At the Duke’s Pleasure (5 page)

Stretching onto her back, she began to plot.

A
s he had only a week earlier, Edward drove his curricle up to the front entrance of Marsden Manor. Alighting from the vehicle, he strode through the door held open by the butler, pausing to exchange a few words with the servant as he divested himself of his greatcoat and top hat.

He was escorted to the same formal drawing room to which he’d been shown before, then the servant withdrew to inform Lady Claire and her mother of his arrival. The earl, it seemed, was away for the afternoon on business, a circumstance about which Edward had no complaint, since it was his fiancée he’d come to see.

Fiancée
. How odd that word sounded in his mind. But he supposed he would soon enough grow used to the notion of finally and officially being engaged and, when the time arrived, being married as well.

A scowl settled over his brows as he turned to gaze out the window.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

The Marsden ladies did not join him.

Withdrawing his engraved gold timepiece from the pocket of his tobacco brown silk waistcoat, he consulted the hour. A quarter past three. Unless he’d mistaken the hour agreed upon for his visit, he’d arrived precisely as scheduled. Tucking the watch back into his pocket, he took a moment to ponder the novelty of being forced to fritter away his time. As a duke, it wasn’t often that he found himself required to wait—for anything or anyone. Generally everyone waited for him.

Not that he sought such a reaction from others. In point of fact, he often wished that he had the luxury of being able to fade into the background and be a bit more ordinary than he was. Far too frequently he was subjected to the fawning behavior of those who hoped to earn his interest and approbation. Little did they realize their mistake, since he detested nothing quite as much as an obsequious toad eater scurrying around his heels.

But even among the nobility, he commanded a certain level of deference due to his elevated title. A heightened courtesy that had nothing to do with him as a person, but that was based instead on his position within the peerage. It was only around his family and friends that he could truly relax and be himself. And although the Marsdens would also become his family in a few months’ time, he readily acknowledged that they were still on rather formal footing with one another at present.

But apparently not today
, he thought with a faintly amused roll of his eyes, wondering how long the ladies planned to keep him waiting.

Another ten minutes passed.

He was wishing he’d had the foresight to bring a book with him when Lady Edgewater hurried into the room.

“Oh, Your Grace,” she said in a breathless rush, her puce woolen skirts swinging as she clutched a hand to her heaving bosom. “Pray forgive my tardy arrival. I have been…that is, I was quite unavoidably detained. I hope you have not been waiting a dreadfully long while.”

“No, not at all,” he dissembled in a reassuring tone. “I trust nothing untoward has occurred?”

“Of course not!” Lady Edgewater declared with an audible, high-pitched squeak in her voice. “Everything is splendid! Wh-Why do you not be seated and I shall ring for tea.”

He raised a brow at her unusual reaction, but decided not to remark on the subject. “Tea would be most welcome.”

Giving an absent nod, Lady Edgewater crossed to the bellpull and gave a sharp tug. As she did, she craned her neck and glanced out into the hall. Her narrow shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment when she didn’t discover whatever—or whomever—it was she’d been hoping to see. Turning back, she sent him a bright smile. “Your journey was pleasant, I hope?”

“Quite pleasant,” he confirmed, waiting until she had seated herself before he did the same.

“Good, good,” she said, shooting another glance toward the doorway. “The weather remains cold, but at least it is sunny.”

“Indeed.” He paused, casting a look toward the doorway himself this time. “So, will Lady Claire be joining us shortly?”

Judith Marsden flinched, then shot him another smile. “Of course. She’ll be along any moment. She is…she is…” Her words trailed off as she searched for a way to end her sentence.

“Delayed?” he proffered.

“Exactly!” Lady Edgewater said, looking relieved as she grabbed on to the word. “Claire is
delayed
. You know how girls her age can be. Gowns and hair and such. Never sufficient hours in the day to make oneself pretty enough, especially for one’s fiancé.”

So Claire is abovestairs fussing over her appearance?

His brows furrowed, not at all sure that he cared for the notion of having such an apparently self-absorbed, narcissistic bride. Then again, her mother was obviously making excuses and hiding some essential bit of information, so what precisely was the truth?

His future mother-in-law was clearly racking her brain for a new conversational gambit to cover the silence when a sound came from the doorway. He and Lady Edgewater both glanced up at the same moment and found Claire standing framed in the entrance.

But instead of the immaculately groomed young lady he’d been expecting, she looked a fright. Her golden hair encircled her head in a frenzied mass of wisps that had clearly escaped their pins, one slender hank straggling down to her left shoulder. Her fair cheeks glowed with a sheen of perspiration, a long, dark smudge decorating one cheek. She wore a plain linen dress of indeterminate color, the garment appearing to have been laundered so many times it was now little more than a shapeless, greyish rag. Her feet were shod in a pair of scuffed shoes with what looked to be a leather patch across one toe.

But the worst eyesore by far was the apron tied over her dress. Old and stiff, it was stained brown with huge smears and patches of some combination of matter whose origin he could only guess. Although based on a more careful inspection, he thought he detected grease, dried blood and bits of animal hair!

For long moments, all he could do was stare.

“You wanted to see me, Mama?” she said. “Nan said you’ve been searching all over the house and that I was to come immediately.”

Lady Edgewater said nothing, her expression one of utter horror.

Claire’s gaze shifted toward him, her mouth rounding in a silent exclamation, as though she had only just realized he was in the room. “Your Grace! What are you doing here?”

He blinked, recovering himself enough to answer. “I am paying you a call. I believe I was expected, Lady Claire.”

Her hands went to her cheeks. “Good heavens! Was that today?” Giggling with obvious nerves, she glanced away. “Mercy, forgive me. I completely mistook the date. I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“A while. Your…um…mother has been kind enough to keep me company.”

“I can only imagine what you must think of all this,” she said, waving a hand over her disheveled attire. “I was down in the servants’ wing helping with the tallowing, you see.”

“The
what
!” her mother exclaimed.

“The tallowing. And pouring candles as well. You know how the servants’ stores have grown low of late and that they were in need of replenishing.”

“I know nothing of the sort,” Lady Edgewater said, shooting Claire a look that could only be described as appalled. “Wh-What are you talking about? You don’t make candles with the servants!”

Claire frowned. “Of course I do.” Pausing, she darted a glance at Edward, then back at her mother, her gaze widening slightly as though struck with sudden understanding. “It’s all right, Mama. We don’t have to pretend about these things anymore, not since the duke and I are engaged. Isn’t that right, Your Grace…I mean Edward. You did ask me to use your given name now that we are to be wed.”

A strange choking noise issued from Judith Marsden’s throat before the countess sank onto the sofa.

“Oh, look now, here is the tea,” Claire observed, as a pair of maidservants entered the room bearing a pair of large silver trays. “How delightful,” she continued, “since I am positively famished after all that work.”

The servants arranged the tea service along with an array of biscuits, casting Claire a furtive glance or two out of the corners of their eyes before retreating from the room.

Edward watched as his fiancée crossed to the repast and reached for a plate.

“Claire!” her mother admonished in a restrained half whisper. “Surely you are not planning to dine with us until
after
you have refreshed your attire.”

“I took care to scrub my hands before I came in. Besides, if I go upstairs now, the tea will be cold by the time I return. Do not worry, Mama. I am sure a big, strong man like Edward won’t turn squeamish over a little stain here and there. Will you, Edward?”

She pinned him with a look, her eyes alive with innocence. And yet, as he gazed deeper, he thought he detected something more, an underlying glint of stubborn rebellion and, if he wasn’t wrong, mischief. When he looked again, though, the expression had vanished, her gaze pleasant and untroubled.

He cleared his throat. “Whatever you prefer, my lady. I would not wish to curb your pleasure in any manner.”

A wide smile curved her lips, lovely despite her untidy appearance.

“Although, if it wouldn’t be remiss of me to suggest,” he said, “I believe her ladyship would be more comfortable were you to remove your apron. It is rather…striking to say the least.”

“Of course. Forgive me, Mama. But you know how I lose track of these things, always elbow-deep into one mess or another.”

“
Claire!
What on earth has gotten into you?” her mother said, finally recovering her voice. “You make no sense at all.”

Smiling, Claire put a finger to her lips to pantomime silence. “I know. Mustn’t let Edward in on our secrets. But I told you, Mama. It’s all right. He’ll find out everything soon enough.”

“But there is nothing to find out!” the countess stated in an exasperated tone. She turned her gaze to meet his. “Your Grace, you must believe me when I say that we have been concealing nothing from you. Nothing at all!”

Claire gave a little shake of her head, then laid her plate aside long enough to remove her apron. Folding it so as to leave the clean side exposed, she draped it over a silk-covered chair. Her mother groaned and looked as if she might swoon.

“Now for some food,” Claire stated, as she picked up the plate again.

He watched, bemused, as Claire prepared a plate piled high with little sandwiches and sweetmeats. For a moment he thought she planned to keep the hearty repast for herself. Instead, as if only then remembering her manners, she passed it to him. Murmuring his thanks, he waited while she served herself and her mother. Moments later, Claire took a seat.

Mutely, he bit into a biscuit.

Meanwhile, Lady Edgewater poured and served cups of tea, her hands shaking visibly while she did so.

“I suppose I’m not to tell you about my predilection for gardening either, Your Grace,” Claire announced several moments later. “I just love digging in the dirt. Burying bulbs and planting tubers. Why, sometimes my sisters tease me that I grub around just like a little mole.”

He stopped chewing, a long moment passing before he was able to safely swallow the last bite of biscuit in his mouth. Thankfully, he’d already set his tea aside. Otherwise he feared he would have inadvertently given himself a rather nasty burn.

“You do not grub around like a mole, Claire Marsden!” Lady Edgewater asserted. “You can’t stand dirt of any kind and I do not know why you are saying these things today.” With a mortified expression on her face, she turned toward him. “Your Grace, I apologize.”

He studied his fiancée, trying to decipher her mood and behavior. Something wasn’t right. Of course he didn’t really know her all that well, and yet…Did she really make tallow candles with the servants and toil in the garden like some common laborer? Or did she only want him to
think
that she did? And if so, to what end?

“No apologies needed, ma’am,” he told the countess. “Many young ladies are lured by the beauties of nature and the opportunity to coax plants and flowers from the soil. There is no indignity in tilling the earth. Actually, many would say there is no finer means of expressing the majesty of the Almighty’s plan than growing life from His bounty.”

Across from him, Claire sank her teeth into a small cake.

“Braebourne has extensive gardens and grounds. Once Lady Claire is installed there as its duchess, she will have leave to do as much gardening as she likes. In fact, now that I know how much she loves to grow things, I shall make a point of having a special plot laid aside where she can dig and till to her heart’s content.”

He saw a small frown settle between Claire’s golden brows.

“I’ll inform the gardening staff that no one is to touch the land but you, Lady Claire,” he continued. “Why, in no time at all, I am sure you’ll have it looking so beautiful it will be fit to rival the work of the great Capability Brown himself. So, how many plants do you imagine you will be wanting? Five hundred or a thousand?”

Claire sputtered, then swallowed in a hard gulp, her wide-eyed gaze flying across to meet his own. Drawing in an audible breath, she quickly recovered her equilibrium. “My abilities are nothing so grand. I’m more of a…dabbler in the garden, you see. I p-putter around here and there, but there is nothing serious in my endeavors.”

“Ah. Well then,” he said, “perhaps I have gotten ahead of myself on the subject.”

“Yes, perhaps,” she agreed, her eyes sweeping downward in obvious relief.

Not so enthusiastic now, is she?

“As for the tallowing,” he continued in a falsely serious tone, “I employ a chandler who makes all the candles for the estate. I prefer to use beeswax tapers in the main house, of course, but maybe you could stop by on occasion to offer him a tip or two.”

Her shoulders straightened, her delicate chin lifting in clear awareness of his underlying sarcasm. “I shall make a point of it, Your Grace.”