by Kate Pearce
He angled his head to one side and studied her. “You know I hate to argue, but I don’t think you did it entirely for me.”
“I did it because it was unfair of me to throw a woman out of the only home she has ever known,” Margaret said. “I should have thought about that before I lost my temper and demanded she leave.”
His smile was slow in coming and made her want to slap his face or kiss him, she wasn’t sure which.
“You are a good woman, Margaret Blackthorn.”
“Too good for the likes of you.” She wasn’t yet ready to be charmed.
“I can’t argue with that.” He came toward her and she stiffened. “You look rather tired. Can I interest you in a nap?”
“You expect me to sleep beside you after what you have just done?”
“Sleep? Not really.” He shrugged. “I was rather hoping you might find a way to redirect all that righteous anger into making love with me?”
“I want to hit you,” Margaret blurted out.
“Exactly.” His smile was a wicked invitation. “Hit me, bite me, fight me? You may do whatever you desire, as long as you are naked and in my bed.”
Margaret’s breath shuddered out as he reached forward to cup her chin. “You are incorrigible.”
“You knew that before you married me.” His thumb brushed her lip and his voice went low, reminding her of their nights together and what they did under the sheets when no one could interrupt them. “Come to bed.”
“I—”
He gathered her into his arms and kissed her until she forgot why she was angry. She only remembered when he pulled back and smiled at her.
“See how easy it is?”
She leaned in and bit his lip.
He laughed and drew her so tightly against him that even through her skirts she was aware that he was fully aroused. He kissed her again, one hand firmly planted on her bottom, until she kissed him back.
“Come on.” He eased away and grabbed her hand. “Unless you wish to be ravished on the ducal desk, let’s go to bed.”
Chapter 10
Margaret rolled onto her back and considered the much-faded draperies above her head. The embroidered bed curtains were gathered together in an extravagant knot in the center of the canopy. She suspected they had never been taken down and cleaned since they had been hung, probably fifty years ago.
She also knew she was contemplating the drapery because it helped her avoid thinking about her inability to resist her husband. The worst thing was that he knew it and used it to his advantage when he wished to redirect her attention elsewhere. It wasn’t as if he was trying to hide it.
She wasn’t even sure that there was anything she could do about it, because making love with him was extraordinary. She shifted her limbs, aware of the heaviness of her muscles and the slight soreness between her legs. He teased her, tempted her, enraged her, and never, ever made her feel that she was not being ladylike or that she was too demanding. In fact, he encouraged her excesses.
There was a knock on the door and Eileen, her maid, came in with a jug of hot water.
“Good morning, your grace.”
Margaret sat up, realized she was naked, and attempted to find her nightgown while Eileen bustled around the room picking up items of clothing that Margaret had dropped to the floor in her haste to get her husband into bed. Five years ago when she’d lived in the millhouse, such laziness would have appalled her, and having someone else picking up after her? A mortal sin.
“His grace said he would be out for most of the day on estate business.” Eileen set a cake of soap next to the bowl and water. “He’s certainly working hard to make the place better. His tenants are all singing his praises in the village.”
Margaret was quite aware of how hard Alistair was working. For the last three months, he had risen at six, taken a horse from the depleted stables—he’d already sold off most of his cousin’s stud—and set out across the fields, talking to his farmers and tenants about the state of their holdings. While he dealt with that matter, Margaret was intent on restoring the house. With Mrs. Walton now committed to the project, she was hopeful that much could be done.
Margaret sat down at her dressing table and studied her reflection in the mirror. With her hair around her shoulders she looked like a happy, well-satisfied woman, but where was her backbone? Where was the woman who had singlehandedly ruled the Methodist community in Millcastle? Who had preached the values of austerity and self-restraint, and declared her dislike of the aristocracy?
She feared that Ruby Delisle would be most disappointed in her. Sometimes she couldn’t believe she was the same person.
“Mrs. Walton said she would meet you in the state apartments when you are ready, your grace,” Eileen said as she brushed Margaret’s hair and started to put it up.
“Please let her know that I will join her there as soon as I have finished my breakfast,” Margaret replied. “Has the linen in the servants’ quarters improved this week?”
“Oh, yes, your grace! New sheets and everything, and once all those holes are fixed in the roof, it will be grand up there.”
The cost of fixing the enormous roof was not only exorbitant, but also time-consuming. Both she and Alistair had deemed it a priority to stop the house falling down on top of them. Even though locals were doing most of the work, the bills still made Margaret wince.
“Which dress would you like today, your grace?” Eileen finished styling her hair and went over to the door leading to the dressing room where most of their clothes were stored.
“Something old, seeing as I am bound to end up getting it dirty or ripping it,” Margaret called out.
She often forgot she was a duchess and happily climbed up on a ledge to better clean an intricate carving or pull down a piece of curtain covered in dust. As a result, several of her new gowns had been relegated to the ragbag, and she’d reverted back to her original hardwearing gowns from the millhouse.
Only last week, Alistair had come to collect her in the gig after she’d been visiting some farm cottages out on the estate. At first, he’d failed to recognize her because she’d been in the kitchen feeding the baby while the mother bathed her older two children in front of the fire. Sometimes Margaret felt more at home and at ease in the cottages than she did in the ducal manor house.
Mrs. Walton had helped her identify where new staff members were needed, and they’d set about finding them. There were many people in the surrounding villages who would still rather work in a house than seek employment in the rapidly expanding mill towns. Having occasionally worked in the mill when her brother was shorthanded, Margaret could quite understand why.
She’d save her best dresses for when she went visiting and the hall was in an acceptable state to be visited back.
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Brewerton, I do understand. Please, go on.”
Alistair nodded as the farmer in front of him listed off all the problems with his house, outbuildings, and land. It was an all-too-familiar tale of woe, which made Alistair long to get hold of his cousin and grandfather and smash their heads together for their pathetic neglect of their lands and tenants.
Behind him, his newly acquired secretary, the Honorable Joseph Lang, wrote copious notes and nodded in sympathy along with the farmer. Francis had sent the young man to Alistair a month ago, explaining that someone in his family was attempting to force the boy into the army, and that he didn’t want to go. As Joseph was more than willing to work hard for his bed and board, Alistair had quickly ascertained that he was intelligent and close-mouthed and put him to use.
At the end of the tour, Alistair paused to look back at the moldering thatch on the roof of the farm. He’d met Mrs. Brewerton and her three children and they’d all been unwell, probably because of the damp conditions they were forced to live in. He wasn’t naturally a violent man, although he had been trained to kill without mercy, but his anger with his family was coming close to boiling point.
He shook Mr. Brewerton�
�s hand. “I have a list of all your needs now, sir, and I can only promise you that I will attend to them with all speed.”
“That would be very good of you, your grace.” Mr. Brewerton’s skepticism was clear as day on his lined face. “I’ll wait to hear from you.”
Alistair gestured to Joseph, who handed over the ducal purse. He pressed several coins into the farmer’s palm. “Use this where you need it most urgently.”
“Thank you, your grace,” Mr. Brewerton stammered. “Thank you, very much.”
Alistair nodded and turned back to where his horse was tied up by the gate.
“Come along now, Joseph. Who is next?”
He mounted his horse and waited as his new secretary consulted the extensive list from his pocket.
“The Wheldons.” He pointed to the right. “It’s about a quarter of a mile that way.”
Alistair let out a breath. He hadn’t seen a single dwelling that was fit to be lived in. The stories about the previous land agent had made him so angry he wished he’d known where the bastard had gone so he could prosecute him to the full extent of the law. But, in truth, the agent had only been doing his cousin’s bidding, so the blame sat squarely on his own family, and it was up to him to make reparation.
“Your grace?” Joseph asked.
“What is it?”
“Would it be acceptable to suggest that the men who ran this estate before you were somewhat neglectful of their duties?”
“They were a bunch of lying, stealing blaggards, yes,” Alistair said. “I almost wish my grandfather was still alive so I could kill him myself.”
“If you did that, your grace, you would probably be standing trial for murder and not enjoying your new title,” Joseph murmured.
Alistair glanced over at his new hire, who appeared to have a somewhat dry sense of humor that appealed to his employer.
“It would be worth it.” He flung out a hand. “How they could bring such prime farmland so low is beyond my comprehension.”
“It is not an uncommon phenomenon for a landlord to extort funds from his holdings. My own father is quite proficient at it.”
“I am aware of that,” Alistair said grimly. “Sometimes I think my wife has the right idea, and the entire aristocracy should be kicked out to starve in the streets.”
Joseph rode on in silence for a few moments before venturing a reply. “Is the current duchess of French origin, your grace?”
“Not at all, but she grew up in the Methodist faith and among people who value their worth in a very different manner.”
“Ah, that explains it, then.”
Joseph consulted his estate map and directed them down yet another overgrown narrow trail. Alistair braced himself as a dog started to bark and a figure emerged from the house with a billy club in his hands.
“After we’ve met the Wheldons, let’s go back to the house. I need to read your notes and add my recommendations. Then I’m sure I will have some errands for you.”
“Right you are, your grace,” Joseph replied. “Now, watch out for that dog. He doesn’t look very pleased to see us.”
“No one is pleased to see us,” Alistair groaned. “Why should a dog be any different?”
By the time he got back to the house, it had started to rain, and his dark mood had not improved. He went straight to his study and settled in to update his accounts books and farm ledgers as to what he had seen and what needed to be done. Despite the size of Margaret’s dowry, the needs of the estate were so vast that he seriously wondered how on earth he was going to set everything to rights.
His study door opened, but he didn’t look up.
“Joseph, we need to find some more thatchers. Have you any ideas as to—”
He stopped speaking as a plate of ham, pickle, cheese, and bread was pushed under his nose on top of his papers. He looked up.
“Good afternoon, duchess.”
Margaret put a tankard of ale beside the plate of food. “Joseph said you hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.”
His stomach growled, betraying his hunger, and he moved his papers to one side so that he could access his plate.
“Thank you.”
She turned as if to leave, and he spoke through a mouthful of bread. “Stay a moment, will you?”
“As you wish.” She sat down in front of his desk, her hands folded in her lap, her expression prim, which always made him want to tease her. Her brown hair was braided closely to her head in a very plain style and she wore an old patched blue dress, yet she still managed to look like a queen.
“I do wish, very much.” He swallowed down some ale. “I’ve hardly seen you all week.”
“Some might think that a blessing.”
“Not me.” He slathered butter on the bread and added a thick slab of cheese. His liaison with her was proving to be far more successful than he had imagined. “I enjoy being told off far too much.”
“Only because you view it as a challenge to see how quickly you can make me forget my disapproval and lure me into bed.”
He smiled at her. “Guilty as charged, duchess.” He cut more of the sharp yellow cheese. “We visited four farms this morning. Every single one of them had the same story of rising rents, threats, lack of repairs to property, and downright extortion.”
Margaret frowned. “Perhaps I should stop work on the house and do more for your tenants instead.”
“With all due respect, my dear, I’m not sure you would be welcome in some of the cottages. Feelings are running high, and the lady of the manor arriving and dispensing advice might not go down very well.”
“Dispensing advice?” Margaret asked.
“You know how it is, the lady arrives in her carriage, and waits until the poor tenant comes out to her, bowing and scraping. She’ll offer them a basket of goods and maybe a hand-sewn garment for a new baby. She’ll inquire closely as to the state of their health, make unhelpful suggestions based on her lack of understanding of living in a cottage, and depart for another year.”
“Are you jesting?”
“Not at all. That’s exactly what my mother did when she was alive, and it was the same for my grandmother up here. Sometimes I even accompanied them.”
She sniffed. “You already know my visits would not be like that at all. You’ve seen me with our home-farm family.”
“I’d still prefer it if you didn’t go any further until Joseph and I have at least had a chance to talk to every single tenant and tell them our plans for the future. It might not be safe.”
He finished his ale and turned his attention to his plate, devouring everything except the blue pattern.
“Are you planning to go out again this afternoon?” Margaret took the plate and tankard and placed them back on the tray. “The rain looks as if it is settling in.”
“I should.” He sighed. “I have at least ten more farms and tenants to visit before I will have a full list of the damages and deprivations done to this estate. And I haven’t even visited the other two smaller estates or the London townhouse where my cousin used to live.”
Margaret came over to his chair and put her hand on his shoulder. “You are doing your best, and your efforts are already appreciated.”
“Thank you for the encouragement.” He covered her hand with his own and looked up at her. “You have cobwebs in your hair.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She shivered. “I have never dislodged so many spiders from nooks and crannies in my life!”
“Mayhap we should set fire to the place and build something just for the two of us.”
“If we don’t get the roof fixed and the chimneys cleaned, that might happen anyway. Do you know that there are almost forty chimneys in this house?”
“That sounds like a lot,” Alistair agreed.
“It is a lot. We could employ a chimney sweep for a year, and he would barely manage to keep up with them.”
He drew her down onto his lap and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Are we both fools
? Why didn’t we just elope and leave everything the way it was?”
“Because you are an honorable man, and I…” She paused. “Like to manage things.”
A knock at the door had her scrambling out of his lap as the butler came in.
“A letter has been delivered, your grace. The boy who brought it says he has been asked to wait for a reply.”
Alistair frowned and held out his hand for the missive, which had a wax seal on the exterior he immediately recognized.
“Thank you.” He waited until the butler left before he broke the seal and read the tightly written script. “Devil take it!” He screwed the paper up into a ball and threw it at the fire.
“Is it bad news?”
Alistair looked up. He’d completely forgotten that Margaret had remained in the room. “It’s from my late father’s wife. My sister is apparently unwell and she wants me to come and see her.”
“Then we should go,” Margaret said immediately. “Do you wish to write a note to your stepmother and tell her we are on our way?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” Alistair paused. “I’m not sure whether we should go.”
“Why not?” Margaret looked puzzled. “I understand that relations between you and your stepmother are strained, but this is your sister whom you love, and she is asking for you.”
“I know that’s what the note says, but you don’t know Frederica.” Alistair looked up at Margaret. “She’s been trying to lure me back to Healdstone Hall for the past two years, mostly under false pretenses.”
“I don’t understand.” Margaret was now looking at him as if he were the deranged one. “Why would she lie about something so important?”
“Because that’s what she’s like.” Alistair wasn’t prepared to explain any further. “She would use anything to hurt me.”
“Perhaps if we go together, I can help with that?”
“How?”
Margaret shrugged. “By observing her as an impartial witness.”
“Are you suggesting that I am biased against her?” He glared at his wife.
“It’s possible, but as you never choose to discuss her with me, how would I know?” Her sweet smile held an edge of a challenge.
