"Oh."
Even Alec could hear the disappointment in her voice. He had little time to ponder that. After a few sharp turns and a shout from Jem the carriage ground to a halt in back of his tall and elegant town house.
"Oh, my goodness!" Her hands flew to her mouth.
"God Almighty, don't sneeze!"
"I wasn't going to," she said, her palms now flat and, like her nose, pressed against the glass. She tilted her head back and looked upward.
"This is Belmore House." Alec stepped down from the carriage and turned back.
She gave him one of her awestruck stares.
How in the name of God could he turn her loose among the ton? He didn't know who needed more protection—her or them.
He shook his head resignedly and took her hand. "Come along, Scottish. You have more servants to meet."
Chapter 18
"What the devil do you mean, there aren't any servants?"
Joy blanched at the sound of her husband's icy voice in the next room. She had been abandoned in the salon and had spent the last few minutes tilting her head this way and that, trying to decipher the scene in the high painted ceiling above her. A man with a lyre and a wispy maiden frolicked in a forest amid a cluster of wood nymphs. The Pan-like creatures immediately brought to mind Mrs. Watley, all six uppity feet of her, in a dead faint.
"Most of the help went home to the country for the Christmas holiday, Your Grace. The weather has delayed their return."
"Then find some more."
Snapped from a vision of goat horns, an impish face, and a man-sized woman hitting the floor, Joy heard the servant nervously clear his throat. "We tried, Your Grace, but none are available."
"This is
London
, Carstairs. There have to be servants available. Contact all the agencies."
"I did so. There's no one available. They've all been hired out, Your Grace. Too many people stuck in town because of the bad weather. I tried, but—"
"Who's missing?" Alec's curt voice filtered through the fireplace grate.
Joy stepped closer and heard Carstairs rattle off a list of names.
Alec swore again. She blanched. He'd need a whole armful of heavenly forgiveness for that word. Chair legs squealed across a wooden floor, then she heard the echoing sound of him pacing in the next room— thud, thud, thud, turn. "So we are, with no butler, no cook, seven . . . no, eight missing footmen, and approximately five absent maids." She could picture him, eyes hard, head bent in thought, hands clasped behind his back, his long-legged strides eating up the floor. Her experience had taught her that he always started a sentence on a turn.
"And the stable master," added Carstairs.
"Jem's here, he can fill that position." He must have turned, she thought.
"Henson and the others can fill in," Alec continued, "but the cook . . . ”
"Two of the maids can prepare plain meals, and I heard there's to be a hiring fair tomorrow. Normally I wouldn't hire from a fair, but in this case I suppose we have no other choice."
Joy grinned and her eyes brightened. A fair! What fun. She had never been to a fair.
"Fine. Do what you must, but I want this house adequately staffed by tomorrow night."
"Yes, Your Grace."
A door closed and a moment later the sliding mahogany pocket doors rumbled open and Alec strode into the salon. Wordlessly he walked past her, and she heard the clink of fine crystal behind her.
While he poured his drink she looked into the next room and saw another salon, larger than this one and done in darker tones of deep claret and rich hunter green. The strong, warm scent of tobacco and sandalwood drifted from that room. It smelled of Alec, she thought, catching a glimpse of a hunting scene above a small nook where a carved card table and heavy leather chairs formed an intimate playing circle."What room is that?"
"The gentlemen's salon."
She tried to see if the ceiling was painted, but the wall that encased the doors blocked what must have been another three-story room. After a tense silence during which the only sound was the splash of pouring liquor, she said, "I couldn't help overhearing."
Alec looked up at her, still scowling. "Bloody weather." He leaned against a small gilded cart. He glanced down at his glass, then up at her. "Would you like something? A glass of sherry?"
She shook her head. After the last time she didn't think she wanted to drink any amber-colored liquids. She toyed with a pale blue glass figurine atop the marble chimneypiece for a thoughtful moment. "Alec?"
"Hmm?"
"Who were you speaking to?" She set the figurine down, crossed to a stiff-backed chair, and traced the carved wood that edged it.
"Carstairs, my secretary."
"Oh." She strolled over to a sofa, picked up a tapestry pillow, and fiddled with the gold fringe while she leaned against the carved arm. "What do you do when you're in
London
?"
He seemed surprised by that question. "The Belmore Dukes have always had a seat at government. I sit in the House of Lords."
"What else?"
"Attend balls, go to my club, ride in the park—the usual things done by English peers." He glanced up and must have read her face because he added, "It might sound frivolous, Scottish, but most of
England
's laws are formulated and decided not in Parliament, but at social events." He took a drink. "Why?"
"I was just wondering." She fondled the pillow, then asked the dreaded question: "When do I meet the prince?"
He set the glass down and took an envelope from his coat. "This was awaiting us."
"What is it?"
"An invitation to the prince regent's ball. Seems he's decided to celebrate some monumental occasion— probably the birth of a new litter of hunting hounds." He dropped the envelope on the table between them, and she picked it up and sat down.
The ball was to be held in two weeks. A wee smile tickled her lips. A ball! A prince's ball. "You seem upset. Don't you like balls?"
Alec glanced up at her. "I didn't plan to stay in
London
that long."
"Oh." She stared at the invitation in her hands, then asked, "What does a duchess do when in
London
?"
"She doesn't cast spells."
Frowning, Joy set the invitation down. "You keep saying you expect me to behave as the Duchess of Belmore should. How can I behave as such if I have no idea what is expected of me?"
He sighed. It had a defeated sound. "I'll have to teach you." He took another drink, then said something about frozen hell and training witches.
"I'm sure there's someone else who can show me what I need to know," she said in a cold tone.
"I said I'd do it."
Pride made her sit erect. She folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin a notch higher than normal.
"What are my duties?"
He took another sip of brandy and said, "Planning balls, dinners, and other social affairs. Basically you will be a hostess."
"Is that what most duchesses do?"
"Yes. Some ladies hire the servants and oversee them."
Aha, she thought. There might be a way to see a fair and a ball all in one trip. Her face lit up like the lanterns at Vauxhall. Now, Joyous, she told herself, you need to work this just right . . . .
"The Belmore women have done both," he continued. "I understand my grandmother was quite a tyrant with the help."
"Who runs this household?"
"The butler did"—he paused again—"does . . . will . . . oh, hell, whenever he returns."
"Would you like me to take care of the servant problem?"
His eyes narrowed. "How? You have no experience."
She gave him a weak smile and snapped her fingers.
"God Almighty, no witchcraft!" He took a drink, then added, "And whatever you do, don't sneeze some up."
She'd known he would react that way. On to her next ploy. "Well, since using my powers isn't an option"—he grumbled something—"how about the fair?"
His head shot up, his eyes suspicious. "What about it?"
"Can I go?"
"No."
"But I'd like to hire the servants. 'Tis a duchess's duty."
"No."
"You just said it was."
"Yes, I did. Yes, it is, and no, you cannot go to a hiring fair."
"You said I should attend to my duties."
"Not this time."
"But—"
"No."
"You don't believe I can do it."
"No."
"You keep saying no."
He lifted his glass in a gesture that said, "You're right."
"You're not even listening to me." She was quiet for a minute of thought. "How am I supposed to learn to carry out my duties if you won't give me any?"
"No."
"Aha! I caught you! That was the wrong answer. It wasn't a yes-or-no question."
"No, it wasn't, but no matter what you ask, the answer is still no."
"I thought you were a just man. You haven't given me a reason."
"I have my reasons."
"But it's a fair."
"This is not the kind of fair you think it is."
"Then why do they call it a fair?"
His eyes narrowed in frustration. "Someday I'll take you to a fair, but not this one." He stood and poured another drink.
"You could take me to this one."
"I have business to take care of tomorrow, and you are not ready to be on your own in
London
."
"I could take Henson."
"No."
"And Polly."
"No."
"And Carstairs."
He just leveled a glare at her.
She sighed. Englishmen were hardheaded. She drummed her fingers on the sofa arm and looked around the room. After the silence had stretched on for too long, she glanced at Alec. He broodingly stared into his glass. She had tried repeatedly to get him to respond to her. She wanted to unlock her husband. Since he'd walked in and caught sight of the broom and churn and roses, he had been harder than ever. It was as if the ice around him had thickened.
But she was not going to give up. She intended to melt him, magic or no. She was not a quitter, and Alec needed her, he was just too hardheaded to admit it. Little did he know that he had declared war the minute he said he would not make love to her. She intended to find a way to reach him, and so far, their lovemaking had been the only time he'd let his guard down. She would keep chipping away at him until she won. She stood up, intending to plan her strategy. "I'll go up to my room."