“Yes, of course,” he said, surprised that the house didn’t do its own butchering. It must have been another of his Grandfather’s crazy ideas. A penny short and a pound foolish if you asked him.
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow. And, Gwen … what is your last name? If you’re to be my housekeeper, I can’t keep calling you Gwen, it Miss? ...” God let it me Miss and not Mrs. He thought.
“Miss Harding, Your Grace, Gwen Harding,” she said, hesitating a little at the last name.
“Well, Miss Harding, thank you for doing such a wonderful job keeping everything together. I’m sure I’ll have many more questions for you later. Until then, that should be all for now.”
She stood and curtsied, “Very well Your Grace” then turned and left, quietly shutting the door.
He watched her go and marveled. The house had, what? Twelve formal bedrooms? He remembered counting them when he visited one summer. Plus library, dining rooms, parlors, and such, probably twenty-five rooms total.
The house should have a staff of fifteen to twenty people just for the house itself and the kitchen. Then you needed to add the stables, gardeners, and any personal retainers such as valets and ladies maids, it could take more than thirty people to run this place the way it should be run. Truly remarkable, three people thinking they could hold it together.
Thank God for loyal retainers he thought, shaking his head in amazement.
He looked around the room, hoping to spot his Grandfather’s account books. This room had always been off limits to him as a boy. He remembered being bored and poking his head in to explore a new room when he was very young. The old bastard had been sitting at this very desk with several account ledgers before him.
An old man even then, he’d spotted the little boy sticking his head round the corner and immediately started yelling that little boys were not to be seen nor heard. Period, end of story. The young Thomas had run away. He hadn’t been in this room since.
He found the old leather-bound books and started digging through them. It was going to be a long night, in fact probably a long few nights just to figure out what was what. And in all honesty, it was going to be even harder keeping Miss Harding from intruding into his thoughts.
Chapter Two
Gwen woke the next morning, tired and late. She’d spent the night tossing and turning, worried about the future. Things had been going so well. A false sense of hope had started to seep into her. Maybe, just maybe she could put London behind her.
She loved Brookshire and had felt so safe here. Why did everything have to change?
Dressing quickly, Gwen rushed to the kitchen to help Cook prepare breakfast. Running a quick brush through her hair before putting it up under her cap, she thought about the new Duke. She wanted things to go well this morning. It was important that he be happy, it might mean fewer changes. More importantly it might help her stop any more dreams like the ones she’d had last night.
How did he get wounded she wondered, where did he come from, what type of family? All of these thoughts and many more continuously ran through her mind.
No matter what she did, she couldn’t stop them. Maybe seeing him again, establishing a routine and the familiarity of his presence would enable her to gain control. Something she so desperately needed to accomplish. She couldn’t continue here at Brookshire unless she could control her actions and to some degree those around her.
“Good Morning Mrs. Morgan,” Gwen said as she entered the kitchen.
“Good morning my girl, or should I be calling you ‘Miss Harding’ now that you’re the housekeeper for His Grace,” she said with a smile from ear to ear.
Gwen was shocked, she hadn’t told anyone what His Grace had said the night before. Seeing her confusion, the cook smiled.
“His Grace informed me when I went to clear his dinner things last night,” she said. “He said you were to be his housekeeper for now but that he would be sending to the London agencies for more staff. That us three would not need to worry and that our loyalty would be rewarded.”
The cook smiled. “And then he said anyone who could keep this place presentable all by herself could probably run a staff of maids and that you’d be the housekeeper.”
Gwen was amazed, he’d acted so quickly. A warm glow spread through her as she realized he’d been pleased with her performance. It wasn’t just about the security of the position. More about how he saw her, her value and what she’d accomplished.
A warm feeling filled her stomach. He might see her as only a maid, someone “In Service” but he valued her. That was a rather unusual thing for someone in his station in life.
“Did you know the Duke before? I mean before he was the Duke,” she asked the cook.
“I knew him for a short while when he was a young one. Used to come for visits during the summer with his mother and father; the old Duke’s youngest son. But that stopped when his father died around the time he was eleven or twelve I think.”
“What was he like as a little boy?”
“Oh! A holy terror, but in a good way, never mean. Always good with the staff and such. Always into new adventures, used to drive the old Duke crazy. Secretly, I think the old man liked it. The cousins were not very adventurous, mostly kept to themselves and out of the Duke’s way.”
Turning, Cook removed a pot of water from the stove.
“His Grace, the new one I mean, was never supposed to inherit. There were two sons and a grandson between him and the title. The Old Duke bought him his commission at seventeen, and he was off to follow the drum as they say. That was almost ten years ago.”
Gwen thought about what Cook had told her as she made up a breakfast tray and started for the door, then stopped.
“I can’t take this to his room,” she said, “have you seen Freddy?” she asked in a panic.
“His Grace is in the study, has been all night,” answered Cook.
“All night?” Had something been wrong with his room?
He sat behind the large desk, now covered in papers and books. Sometime during the night he’d removed his red uniform tunic and draped it over a chair. He looks tired she thought. His pale face and furrowed brow made her heart ache. His cane rested against the wall behind him.
Standing in the middle of the room with the tray, she waited to be told where he wanted it. After a few moments, The Duke looked up and saw her. Quickly standing, he grabbed his tunic off the chair and put it on.
“By the fire Miss Harding,” he said. “I’ll get to it in a minute, just need to finish up these figures,” he said, staring at the ledgers.
“Yes sir,” she said, putting the tray on a table next to a large chair. She knelt and tended the fire placing a log and watching it catch.
She turned and looked at him as he concentrated on his work. He’s so handsome, she couldn’t think how to explain it, but he was so male, all of the positive things about being a man. His size, quiet confidence, and a physical presence that said he’d seen it all before and could handle anything the world might throw at him.
His wide shoulders tapered down to narrow hips. His hair was cut short in the military style. She wondered what it would look like long and hanging to his shoulders. She stood there for several minutes watching.
He continued his work. Looking up, he was surprised to find her still there. He raised an eyebrow, “is there anything else?” He asked.
Embarrassed at getting caught. She stood up straight.
“Cook said I was not to leave until I saw you eating Your Grace,” she said. A little lie, enough to give her some cover. She watched his eyes to see if he’d get mad, looking for any signs of a pending explosion. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t over react. He might be loud and commanding at times, but always in control of himself.
She was surprised however when he smiled. It transformed his face, making him look younger and a little more approachable. She breathed a short sigh.
“She did, did she? Well then, I guess I’ll take my
break now. She’s probably worried about her food getting cold.”
He walked to the large chair next to the table, leaning on his stick. He caught her looking at it, hesitated a moment, then shrugged and continued on.
“I should have eaten in the dining room, probably would have been easier on everyone,” he said as he raised the doomed silver serving dish. His brow rose in surprise at the plate of fried eggs, and four large slices of toast liberally smeared with raspberry jam.
“It appears I’ll have to take care of the butcher situation today, A man can’t continue to have breakfast without meat, preferably several different types,” he said to no one in particular.
She saw that he was smiling and realized he wasn't critical, just making conversation.
“Yes sir, and now that I see you are truly breaking your fast, I can safely return to the kitchen and report to Cook.” She smiled and gave a quick curtsy before turning and walking to the door.
She could feel his eyes following her all the way across the room and out the door. Once safely on the other side, she leaned back against the oaken door and sighed. Get hold of yourself Gwen. He’s just a man and we all know what they’re like.
.o0o.
Gwen joined Cook in a light breakfast and then scurried upstairs to His Grace’s bedroom to make sure everything was acceptable. Knowing the Duke was still in the study, Gwen assured herself that it would be safe. Entering the room, she saw that he truly had spent the night working. The big master bed had not been slept in.
An old beaten leather trunk sat in the middle of the room where Freddy had left it the afternoon before. She felt a strong urge to peek inside and learn more about the man. Looking over her shoulder at the empty doorway, Gwen knelt down and undid the buckles and slowly raised the huge upper half.
A warm, manly smell of wood smoke and soft pine needles greeted her. The trunk was filled with red uniforms and a set of evening, dress clothes. She ran her hands over the fabric, imagining where they’d been. What battles had they seen? Briefly closing her eyes, she imagined him marching across a field, leading his men into battle.
It couldn’t have all been battles and blood. There must have been good times too. Oh, how he must have looked dancing at an embassy balls.
She closed her eyes again and heard the soft music, could see him dancing the waltz with a beautiful Parisian lady. Maybe someone who’d lost her husband in the war. A charming brunet, looking at the British Major with bedroom eyes. A spurt of jealousy flashed through Gwen, and she laughed at herself, these flights of fancy had a way of getting away from her.
Deciding that His Grace would not be upset, she started hanging up the clothes. It bothered her to see them folded up in the trunk.
At the bottom, she found a small wooden box. Placing it on top of his dresser, she glanced over her shoulder again at the empty bedroom door. Lifting the lid she saw two gold cufflinks, a diamond stick pin, and four gold medals attached to colorful ribbons. Hesitating a moment, she lifted out each one, examining the engravings, fingering the ribbon. Trying to imagine what he’d done to win them.
An overwhelming desire to know everything about him rushed through her and settled in the bottom of her stomach. A sense of sadness followed the feeling. She would never be allowed to know. She had no right to wonder even.
Realizing how silly she was being, she gently placed the last medal back in the box and gently closed the lid.
“Miss Harding?” A strong male voice called from the door.
Gwen about jumped out of her skin and quickly turned to see the subject of her thoughts standing there like a giant oak tree, his eyebrows as high as eyebrows ever got.
“Can I help you with something?” he asked.
She was truly and surely caught. Why do things like this always happen to her?
“I’m sorry Your Grace, I thought to put your clothes away and noticed the box and the medals. I’m sorry, but my curiosity got the better of me. It won’t happen again,” she said, looking at the ground in shame.
The Duke was silent for a long moment and then said, “Thank you, I wasn’t looking forward to the chore. My man will be here in a few days to take care of these types of things. My batman, Corporal Reynolds will be my valet.”
Sneaking a look she saw that he didn’t appear to be angry. Gwen breathed a silent sigh of relief and clasped the side of her dress to stop her hands from shaking. It had been a close thing. Something she promised herself that would never happen again. She wouldn’t cross into the Duke’s bedroom ever again she swore.
“Yes sir, will the rest of your things be arriving with him?” She asked, hoping to change the subject.
“This is all of my things,” he said, nodding to the trunk. “Quite a lot to show for nine years, don’t you think?” A look of slight sadness crossed his eyes for a brief second and then he looked off into the distance remembering those years.
It’s more than I have to show for twenty one years she thought to herself.
“Yes sir, and again I am sorry,” she said, starting for the door and a quick escape. But he didn’t move. Leaning on his cane, he filled the doorway, blocking her way out. Her heart skipped a beat, what does he want?
The man looked down at her from his towering height, his eyes guarded as he considered something. He looked at the bed for a moment and then back at her. His eyes lost in unknowable thoughts.
Finally making up his mind, he stepped back to let her pass. Gwen felt a hot flush fill her body as she scooted past the man. What was it about him that made her get flustered like this? Her heart raced as she hurried down the hall, having to fight not to break into a run.
.o0o.
Later that evening she wanted to have Freddy take the Duke his dinner but, of course, the boy couldn’t be found when he was most needed. Reluctantly she brought the dinner tray into the study and felt herself flush with embarrassment when she thought about the scene in his bedroom earlier in the day.
The Duke sat behind his huge desk looking at several maps. His brows scrunched in thought. He reminded her of a General getting ready for battle. Without looking up, he absently nodded to the table by the fire
Gwen quickly placed the tray on the table and turned to leave when the Duke said, “Thank you, Miss Harding.” His smile had returned; it could melt one of Cook’s cast iron pans. “A friend of mine should be arriving tomorrow or the day after,” he said. “Sergeant Major Bowen,” he added.
Is this to be the new butler she wondered? It was obvious that Brookshire should have a butler, preferably of the regal, austere variety. Someone to intimidate both the staff and any visitors. Why couldn’t things stay the way they were. Where do you place a Sergeant Major was her next thought, is he to be in the servants quarters.
His Grace had said ‘Friend’ so not servant’s quarters.
As if reading her mind he said, “Please make up a room in the east wing. While this will be his permanent home, he’ll be traveling a lot. I want him to be comfortable coming and going.”
So not a butler then? “Have you known him long, sir?” She said, immediately regretting it, her nosiness getting away from her again.
“He was my corporal in my first platoon when I was commissioned a new Ensign. We served together ever since. More years have passed by than I want to think about. But yes, I have known him a long time. Too long and too much history,” he mumbled to himself. “A better man you’ll never meet,” he added.
“I will take care of everything, and we will ensure he knows that he is welcome at Brookshire.”
“Thank you, Miss Harding, I knew you would take care of things.”
She left the room sighing. It seemed that the earlier incident had been put behind them. Now if only she could get through the night without disturbing dreams.
Chapter Three
The Duke of Bathurst drove his own wagon into the village later that morning. Even as a Major he wouldn’t have driven his a wagon. The idea of a Duke driving was preposterous.
Stableman Jack, however, had to be older than Sir Raleigh’s coat, and Goodwin couldn’t have driven if his life depended on it.
Besides, Thomas was enjoying himself atop the wagon box the reins between his fingers. It was one of those bright blue mornings English summers are known for. The air smelled of life, clean and free of corruption.
Thomas pulled up on a short hill overlooking the small village. Like any commander. He preferred to see the ground before any battle. This is your valley; he thought as he looked out over the rolling green fields. You may not own it all, but you are responsible for these people.
His insides knotted up when he realized there were at least a dozen such places throughout Great Britain that he was responsible for.
The village located next to a stream in the center of the valley contained almost fifty buildings including two public houses, a few merchants, the blacksmiths, and the butchers shop. Outside of the village the large gray mill stood like a sentinel. It reminded him of dozens of villages in Portugal only with greener fields and no soldiers anywhere in sight, bucolic in its simple appearance.
He smiled, as his insides relaxed. This is what you were fighting for. Not the London streets, or parliament’s proclamations. Nor all the high lords and ladies.
Protecting these simple people in this picturesque setting. Keeping it safe from “Bonnie” and his conquering horde. Ensuring the people did not experience the terror and pain that had swept across Europe from Moscow to Madrid.
Was it worth it he wondered? Faces danced through his mind; a young soldier shot in the gut, an old woman holding the lifeless body of a young girl next to a bombed out building. And so many more. Sighing to himself, he looked across the valley. Damn right it had been worth it.
Flicking the reins, he started the horse on his way.
Pulling into the “Lion’s Den” he turned the wagon over to a hostler, informing him that he’d be back for it in a few hours.
Stepping into the public-house, he made his way to the tap. The main room was dark with only a few candles burning and a weak light peeking through the greasy windows. The room smelled of wood, men, and last night’s dinner.
The Reluctant Duke (Love's Pride Book 1) Page 2
