Marc inclined his head. ‘It would surprise me if you were.’ But her reticence also increased both his curiosity and his determination to solve this intriguing puzzle.
‘If you fully examine matters at Endersby and are still in the dark, you may apply to me again and I will reconsider.’
‘Very well.’ Marc placed his cup aside and sighed. ‘Send for Miss Aston and I will listen to her account.’ He felt angry at the girl for having applied for his aunt’s intervention and was in no mood to listen to her excuses for ruining a hitherto perfectly profitable business. Even so, she deserved an opportunity to explain herself and he would extend her that courtesy.
‘Certainly not.’ Lady Calder looked almost annoyed. ‘She is resting after her journey. Besides, I have no intention of exposing her to your mercurial temper. You look as though you’re ready to eat the poor child alive and I simply won’t permit you to bark at her. I am prodigiously fond of her.’
‘I do not bark at people.’ Marc was faintly amused by the suggestion. His aunt was the only person of his acquaintance, with the possible exception of Giles, who wasn’t afraid of him when he was in a bad mood.
‘Certainly you do. You bark at people, you eye them severely, and generally intimidate them to such a degree that they forget what they had been about to say.’
‘Good heavens, do I really?’
‘You know very well that you do.’
Marc was almost tempted to smile, but the urge didn’t endure and his lips remained untroubled by the temporary aberration. ‘Then I promise to be on my best behaviour in my dealings with your Miss Aston.’
‘I am very pleased to hear it. However, you will not see Harri now. Come to dinner this evening, if you are not otherwise engaged, and I will introduce you then.’
‘Very well.’ Aware that he was being dismissed, Marc stood.
‘Bring Giles with you,’ added Lady Calder as Marc took his leave of her and headed towards the door. ‘He is amiable enough to counter your bad temper and capable of behaving charmingly in front of a young lady, which is a great deal more than can be said for you sometimes.’
Chapter Three
Harriet sat beside the window, finding much to interest her in the traffic passing in the street below. The hustle and bustle, the noise and smells of the capital were new and interesting. She had led such a sheltered existence in her quiet corner of Kent and, unlike Charlotte, couldn’t imagine the pleasures of a busy London season holding her interest for long. All she could see of the duke as he left the house was a tall, imposing figure and the top of his hat. But then he glanced up at her window for a moment, as though he sensed her watching him, and she ducked out of sight before he could catch her gawping. He strode off down the street with an air that implied he owned it. Harriet wasn’t one to make snap judgements, but she was already inclined to dislike the duke, who appeared far too full of his own self-importance.
‘It is as I supposed,’ Lady Calder said, joining her an hour later and seating herself beside Harriet. ‘Marcus hasn’t received any of your letters.’
‘How can that be?’ Harriet frowned. ‘I gave them to Mr. Sanderson myself and stressed how important it was that His Grace should receive them without delay.’
‘I am sure there must be a simple explanation. There have been a lot of adjustments to be made by everyone involved since Marcus became the duke. Perhaps his habits are different to Frederick’s and things have become confused.’
Harriet didn’t see how that could have prevented her letters from reaching the duke, but decided not to pursue the matter. ‘Did His Grace confide in you the nature of Uncle Frederick’s provisions for us all?’ she asked instead.
‘He doesn’t know.’
Harriet gasped. ‘He must. How else can we—’
‘Fear not, child, all will become clear soon enough.’ Lady Calder patted Harriet’s hand. ‘You may discuss the matter yourself with Marcus this evening. He is coming to dinner.’
‘What!’ Harriet felt the colour drain from her face. ‘Forgive me, Aunt, but I would prefer not to intrude. His Grace wouldn’t look kindly upon an inferior stranger sitting at table with him.’
‘Nonsense! Marcus appears a little formidable to those who don’t know him, but he possesses exquisite manners and would never treat you with disrespect.’
‘But that is precisely my point. He is beyond question a gentleman but I am no lady and therefore beneath his notice.’
‘Your father was the local squire’s son, which makes him respectable. You are educated, intelligent, and well versed in social mores.’ Lady Calder beamed. ‘We shall all get along famously.’
‘But what if I am asked about my mother? If the duke turns his nose up at her background I shall be obliged to defend her.’
‘Marcus does not turn up his nose at the daughters of gentleman farmers. Your mama is not top drawer, I grant you that, but her connections are still perfectly respectable. Besides, I will be there to protect you, as will the Lord Merrow.’
‘Lord Merrow?’ Harriet queried faintly.
‘Marcus’s closest friend, Giles Merrow, the Marquess of Hailsham’s son. He is very charming and will set you at your ease in no time at all.’
‘My taking dinner with a duke and a marquess’s son is out of the question, I’m afraid. You see, I have nothing to wear that wouldn’t disgrace you. I had not expected to be dining in grand company, other than your own, of course,’ she added hastily, ‘and I knew you would excuse my attire.’
‘Oh, if that is all you are worrying about it’s easily fixed.’ Lady Calder rang the bell and her summons was promptly answered by her lady’s maid.
‘Miss Aston’s gown, if you please.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
The maid disappeared, leaving Harriet more confused than ever. ‘My what?’
‘Shush.’
The maid reappeared with an exquisite cream muslin evening gown held over her arm. ‘This was to be my birthday gift to you this year,’ Lady Calder said, motioning for her maid to hold the dress up for Harriet’s astonished inspection.
‘It is beautiful.’ Harriet fingered the delicate lace bodice, sewn with tiny seed pearls, and felt a moment’s regret that she wasn’t destined to wear such beautiful clothes. ‘But I cannot possibly accept such a gift.’
‘We are not going to argue about this, Harri.’ Lady Calder’s tone brooked no argument. ‘I wish to offer you this small token of—’
‘Small!’
‘This small token of my esteem.’ Lady Calder’s voice softened. ‘I have no children of my own, as you know, and I have always looked upon you as the daughter I never had.’
‘Oh, Aunt.’ Harriet flung herself into her godmother’s arms, guilt consuming her. Every year her godmother sent her an exquisite birthday gift—shawls, purses, lengths of fabric to be made into gowns—all of which finished up in Charlotte’s ubiquitous clutches, and Lady Calder appeared to know it. ‘How can I refuse you when you say such charming things?’
‘You will not refuse me, of course. Indulge an old lady’s whims and make her happy.’
‘Very well, to please you I shall accept the gown and wear it this evening.’ She smiled at her benefactress and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you so very much!’
And so, several hours later, Harriet paused at the entrance to her godmother’s drawing room in a gown that fitted her to perfection. The skirts whispered round her legs like an unspoken promise, giving her courage, making her think that just possibly she could get through the evening without continuously feeling like the poor relation she knew herself to be. Her black hair was piled on top of her head, tamed into behaving itself for once by the skilled fingers of Lady Calder’s maid. Quelling the nerves that appeared intent upon invading every inch of her body, she took a deep, calming breath. Then, head held high and with every outward appearance of calm, she entered the room and walked slowly towards the two elegant gentlemen standing in front of the fire.
‘I t
hought Lady Calder said the younger sister was the beauty,’ Giles said in an undertone, observing Harriet as she traversed the room. ‘In which case I look forward to making her acquaintance.’
Marc made no response as he too focused his attention upon Harriet. Mindful of his aunt’s earlier criticism, he endeavoured to appear polite, but still felt his expression harden. If she had money to spare for such expensive gowns, then she was in no immediate need of his assistance. He noticed, with remote detachment, the elegant manner in which she held herself, even though it didn’t particularly signify. He was highly suspicious about this female’s sudden appearance amongst them and wasn’t about to be swayed by a graceful figure or averagely pretty face.
The fashion in which her bosom rose and fell so rapidly gave lie to her supposed composure. The realisation that she was nervous afforded Marc considerable satisfaction. It was bad enough that she took advantage of his aunt’s good nature. Marc would prefer her not to be at her ease while she traversed her manipulative path. As she neared their position, Marc could see that her features weren’t regular enough for true beauty, and the freckles that adorned her nose would have horrified most society ladies. But there was quiet strength of character and strong determination in those, admittedly remarkable, green eyes of hers—eyes which, far from being demurely lowered at finding herself in the presence of a duke, were resting upon him with disarming clarity.
Her expression contained something else, too. Sadness, perhaps? Disappointment? He couldn’t be sure, but silently congratulated himself on his sound assessment of her character. This girl was disposed to extract as much as she could from him and would use every means at her disposal to achieve her ends. Cynically, Marc wondered how far she would be prepared to go. She was a prime piece, and it might be diverting to discover the extent of her desperation.
‘The Duke of Broadstairs, Lord Merrow, may I make my goddaughter, Miss Aston, known to you both.’
Marc inclined his head a few inches in Miss Aston’s direction as she made her curtsey. ‘Your servant, Miss Aston,’ he said coldly.
‘It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Aston,’ Giles said, taking her hand and not appearing to be in any hurry to release it again.
Marc observed the scheming hussy as she returned his friend’s smile with one of her own, illuminating her eyes and bringing colour to her previously too pale cheeks. Lady Calder joined their conversation, which Giles had politely turned in the direction of the Kent countryside, presumably because he assumed it would interest Miss Aston. Marc took a few steps away from the group, sneering at the effortless way in which the girl was deploying her feminine wiles to great effect. Giles always had been susceptible to a pretty face. He wondered how she would react if she knew Giles’s family coffers were empty and he was required to marry for money.
‘Do you not agree, Marcus?’ His aunt’s voice recalled him to his social obligations.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘We were discussing Miss Aston’s journey by the mail coach from Ramsgate, and remarking upon the great improvements made to the service in recent years.’ Giles grinned, easing the tension in the room that Marc had created through his own bad humour and mistrust.
‘I doubt whether a duke is conversant with the comforts or otherwise of the mail coach,’ Miss Aston said.
Ah, so the chit possessed spirit, Marc thought, amused rather than offended by her impertinence.
‘Miss Aston completed her journey in just a few hours,’ Giles said. ‘Just imagine that.’
‘You travelled alone by mail coach, Miss Aston?’ Marc asked.
‘Indeed.’ She lifted a slender shoulder, indifferent to his expression of disapproval. ‘I was perfectly safe. As my sister is fond of reminding me, no one is likely to pay me any regard.’
Lady Calder appeared to choke and hastily took a sip of water. Marc suppressed a snort of derision. No doubt that was his cue to pay her a compliment, but he was damned if he would fall in with such an obvious stratagem and rudely turned his back on her.
‘Ignore my nephew’s bad manners,’ Lady Calder said. ‘He can never be bothered to find a civil voice until he has had his dinner.’
Miss Aston made some light response, and the conversation turned to other subjects, ebbing and flowing around Marc who was too distracted to take much part in it.
‘Miss Aston?’ Upon learning dinner was served, Giles offered her his arm and she accepted it with a transfiguring smile. Marc wondered if she knew that particular smile—spontaneous and uncontrived—lit up her features and made her seem extraordinary. It certainly sparked Marc’s interest in her and, once again, he wondered how far she would be prepared to go in order to save her ungrateful family from the workhouse.
When the covers had been removed, Lady Calder dismissed the servants and suggested to Miss Aston that she explain her difficulties to Marc.
‘Now?’
She appeared to appreciate that the dinner table wasn’t the place for such a discussion. Marc knew his aunt had made the suggestion to save him from a further meeting with the tiresome girl. He was grateful for her consideration, even if a private interview with the enigmatic Miss Aston no longer threatened to be quite such a trial. She had all but ignored him during the course of the meal, saving her conversation and smiles for his aunt and Giles. Now that was unusual enough to strike a chord. Had Lady Calder been right to suggest he intimidated people? If so, perhaps Miss Aston was the exception to the rule, which made her a challenge. He liked independently-minded females, and his interest in her had quickened during the evening, even if he was still determined not to be taken in by her.
‘If you have no objection to discussing your concerns in front of my aunt and my friend,’ he said with forced civility.
‘Not in the least,’ she responded, her expression at least as remote as his own.
If she required his assistance, Marc thought, then she ought to remember the deference due to his rank. Instead, he got the impression she was struggling to keep her temper in check—a circumstance that irritated him and was unlikely to persuade him towards generosity.
‘We have lived at Matlock House for my entire life.’ She lifted her chin and regarded him with an expression of fierce dignity. ‘My parents were given a lifelong tenancy by the late duke in return for keeping his orchards profitable and re-establishing Kent’s reputation for producing a high standard of cider in the face of growing competition from Hertfordshire and the West Country.’
‘I’m aware of the agreement that exists,’ Marc said coldly. ‘Go on.’
‘Everything continued smoothly until the death of my father, a year ago.’ Tears sprang to her eyes, and she impatiently dashed them aside.
‘Don’t distress yourself, my dear,’ Lady Calder said, reaching across to pat her hand.
Marc resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The wretched creature was now attempting to invoke his sympathy by crying. He looked away from her, his attention wandering, but was jolted back to the present when she started talking again in a voice devoid of any discernible emotion.
‘Fortunately, I had a lot of experience and a good understanding of the workings of the cider mill. I was ready to step into my father’s shoes.’
‘Excuse me, Miss Aston,’ Marc said. ‘I understood you to say you have two brothers. Should not the elder have taken over from his father?’
‘James is twelve years old,’ she told him, her expression frostily remote. Far from angering him, he was beginning to admire her courage in standing up to him, even if it was a foolhardy approach to take. He was already tired of the subservience he had to endure now that he was a duke. He gave Miss Aston a little credit for not falling into that pattern of behaviour.
‘I see.’ He lifted his wine goblet to his lips and took a healthy sip of his aunt’s excellent claret.
‘My father had been experimenting over the years with a combination of different apples—sweet, bittersweet and sharp—in an effort to produ
ce a cider to do sufficient justice to the Kentish orchards and make a name for our business while improving Kent’s reputation against its competitors. He tried to use species of applies indigenous to our county wherever possible, such as Beauty of Kent. He had almost perfected the right combination of tastes when he was taken ill, but he made me promise to continue with his efforts.’ She elevated her chin. ‘He was most particular about that, and I aim to be true to his dying wish.’
‘Very brave of you, Miss Aston.’ Giles sounded impressed by her determination. Despite his earlier cynicism, Marc privately acknowledged her enthusiasm and understanding of the complexities of the business. Her ability to achieve her father’s ambitions was, however, another matter entirely.
‘I would not have you think I am complaining,’ she said, ‘but my mother has always been, how shall we say—’
‘“Vague” would best describe her disposition,’ Lady Calder suggested with a kindly smile.
‘An apt description indeed.’ Miss Aston allowed herself the ghost of a smile. ‘Without my father, Mama broke down completely. I was obliged to consider her comfort, as well as that of my siblings, at a time when we were all grief-stricken. I had to make the arrangements for my father’s burial, deal with his outstanding affairs and try to keep the cider press working.’
‘But you have a sister, Miss Aston.’ Marc refused to join in the expressions of admiration for her courage which came from his aunt and his friend. ‘If you were engaged upon keeping the business profitable, surely she could have taken on the care of your mother?’
She sent him a look that spoke volumes. ‘Pardon me, Your Grace, but you wouldn’t have made that suggestion if you were acquainted with my sister.’
‘Charlotte couldn’t be trusted to discharge such responsibilities,’ Lady Calder said. ‘That is why Harri has had to be so many things to so many people.’
A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3 Page 4
