Page 13 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“Ferrington,” murmured Harriet. “I’ve heard that name. Mama was drilling me… I think there is a Ferrington Hall not too far from my grandfather’s home.”

“Drilling you?” Cecelia couldn’t help asking.

“I’ve never been to Grandpapa’s house. There were…difficulties in my family that have only recently been resolved. We are going for a visit after the season.”

“We will come with you!” said Charlotte. “And unravel the mystery of the missing earl.”

“I can’t just invite…”

“You told us your grandfather encouraged you to bring friends along,” Charlotte interrupted. “You should come too, Cecelia.”

“I couldn’t…” She realized that James had returned to the ballroom and was gazing at her from across the floor. Even at this distance she could tell that his eyes were dancing. He’d seen Lady Wilton haranguing her, and he was relishing the fact that it had beenher, and not him. She wished there was some way to punish him for that glee. And then she thought—perhaps there was.

Three

James pulled a small inlaid table from a towering pile of furnishings in the left-hand parlor of his ruinous town house. He had to jump back as a cascade of furniture threatened to tumble down around his ears. A small, glittering object bounced twice and came to rest near his right foot. He bent and picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The silver sugar bowl was tarnished but richly embellished; it looked antique as well. This had to be worth a good deal, and it was one of the reasons that his first impulse—just to have everything cleared out and taken away—was impossible. The mess was seeded with valuable items, and he’d noticed documents stuffed into some crevices, too. His great-uncle had had no system whatsoever, meaning that James couldn’t leave this task to just anyone. Someone needed to evaluate each item and make a decision about its fate.

“The devil!” he said, pushing the sugar bowl back into the pile. This task was colossal and unbearable. He’d tried to begin several times over the last week, and he could not tolerate the teetering chaos. Today, once again, he retreated, locking up the house to continue moldering, for now.

A household was a woman’s job, he thought as he walked down the street and away. A chatelaine was the person to separate the wheat from the vast pile of chaff the previous duke had left behind. James felt certain of this even though he’d never experienced such a regime himself. His mother had died when he was three. He didn’t remember her. His father had remarried a year later and then lost his second wife in childbirth, along with James’s infant half brother. After that, they’d made do with a housekeeper. But she’d been a woman. Perhaps he could hire a supremely competent housekeeper? Where did one find such people? James employed a valet, but he had no other servants, and he’d found Hobbs through a friend’s recommendation.

James shook his head. No, for this incredible labor he needed someone like Cecelia, an expert at organization and managing and an intelligent judge of what should be kept and what discarded.Shewould not be daunted by Uncle Percival’s detritus. She was tenacious as a bulldog. However, she’d made it clear that she did not intend to help him. He knew her; she would not be cajoled into it.

The conversation from their waltz came back to him. Ithadbeen a relief. There was no other female he could talk to like Cecelia, no other that he knew so well. And with that observation came a startling idea. What if he married Cecelia? As his duchess, she would be obliged to set his house to rights. Ha!

Immediately, he rejected the thought. He didn’t wish to be married! Oh, he would tie the knot someday to provide an heir for the title, but there was plenty of time for that. Years. Also he’d known Cecelia since she was a child. He’d never thought of her in that way. True at twenty-eight and twenty-two the disparity in their ages was effectively gone. But she was…Cecelia.

And yet. Marriage to her would solve so many of his current problems. It would end the pursuit of the ambitious mamas. It would put a person of supreme competence in charge of his chaotic town house. And other properties. There were quite a few of them. James stopped walking, suddenly filled with horror. What if all the ducal estates were like the London house? A picture of decrepit, refuse-filled houses dotted over England rose in his mind. Clearly, Uncle Percival had done nothing for many years. It was all too likely that he had left such a nightmare behind. But Cecelia would plunge into managing them. She reveled in that sort of tedium. If experience was a guide, she would put all in order so quickly it made one’s head spin.

Moreover, Cecelia knew his habits, and they had already established a way of dealing together during the years of his trust. A somewhat acrimonious method, but still… It was almost as if their youth had prepared them for this partnership. And finally, perhaps most of all, she wouldn’t expect him to make sickly protestations or constantly dance attendance on her. Had they not agreed as they waltzed that love was a silly illusion? Another—eventual—bride might look for all sorts of wearisome declarations and services. There was a dismal prospect.

James walked on, nearly decided on offering for Cecelia. But, no. Marriage was such an irrevocable step. He wasn’t ready. He would think of some other solution. He turned to his club and the prospect of sporting talk or a game of cards instead.

The following day, James received a formal letter from his great-uncle’s man of business resigning his position. The fellow claimed that he was retiring from active service, but James suspected that he simply didn’t wish to deal with the tangle Uncle Percival had left behind. Which he hadallowedUncle Percival to leave behind! Admittedly, James had shouted at him at their first meeting. And the second. But that was no reason to shirk his responsibilities.

“Where shall I put the boxes?” asked his valet as James crumpled the letter in his fist.

“What boxes?”

“Seven large boxes were delivered along with the letter,” the man replied. “Containing documents, according to the carter.” Hobbs’s expression was neutral, but it was obvious he knew this was unwelcome news. The valet had worked for James for two years and was well acquainted with his moods.

“Damn the fellow,” said James. “He’s running like a coward.”

Hobbs said nothing.

“Have them sent over to the town house.” James remembered there was no one there to receive them. Stifling a curse, he got the key and handed it to Hobbs. “Hire a carrier. Ride along and have the boxes put in the entryway.”

The valet took the key without enthusiasm, but he did not go so far as to protest. However, James was aware that at some point, he probably would. Hobbs was not the sort of valet who gladly accepted tasks outside his area of expertise. He took superb care of James’s clothing, achieved an enviable shine on his boots, and dressed his hair in the latest mode. His skills had attracted attention, and more than one friend had tried to lure him away from James. Hobbs was not above hinting at this when asked to do more than he thought right. He would not be a help with Tereford House.

James sighed as the valet departed. He needed a staff. He needed a new man of business. He needed help. This couldn’t go on. He must face the fact that drastic measures were required. And sacrifices. One had to make sacrifices for one’s heritage. James fetched his hat and set off to call on Cecelia. He knew he would find her alone at this hour. Her aunt would not be pulled from the garden for anything less than torrential rain in the afternoons.

Cecelia received him in the drawing room of her father’s house, solitary as expected, a book open on her lap. James noticed that she looked exceedingly pretty in a blue cambric gown with a deep flounce at the hem. Her hair gleamed golden in the sunlight from the front windows, and her luminous blue eyes were soft when she greeted him. James realized that he hadn’t really been paying attention. Cecelia was lovely. He’d known that, and yet he hadn’tknownit. He hadn’t fully appreciated the curves of the body beneath that smooth cambric. She was delectable. Marriage to her would hardly be a penance.

He took the seat she indicated and accepted the offer of a glass of wine. There was a soothing sense of peace and order in the room, the sort of atmosphere a man wanted in his own home when he returned to it.

“How is work going at the town house?” she asked him.

“It is not.”

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