‘Then how can I refuse?’ she said lightly, trying not to feel apprehensive. His manner was courteous enough but there was a hint of steel in his voice, reminding her that she had nicknamed him a brute.
Out of the corner of her eye, she observed that he was offering her his arm. Choosing to pretend that she had not seen, she clasped her hands behind her back. Not pressing the point, he allowed his own arms to swing by his sides.
‘I hope you managed to get your carriage repaired satisfactorily,’ she said.
‘Yes, I thank you,’ he responded. ‘A wheelwright was found and a repair effected.’ He paused briefly. ‘I fear I may not have appeared to advantage on the road,’ he went on. ‘Travelling does not bring out the best in me.’
‘Which means that those around you suffer too,’ Constance put in swiftly.
Max raised his brows. ‘I’m not aware of having caused any suffering,’ he replied.
‘Sir, you leave nothing but disaster in your wake, whilst you glide serenely on as though it didn’t matter,’ she retorted. ‘What of the poor valet whom you dismissed for trivial reasons? What of the coachman whom you were blaming for something that was not his fault? What of the turmoil caused in every inn so that you should have things just your way? What of your arrogance in assuming that you must always come first in every shop or inn – even in church?’
‘I perceive that I was right in my assumption,’ he remarked. ‘Barnes has been making some enquiries about acquiring servants, so far without success. This seemed to me a little strange until I received a visit from the vicar this morning. He had come to make enquiries into some very disquieting reports that he had heard with regard to my treatment of servants. At the time, I confess I thought of you and—’
‘And what better admission could there be of your guilt?’ she interrupted swiftly.
‘—and immediately rebuked myself for leaping to an uncharit-able conclusion,’ Max went on, as if she had said nothing. ‘However, since no one else in the neighbourhood had the slightest knowledge of me, I could not think who else it could be.’
Constance had the grace to blush. ‘You cannot deny the truth of what I saw,’ she insisted.
‘On the contrary, you do not have the slightest idea of the relationship that existed between Field and myself, or of the conversation that I had with my coachman. As for the way in which people yield to me in an inn or even in church, that is an inevitable consequence of the rank of duke, I fear.’
‘The vanity and presumption of governing beyond the grave is the most ridiculous and insolent of all tyrannies,’ she said scornfully.
Max’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are well read, ma’am; however, to be able to quote the opinions of Thomas Paine does not guarantee that you are right. I am talking of the real world in which we live.’
‘A world that needs to change.’
‘I am far from contradicting you, ma’am,’ he replied.
‘You are?’ she said, rather taken aback by his easy acquiescence.
‘A gentleman should never contradict a lady,’ he said calmly.
‘Nonsense!’ she exclaimed. ‘Someone who is wrong should always be put right.’
‘So if you were mistaken, it would be my responsibility to correct you.’
‘Certainly it would. One would not want to hold misguided opinions; which is why I cannot allow your greatest misdemeanour to go unchallenged.’
‘My greatest misdemeanour?’
‘That of condoning slavery. How can you do such a thing?’
At this word, Max’s brows snapped together in one line. ‘Slavery?’ he echoed, horrified.
‘How can you say that as if you had not the slightest idea what I meant?’ Constance asked him indignantly. ‘That poor African who trails around after you is clearly a slave.’
‘I hesitate to interrupt you in the middle of what will no doubt be a most elevating speech, but I must point out to you that slavery has been illegal in this country for some years,’ he said. ‘I am not a law breaker.’ Although his tone was as languid as ever, she was not deceived. His eyes were as cold as ice and he was very angry.
‘I know that,’ she replied contemptuously. ‘No doubt you describe him as a servant and pay him such a pitiful sum that he is bound to you for ever, unable to break free. Such service is slavery in all but name, sir; I despise you for it.’
By now they had reached the gate which led into the Fellowes’s front garden. Max opened the gate for her, and stood back to allow her to go through. ‘You have clearly constituted yourself as judge and jury,’ he said. ‘You have a strange viewpoint, Miss Church. You are fierce in your championing of one whom you perceive to be a slave, yet you deny me a fair hearing. Yours is a courtroom without the benefit of justice since I stand condemned without having had the opportunity to defend myself.’
For a long moment they stood staring at one another, and there passed between them something that was not antagonism; something that made Constance feel strangely breathless. ‘I am listening now,’ she said eventually, her voice coming out, to her great annoyance, with a faint tremble.
‘Oh, I am sure that you could make up a far more exciting tale than anything I might have to tell you,’ he answered, the anger dying out of his eyes. ‘I have no hesitation in allowing you to fill in the details. Until the next occasion, Miss Church.’ He sketched a bow and walked back the way he had come with powerful, athletic strides, leaving her staring after him.
He could no more have assumed Alistair’s languor at this moment than he could have flown to the moon, so incensed was he at what their conversation had revealed. The lack of servants was a temporary problem. He had no doubt of his ability to convince the vicar that Miss Church had been mistaken. In the meantime, he and Abdas were more than capable of making shift for themselves. No doubt Miss Church would have been surprised to see the two of them removing the dust sheets from the furniture with their own hands.
But a slave owner! She actually thought that he might be such a repulsive creature! He recalled the circumstances in which he and Abdas had met. The Lady Marion had come upon the shipwreck quite by chance. He himself had taken charge of the rowing boat that had gone to the aid of some of the poor souls who had fallen victim to the ocean. There, amid the brisk green waves topped with white, he had caught a glimpse of a dark head, and a hand waving. He had directed the oarsmen towards the figure in the water and, as they got near enough, he had leaned over and reached out to give assistance. A moment later, a dark-brown hand had locked about his wrist, and a pair of similarly dark eyes had met his gaze. Slavery had always seemed to him to be a loathsome business. He had understood why as his fingers had closed about the wrist of the other, and he had felt a powerful connection between them that was nothing more or less than simple humanity. The notion, then, that Miss Constance Church should believe him to be a slave owner seemed utterly horrific.
‘Can you believe it?’ he stormed to Abdas. ‘How could she think such a thing?’ On his return, Max had found his friend in the parlour which overlooked the sea.
‘How could she think anything else, given the persona that you have sought to cultivate?’ Okoro answered, offering a glass of wine which he had poured. ‘Does she approve of slave owners?’
‘Approve?’ Max asked, frowning.
‘Did she ask eagerly how many plantations you had? Or did she perhaps make enquiries as to where she could buy someone like me?’
‘Certainly not,’ Max answered indignantly. ‘She despises me for it.’
‘Then why are you upset?’ Abdas asked him. ‘You like the girl; she has shown herself to have principles much the same as yours. True, she’s mistaken about the kind of man you are; but then you’re trying to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, so you can’t blame her for that.’
Ignoring the rest of the speech, Max said, ‘What do you mean, I like her?’
‘If you didn’t, would you be so annoyed?’ At that moment, the doorbell rang. ‘I’ll go,’ sai
d Abdas, putting down his glass.
‘Heaven send it’s not Miss Church,’ said Max devoutly. ‘No doubt she’d expect me to answer the door myself.’
Chapter Twelve
Her conversation with the duke had so disturbed her that Constance felt the need to walk in the garden before going into the house. Over and over again she told herself that she was quite right to have taken such a high tone with him. Nevertheless there had been something about his reaction that had smacked of an innocent man righteously defending himself. She felt a little guilty that she had not given him that opportunity. She could not dismiss from her mind the good impression that he seemed to have made upon Kilver.
At last, concluding that her reflections were fruitless, she went into the house to tell her aunt about her visit to the Grayleighs, and their acceptance of the invitation to dinner. That done, she went upstairs to change, trying not to think about the duke and the indignant look in his eyes. For a brief moment, he had almost looked hurt.
She thought about how the skirts of his coat had swirled about him as he had turned on his heel. His movements had been energetic at that moment, quite unlike the languid manner that he usually adopted. Strangely, she was reminded of the man who had been in conversation with Mr Field when she had given the dismissed valet a few coins. Where had he gone? Back into the inn? She did not think that she had seen him again. Of course, he would have been hard to recognize without the cloak and hat that had disguised his features. He had been much the same height as the Duke of Haslingfield. At that time, of course, the duke had been in his room.
Still pondering this interesting conundrum, she wandered downstairs, reaching the bottom of the flight just as her uncle let himself in through the front door. ‘It’s very pleasant out,’ he declared. ‘The rain has laid the dust nicely.’
‘Where did you go?’ his niece asked him, glad of this diversion from her own disturbing thoughts as they walked into the parlour, her hand tucked into his arm.
‘Calling on our neighbours,’ he told her.
‘Just in time for tea,’ his sister remarked, as she got up and went to ring the bell. ‘Unless you’ve already had some.’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve just been drinking wine with Haslingfield.’
‘Haslingfield!’ Constance exclaimed. ‘Not the dandy-brute duke?’
Fellowes laughed. ‘Is that what you call him?’ he asked, not having heard his niece use this expression before.
To her great annoyance, Constance felt her face growing hot. ‘Well, sometimes,’ she murmured.
‘I must say, he seemed perfectly amiable to me,’ Fellowes responded. ‘He’s still having some little difficulty in recruiting servants, and hasn’t yet acquired a cook.’ He paused, half expecting one of his two womenfolk to comment. When neither did so, he added, ‘So I’ve invited him to dine with us on Thursday.’
‘Thursday!’ exclaimed his sister. ‘The Grayleighs are coming!’
‘What of it?’ her brother asked mildly. ‘Don’t we have enough chairs?’ He winked at Constance, oblivious to her consternation. ‘I could always bring in that old one from the shed for his ducal posterior. You know, the one I sit on when I’m potting on my seedlings.’
‘Do not use such vulgar expressions in front of Constance,’ his sister admonished him severely. ‘Of course we have enough chairs, and that old one comes into the house over my dead body. The question is, what am I to give him?’
‘Presumably you had intended to serve the Grayleighs with something. He can eat whatever they’re having.’
‘My dear brother, he is a duke! Recall that we encountered him on the road. You cannot believe how exacting he can be.’
‘He’s a man with teeth and a stomach like any other. Our provision is perfectly good enough for the highest in the land. If he doesn’t like it, he can go home again.’
‘Bravo, Uncle,’ Constance applauded.
Miss Fellowes threw her hands up in the air. ‘Men!’ she declared. ‘You have no idea! Well, I had best go and have words with Cook.’ She walked to the door.
‘If it helps, I could walk to the coast beforehand and procure you some crabs,’ he offered.
‘Well, that would be something,’ she said grudgingly.
‘Oh, and by the way, he’s bringing his secretary.’
Beyond one fulminating glance, Miss Fellowes made no response to this before leaving the room. After she had gone, Mr Fellowes said ruefully, ‘She may sound anxious but she will rise to the challenge, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Constance answered. ‘Uncle—’
‘Constance, my dear, I would have thought twice about asking the fellow if I had had any idea that you had taken him in such dislike,’ he said. ‘But it’s only one meal, after all, and we ought to be hospitable to a newcomer, especially when he is struggling to find servants.’
If Constance had more than a suspicion that she was at least partly responsible for this difficulty, she did not say so. Instead, she contented herself with remarking, ‘Even though I find him quite objectionable, it’s only one meal, as you say. I suppose I’d better make sure that the best linen is ironed and the silver polished.’
‘Heaven forbid that we should offer less than the best to the –what was it you called him? Ah yes, the dandy-brute duke. I suppose I’d better select some good wine for the same reason.’
‘His secretary will probably prove to be the greater gentleman of the two,’ she replied as she left the room.
The following day, when the best tablecloth was taken out, it was found to have a nasty mark on one corner. ‘It’s only in one place,’ Constance told her aunt. ‘I’ll sponge it.’ That done, she took the cloth outside and spread it out over a bush so that the damp corner could dry. As she was going back indoors, she saw Dickinson walking down the lane. This was the first time she had seen the duke’s coachman since they had come upon the damaged carriage at the side of the road, and she wondered how he had been coping with his exacting master.
He seemed cheerful enough as he responded to her greeting, and to her surprise, instead of walking on to the village, turned aside to speak to her. ‘Middling well, miss, thank you,’ he replied when she asked him how he was enjoying Norfolk. ‘I don’t mind the change, even though it’s a mite quiet for me as I’m a city lad by birth.’
‘No doubt His Grace will be wanting to get back to the city before long,’ Constance replied. ‘I understand the coach has now been mended.’
‘Oh yes, miss. The blacksmith in Aylsham knew his work, and put us onto a good wheelwright as well. His Grace was very vexed over the business.’
‘We saw that he was angry,’ she replied. Then, after a moment’s thought she went on, ‘I thought it very wrong of him to blame you.’
‘Oh, he didn’t, miss,’ said the coachman, his expression and his tone assuring her that he was telling the truth. ‘He was angry that the coach hadn’t been made properly. He spoke with me man to man, like the gentleman he is, for he knew I was as vexed as he.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ Constance answered. In her mind, she saw again the encounter between the duke and his coachman. She had been so sure that the former had been upbraiding the latter. Now, it seemed that it had been one man inviting another to share his anger about a mutually inconvenient situation.
The coachman’s voice recalled her to the present. ‘It’s about Patch that I’ve come,’ he said. Then, when she looked anxious he went on, ‘It’s nothing too concerning, only as Patch was being led away after you had him out, His Grace noticed that he was favouring one back leg over the other. There’s a bit of stiffness there, so with your permission, I’d like to try a poultice on that leg and see if it helps.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Constance answered. ‘Kilver knows that I trust his judgement. There was no need for you to walk all this way.’
‘It’s only a step,’ Dickinson answered. ‘Besides, the poultice is a recipe of my own, and His Grace and Kilver both thought that it was bes
t not to assume.’
Constance thanked him again. After he had gone she walked slowly inside, her mind going over the strange notion of the man whom she had termed the dandy brute, hobnobbing with his head groom and his coachman in the stable yard.
Chapter Thirteen
Fortunately, Miss Fellowes’s cook was not in anyway discomposed by the news that a high-ranking aristocrat would be dining at a table of her furnishing. ‘Indeed,’ Miss Fellowes remarked on Thursday as they were waiting for their guests to arrive, ‘I sometimes think that she would be happier in a bigger establishment which offered greater challenges to her skill.’
‘Pray do not say so in front of our guests,’ her brother begged her. ‘I have no desire to see her going to Beacon Tower. No other cook I have ever come across has her way with a jugged hare.’
At that very moment, there was a knock at the door and a sound of murmured voices. Constance, who took a certain pride in her self-possession, was more than a little annoyed at the peculiar somersault that her heart seemed to perform at the notion that this might herald the arrival of the duke. To make matters worse, she could feel herself blushing.
In fact, the Grayleighs and the ducal party appeared to arrive all at the same time, and in some confusion, since Mrs Grayleigh entered the room on the duke’s arm, her husband and Melinda nowhere to be seen. Jenkins, Mr Fellowes’s valet who also acted as butler on grand occasions, had opened the door to them. Clearly a little perplexed by this circumstance, and unsure as to who should take precedence out of this ill-assorted pair, he contented himself with murmuring something inaudible before retreating to the hall.
The newcomers made a formal reverence, whereupon Mr Fellowes introduced the exalted visitor to his sister and niece. ‘Although I believe you may have bumped into one another,’ he added, looking at Constance with a twinkle in his eye.
‘We have met informally,’ she answered in carefully neutral tones.
The duke inclined his head again. ‘Indeed,’ he agreed, before turning to his hostess. ‘It is very kind of you to take pity on us in this way,’ he said, taking her hand.
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