Page 16 of An Innocent Maid for the Duke
Frederick loomed over him, glaring down. ‘Do you not have a home to go to? Oh, wait. You do. A ducal mansion.’ He inhaled and curled his lip in distaste. ‘God, how much wine have you drunk?’ He whisked the decanter off the desk and deposited it back on the tray on the console between the shuttered windows. ‘You stink of brandy. Go home. Bathe, for God’s sake.’
Frederick’s brusque manner hid a caring heart. Jake knew this, but he simply glowered at his friend. ‘I have as much right to be here as you do. I am doing something useful.’ He glanced down at the ledger. Trying to anyway.
‘We employ a bookkeeper for that.’
‘Someone has to oversee the bookkeeper.’
What on earth was the matter with him? Fred’s advice might not be to his liking, but it wasn’t wrong.
Besides, it was a lady’s prerogative to choose her protector. A gentleman simply shrugged and moved on if he wasn’t picked. He toyed with one of the blue ribbons from the bonnet and twined it around his fingers. Not that he’d suffered such rejections in the past. After all he’d been the second son of a duke, fabulously wealthy in his own right and his reputation for generosity had not gone unnoticed.
Until now. Damn it all, he needed to think about something else. About those in his care. His grandmother, for example.
When had he last seen the old girl? He cast his mind back with effort. Two days ago? Three? She’d be worrying. The thought of her in distress made his stomach roil. Another failure to add to a string of them he dragged behind him like anchors.
Fred peered at the bonnet. ‘What is that doing there?’
‘Nothing. I found it in the garden. One of the girls must have dropped it. I thought I would ask around.’
‘I doubt any of them would want that old thing back.’
‘Probably not.’ Jake picked it up and dropped it in the rubbish basket.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Fred said.
‘Not on my account, I hope. I’m leaving.’
‘I only came by to check on the state of the cellar, which I have done. See you later, Westmoor.’
Fred left, closing the door behind him.
Jake forced himself to his feet. He was done here. There was no point in pretending to read numbers when he could barely see them. He picked the bonnet out of the bin and hung it on the back of the door.Just in case.
He wandered off to the stables. He deliberately did not glance at the garden gate and nor did he utter a word at the reproving glance he received from his coachman for keeping him waiting till some ridiculous hour of the morning. Again. Thank goodness the stables at Vitium et Virtus offered comfort for long-suffering servants.
* * *
Once home, he went straight to his room, endured the ministrations of a valet who did nothing but complain about the fit of his coats and the state of his linen, and shut himself in the library, which he now used as his office. Even after all these months, he still couldn’t bring himself to use the ducal study.
Instead, he’d had them bring a writing table in here along with the various documents he needed day to day. He’d also had them cover the most recent family portrait. His father, brother, sister and himself. Something about the way his father and brother looked out of that frame made him feel inadequate. And as guilty as hell.
Why had he not done as his father had asked him on that last day?
Such a simple request. For some reason he could no longer fathom, or justify, he had taken umbrage at the implication that he had nothing better to do than dash off to Brighton to curry favour with the Regent.
If only—
He cut the thought off and returned to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. Why had he never realised how much work it was, being a duke? Likely because his father and brother had never involved him in the routine running of the Duchy.
Nor had he wanted them to. Had he?
He shut his eyes, briefly. No. He had not. He’d been having too good a time as he’d so often gloated to an older brother weighed down by responsibilities and paperwork.
Too busy enjoying the charms of the fairer sex, his unbelievable luck at the tables and running Vitium et Virtus with his friends. Running it and enjoying its entertainments. Though he had to admit the sameness of it all had begun to pall some time ago.
The library door opened to admit an elderly lady with her hair powdered and her back ramrod straight, despite needing the support of her cane. A pair of piercing grey eyes fixed on his face. Eyes like his father’s. And his brother’s. His were blue, like his mother’s and Eleanor’s.
‘Grandmama. Good morning.’
