Duke of Disgrace (Dukes of Destiny Book 3)

by Whitney Blake

  “Oh, that. It’s immaterial.”

  Boldly, Charlotte asked, “Has Lady Hareden gone into town?”

  His reaction was not quite what she expected. He was neither angry nor upset. Instead of voicing censure or annoyance, he propped his chin up on his good hand and leveled her with an assessing gaze that made her blood thrill.

  “Perhaps,” he replied. “Perhaps she has, Miss Masbeck.”

  “I have not seen her for days.”

  That went unanswered. But he said, “You don’t seem to be judging me for my lapse, for which I thank you.”

  Charlotte considered her next words with care. They were not and could not ever be friends, so going into details about her personal life did not seem wise. But she could not judge when she herself had often wished for something to take the edge off of her erratic and uncontrollable responses to the unexpected—to noises, to men’s voices, to crowds.

  As a child, she had loved life in London, and even though she knew it was not without its problems and dangers, she was fortunate enough to be sheltered from the worst of them. Rowling had ruined that zeal for life, in a way. He made her more cautious and wary. There’d been times when she’d eyed her father’s modest stores of brandy and wine, even despite knowing that she did not respond well to spirits. No, she could not judge Lord Hareden, and it was due to more than his high station. She found she empathized with him in some ways, and that made her soften her perception of his actions.

  “I would not judge you for taking measures that you believe will bring you relief from whatever troubles you. I might be concerned if those measures incapacitated you,” she said frankly. She was not looking at him—she could not. She was looking past the shelf behind him and through the window beyond, which revealed a stunningly blue sky flecked with wispy, white clouds.

  Too bad she could not work outdoors, but there was no way to transport all of this. And more to the point, it would make her job even harder. She had to work in situ, really.

  “You talk as though you have some experience in the matter.”

  Instead of shame flooding her, she discovered that she was able to look at the duke, then. “I do.”

  A deep line formed between his eyebrows. She could not divine what he was thinking. Did he feel sorry for her? Was he intrigued? How much had Lord or Lady Wenwood told him? Had his mother told him anything? She wagered not much, if anything at all.

  “I am sorry for it.”

  “It was the result of my own stupidity,” she blurted out, quickly and with a little bitterness. She flushed. “All I mean is that I have no room to complain when others have been given more to bear than me. Thank you for your compassion, your grace.”

  Silence fell between them, and it was taut and full of unanswered questions.

  Lord Hareden was quiet by nature, she knew. Even her short time here had established that, but he was not simple. His eyes searched her face. She did not feel invaded. Rather, she felt almost respectfully studied.

  “Well, Miss Masbeck. If ever you wish for a confidante, which is perhaps silly, as I am sure you have your own friends, I would not mind listening to what you have to say.”

  Lord help her—he seemed to actually mean it. Perhaps he would make a good politician. As in, an ethically just politician. She tilted her head. “I am honored by the offer. But do dukes normally act as confidantes to their secretaries?”

  They both knew the answer to that. He shrugged and offered her a smile. And although his wonderful eyes were still red-rimmed, the smile was as joyous to her as the sun glittering on water. “I don’t believe they do, but I find that kindred spirits are in short supply around Rosethorpe.”

  Gracious, was this the laudanum talking, or…

  She would have to wait and see. Charlotte wanted to trust Lord Hareden but, unbidden, the image of Rowling’s rakish, smug and handsome face came before her eyes. It trampled the feelings of fire and interest that were coursing through her veins.

  *

  The duchess was gone for a good month by her estimation. In that span of time, Charlotte had settled into even more of a routine.

  With the duke having given his blessing to her employment and the documents arriving from his solicitor, they entered a legally binding agreement and she was given nearly free rein over secretarial affairs. She had not yet met his clients, whether aristocratic or otherwise, but by the end of her fourth week, Lord Hareden entered his office at noon and whistled at the sight of it.

  Unfortunately, it made her jump. It was too reminiscent of the whistles from rogues on the street.

  She tried to disregard her immediate response and asked him, “I take it that means you approve, your grace?” If he noticed how she’d reacted, he did not say.

  “I hardly recognize it.” He paced around the large room, which now had every wooden surface properly free of debris and exactingly organized shelves full of notes, dossiers, and books ordered according to their subject and year, as well as the alphabet. The ones he used less often were up higher, while anything that was required more frequently was made easily available on the middling to lower shelves. Charlotte had required the help of Mr. Snow, Higgins, and two footmen to move some of the heavier things but, in the end, she was quite gratified by the results. “Your efforts are superb.”

  The maids had given everything a thorough cleaning, too, airing out the carpets and drapes, dusting, and fluffing the cushions in all of the chairs. That had taken time. As the sunlight illuminated the colors of the different tomes and upholsteries, Charlotte fancied that the room was almost inviting.

  It was still masculine and, she believed, commanded a strong measure of respect for its occupant’s acumen, which was evident in the types of documents and books present. But it now looked like a room where one could meet with the duke rather than a haphazard space devoted to storage.

  “Thank you, your grace.”

  He turned to her, beaming, with a twinkle in his eyes. “Now, when can you start on my London office?”

  Her face fell. “Surely it cannot be as bad as this one?”

  He grinned. “Really, Miss Masbeck? I am wounded.”

  “I mean… I am sure that I shall be able to manage it, now that I know my way around your affairs a little better.”

  “Forgive me. I am merely letting you squirm. It is not as bad, no. Perhaps that is just because I have to manage more affluent clients there. Peers. They’d judge me for slovenly habits, so I allow myself to breathe at home. I used to be very good at keeping things clean and tidy… but…” He trailed off, and she wondered what was behind that but. “I am not so sharp as I once was, I find.”

  “It is merely a bad habit, your grace,” she said brightly, now that she knew he was only teasing her. That seemed to be something he did when he was comfortable with a person, so she found she did not mind. “What was lost can be cultivated again, can it not?”

  “I hope you are right for your sake, or I shall be employing you well into your dotage as my secretary.”

  The idea did not seem so terrible to Charlotte, who glanced down at her brown boots with a very small smile and shrugged. Blast it all, she liked Lord Hareden.

  He was a feast for the eyes, but she also enjoyed his company as a person. Well, as an employer, anyway. It could have been far, far worse.

  “Perhaps nothing better really awaits me,” she said, with no note of melancholy.

  She was far more content working, making herself useful and using her mind, than she might be as a society Miss or Lady flitting from ball to ball. Of course, she could not know for certain. But from what she gleaned from the gossip columns, which were still of less interest to her than the sides devoted to political affairs, she was not missing much other than conniving young women and their equally disastrous mothers.

  “Nothing?” asked Lord Hareden.

  She glanced back up at him as he arched an eyebrow. She was fond of that expression. It was such a small thing, but it had an inadvisable effect on he
r heartbeats, making them grow faster.

  “Well, I am content living the life I have, as unexpected as it might be for a woman. I don’t feel sorry for myself,” she said defiantly, crossing the room to stand at the huge windows. He turned to watch her.

  “I don’t think you should,” he said, with the lightest shade of confusion in his voice. “I did not mean to imply that you should. Just that perhaps you may be…” He hesitated, though it was not out of embarrassment, she wagered. Tact. Lord Hareden was very good at tact. “Do you never wonder what it might be like to have a family of your own?”

  I did, once.

  “Even if I did, I would still have to find a husband who did not mind his wife dabbling in such a mannish profession,” she said. Gently, she added, “Your grace, I was never the type of girl who got lost in romantic fantasies. I was too busy reading about Parliament and war which, as I am sure you can imagine, did not make me the most attractive choice for young men to court. None seemed to want a fiancée who was more informed than them.”

  “But your parents did not discourage you.” He did not say it like a criticism, for which she was grateful.

  “No, they did not. I was fortunate. They encouraged me to cultivate my education alongside my brother. And as you know, my father did take me under his wing. I do not know if they regret not pushing me toward more feminine pursuits. But in the end, I don’t care if they do. I don’t believe they do, I should say. But I shall have to make my own way in the world, if it comes to that.” She ran her fingers along the windowsill, which was now free of dust and glowing in the sunlight.

  “If you were to speak to some women of my acquaintance, I feel they might envy you your freedom.”

  Did the duke have any female friends, or had they been scared away by the miasma of fictions that surrounded him? She could imagine him having been a very pleasing friend, for although he was rather dry, he was observant and considerate. The war had taken much away from him, but it had not seemed to change him completely. She did not know him well enough to say with certainty.

  And until she’d come upon him that day in this very study, gone a little mad with the laudanum, she’d thought he was relatively content with his life as it was. People were excellent at pretending, though, and she included herself in that assessment.

  “Some might, but others might miss the security and luxury of their own lives.”

  Lord Hareden sighed and went to his desk. “You are right about that, I’m afraid. But nonetheless, there are still a few who would surprise you in their private beliefs and leanings.”

  “Like Lady Wenwood?”

  “Indeed. Though you and she do share similar backgrounds, do you not?”

  “We weren’t raised in the same place, but her parents were merchants. Tradespeople,” said Charlotte, nodding. “Like my mother and her family. Do not let me keep you from your work.”

  He shook his head dismissively. “Oh, there’s a bit of a lull over these next few days. That business with the tavern and the bailiffs is finally taken care of, thank the Lord, and I’m not due into town until tomorrow.” He sat down and surveyed the room from that angle. “Honestly, if I didn’t know this was mine, I’d have sworn I’d walked into the wrong house.”

  Charlotte smiled inwardly at the praise. If there was one thing she was good at, it was keeping things in order. Taking stock of information and ideas. Making it all neat as a pin and accessible to others.

  “My pleasure, your grace.”

  “Really? You actually enjoy it? It is one thing to be adept, but another to enjoy organizing.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  She could go into some ramble about the law and the detritus of the law being more straightforward than people, but she refrained.

  He smiled, shaking his head again, though this time out of disbelief or a little wonder. “Oh—I meant to ask you if you had considered relocating to Aldbury, or were still considering it, rather.”

  She had ventured into Aldbury once with the halfhearted intention to look for new lodgings and found that it was a pleasant enough village. Because it was still close to London, its people seemed more educated and practical than she might have expected had she moved a great distance away into the country. It suited her—she had always been used to city life. If not life in the City, a life around all types of people from not only the Empire but even around the world. She could see herself living in the village, which was a pleasant walk from the manor.

  Leaving did not appeal to her as much now, but it seemed it might be prudent to put some physical distance between her and the duke. “I spoke to a decent landlady briefly about renting some rooms on Hanover Street,” she said reluctantly. “She said she would give me until Monday next to think it over.” It was now Thursday.

  “Well, if you—”

  Lord Hareden was interrupted by a young man with wavy blond hair and telltale, bluebell eyes bursting through the door.

  “Jeremy!”

  Charlotte couldn’t help twitching at his exclamation, something that the duke didn’t miss. Drat, she thought. I don’t need him thinking I’m a shrinking violet. Most, if not all, of his clients are going to be men.

  But this, judging by the stranger’s eyes, was Lord Paul Hareden, the duke’s younger brother. He was definitely in the gossip columns for being too fast and very fashionable.

  Lord Hareden registered Charlotte’s involuntary movement with a slight frown, but directed his attention to the man in the doorway.

  “Haven’t they taught you to knock in the Albany?”

  “Yes, they have. You’d best knock in the Albany unless you want an eyeful of your mate’s—oh,” said the younger man, grinning at his brother until he spied Charlotte standing near the window, who was trying to look as though she was completely comfortable with being caught in the duke’s study with the door having been shut. Then, once Paul seemed to realize the room’s other occupant was a woman, his grin redoubled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were, well, occupied.”

  “Occupied?”

  “Giving Lady Hareden a taste of her own medicine, as it were?”

  Charlotte gave a nearly involuntary squeak of indignation. She flushed, she knew she did, as she glanced at Lord Hareden. It was not that she believed Lady Hareden was in the right, but she did not need strange men jumping to the conclusion that she’d been hired or convinced or coerced into that.

  She knew that she could not correct him, not even if they were introduced, but the duke could.

  Would, hopefully.

  A small spasm of anger twitched on his face. It was the sort of anger reserved for family of whom one was fond, an expression she’d often given her own brother when he teased her too much or entered her bedroom without knocking.

  Very hurriedly, Lord Hareden made to correct his brother. “No, no—and you really cannot say such things in front of any woman with whom you aren’t acquainted—may I introduce Miss Charlotte Masbeck, my secretary. And Miss Masbeck, this is Lord Paul Hareden—my brother.”

  Charlotte still wanted nothing more than to combust into flames, then ash, in that very instant, but she stepped forward and dipped into a curtsy. “A pleasure, my lord.”

  “Likewise, Miss Masbeck. Forgive my uncouth jest. I have few ideas of discretion when I am speaking to Bowland.”

  She appreciated the apology and had not expected one. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He smiled at her—a genuine, open one. “Secretary, eh? How progressive!”

  “Less progressive and more just necessary, I would say…” Charlotte cleared her throat, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward with this new man present in what had been, until his intrusion, a predictable space. She knew that despite his earlier offer to be her confidante, the elder Lord Hareden could not be.

  But there was a rapport growing between them all the same. She was comfortable around him in a way she might not be with another of a higher status simply because he was rather different—he seemed to take an inter
est in the affairs of others not because he could gain anything from them, but rather because he was a student of human nature.

  It appeared to her that his desire to enter more overt realms of politics was motivated most of all by a sense of justice, or fairness. That was unexpected. Problematically, it was alluring.

  “Still, quite unusual for one of your sex,” Lord Paul Hareden said. He sat on the edge of the duke’s desk, evidently quite at home in the room. She had to smooth a smile off her face at her employer’s pained expression. “Is it not exciting for you?”

  The younger Lord Hareden’s enthusiasm seemed genuine and Charlotte tried to remind herself that he had nothing to gain by trying to flatter her.

  “Paul, there’s a perfectly good chair over by the—”

  “I know, I know. How long have you been here, Miss Masbeck?”

  “Oh, not terribly long, my lord.”

  “And that’s a London accent I detect, isn’t it?”

  “Well, I actually—” He was probably around her own age, perhaps a little less than that, and Charlotte could surmise by the winning smile and his handsome, smooth features that he was a charmer with the ladies. He looked like quite an Adonis, all lean muscle under wonderful clothes, his golden hair shimmering in the daylight.

  Still, Charlotte found herself much preferring the elder Lord Hareden with the tired but mesmerizing eyes and perpetual dark stubble—to whom she must have been casting a pleading look without actually realizing, because he rescued her by saying, “We may conclude our discussion later, Miss Masbeck. Please, ah, enjoy your impromptu day off.”

  She might have been mistaken, but there was a note of regret in his voice.

  *

  Walking always soothed her; it was a habit she’d cultivated as a girl.