‘The old duke became a more frequent caller after my father’s demise and actively encouraged me in my efforts.’ Marc elevated both brows at this intelligence. ‘Thanks to his patronage I was able to retain my workforce and keep matters on an even keel.’ Miss Aston paused, as though taking a moment to bring her emotions under better control. ‘It was only after Uncle Frederick’s death that my difficulties began in earnest.’
Marc inhaled sharply, incensed. How dare she refer to his uncle in such a familiar manner? How dare she feign sadness at his death? The only thing distressing the scheming wench was, most likely, the loss of his uncle’s pocketbook. The growing sense of admiration he had felt earlier dissipated abruptly and was replaced by an intense dislike for Miss Aston’s presumptuous attitude. Had it not been for Lady Calder’s presence, he would most likely have sent her away with immediate notice to quit Matlock House.
But at the same time, an inner voice kept shouting to be heard. Marc tried to ignore it when it told him there was more to the situation than met the eye. Lady Calder was nobody’s fool. It was clear she held Miss Aston in great affection, and she was sharp enough to stop herself from allowing her personal feelings to envelop her in a clever ruse.
Wasn’t she? Marc stared at Miss Aston with undisguised irritation.
‘Dealing with a second death of someone dear to me was debilitating. My mother, already teetering on the edge, became completely distraught, and I was obliged to neglect the mill and supervise her care.’ Miss Aston met Marc’s gaze without flinching. ‘When I returned my attention to the cider, I found things were not as they ought to be. Our precious crop of Kentish apples had fallen prey to blight.’
‘That is surely not your fault,’ Giles said with passion.
She sighed. ‘If I had kept a closer eye on things I might have spotted the signs earlier, before the disease had an opportunity to take a proper hold. Indeed, I should have done so, and I might then have been able to salvage more of the crop before it was too late. And so you see, Lord Merrow, I have every reason to blame myself.’
‘Why did your workers not notice?’ Marc asked, caught up in her account despite his best efforts to remain detached from it.
‘That was part of the problem. As soon as Uncle Frederick died, many of them left me without notice. They were not prepared to take orders directly from a woman, you see. They were convinced that I would run the business into the ground.’ She paused, her expression reflective. ‘Perhaps they were right to doubt my abilities. Anyway, the few loyal souls who remained have too many duties to perform, and so routine inspections of the crop were neglected if favour of more pressing tasks. And since then, further problems have arisen, threatening what little quality cider we are likely to rescue from last year’s harvest.’ She straightened a spine that was already rigidly upright. ‘However, I hardly think the details are likely to be of interest to you.’
‘Indulge me,’ Marc said with a negligent wave of one hand.
She looked at his hand for so long without speaking that Marc wondered if he had ink on his fingers. She finally collected herself, tore her gaze away, and cleared her throat.
‘Very well, since you ask. When the apples are harvested they are ground down, or scratted as it is more commonly known, into what is called pomace.’
‘Good heavens, you do have to know a lot of things.’ Giles grinned. ‘How is this scratting achieved?’
‘It is done by a hand driven mill, which is when my two younger brothers, with energy to spare, become indispensable.’ Her words were accompanied by an affectionate smile. ‘The pulp is pressed into a kind of cake, known as a cheese. The cheeses are wrapped in canvas and allowed to ferment. Now, this is the awkward bit,’ she added, sitting forward as she warmed to her theme. ‘It is most important that shortly before fermentation consumes all the sugar, the liquor is racked into new vats, separating it from the dead yeast cells. It must then be excluded from all airborne bacteria.’ She looked directly into Marc’s eyes, her expression grim. ‘But someone recently exposed many of the pomaces to excessive air, spoiling the fermentation process and ruining much of the cider in the process.’
‘Are you saying this was a deliberate act to undermine your business?’ Marc also sat forward and leaned his forearms on the table. ‘Could it not have occurred by accident?’ She clearly had a command of the complicated process necessary to produce cider, but his mind was beginning to consider the rather more enticing prospect of persuading the feisty Miss Aston to warm his bed, where he would enjoy breaking her of her independent spirit. ‘You did say you have two brothers with energy to spare.’
She bridled at the implied criticism. ‘Indeed I do, Your Grace, but they are well aware of our reliance upon the cider for our livelihood and would never do such a thing intentionally. If they did so by accident they would have simply replaced the canvas covers immediately, and no lasting harm would have been done.’
‘And so we reach the heart of the matter.’ Marc fixed her with an intent look. ‘You believe my uncle intended to continue supporting your endeavours, rather than evicting you from the property?’
‘I know that he did, Your Grace.’ She countered his look with an equally imperious stare. ‘He sent his carriage for me a few weeks before he died, and I spent some hours with him alone at Endersby. He assured me he had made provision for us, and that you would act upon his instructions.’
‘I regret no such instructions were amongst his papers.’
She sent him a withering glare. ‘In the same manner that you did not receive my letters?’
Marc was momentarily too stunned to respond. He was making no effort to disguise his disbelief, and less effort still to hide his fulminating anger at her presumptuous attitude. Not even Giles would face him down when he was in such a dire frame of mind. Yet this baggage not only matched his sarcasm, daring to speak to him as though they were on equal terms, but also made it abundantly clear she disliked him as much as he did her. Annoyingly, Marc found her attitude refreshing, and his earlier feelings of lust were rekindled. If nothing else he admired her courage and looked at her with a spark of renewed interest, wondering how that black hair of hers would look spread loose over a pillow while he ruthlessly made her his. Speculation on the matter caused him some discomfort, and he shifted his position, momentarily reluctant to put Miss Aston in her place, which at the moment appeared unlikely to be beneath him in his bed.
‘I shall be at Endersby in two days’ time, Miss Aston, and will look into the matter then. That will require me to call at Matlock House and observe your operation for myself.’
She inclined her head as though granting him permission to inspect his own property. His temper almost erupted when she told him curtly that he was welcome to visit at any time of his choosing.
‘I was unaware of your intention to remove to the country so soon,’ Giles remarked.
‘You may as well accompany me. I dare say you have nothing better to do.’
‘I’d be delighted.’
‘I shall come with you, too,’ Lady Calder said, ‘if you will allow it. I tire of the noise and bustle of life in town so easily nowadays. Besides, it would supply me with the ideal opportunity to make the necessary preparations for your house party.’
‘You will be a welcome addition to our party,’ Marc said, meaning it.
‘Thank you, and since Harri plans to return home on the same day, I dare say you will offer her a lift in your comfortable carriage. Her destination lies directly in our path and would save her the inconvenience of travelling by public coach.’
Marc inclined his head, surprised when no objections sprang to his lips. Not that he could, in all gentlemanly conscience demur, but still… ‘If Miss Aston is agreeable,’ he said, with the minimum of civility.
Predictably, Giles chuckled at this exchange. But it was Miss Aston’s reaction that held Marc’s attention. She looked horrified at the prospect of sharing his carriage and clearly resented Lady Calder’s int
erfering ways—a position Marc fully endorsed at that moment. Sometimes his aunt went too far.
‘Come, Harri,’ said the lady in question, rising to her feet. ‘Let us leave these gentlemen to their port. If fortune favours us, by the time they re-join us my nephew will have rediscovered his manners.’
Harriet barely observed the gentlemen stand up as she left the dining parlour in her aunt’s wake. A red mist of anger blurred her vision, causing her to wonder afterwards how she had managed to negotiate her way from the room without colliding with the furniture. How could her aunt possibly maintain that the monster who had succeeded dear Uncle Frederick was honourable? God in heaven, he had spent the entire evening all but sneering at her. He clearly didn’t believe her account of matters at Matlock House, and she was certain now that any provisions made for her family’s future would be ignored by him.
To pretend he had not received the letters she had passed directly into his hand through the good offices of his steward was nothing less than infuriating. Harriet wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. The man was impossible, arrogant, unfeeling, and totally lacking in Christian charity. He clearly had no intention of helping her family, and they would soon find themselves without a roof over their heads.
Lady Calder clucked her tongue, recalling Harriet’s attention. ‘You are frowning almost as ferociously as my nephew does, my love.’
Harriet paced out her agitation in front of the drawing room fire. ‘I believe you have been most grievously deceived about His Grace’s character.’
‘Nonsense, I know my nephew exceedingly well. He sometimes appears fierce, it’s true, but that is just his way. Life has taught him to be cautious, but he is not without a heart. He has said he will look into matters at Matlock House and he has promised to act in the way your uncle required of him. You can trust him to keep his word. Besides, I shall be on hand to ensure that he does.’
‘You should not inconvenience yourself by leaving town on my account. Nor should you have asked his lordship to make space for me in his carriage.’ Harriet shook an admonishing finger at her aunt. ‘Neither he nor I will enjoy the journey.’
‘Well, my dear, he only has himself to blame for that. After all, he was quite shocked at your travelling alone.’
‘Aunt Alicia!’ Harriet’s anger faded away as quickly as it had arrived, and she found herself laughing. ‘Not only are you incorrigible but it is my belief that you are also enjoying yourself enormously.’
‘You know, my dear, I rather think that I am.’
Smiling in spite of herself, Harriet kissed her aunt’s cheek and they talked of unrelated matters until the gentlemen re-joined them.
‘Lady Calder informs me your sister is to spend all of next season in town, Miss Aston,’ Lord Merrow remarked.
‘Indeed she is, and the dinner table conversation at Matlock House centres upon few other subjects,’ Harriet replied with feeling.
‘Young ladies in general are excessively fond of good society. But what of you, Miss Aston, are you not anxious to follow her example?’
‘Heavens, no! I have no love of dancing. Besides, I have a cider mill to run.’
‘I cannot accept what you say.’ The duke spoke for the first time since re-joining them, the forbidding expression which had graced his features for the entire evening giving way to one of speculation. ‘I have yet to meet a young lady who is averse to attending balls.’
‘Then allow me to be the first, Your Grace.’ Harriet met his gaze and refused to look down. She wondered if she should take Charlotte’s plan to secure the family’s future through marriage more seriously, since precious few other means of salvation beckoned. The new duke clearly did not intend to help her because he didn’t believe Uncle Frederick had made any promises to her. Casting the occasional glance in his direction as she quietly fumed, she wondered how he could live with his conscience.
She might not like him, but his tall, robustly male figure was difficult to ignore. Dressed superbly in a deep blue coat, with his neckcloth tied in a complicated knot, he displayed a keen sense of fashion. Thick black hair spilled over his collar and fell across his brow, shading eyes as frosty as winter. Those eyes were housed in a face that displayed signs of tough resourcefulness. This jaded sophisticate, with his air of abstraction and attitude of mild derision, held the fate of her family in his hands—hands with long fingers that, for reasons she was unable to explain, she found fascinating. If she was honest with herself, he fascinated her.
How that could be when she neither liked nor approved of him, she could not have said. All she knew was that he had awoken some dormant feeling deep inside of her, which was playing havoc with her common sense and made it difficult to think coherently. When his eyes rested upon her in an attitude of frank assessment and were slow to move away she knew he was finding fault, and it rankled. Suddenly, she wanted to be as beautiful as Charlotte so she wouldn’t need to feel ashamed.
Oh, for goodness sake! Harriet gave herself a mental dressing down. The duke was handsome, rich, and eligible. Every single female in the ton would have her eyes firmly fixed on him. Females from good families. Females with nothing more taxing on their brains than their next ball gown. Besides, Harriet wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man in England, and there was an end to the matter.
‘Harri speaks the truth,’ Lady Calder said. ‘I have been trying these last two years, to no avail, to persuade her to spend some time with me.’
‘Then I lament the fact you were unsuccessful, Lady Calder,’ Lord Merrow said gallantly, smiling and Harriet and offering her the suggestion of a wink, ‘thereby depriving society of a charming addition to its ranks.’
Chapter Four
Harriet wished she could have returned to her precious cider mill the following day. She had spoken with the duke and had no reason to linger, but instead she resigned herself to the delay. Her godmother insisted upon going shopping and, ignoring Harriet’s protests, purchased for her a completely new set of travelling attire. At first, Harriet refused to consider replacing her threadbare clothing with the lovely mauve merino wool that Lady Calder favoured.
‘As you wish,’ she said, making to leave the shop. ‘I can’t help resenting your denying me such small pleasures but if you are comfortable entering my nephew’s carriage in your existing attire there is nothing more to be said.’
‘Aunt Alicia!’ Harriet tried to appear stern, but her lips quivered. ‘If you had been born a man you would have made a fine general in Wellington’s army, and the conflict would have been considerably shortened as a result of your stratagems.’
‘If I had been born a man, the conflict would never have taken place.’ She flapped a hand. ‘Men are so silly with their territorial wars, it makes one quite angry.’
With a deceptively innocent smile, Lady Calder steered Harriet back into the shop. Having accepted a gift of the dress and pelisse, Harriet found herself being persuaded to a new bonnet and gloves to compliment it, and new half-boots to replace her worn out ones, too. She tried not to think how many better uses she could have found for the exorbitant amount the items cost, concentrating instead upon the added confidence they would lend her in the odious duke’s company.
The rest of the day passed in her godmother’s easy company but by the morning, Harriet was ready to leave long before the duke’s comfortable carriage pulled up at the door. Harriet sank into the comfortable velvet seat, immediately grateful for Lord Merrow’s elegant manners and her godmother’s ability to fill awkward silences with social chit-chat. It helped disguise the fact that she and the brooding menace seated directly across from her had very little to say to one another. The duke appeared to resent her presence and made little effort to dispel an atmosphere that was rife with tension. If he did happen to address a remark to her, she exacted a small degree of revenge by making her responses deliberately terse. She was behaving foolishly. She really ought to make an effort to charm the duke and persuade him to look favourably upon her effor
ts at Matlock House, but she was too infuriated by his disdain to put herself to the trouble.
Although the carriage travelled at almost twice the speed of the mail coach, to Harriet the journey seemed interminable, and she felt unmitigated relief when it eventually turned into the driveway leading to Matlock House. Harriet kissed her godmother as she waited for the tiger to jump down from behind and lower the steps. Lady Calder promised to call upon the whole family within the next few days. Both gentlemen exited the carriage to wish her adieu. The duke resumed his seat with indecent haste and ordered his coachman to drive on. The carriage was half way back to the gate before her family spilled from the house to see what the commotion was about.
‘Harri, you’re back already!’ Charlotte, barely paused to kiss her sister, gazing instead after the retreating conveyance. ‘Whose fine carriage was that?’
‘That was the new duke’s.’
Charlotte’s mouth fell open. ‘The duke gave you a seat in his carriage?’
‘He is on his was to Endersby and Lady Calder travelled with him. Under the circumstances, he could hardly refuse to take me as well.’
‘The new duke!’ Charlotte clasped her hands to her chest. ‘And you did not invite him in. Whatever were you thinking?’
That I wanted rid of him as soon as possible. ‘He would not have accepted. He was in a hurry to be home.’
‘Is he very handsome?’
‘Oh yes, he’s handsome right enough.’ And well he knows it. ‘He has black hair, very agreeable features, stormy grey eyes, and quite the most disgusting air of self-importance it has ever been my misfortune to encounter.’
‘I suppose you didn’t take the trouble to speak pleasantly to him.’ Charlotte sighed dramatically. ‘I can easily imagine that all you could find to talk about was your wretched apples.’
A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3 Page 5
