Page 7 of Her Ruse with the Wicked Duke
“My dear,” Agnes, the cook, said as she entered, giving her a pitiful smile. Her daughter, Grace, shuffled over to place a comforting hand on Alice’s shoulder. “I was just about to make this week’s bread. Would you like to help me?”
Alice blinked away the tears that were pricking her eyes, nodding. “Of course.”
“All right, dear, go grab the ingredients, and then we can get to work.”
The cook learned over the years that baking was an easy way for Alice to get her mind off her brother’s unfavorable attitude. The old woman took care of the Snow children when their parents were still alive, continuing to work for them after they had passed, and she loved Alice like a daughter. Grace was a little older than Alice, but upon becoming her lady’s maid, they became close friends.
Alice nodded and made her way to the pantry to grab the supplies, thankful that her brother had shooed her off because, at least, she most likely would not be at his beck and call for the day. She returned to the kitchen, hands full, when she heard the rhythmic clicking of Richard’s shoes on the waxed wooden floors as he headed upstairs. She felt relief wash over her. Then, self-pity for having to feel this way in the first place.
She wondered idly what the Duke could be doing on a Saturday morning as she rolled the dough in her hands. Maybe he was just waking up, like her brother, his hair a tousled dark mess?—
Why am I thinking about his routine? And his messy hair? I need to start planning how to approach the Earl at the next party. Perhaps I can manage to secure a dance with him at the ball.
The next ball of the Season was in a week, and she had sent her stained gown to the modiste to replace the fabric. Richard would not mind, considering that it was one of her only nice dresses he allowed her to have, and he would rather have her old dress mended than spend money on an entirely new one.
Though her brother was obsessed with flaunting his wealth to the ton, he refused to spend more than what was necessary on her.
Alice did not mind only having a few dresses, though it was the talk of the ton after her first few instances of wearing the same outfit. The ladies thought it best to not say anything at first, but she knew their confusion would get the best of them one day, and they eventually began to question why a baron’s sister had been seen in no more than four dresses.
“Agnes, Grace and I will be going out later today to pick my gown up from the modiste. Do you need us to fetch anything from the market?”
“I need carrots for the week. Oh, and radishes. Thank you, dears.” Agnes’s eyes wrinkled as she smiled at the girls, showing her age. “Be sure to take the carriage after His Lordship leaves for the gentlemen’s club.”
“I know.” Alice smiled, before setting the dough she kneaded into a basket to rise. She began preparing another loaf when she was startled to attention as Richard barked her name, and she scurried back into the dining room.
“Yes, My Lord?”
“I am off. I need my bedroom cleaned, and laundry is needed.”
“Of course, My Lord. Have a lovely day at the club.” She bowed reluctantly.
“I will.”
She watched her brother leave without another word, before returning to Grace in the kitchen, who rolled her eyes, making Alice giggle quietly.
* * *
There was one last place Rowan figured he would stop before heading home. Cribb’s had been around since his father was a child, and he remembered the fond stories he shared with him as bedtime stories.
Most probably not entirely appropriate for a child, come to think of it.
Rowan knew that it was the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in London, and he was bound to get a head start on finding new investors there. Thankfully, even though he had been away for almost ten years, he was the talk of the town, so it was easy for him to join the club.
“Your Grace! Welcome to Cribb’s. Let me show you to the sitting room.” An elderly gentleman smiled and allowed him to enter the foyer. He looked tired, but still had an unexpected prep in his step that had Rowan confused as he watched the hunched man quickly scurry down the halls. “I am William Cribb. The owner of the establishment.”
“I assumed.” Rowan nodded, making the old man laugh. He was not trying to be funny, but it was a better reaction than most to his dry humor.
The two men walked through the halls of the stone building, and Rowan admired the gold etched into every possible surface. The wallpaper sparkled with golden ornamental patterns, and the large portraits of members of high society were covering the walls.
“Most of these men enjoy gambling, so be wary of the bets they ask you to participate in.” Mr. Cribb winked before opening the door to the sitting room.
Immediately, the strong smell of cigar smoke filled Rowan’s nose. He bowed his head to the host before heading inside.
“Rowan! As I live and breathe! How are you?” A man in a light green suit ran from the window to his old friend, throwing his hand out.
“Darby.” Rowan grinned, giving him a hearty handshake. “I am well.”
“I assume from your tone that you are here on strict business.” Mr. Darby smiled.
