“Your grandmother is a widow. Greater latitude in behavior is always afforded to widows. Besides, taking an interest in financial matters is a far cry from being in control.”
“People are often suspicious of matters they don’t fully understand,” Morgan said.
“Perhaps,” Alyssa conceded. “However, in this case my unacceptability is not solely based on the fact that I am an unmarried woman working at a man’s job. Alas, my unpardonable sin is that I am competent and successful.” Alyssa got to her feet. “Perkins has lit a fire in the front salon. Shall we adjourn?”
Alyssa felt uncomfortable with so much of the conversation focused on her and was glad for the opportunity to shift the duke’s attention. As they crossed the vast hallway, she studied the tall man who walked beside her, trying to determine the best way to broach the subject of retaining the staff. She had told her servants he was a fair man, but that was merely a hopeful assumption.
“Do you play, Miss Carrington?” the duke inquired when they entered the room.
“No, Your Grace, I do not play the pianoforte. Miss Gibbons, the one governess who possessed a small musical talent, was employed only long enough to teach me the basic piano scales. I cannot even properly read the notes.”
“She was forced away by lack of salary payment?”
“No. Lord Carrington frightened her off,” Alyssa replied with a faint flush of embarrassment. “Miss Gibbons was considerably younger than most of my other governesses and fairly pretty. I am afraid Lord Carrington overindulged in his port and attempted to physically abuse her one evening. Miss Gibbons left rather quickly as I recall.”
The duke made no comment and Alyssa briefly regretted the indelicacy and bluntness of her response. She wondered if she had shocked the duke by having the gall to speak of an incident where Lord Carrington had gotten drunk and tried to take advantage of a woman under his protection. Alyssa knew this was an event she should not have understood, much less spoken about. Rules of polite discourse were rather stringent; honesty had a limited place.
Determined to draw the duke into conversation so she might better understand him, Alyssa settled herself in a small chair near the fire. Her expressive green eyes never left the duke’s broad shoulders as he paced the room aimlessly.
She could not help but admire the elegant cut of his evening clothes and the carelessly artful way he wore them. There was an unmistakable aura of controlled power and command about the duke. Clearly he was a man used to getting what he wanted. It was imperative that she tread cautiously and avoid antagonizing him if she harbored any hopes of placing her small staff in his household.
The duke ceased his pacing and turned to face her. The smile he flashed her was utterly disarming, and Alyssa felt herself drawn by the magnetism of his silver-gray eyes. For a long moment they contemplated each other.
Feeling totally flustered Alyssa blurted out, “What are you going to do with the estate?”
The duke shifted his feet uncomfortably under her open gaze.
“My younger brother, Tristan, will be married later this year. I’ve decided to give the estate to him. Tristan has always enjoyed the country. I believe he will be happy living here.”
Feeling slightly calmer, Alyssa took a moment to ponder this new information, trying to decide if it could work to her advantage.
“Your brother will be in charge of the estate?”
“Of course,” he answered.
“He will decide who shall stay on and who shall leave?”
“Does it really matter who is in charge, Miss Carrington?” Morgan inquired. “Were you planning on working here?”
“Do you think your brother would consider it?” Alyssa replied, her eyes bright with hope. “I know it is unusual, but I am eminently qualified to be an agent, and I have amply demonstrated I can make the estate turn a healthy profit.”
It took Morgan a few moments to realize she was serious. When he finally replied, his skepticism was evident. “It is one thing for you to manage your family estate and quite another for you to be employed by someone else in that position. I’m afraid the idea of a female estate agent is far too avant-garde for Tristan. He believes, as I do, that women should remain within their proper place in society.”
“A woman’s proper place,” Alyssa repeated softly, taking offense at the duke’s arrogant tone. “Where precisely is that?”
The duke’s lip curled in amusement at her indignant manner. “A woman’s proper place?” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles. “A woman must be shielded and protected from the harshness of the world so she can devote all her energy toward the comforts and pleasures of the man who is responsible for her. By day she should be at his side, beautiful and adoring. By night, she must be loving and submissive in his bed.”
“Stand by his side, Your Grace? Not under his foot?” Alyssa snorted in disgust.
“Only if absolutely necessary,” he quipped. Morgan smiled cynically. “Do you not agree, Miss Carrington?”
She thrust her chin up defiantly. “I have never been sheltered or protected in my life, Your Grace. And I find your opinion of my gender rude and unenlightened. I believe men have a need to cosset and protect a woman only because it makes them feel superior.”
He smiled cagily and Alyssa struggled to remain composed under his smug grin. She had the distinct feeling he was deliberately taunting her, yet she found their conversation oddly stimulating. With each passing moment Alyssa was becoming more aware of the duke as a man, and in turn, herself as a woman. His handsome face, alluring smile, and sensuous eyes that gazed so boldly into her own were affecting her in a most peculiar way. Alyssa felt a definite sense of intoxication she instinctively knew was dangerous. And nearly irresistible.
Deciding it would be safest to conclude the evening as quickly as possible, Alyssa steered the conversation back to the new estate owner.
“Since your brother would be mortified to consider a position for me in his household, do I dare ask if he would allow the others to retain their positions? As you can judge for yourself, I alone am the oddity.”
“Despite what I may have led you to believe, I can assure you, Miss Carrington, Tristan is not a tyrant. I’m certain as long as the individual in question is well suited for his position, he will be asked to remain. Beyond that I cannot say.”
It was a fair answer and Alyssa nodded her head in acceptance. “I can only hope, Your Grace, that your esteemed brother is as progressive and open-minded as yourself.” Inclining her head slightly in farewell, Alyssa rose quietly and left the room.
Morgan grinned broadly at her retreating back, unsure if she meant to amuse or insult him. Alyssa Carrington was unlike any other woman he had ever encountered, and he found her fascinating. French spies at Ramsgate Castle and the inciting Miss Carrington. It was turning out to be a far from ordinary week, Morgan decided. The innocent, plainspoken Alyssa stimulated and aroused him infinitely more than a roomful of beautiful, sophisticated courtesans.
Shaking his head at the irony, Morgan slowly climbed the staircase, wondering where in the vast hallways on the second floor her bedchamber was located.
Alyssa awoke earlier than usual the next morning, and for a brief moment thought the earth-shattering events of the previous day had all been a horrible dream. The realization it was not a dream brought forth the urge to bury herself under the covers for the rest of the day. Instead, Alyssa trudged bleary eyed to the bedroom window and gazed despondently at the early morning mist.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of tears, believing it would be impossible to stop crying once she started.
Closing the drapes, Alyssa crossed the room and repeatedly splashed cold water on her face in an effort to erase the telltale signs of a fitful sleep. She dressed rapidly, securing her long hair in a severe chignon at the nape of her neck. Her toilette complete, she left her room to join the staff for breakfast in the kitchen.
Alyssa raced swiftly down the hall, rounding the corner at a quick gait, and collided headlong with the duke. He instinctively grabbed her shoulders to steady her as they were thrown off balance.
“Hellfire and damnation!” Alyssa swore under her breath, trying to regain her footing.
“A pleasant good morning to you also.”
Alyssa drew in her breath sharply and looked up into the duke’s silver-gray eyes.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Alyssa replied breathlessly. She felt herself flushing and brought a cool hand up to her warm cheek.
He gave her a roguish grin. “For what, Miss Carrington? Nearly knocking me down or cursing at me so charmingly?”
“If you are going to be rude, I shall withdraw my apology,” she retorted.
The duke cocked his head to one side. Seeing her indignant expression struck his humor and Morgan laughed heartily. His laughter was the most infectious thing Alyssa had ever heard, and she unwittingly found herself smiling.
As the laughter ended, Alyssa noted the duke was dressed for riding. His exquisitely tailored clothes emphasized the hard, muscular lines of his body, and her pulse quickened.
Her hand lay on his strong shoulder. Unconsciously, she ran her fingertips caressingly along his broad chest and shoulder, marveling at the contrast between the smooth velvet of his riding coat and his lean, muscular body.
The duke felt a powerful surge of lust at her gentle exploration. Reaching down, Morgan gently lifted her chin. His silver-gray eyes took in the open curiosity and tentative passion on Alyssa’s sweet face. Her expression quickly turned to horror when their eyes met and she became aware of what she was doing.
Alyssa snatched her hand away in mortification. For the barest instant she thought her heart would stop beating. She bit her lip hard to master her reeling senses. Her face flushed red with embarrassment, and she refused to meet his gaze.
Morgan saw her distress and, taking pity on her, spoke softly. “I was hoping you would conduct me on a tour of the estate this morning. Perhaps after breakfast?”
Still too overcome with embarrassment to reply, Alyssa merely nodded her head.
“Excellent. Let’s go see what culinary delights Mrs. Stratton has prepared for us this morning.” Morgan clasped Alyssa’s arm firmly, and before she had a chance to protest, propelled her down the stairs and into the dining room.
Mrs. Stratton had indeed been busy. Perkins poured the coffee while Molly and Lucy carried numerous silver trays of steaming hot food into the room and carefully set them down on the sideboard.
“Shall I fix you a plate, Your Grace?” Perkins inquired.
“Yes, Perkins, and one for Lady Alyssa also.”
Alyssa noted with pride the freshly ironed linen tablecloth and matching napkins, the polished silver cutlery, and the simple but elegant flower arrangement. Perkins had even managed to scare up a copy of the
Morning Post.
She fervently hoped the duke would appreciate all the staffs efforts to see to his comfort.
Alyssa smiled her thanks as Perkins set her plate before her, but nearly dropped her china coffee cup when she saw its contents. A quick glance over at the duke’s plate revealed the same: a plate piled high with kidneys, poached eggs, fried potatoes, a thick slice of sirloin, and several thin slices of baked ham. This was more food than she ate in a month! My food budget, she thought in dismay, but then caught herself. The duke was providing breakfast this morning.
This fact did little to enhance Alyssa’s appetite. Absently she picked up a piece of toast and nibbled at it, not even bothering to add butter.
“I was wondering, Miss Carrington, if I might be so bold as to inquire about your future plans,” the duke asked politely.
“Plans? I thought you wanted me to give you a tour of the estate,” she replied blankly.
“I didn’t mean just for today,” he said pointedly.
“Oh,” she replied, understanding. “You’d like to know what I’m going to do after I. . . umm . . . leave. . . Westgate Manor? The arrangements have already been made.”
The duke blinked in astonishment. “So soon?” His cool gray eyes narrowed. “You told me you knew nothing of my arrival until yesterday afternoon.”
“You misunderstand, Your Grace,” she replied soothingly. “My plans were made long before you arrived.”
As he scowled at her, Alyssa hastily explained. “Despite your exalted opinion of womankind, we are not all weak brained, helpless, and incompetent. A few of the fairer sex are eminently capable of fending for ourselves. It became glaringly obvious the first time I read the estate account ledgers that Lord Carrington’s greatest talent is spending money. I knew eventually he would lose the manor. Two years ago I purchased a small cottage on the outskirts of the village from a retired professor who had decided to live abroad. At the same time I invested a small sum of money I managed to save. ’Tis not a large sum, but if I am frugal, I shall be able to live on the income it provides. Lord Carrington spent the dowry left to me by my mother. I therefore felt I was entitled to some compensation for my work on the estate,” she finished defensively.