Page 19 of Dancing with an Enigmatic Duke
“My Lady, where would like me to set up your breakfast?” The cheerful form of his mother’s maid Gretchen came into view. She gave Nash a curtsey. “Good Morning, Your Grace.”
“And you as well, Gretchen,” Nash said with gratitude for the woman’s interruption. He slipped past his mother while the maid had her attention.
His mother’s voice called after him, “I should like to talk to you, Nash!”
Nash raised his hand to let her know that he had heard her. “Let me refresh myself, and I shall come to attend you,” he called back to her as he hurried up the stairs.
Upstairs Nash slipped out of his jacket, and before he could get his shirt unbuttoned, the door to the adjacent room opened and his valet Charles came to his aid. “Your Grace, I thought I heard you.”
“Hard not to hear me when Mother sees fit to yell up to the very timbers of the roof,” Nash grumbled. Charles’ sure fingers quickly got the buckles and buttons undone.
Charles suggested with a smile, “Perhaps if Your Grace would stop and talk to her instead of hoping to get out of earshot?”
Nash could not help but laugh at the man’s expression. Charles was older than Nash, but he had a quit wit and gave fair advice. “That might be good advice if I were wanting to hear what my mother was saying.”
Charles shook his head as he folded the clothes Nash discarded and set them neatly aside to be cleaned. “What suit would you like to wear today, Your Grace?”
“I think the grey striped one that I had tailored this winter,” Nash said as he refreshed himself with a splash of water from the basin that Charles took care to make sure was always refilled.
“An excellent choice, Your Grace.”
Nash watched the valet retrieve the suit from his wardrobe. Charles held it out for Nash’s final approval, which he gave in the form of a nod. Charles swiftly set about getting the suit ready to be worn by laying out the various parts so they were easily found.
Eyeing himself in the mirror placed on the wall, Nash asked, “Have you seen my father today?”
“I think His Lordship has gone to meet up with some of his fellows,” Charles said.
“Lucky man that my father is,” Nash muttered. “He can go where he pleases.”
“He has earned that right, has he not, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Nash had to admit. “Still, he is supposed to go out to the country estate and check on things. That is supposed to be the one part of the estate that I do not have to worry over, yet I received a letter just the other morning stating that there were repairs needed after a storm.”
Charles hummed but did not answer. He held out Nash’s shirt, and once Nash had his arms into it, Charles set about making sure that the shirt was buttoned and that the seams were lying properly. Nash knew the man was listening, but Charles was focused on his work.
“My brother is due to take over the estate that originally belonged to my mother when he comes of age. At his rate, it might fall down before then.”
“I have the utmost confidence in your ability to oversee the estates, Your Grace, as do your parents,” Charles said as he fixed Nash’s cravat. He turned and picked the jacket up off the bed, holding it out.
Nash slid his arms into the jacket, watching himself in the mirror as Charles placed the jacket onto his shoulders properly. Charles went to the wardrobe to fetch some boots, and he returned as Nash sat down in the wooden chair before his side desk.
“Do you wish your hair to be fixed, Your Grace?” Charles asked as he allowed Nash to slip his feet into the boots.
“If you must. But all I really want is to get out of here and get back to work.”
“Well, a man smartly dressed will accomplish more than one stumbling over his own sloppily tied shoes, Your Grace.” Charles deftly laced and tied Nash’s boots before he set about combing out Nash’s hair. “I heard that the short fashionable hair is quite in this year.”
“Mother would faint if I cut my hair,” Nash said with a smile. “Besides I like my hair long, just as my father’s hair was, and his father before him.”
Charles bowed his head respectfully. “It is a traditional way to honour one’s family, Your Grace.” He brushed out Nash’s hair before tying it back with a grey piece of what looked to be leather to Nash. When Charles motioned that he was done, Nash gave himself a final glance in the mirror before nodding. “Shall you go and meet your mother now, Your Grace?”
“You had to go and spoil my breakfast, Charles,” Nash grumbled.
Charles chuckled as he turned to grab his favourite hat, in case it started to rain. “Think of it like a thorn, Your Grace. It will sit there and cause you pain the longer you ignore it.”
“I despise that you are right, but I also fear you might be wrong. My mother is a most persistent thorn. I do think that if I plucked her out, she would simply find somewhere else to stab me.” Nash left the room with a shake of his head. Charles came along behind him. “Charles, will you bring my breakfast to the study? I need to go over some ship manifests that have to be approved today.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
