“Lord Merrow is much nicer.’
Mrs. Aston drifted out of the house at that point. ‘Lady Calder sends you her compliments, Mama,’ Harriet said, kissing her mother. ‘We can expect her to call upon us in a day or two.’
‘Lord Merrow? The Marquess of Hailsham’s heir?’ Charlotte studied the society pages far more diligently than she had ever attended to her lessons and knew the names of just about every eligible aristocrat in the country.
‘Yes, he’s a close friend of the duke’s.’
‘It was selfish of you not to invite them in.’ Charlotte fell momentarily silent. ‘Still, perhaps it is as well that you did not. I’m not fit to be seen in this old gown.’ Charlotte fixed Harriet with an accusatory look. ‘Your selfishness astonishes me. After all the times you have refused to let me have a much needed new dress you have obviously bought yourself an entire outfit. Did you see fit to lower our family’s coffers for yourself in order to impress the duke, or did you find ways of getting your new society friends to pay for it?’
‘Enough of your foolishness, Charlotte,’ Harri said, shaking her head.
‘Well, no doubt when the gentlemen return with Lady Calder I will have found something in my worn-out old wardrobe that will not disgrace us all.’
‘Where is James?’
‘Here I am.’ James emerged from the cider press in company with Mr. Binstead.
‘Oh lord, what on earth is he doing here?’
‘He kindly called to see if he could be of service to us in your absence,’ Mrs. Aston replied. ‘He thinks it was foolish of me to allow you to travel to London alone.’
‘It is none of his concern how we conduct ourselves, Mama. It’s not sensible to encourage his friendship. Papa has not been dead for much more than a year. People will draw inappropriate conclusions if he is always here.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Mrs. Aston’s delicate brow was marred by a frown. ‘Your father enjoyed his company.’
Harriet didn’t think that had been the case, but she was prevented from making a response because James had reached her side.
‘How did you get on?’ he asked, the only member of her family to recall the purpose for her visit to town.
‘I will tell you later, but now—’
‘My dear Miss Aston.’ Mr. Binstead grasped his lapels and pulled himself up to his full height. He cut a striking figure, she reluctantly conceded, and well he knew it. ‘You really ought to have spoken to me before gadding off to London, causing your mother such anxiety. If you require transportation, you have but to say the word.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of distracting you from your duties,’ Harriet replied, barely paying lip service to civility. ‘Speaking of which, I dare say they await you now.’
‘Yes, well, since you mention it.’ He extracted a pocket watch and made a great to-do about consulting it. ‘I hadn’t realised the time. If you will excuse me.’
He bowed over Mrs. Aston’s hand, nodded to Harriet and Charlotte, and took himself off.
‘That was very rude, Harri,’ Mrs. Aston said as they watched their visitor stride away.
‘It was less than he deserved.’
‘Harri, what are you wearing?’ Mrs. Aston finally took the time to appraise her elder daughter. It was a welcome distraction from what was in danger of turning into a serious disagreement between mother and daughter. ‘It is exquisite! And you have new gloves and a bonnet, too.’
‘They were a birthday gift from my godmother,’ Harri replied, with a sideways glance at Charlotte.
‘Did she send gifts for us all?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Oh, Charlotte!’
Harriet walked into the house, already feeling the full weight of the responsibilities she had all too briefly left behind.
Marc’s mood lightened considerably once his passenger had been deposited at the door to Matlock House. He had found Miss Aston’s close proximity disturbing. As his horses retraced their journey down the unkempt driveway he noticed signs of neglect about the property which had previously escaped him, and his temper again threatened to erupt. Whatever could his uncle have been thinking of, trusting the maintenance of his cider production to such an unlikely family? Only the presence of Lady Calder prevented him for cursing aloud.
Having reflected upon the problem during the course of the night, he had been prepared to give Miss Aston the benefit of the doubt. If his aunt believed her ridiculous story about provision being made for her family by his uncle, then he would humour her by delving into that fable. But this morning, the wretched child had wrecked his philanthropic stance by appearing in new and obviously expensive travelling attire. That it became her well barely registered with him, even when Giles voiced lavish compliments about her appearance. That she could be comfortable with such double standards only served to reinforce his first opinion of her as a self-serving opportunist—one who was prepared to exploit her connection with his aunt in order to secure her family’s future.
Recalling the determined set to her features when she had pretended a disinterest in dancing, Marc turned away from his travelling companions, a contemptuous sneer twisting his lips. Her family might well have hoodwinked his uncle, but he was much less likely to be influenced by an attractive countenance and tales of straitened circumstances. Miss Aston had further roused his anger by ignoring him for the entire journey or, when compelled to speak, treating him with the minimum of civility.
Marc mistrusted her, but annoyingly the image of her magnificent hair spread beneath her, the defiant spark in her emerald eyes replaced by passion as he claimed her body, refused to be dispelled. She was nothing like the women who usually attracted his attention, and yet he couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted her. Rather urgently. He sat a little straighter as a possibility occurred to him. If she wanted to remain at Matlock House as badly as she implied, then what was to stop him from propositioning her? That ought to get him over his mild obsession. He had previously dismissed the idea of making her his mistress, but there was no reason in this world why she shouldn’t fill that position.
Marc sighed, aware there was a very compelling reason. She was unmarried, and therefore definitely not mistress material. If their liaison became common knowledge, he would be required to do the honourable thing. She wasn’t a lady in the strict sense of the word, but even if Marc was of a mind to deflower virgins, she was far from a suitable candidate. Anxious as he was to be married and produce an heir, he had no intention of being trapped into an unsuitable liaison. Even so, the realisation that Miss Aston was forbidden fruit did little for his temper or his growing frustration. He didn’t take kindly to his repose being disturbed by images of flashing emerald eyes regarding him derisively, or to having his opinions challenged, and would not be satisfied until he had put Miss Aston firmly in her place.
Only as his carriage turned into the long driveway that led to Endersby did Marc’s morose mood lighten. Seeing the beautifully manicured grounds and the inspiring edifice of the house itself stirred his soul. His butler had emerged from the house and waited on the steps in all his stately splendour to greet his master. Marc had not sent word of his impending arrival, but butlers—good butlers like Ridgeway who had been at Endersby for as long as Marc could remember—had a mysterious and very efficient way of gaining intelligence.
Lady Calder, accepting Marc’s hand as she alighted from the carriage, brightened considerably at the sight of her childhood home displayed to it best advantage against a backdrop of afternoon sunshine.
‘Thank you, Marcus.’ She smiled at the butler. ‘Good afternoon, Ridgeway, how is your gout?’
‘Good afternoon, my lady.’ Ridgeway bowed low. ‘Thank you, I am much improved.’
‘Ridgeway, see that rooms are prepared for Lady Calder and Lord Merrow,’ Marc said as he ascended the steps.
‘Immediately, Your Grace. Lady Calder’s old rooms are kept in permanent readiness for her.’
‘Good. Have Sanderson attend me in th
e library in half-an-hour.’
Marc didn’t want to give his steward too much time to dream up excuses for not forwarding Miss Aston’s letters to him. If he had failed to forward them, that is. Marc was not prepared to take the scheming hussy’s word for anything. His difficulty was that he had precious little time for his steward either.
‘Very good, Your Grace.’
Sanderson entered the library at the appropriate time and bowed to Marc. ‘Good afternoon, Your Grace. We received no advance notice of your arrival, but trust you will have no cause for complaint about the condition of the estate.’
Sanderson spoke in a suitably deferential tone but there was, as always, an indefinable something about his demeanour which rankled. Marc treated the man to an icy stare. ‘I was unaware that I required your permission to visit the estate, Sanderson.’
‘I intended no disrespect, Your Grace. I was merely recalling the late duke’s tendency to advise me in advance of his arrival. That way I was able to ensure the estate records were ready for immediate inspection.’
‘You will adhere to my habits now, Sanderson, if you value your position. I am of a mind to please myself about my movements without concern for your convenience.’
‘Your Grace misunderstands. I did not intend to—’
‘Matlock House.’ Marc had no patience today for Sanderson’s sycophantic monologues. He watched his steward’s face carefully as he fired the two words at him, curious to see how he would react. The man showed no particular concern, but was obviously surprised that the insignificant estate should be the first matter Marc chose to mention. ‘I take it you have kept a careful eye on the business?’
‘Indeed I have, Your Grace, and my observations have given me plenty of reasons for concern.’
‘Yet these concerns were not sufficient for you to bring them to my notice?’ Marc phrased the words as a question as he seated himself behind his desk, leaving his steward standing in front of it. ‘You had better explain yourself.’
‘I took it upon myself to call at the house, recently. I was concerned by the sharp downturn in profits since Aston’s demise.’ Sanderson raised his eyes to Marc’s, his expression bordering on the disdainful. ‘I didn’t see any evidence to satisfy me that the mill is likely to return to a profitable footing, Your Grace. The Aston girl is altogether out of her depth.’ He shook his head, his expression scathingly dismissive of Miss Aston’s capabilities. He was probably right. Even so, his attitude angered Marc. ‘It’s far too complex a business for there to be any possibility of her comprehending it.’
‘Did Miss Aston commit a written report to your keeping for my attention?’
‘Indeed she did, Your Grace.’ Sanderson spoke with no obvious signs of deviousness.
‘Then why has it not been forwarded to me?’
‘That was my intention, but my discoveries at Matlock House gave me pause. I was using my judgement in a delicate situation, just as the late duke would have expected of me.’
‘Well, I do not, Sanderson. In future you will keep me fully appraised in respect of all developments concerning my estates, without taking matters into your own hands.’
Sanderson bowed, but not quickly enough to conceal the flash of irritation which crossed his features. ‘Your Grace may not be aware that the late duke sent for Miss Aston shortly before his passing. The girl spent several hours in this room with His Grace behaving, I am given to understand, with shocking lack of deference. I must confess her entire demeanour put me on my guard, and rightly so it seems, since several days later Ridgeway noticed one of the items of silver in his lordship’s collection in the cabinet behind you was missing.’
Marc looked at his uncle’s impressive array of silver, which he had lovingly amassed over a number of decades, and which was now worth a small fortune. The principal piece, the figure of a mermaid mounted on a stand fashioned to resemble the swirling sea, was absent. ‘The mermaid,’ he said, shocked.
‘Indeed so, Your Grace. The duke had returned to London by the time the piece was missed, and at first, it was supposed he had taken it with him. He sometimes did so because he was greatly attached to it, informing Ridgeway of his intention in advance and having him package the piece for the journey. But His Grace had become, if you will pardon my presumption, somewhat forgetful in the latter stages of his illness, and we supposed he had taken the piece without troubling Ridgeway on the matter. He died shortly thereafter and we all forgot about the missing silver, assuming it to be in the London house.’
‘Where is all this leading, Sanderson?’ Marc asked irascibly.
‘I was getting to that, Your Grace.’ He cleared his throat and jutted his chin in a pugnacious manner. ‘When I visited the Astons I was shown into the best parlour, which I understand is seldom used, by Mrs. Aston herself. When Miss Aston joined us there she seemed alarmed to find me in that particular room. She attempted to persuade me to remove to the small sitting room the family generally congregate in, pretending that it would be warmer since the fire had been alight all day. Her agitation made me suspicious and so I asserted myself and remained in the parlour.’ He paused and Marc sensed he was finally getting to the point. ‘It was only then that I noticed the missing piece of silver, in pride of place, on the mantelpiece.’
‘I see.’ Marc’s suspicions about the girl’s character had been confirmed. She was not only manipulative and cunning but a thief too, with no qualms about duping an ailing gentleman who had shown her family nothing but kindness. He was disappointed. He had not thought as badly of Miss Aston as that, and he was strangely reluctant to accept Sanderson’s account. ‘Presumably, you questioned Miss Aston about the matter?’
‘She claimed the late duke gave the silver to her as a parting gift.’ He blew out his cheeks and raised his eyes to the ceiling, making it clear what he thought of such an unlikely explanation.
‘My uncle didn’t give her anything in writing to confirm the gift?’
Sanderson shook his head, a sneer gracing his thin lips. ‘She had no way of proving it.’
Marc frowned. ‘She stole a valuable piece of silver, yet keeps it on open display?’
‘In a room that isn’t used.’
‘Even so.’ Marc shook his head. He needed to think about this. Accusing Miss Aston of being a thief wasn’t something he was prepared to do without being absolutely sure of his facts. ‘Very well. I shall handle the matter myself, Sanderson. But I would also like to see the report Miss Aston gave you for my attention.’
‘I shall fetch it immediately, Your Grace, and if you want my opinion as to the future of Matlock House—’
‘I do not.’
Sanderson’s body jerked. ‘As Your Grace wishes,’ he said stiffly.
‘Sanderson.’ The man, whose hand was on the door knob, turned back. ‘You say you have just one report for me from Miss Aston.’
‘Yes, Your Grace, just the one.’
‘And so you have only had one occasion to call at Matlock House of late?’
‘That is correct.’ But his eyes flickered away from Marc’s penetrating stare.
‘Very well, bring the report to me at once.’
Strange, Marc thought, as the door closed behind his steward. Miss Aston had told him Sanderson had called upon them three times since the death of his uncle. On each occasion she had passed a letter to him for Marc’s attention. He didn’t think she had spoken untruthfully on the matter, which meant Sanderson was lying and withholding two of the reports.
But why? Marc was determined to find out, which meant taking an early opportunity to call at Matlock House and investigate the matter first hand. He had a few searching questions to ask of the scheming Miss Aston, and this time he intend to extract truthful answers from her.
Chapter Five
For much of the following morning Marc rode about the estate with Sanderson. He was unable to detect any obvious signs that his steward was mismanaging his affairs even though he couldn’t dispel his growing feeling of
unease about him, especially since reading the contents of Miss Aston’s letter.
After luncheon, Lady Calder quizzed Marc on his specific requirements for his house party, dwelling upon the qualities of the four ladies whom he was considering for the position of his wife at depressing length. When he eventually escaped from her inquisition, he found himself wondering if she was right about him acting with undue haste. After all, he was still only eight-and-twenty. Must he really tie himself down so soon?
It was mid-afternoon by the time he and Giles rode into the stable yard at Matlock House. No grooms came running to take their horses and so eventually, with a resigned shrug, they sought out vacant stalls and stabled their mounts themselves. The sight of Endersby, so solidly established and efficiently run, had caused Marc’s annoyance with Miss Aston to dissipate. Time spent in the company of his steward, however, coupled with his aunt’s thoughts on his prospective marriage partners, pre-empted the return of his gloomy mood. The shabby condition of the stable yard at Matlock House did little to dispel it.
Following the sound of distant voices, Marc and Giles rounded the side of the stables and crossed a small yard towards a series of buildings, finding themselves in what was obviously the cider press. Finally, they were confronted by another person, of whom they asked to be directed to Miss Aston.
‘Miss Aston,’ shouted the individual in question, ‘there are two gents here for you.’
‘If they are from the coopers,’ responded Miss Aston’s voice, ‘kindly inform them I have no intention of settling their inflated account. The vats they supplied were shamefully inadequate. I have never seen such shoddy workmanship. They would not have tried to pass off second-rate products when my father was alive. No, on second thoughts, Ben, don’t trouble yourself. I will tell them myself.’
Miss Aston appeared from behind them, wiping her hands on the tight-fitting breeches she was wearing, the light of battle glinting in her eyes. Upon seeing Marc and Giles, she stopped abruptly, looking anything but pleased by their intrusion.
A Duke by Default: Dangerous Dukes Vol 3 Page 6
