Page 6 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Your solicitor is waiting for you,” his butler greeted him upon his arrival in the entrance hall. “Sir Joseph and his secretary are settled in the dower house.”
“Very good. See that I am not disturbed whilst in the library.”
While his family had a team of solicitors in London, Preston had availed himself of the services of a local man in the village to search for his former steward.
Preston opened the door to the library to see Mr. Taylor waiting for him.
“Shall we get down to business?” he asked the other man as he took a seat behind his grandfather’s mahogany desk. “What news of Mr. Sparks have you?”
The other man frowned. “None, Your Grace. The bow street runner I hired says the trail has gone cold.”
* * * * *
The dower house was a two-story, square building, two hundred years younger than the hall. The footman who saw Marina and her father to their accommodations introduced them to Cook, their man of all work, Brooks, and the maid Anne.
Before the footman took his leave, he said to her father, “If you require a valet or lady’s maid, they can be provided.”
“That isn’t necessary,” her father replied pleasantly with a shake of his head. “We’re quite used to taking care of ourselves.”
The footman departed, and Anne showed Marina and her father to their bedchambers upstairs on the first floor.
Despite the rooms being free from dust, the house felt as if it had been empty for some time.
“No one uses this house?” she asked the maid.
“The duchess lived in the hall. She died before her son left for France. It is a wonder this house didn’t also fall into disrepair while the duke traipsed about the Continent.” The girl paused, looking stricken, and stared down at her feet. “I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, miss.”
Although Marina wanted to know more about her father’s employer, she didn’t want to give the impression she was a gossip. “Thank you for showing me to my room, Anne.” She looked about the well-appointed bedchamber, noting her valise resting on top of an oak armoire, her trunk stowed in a corner of the room. “Thank you for doing my unpacking. Did you put away my notebooks?”
The maid replied, “I placed them in the drawer of the writing desk. What is the lovely walnut box for? I put it in the armoire.”
“That box is a portable lap desk.” Marina opened the armoire and pulled out the box.
“How clever!” Anne looked at the portable desk with admiration. “If you need anything else, miss, just let Brooks know. I’m to help Cook with dinner.”
The maid exited the bedchamber, and Marina’s father entered.
“I will see you at supper.” Her father ran a hand through his gray, thinning hair. “I have a meeting with the land steward.”
The carriage clock on the small bedside table showed five of the o’clock. Cook had informed Marina and her father that supper would be at seven. She would have plenty of time to expand on the notes she’d scribbled about the condition of Barton Hall’s interior.
“And I have to transcribe my notes,” she replied.
When her father had left the room, she opened up the writing desk drawer to find her large notebook and project ledger. Returning downstairs, she entered the drawing room and took a seat, putting her notebooks beside her on the plush sopha, and opening the portable desk.
The drawing room was decorated in shades of green, and the effect was calming. There was a floral arrangement on an occasional table near her elbow, and the fragrance of honeysuckle assailed her. Quite content in her situation, Marina began to transfer her notes.
Over supper, her father spoke about his meeting with Mr. Bailey. “The duke’s steward has assured me the craftsmen I requested will arrive for work in two days. Tomorrow the duke will show us the second floor of the hall at his convenience.”
“Of course,” she replied dryly.
Supper was served à la française, and there were no servants present to overhear their conversation.
“Now, now, Marina,” her father responded with a chuckle, “His Grace has done nothing to earn your ire.”
“Yet,” she replied with a wry smile. How could she tell her father she disliked the man because he was attractive?
She was relieved when he changed the subject by saying, “I’m sure you’re bursting with the need to tell me your ideas for Barton Hall. Tell me your thoughts, my dear.”
