure about that. The older woman seemed more interested in seeing to Vincent’s immediate needs than Savannah’s. The disdain in her voice just now made it evident Lady Dorset was going to make life difficult. “Will Vincent be allowed to join us at dinner this evening?”

  The countess stared at her in shock, as though she’d said something blasphemous. “Heavens, no. He’ll take his meals in the nursery.”

  “But won’t the duke want to meet his new charge?”

  “The duke will meet him another time.”

  She was going to ask more about this duke, but Mrs. Hastings reappeared.

  “Mrs. Hastings, would you show Mrs. Dawson to her rooms? I believe she’d like to rest awhile before dressing for dinner.”

  “Yes, madam.” She eyed Savannah curiously. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your rooms.”

  Lady Dorset said, “She’ll also need a lady’s maid, if you can find a girl temporarily until someone suitable can be hired.”

  “Miss Abbott will suit perfectly,” the housekeeper replied.

  “The upstairs maid? Yes, she would be more than capable.”

  “I have her unpacking for you now,” she said, glancing at Savannah. “I think you’ll like her.”

  Chapter Two

  Gabriel Armstrong, twelfth Duke of Clevedon, sat back in his chair, estate ledgers lying open on the desk in front of him. Though he had an extremely competent estate manager who kept the ledgers up-to-date, Gabriel himself liked to review everything before his once-a-month meeting with Harold Bottoms, a man whose father had been estate manager at Brook Fall for his entire adult life. The two men met weekly, more if there was something requiring Gabriel’s immediate attention. Other than that, Bottoms kept himself busy on the estate. Brook Fall wasn’t small by any means. It graced the English countryside with magnificent meadows and forests, encompassing nearly twenty thousand acres.

  The estate had been the ducal family seat for over four hundred years, making it one of the oldest in all England, and it was where Gabriel preferred to spend his time. London held no appeal for him. He tried to make sure his trips to Town were quick, staying only long enough to take care of whatever business might need completing. But then there was the Season. Every mother wanted nothing more than to see her daughter married to him, which was precisely why he never let on he was indeed in the market for a wife. He tolerated various balls, soirees, and dinner parties, but as far as anyone knew, he was there only at the invitation of the host.

  Finding a wife, a woman who would be his duchess, had proven more complicated than he first anticipated. He for feared every debutante would be lined up waiting to catch his attention, Instead, he quietly paid attention to who attended each event.

  He wanted a woman who was both intelligent and pleasing to the eyes. She didn’t have to be beautiful, as he often found the beauties were either lacking in intelligence or they put themselves above everyone else around them. Most who fell into that category were clingy, trying their best to win his favor and attention.

  The woman who became his duchess would have to be kind and considerate, and someone with whom he could converse. He disliked having to speak about the weather or the latest gossip. He detested gossip and wanted nothing to do with women who enjoyed it. She would also have to be willing to pick up the reins of the charities his late mother had started which provided clothing, food, and education for the children living on the estate with their families or in the village.

  A knock on the door caused him to slip back into reality.

  “Come,” he said.

  The door opened, and his long-time butler, Simmons, appeared. The man, like his estate manager, was not the first in his family to hold his position. Simmons’s father and grandfather had both served as butlers at Brook Fall.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, but this just arrived from Lady Dorset,” he said, presenting a small silver tray to Gabriel.

  Gabriel nodded and scanned the contents of the note. “Is someone waiting for a reply?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. I sent him to the kitchens to wait.”

  “Very well, give me five minutes to write a reply, and tell Cook there is no need to make dinner. It appears I’ll be dining with the dowager countess. Her grandson, the new earl, and her daughter-in-law have finally arrived.”

  “I’ll tell Cook not to prepare dinner and return for your reply, Your Grace. Anything else?”

  “No, that’ll be all, Simmons.”

  He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper as the butler silently left the room. Moving one of the ledgers out of his way, he began to compose his reply. Though he wasn’t in the mood to dine with the countess and listen to her rave on about members of the peerage, he knew he needed to. He’d agreed to assist in the schooling of the young earl.

  How old was the boy? Quite young, perhaps six or seven. Though Gabriel hadn’t had many dealings with children, he found himself eager to embark upon his new adventure. He’d been taken aback at first when the countess had come to him, but understood her reasoning after learning there weren’t any other male relatives remotely near the estate who could serve as a mentor to Roland’s son. He couldn’t wait to spend time with the boy.

  Simmons reappeared and took the silver tray, which now included the duke’s reply. Gabriel rose from his chair and walked to the windows. It was still raining, though far less than it had for the past few days. Being cooped up in the house like this unsettled him. He preferred riding his horse and checking on the estate. There was always something going on, and Gabriel couldn’t envision any other place to spend his time than at Brook Fall.

  At a table near his desk which held crystal decanters, he poured himself a brandy and returned to his seat. The countess was holding dinner at seven, which meant it would be an early evening. That was another thing he didn’t miss about London. Dinners started late, for the most part, and took hours to complete. He was usually seated next to or near a young single woman, something he abhorred. The only thing good about his position at functions like this was that he was among the first, if not the first, to be seated. Given his family’s history, he was usually the senior ranking member in attendance.

  He swirled the glass before taking a long swallow of the French brandy he’d had shipped home after his last visit to Paris. No one could quite make brandy, wine, or champagne like the French, and he had a cellar full to prove it.

  His mind wandered back to the young boy, Vincent. Would he favor his old friend Roland, or would he resemble his American-born mother? Gabriel had heard countless stories about her, not only from the countess, but from the late earl, Roland’s brother, Timothy. Both had been beside themselves when Roland accepted a position as a partner in an American foundry. The countess thought Roland was being disloyal to his family. As a second son, it was not only his right, but his destiny to choose what he would do in life. He accepted no money from his brother, not that he’d had an allowance to begin with when he left for America. That was the one thing Timothy had done out of spite: cut off Roland’s allowance. Through savvy business dealings, Roland had nevertheless built a fortune of his own.

  Gabriel had known Timothy almost as well as he’d known Roland. Being that they were brothers, one would have thought they would have been closer in personality. Instead, Gabriel found Timothy reckless and uncaring. Certainly, he himself had been raised to believe that as duke, he would be above everyone else. Timothy had been raised similarly, but he had a cruel, vindictive streak, and his brother paid dearly. Roland became the victim of his brother’s wicked side and found himself at school unable to avoid the wrath of his brother or his friends. At home, it had been easier for Roland because he could ride his horse across the estate and not be found. Gabriel and Roland had become fast friends through their mutual love of horses.

  Gabriel shuddered at the thought of Timothy’s cruelty. No one had been safe from him, not his siblings nor the boys at school nor servants. Anyone who da
red cross him at the wrong time had paid the price, and dearly. Timothy might not get his vengeance that moment, but he would instead wait until his unsuspecting prey was caught off guard, much like an animal on the hunt. Gabriel had never been on that receiving end of Timothy’s machinations as there seemed to be an unspoken vow between the two. It almost seemed that Timothy knew that Gabriel’s rank made him untouchable.

  Timothy’s death had been due to a mysterious hunting accident, which shocked a few. He was known to be an avid hunter, and his hunting parties were famous. The estate always had plenty of game for Timothy’s guests, and he was usually the one to lead the parties out each morning. Gabriel had been invited to several until he’d mentioned—perhaps, in Timothy’s eyes, complained—about his host’s reckless manner with his rifle. After that, the invitations quit coming.

  Gabriel had only been to Sky View twice since Timothy’s death. Once to pay his condolences upon the news of the earl’s death, and the second to visit with the countess when she approached him with the idea of him mentoring Roland’s young son, now the Earl of Dorset.

  Tonight would be his third. A small dinner affair to welcome Roland’s widow and son home, and to give Gabriel an opportunity to meet his small charge. The idea was still odd to him. He’d never given much thought to children. Yes, he wanted children of his own at some point, but to be asked to help with the raising of someone else’s child gave him pause.

  Then there was the young earl’s mother. He knew little about her. Most of what he’d learned had come from his correspondence with Roland. She was American, her father a wealthy industrialist. Roland had loved her deeply, which was a far cry from what the countess felt. It had never sat well with her that her second son would marry an American, let alone a commoner. The dowager countess thought America was full of savages and that they were lacking in social skills. She had mentioned more than once that she couldn’t wait for her grandson to arrive so she could make his Americanisms disappear, which would be impossible, because Vincent’s mother could never change who she was.

  He would have to monitor closely to make sure the countess didn’t attempt to undermine her daughter-in-law. He intended to get to know Mrs. Dawson better, as it would be to their advantage to play on the same team, so to speak. The dowager countess would have to be monitored and kept from fulfilling her own agenda, which would be to send her daughter-in-law back to America.

  It must have taken a great deal of courage for Mrs. Dawson to leave her own family and set out on a new life to see her son raised as an earl should be. Roland had obviously educated his wife quite well in how the aristocracy worked, never imagining that it would be put to good use when his own young son quite unexpectedly became earl. He imagined she must be a strong woman to accept such responsibility. He’d always been in awe of women who were able to rise to any occasion. Savannah Dawson certainly sounded like this sort of woman.

  His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a quick knock on the door, followed by the Earl of Wexford pushing past a flustered Simmons. Gabriel and Wexford had been fast friends at Eton and Cambridge, part of a small group of heirs sent to the finest schools to prepare them for their future responsibilities.

  “Wexford!” Gabriel exclaimed. He shut the two remaining ledgers that lay open. One thing about Wexford, he was a bit too curious about the goings-on of those around him.

  “I tried to tell Simmons here you wouldn’t mind being interrupted.”

  “What brings you to Brook Fall on a such a miserable day?”

  The earl arranged his lanky frame in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in front of Gabriel’s desk. With his blond hair and piercing blue eyes, he always reminded Gabriel of a Norseman. Or was it a Viking? “I was nearby, heading back to London after visiting my sister Helen and her family.”

  Gabriel rose from behind his desk and walked to the sideboard where his liquor decanters sat. “Brandy?”

  Wexford nodded, saying nothing.

  “How is your sister?” Gabriel asked. “I don’t believe I’ve seen her recently.”

  “That’s because she’s with child again and spends most of her time confined to the house.”

  Gabriel poured a healthy splash of brandy into each of the snifters and passed one to Wexford. “What is this, her fourth child?”

  Wexford accepted the glass, nodding. “Yes, and each one is more difficult than the previous. Four children in five years? Poor Helen hasn’t had a year’s rest,” Wexford replied. “I understand Burton wanting an heir, but he’s become fanatical about the whole thing.”

  “Perhaps they’ll get lucky this time and have a son, then Burton will not visit her bed so often.”

  “One can hope,” he said, then tossed back the brandy. Wexford and his sister, along with their brother, Tom, had had a trying childhood. Their father had preferred his drink over his family. Children were meant to be seen and not heard and, most importantly, be raised by others. Thus his friend had been sent to Eton at a very young age. His family never visited, and it was rare for him to go home during any holiday breaks. It had been easy for him, Roland, and Wexford to become fast friends.

  “Has your protégé arrived?”

  “Yes, he and his mother arrived today, and he’s not my protégé, Parr.” Parr was what Gabriel and everyone else called Wexford in private, rather than his given or secondary names. They were stuffy old monikers that he refused to use.

  “When do you plan on meeting them?”

  “The countess is having me for dinner this evening for exactly that purpose.”

  Parr snorted. “Of course, you’re eager for this meeting?”

  Gabriel swallowed some brandy and gazed thoughtfully at his friend. “Yes, I am.”

  “And his mother?”

  “His mother as well, since she will be the one I deal with in regard to the boy. The dowager countess, as you know, is the one who requested my help with him.”

  “At least the boy’s young enough to still rid him of any bad habits.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Knowing Roland, the boy has had the start of a decent education. Nothing like he’ll receive here, of course, but he won’t be running wild and disobedient.”

  “I don’t envy you.”

  “Neither do I, but it’ll be worth it in the long term,” Gabriel said as he glanced at a clock. It was time to make himself ready for dinner. “You’re welcome to stay the night. I’m sure Cook can come up with a decent enough dinner for you.”

  “That’s much appreciated. Thank you.”

  “No need. The weather hasn’t been the best for traveling. Feel free to make yourself at home. Since the boy and his mother arrived just today, I doubt it’ll be a long night. Perhaps you’ll indulge me in a game of chess later?”

  Parr grinned and swirled the remaining brandy in his glass. “I can’t wait to beat you yet again.”

  “Says a man who hated the game a year ago.”

  Parr laughed loudly and finished his brandy. “Let me allow you to dress for your dinner. I’ll have your man show my valet to my room, if he hasn’t done so already.”

  “I’ll see you later for that game of chess,” Gabriel replied. He stood from behind the desk, and locked the ledgers in a desk drawer before he walked toward the door, Parr following. He left Parr speaking with Simmons, then quickly made his way up the stairs, down the hall to his room. Inside, he found Burns laying out his clothes for the evening. The man knew what Gabriel wanted—sometimes even before he did. It was almost eerie how well he understood Gabriel’s needs.

  Good valets took years to learn their master’s preferences, but Burns was exceptional. He never overstepped his bounds and had served Gabriel well, even becoming a very trusted servant and confidant. The man had certainly seen him in not the best of conditions quite a few times, especially after Gabriel’s father, the former duke, died.

  “Your Grace, I have everything ready for your bath.”

  “Thank you, Burns. I have enough time for a long soak in
the tub,” he replied. “Also, beware, Parr is spending the night. Hopefully, he won’t pull any pranks.”

  Parr had always been the jokester among their friends, and Gabriel had learned early on not to trust him in situations such as this. He might find himself soaked in water upon entering his own rooms when he returned this evening, the victim of a pail of water strategically placed above the doorframe. Nothing was sacred when Parr the prankster was around.

  His mind was filled with questions, more about Roland’s widow than the boy. What sort of woman was she? She was American after all. He’d heard American women were bold and daring compared to most of their English counterparts. Was she pleasing to look at? Remembering his friend Roland’s taste in women, his wife would be a beauty.

  Chapter Three

  Savannah barely listened as Miss Abbott, the lady’s maid the countess assigned her, prattled on and on. Occasionally, she would pick up a snippet of how quiet the house had been since the late young earl had died, or how well-liked Lady Dorset was, how charitable she was, or even how she knew the house inside and out.

  Drivel was the word that went through Savannah’s mind. The girl had probably never had much experience dressing a lady, and Savannah was slightly uncomfortable having someone to assist her. But this was how the English did things, so she’d better adapt. Life was no longer as it once was, and for Vincent’s sake, she had to put her own feelings aside.

  She walked over to the mirror to make sure everything was in place and that she appeared presentable. Tonight, the Duke of Clevedon was coming to dinner. Why on her first night here, Savannah couldn’t fathom, but the dowager countess had set everything up, and Savannah would play her part. She was quite curious about the duke and wanted to know more about him. He would be spending considerable time with Vincent, and that was enough. He would make him a proper English lord, which made Savannah fear she would lose the sweet young boy she loved.

  “You look quite lovely, my lady. The color becomes you,” Abbott said, beaming.