Page 57 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

He knew that she worried about him; that had long been evident. Didn’t that mean she could not dislike him? “It’s all this seeing things in a new light. You, for example. What would I have done without you?”

“I thought I was the bane of your existence.”

“You did not.”

“Well, you always said so, James.”

“Fortunately, you never listened to me.”

Cecelia laughed. The lilting sound made James smile, join in, and then realize that he wanted to laugh with her for the rest of his days. This had nothing to do with estate work. He cared for her far more than he’d ever understood. He opened his mouth to say…something.

Jen hurtled in and spoke in a rush. “Mam has made the tea and wonders if you’d like to come to the kitchen for a cup as she’s very sorry there’s no place for her to set a tray up here.” She took a breath. “We have raspberry jam for the muffins!” Her eyes sparkled with longing.

“Well, we must have some of that,” said Cecelia.

She followed the girl out before James could summon words to deflect the interruption. It was an acute disappointment. With every step, he was more conscious of the lovely young woman ahead of him.

The tea, muffins, butter, and pot of jam were arrayed on the scrubbed kitchen table. Mrs. Gardener hovered, looking proud and anxious in equal measure. They had just sat down when they were interrupted by a sharp rapping on the back door.

Their circle reacted with varying degrees of alarm. James wondered if his grandmother’s footman had developed some inconvenient initiative.

Ned jumped up. “That’ll be Felks.”

“Who?” asked James. He had not sanctioned any visitors.

“He’s a champion ratter,” said Ned over his shoulder.

“What? I didn’t…” James glanced at Mrs. Gardener. She shook her head, looking frightened.

Ned returned with a squat, seedy-looking man who held the leashes of three short-haired terriers. The little dogs vibrated with energy. “I told Felks we got rats here, and you’d pay to have them killed,” said Ned.

“Penny a rat,” said the newcomer.

“Well, but…”

“My boys is the best in the business,” continued Felks, indicating the eager dogs. “They’ll find your rats and bring them back to me, dead. Every last one.”

“Commendable,” said James. “But I do not think that this house is suit…”

As if feeling his payment slip away, Felks bent and released the terriers. They sprang away and out the kitchen door.

“Wait,” said James, far too late.

The scrabble of paws faded. There was a pause that James felt to be ominous. Then, somewhere in the house, a large object hit the floor. A clatter of smaller items followed the thud, punctuated with excited barks.

“What the devil?” said Felks.

The sounds of toppling furniture nearly drowned him out.

“Was that a pianoforte?” asked Cecelia.

There had been a trill of notes as if from a keyboard. James had not noticed an instrument, but a small animal could go where he could not.

The cascade of noise continued. James pictured three trails of mayhem.

“My dogs do not knock things about,” said Felks. “They’re trained right, they are. No climbing on the sofas or pulling at draperies.”

“As I tried to say, this house is unusual,” said James. “Not…not suited for dogs.”

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