“I do. And I would like to continue practicing on you.”
And then she just stopped speaking, too lost in his gaze to form a coherent thought. Well, she amended to herself, an appropriate coherent thought. Because she had plenty of inappropriate thoughts she could cohere.
I would like to continue practicing on you.
The words rang through Archie’s head like a claxon, reminding him of everything that had happened, everything that couldn’t happen, everything that should happen.
None of which were the same everythings.
He had found himself enjoying the past few days, even though they were filled with work. And not work that was enjoyable at all; it was paperwork, drudgery, the kind of work that made you cranky and tired at the end of the day, not exulting in sore muscles and a job well done. Because the next day there was always more work, and he spent far too much time just sitting in a chair or hunched over a desk looking at infinitesimally small figures written in cramped hands.
But it was work he was doing with her. The her who greeted him in the morning with a warm smile, the her who sat opposite him when they dined, the her who wielded a massive amount of power and influence, even though she wasn’t quite certain how to wield anything more than a pen at the moment.
The her whom he’d kissed that first night they were there.
He was in his bedroom preparing for the assembly. She was getting fussed over by Clarkson for her first official appearance as duchess—albeit in a small village, not a London ballroom, thank God—but he was a servant, so he didn’t warrant a valet. He had to get dressed on his own. Which meant that he had a lot of time to get lost in thought.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He’d replayed that kiss a thousand times since. What might have happened if she wasn’t so innocent and wasn’t so much of a duchess?
The thoughts kept him up at night, kept him on the edge of—
A knock interrupted what was sure to be an inappropriate thought or several.
“Enter,” Archie called, stuffing his shirt into his trousers.
Mr. Wickes popped his head in, his usual smile firmly in place. “There’s a couple of people waiting to see the duchess, say they’re her cousins, and since Her Grace is busy, I thought I’d ask you.”
“Oh.” More cousins? He’d thought they would be rid of them when they left London. “I’ll come down straightaway.” So much for thinking about what might have happened after that kiss; now he was about to be forcibly reminded that the duchess seemed to have relatives who would like nothing more than to take advantage of her. Like he could be accused of doing after kissing her.
The thought was sobering.
“My goodness,” Genevieve breathed as she gazed in the mirror. She looked at Miss Clarkson, who stood behind her. “You have worked a miracle,” she said.
Miss Clarkson shook her head. “Miracles are only made when there is nothing there in the first place, Your Grace.” She patted a curl down on the back of Genevieve’s head. “Mrs. Hardwick is an excellent dressmaker, to be certain, but her gowns are only as lovely as the woman wearing them.”
Genevieve grinned. “It sounds as though you are spouting some kind of feminist philosophy, Clarkson. Be careful or you will be accused of sedition.” Clarkson laughed in reply; she and Genevieve had discovered they both loved to read, although Miss Clarkson preferred reading essays on humanity, while Genevieve couldn’t resist the allure of a good novel.
She and Miss Clarkson—whom she had finally gotten comfortable with calling just plain Clarkson—also appreciated the comfort of a good, strong cup of tea, and the two women had gotten into the habit of meeting in Genevieve’s office at four o’clock. Clarkson was, Genevieve realized, her second adult friend.
Although not as bewitchingly handsome as the first.
And she and the first were about to attend a party together. Only a small gathering, Genevieve assumed, since the town itself was small, but still. Her first official outing as duchess, and she was wearing this new gown and would arrive escorted by Mr. Salisbury and all his Salisburyness.
The gown really was lovely. Not worth its weight in feed, but still lovely. It had arrived only a few hours earlier, along with a few of the men Mr. Salisbury—Archie—had recruited to join the staff.
It was made of a stiff purple satin, the color that of the darkest possible grape. It came in tight at the waist, then flowed out over Genevieve’s hips in a wide swath of fabric, which had rows of black ribbon on it. The sleeves were small, little frills of lavender lace, a tiny bow of black ribbon on each one.
It was tasteful, reminded people seeing her she was in mourning, but also that she was a lady in power. Clarkson had swept her hair back into a low chignon, pulling a few strands out to curl around Genevieve’s face. She hadn’t thought to see what ducal jewels might be available to her, so Clarkson had devised a choker made from the same black ribbon with a cameo that Gran had given her attached to it.
She didn’t look anything like herself. And yet this was who she was now.
A knock at the door interrupted her contemplation of her own magnificence.
“Enter,” she said after glancing toward Clarkson.
The door opened and Mr. Salisbury stepped inside, a disgruntled look on his face.
“Oh dear. What is it?” Genevieve asked. Was he going to refuse to come to the assembly with her? And why was that the first thing that worried her, rather than if something was on fire or there was some sort of duchess emergency?
Because you have been looking forward to this since you first thought of it, a voice reminded her inside her head. Because you are trying very hard not to anticipate what it will feel like as he holds you in his arms.
“It’s more relatives.” He said it as though he’d said, It’s more vermin, or It’s more unpleasant items in bookkeeping.
“More of my relatives?” she began, only to catch herself. “Of course it is, why would you say ‘more’ when you haven’t even had one of your own yet? And your family . . .” and then she paused, since she didn’t know if Clarkson knew about Archie’s estrangement with his family, and she didn’t think he would want to share the information this way if she didn’t.
“Right,” he said, although she wasn’t sure what he was confirming.
“Downstairs?” she asked, even though she thought she knew the answer. Unfortunately.
“Yes.”
“It isn’t to be helped, then,” she said in resignation. “Clarkson, am I presentable?” She turned in a circle, her arms spread wide.
“Absolutely, Your Grace. Mr. Salisbury, what do you think?”
Clarkson, the wretch, had an expression on her face that indicated she knew just how much Genevieve wanted his answer.
“The duchess looks lovely.” His voice sounded raw, and Genevieve felt her insides tremble.
“Thank you, Mr. Salisbury.” She took the gloves—black, of course—Clarkson was holding out for her and put them on. “Now let us go dispatch my relatives in some speedy way. If we can,” she muttered.
Archie’s throat was still tight with the things he wished he could say in answer to Miss Clarkson’s question—You look gorgeous, but no less pretty than when you are in your drab duchess attire. Maybe You are beautiful, but much less approachable, because now you truly look like who you are. And yet I wish I could approach you as a man approaches a woman, not as a steward approaches a duchess. That was far too complicated, and yet not nearly enough of what he wanted to say.
Instead, he kept his mouth shut as they descended the stairs together. She kept pace with him down the stairs, so he deliberately let her go ahead to make it clear to whoever was waiting below that she was most definitely in charge, never mind that it was the usual thing for a man to do for a woman. That she had kept pace with him spoke volumes about how they saw their relationship—if he was reading into it, which of course he was.
He had to stop reading into it, had to stop looki
ng for signs that this could be more than what it was, which was already more than it should be. A friend. A trusted advisor. Not anything else, no matter how intoxicating he found her presence, nor how much he wished he could kiss her again.
Two people, a man and a woman, waited for them at the foot of the stairs, plus two others who were clearly servants, delineated by their clothing and posture.
The gentleman stepped forward, removing his hat as he smiled at the duchess and spoke. “Your Grace, thank you for receiving us.” His teeth were white and even and Archie loathed him on sight. “We are your cousins from your mother’s side. We are your great-aunt Millicent’s second husband’s grandchildren from his first marriage.” He gestured to include the young woman standing at his side. “You met my sister years ago when our parents visited your father’s country house.”
Genevieve peered at the gentleman’s sister, then her expression brightened.
“Of course! It’s Miss Garry, isn’t it? I remember spending an afternoon having tea in the garden while your parents . . .” and she trailed off, the gentleman chuckling as she made a vague gesture in the air.
“While our parents likely tried to coerce someone into something.” He grinned ruefully. “But we are not our parents, and Evelyn had such a strong memory, so when we heard you had inherited, we had to come see you. I am Sir William Garry.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Genevieve replied, holding her hand out for the man to shake. “And to see you again, Miss Garry.”
Archie stood behind her, his hands clasped behind his back as he assessed the situation. Was it possible these relatives were not entirely grasping?
The gentleman was good-looking enough, if one liked blond hair and too broad a grin. He looked to be about Genevieve’s age and had a softness Archie associated with men who hadn’t quite grown up yet.
The woman was even younger, probably about nineteen years old, a little sprite of a thing with light brown hair and a matching broad smile.
He didn’t dislike her as much as he did her brother.
“This is my—this is Mr. Salisbury, my temporary steward,” Genevieve said, sweeping her arm out to indicate Archie’s presence. He nodded. “Mr. Salisbury,” she continued, “would you ask Mr. Wickes, or whomever, really, to serve us tea in the sitting room? My cousins have likely had a long journey.”
Archie nodded again, still not speaking. Of course she invited them to tea. Possibly she would invite Sir William later to relieve her of her spinsterhood.
He strode off toward the kitchens, throwing a backward glance toward her as he went.
She was not looking at him.
Letter
Duchess,
I wish to update you on the hiring process. Three of my former soldiers have arrived, and I have tasked them with the jobs of footman, cook, and groom.
Mr. Donnelly, your new cook, made all the meals for us in the army, and I can assure you as to his skill. I am hopeful Mr. Norris will learn his duties quickly, and might therefore be a suitable person to eventually serve as your butler. Mr. Madden is an expert on horses, and with your permission, will acquire a few for your stable.
Don’t trust those people.
Sincerely,
Mr. Salisbury
Chapter 16
Genevieve didn’t miss Archie’s skeptical look as he went in search of Wickes and tea. But she did recall that afternoon so long ago, and Miss Evelyn seemed very sweet, while she appreciated Sir William’s frankness about their parents.
Not to mention the siblings were close in age, and appeared not to be horrible relatives, at least at first blush. She had to give them every opportunity, didn’t she? She couldn’t go through life mistrusting every single member of her family. She had wanted to feel part of a family for so long.
“Do come through here,” Genevieve said, leading them to the sitting room. Sir William walked in front of his sister, which would have seemed rude if the girl hadn’t seemed so shy.
“This is a lovely home,” Miss Evelyn said in a small voice.
“It will be, I hope,” Genevieve said, laughter in her tone. “It is in need of a lot of work, work that Mr. Salisbury is helping me with.” She gestured toward the seats for the two to sit down, then sat herself on the sofa.
Sir William didn’t take the proffered seat, instead sitting next to her. He had an easy smile, and she found herself smiling back. He was good-looking, she realized. Of course, not approaching Archie’s splendor, but he had a certain approachability that Archie lacked. Being so frighteningly attractive and all.
“You must be wondering why we are here,” he began, crossing his legs at the knee. “I know your inheriting came as a surprise”—to me as much as anyone, Genevieve thought—“and no doubt you have many people clamoring for your attention.”
“Indeed.” She couldn’t help but allow a rueful smile to curl her mouth up.
He held his hand up as though to forestall her objections. “But we are here simply to wish you the best of luck in your new position, and to offer assistance, should you need it. We had heard that you had taken residence here with only your lady’s maid, and we thought—or Evelyn thought, actually—that there would be less talk if there was another female, one of your world, in residence.”
Oh. Well, she hadn’t really thought all that out before, had she? She’d never had to consider whether it was appropriate for her to be somewhere. Nobody had expected her to be anybody worth noticing, so they hadn’t told her that people would talk.
“Are people talking? That is, you said there would be less talk, which intimates that there has been talk at all. Is there?” She knew she was likely squeaking, but she couldn’t help herself.
“Not very much, Your Grace,” Sir William said in what he likely thought was a reassuring tone, but wasn’t reassuring at all to Genevieve.
“Well, thank you for your thought on my behalf. Yes, and in fact, I am attending an assembly this evening. Mr. Salisbury will be accompanying me.”
“Your steward?” Sir William said. Genevieve immediately felt defensive, even though there was nothing to defend. Was there?
“Yes, he is a—well, he is a gentleman as well as a steward,” since there was no need to acquaint her cousins with Archie’s history, especially if she hadn’t even wanted to share it with Miss Clarkson, “and we thought it would be best if I didn’t go alone.”
“That is perfect, then. If it is a public assembly, we can accompany you as well.” And then Sir William beamed at her, as though it would be a great pleasure.
Something in her warmed at the sight. “Oh yes. That would be lovely. And you two will stay here, of course, for the reasons you’ve mentioned.”
Except that Sir William was male, and so everyone would speculate about what she and her young relative were doing together. But that talk was probably better than the alternative—that Genevieve was engaged in something untoward with her temporary steward.
“Thank you, that would be splendid,” Miss Evelyn said in a quiet voice.
“Yes, thank you. I would not want anyone to speak ill of you, merely because you might not know what is expected.” Sir William spoke in an earnest tone, one that conveyed a fervency that she appreciated. Especially since it seemed he was fervent in his desire to protect her reputation.
The door swung open to reveal Mr. Wickes. Not Mr. Salisbury. “Mr. Salisbury said as how you would like some tea, Your Grace,” Mr. Wickes said as he lowered the tray to the table. “And I brought it,” he said with a triumphant flourish of his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Wickes.” Genevieve waited as he arranged the tea things.
“Anything else, Your Grace?”
“No thank you,” Genevieve replied.
He bowed, then walked toward the door.
“Mr. Wickes,” Genevieve called, “could you ask Mr. Salisbury if he would mind coming in?” Because if she had to guess, she would say he was waiting for her to dispatch these two as handily as she had the othe
r beseeching relatives. And now she had to tell him they were all to attend the assembly together. Although he would have to accede to her wishes, wouldn’t he? Because of who she was?
Mudpies. Now she was doing it herself, lording (so to speak) her consequence and position over someone else.
“She wants you in there,” Mr. Wickes said as he tromped back into the kitchen. Archie started guiltily, caught in the act of sneaking a freshly baked biscuit in his mouth. Mr. Donnelly had wasted no time in his new position, and Archie was testing out the results.
“Delicious, as always, Will,” he said, getting to his feet. He brushed a few crumbs off his evening wear.
“Thanks again, Captain—Mr. Salisbury,” Will replied, his face even redder than usual from the heat of the ovens. “Mr. Wickes has already made me feel right at home, and I’m happy to be back cooking again.” Will had returned home, like so many of the men, without a definite occupation, and with family to take care of. From what Archie understood, there was a younger sister who had several children and a husband who wasn’t able to provide for them all.
“You’re welcome. I’m just glad I won’t have to keep eating shepherd’s pie seven nights a week,” he said, winking at Mr. Wickes.
Mr. Wickes thrust his chest out. “I challenge you to find a better shepherd’s pie anywhere, Mr. Salisbury,” he said.
“It is delicious; there is no arguing with that. But not every night, surely.”
It was apparently the only thing—besides tea—that Mr. Wickes could make. Archie never wished to see another cooked carrot in his life.
“While you’re nattering on about my cooking, the duchess is waiting to see you,” Mr. Wickes reminded him.
“Thank you.” Archie snatched another biscuit from the tray and popped it in his mouth. “I will see you gentlemen later.”
“You sent for me, Your Grace?”
The two relatives were still seated, both of them looking nearly comfortable. Even the lingering flavor of the biscuit couldn’t banish the bad taste in his mouth at the sight of them. He couldn’t explain, or wouldn’t, why he felt so protective of her. But if these two did anything to break her fragile trust—well, he would have to do something.
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