Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel
Page 5
She hadn’t lied to Carolyn when she’d said she didn’t want another husband. But that was before she met someone like the duke—someone who was intelligent, and commanding, and respected her opinion. Someone she could respect and admire. He probably also wouldn’t care what she liked, only—well, he did ask if she liked working for him. Expressing more interest in her with a few words than her husband had in their entire marriage.
“Over here, ladies.” The duke’s low voice sent a shiver through Edwina, one that reminded her of her great sacrifice. It wasn’t fair that he had that commanding presence, that he also had a commanding voice, one that rumbled in a way that made Edwina wonder how he’d sound in the throes of passion.
Although that would imply he was passionate about anything, and thus far, Edwina had seen nothing to persuade her of that. That made it a bit easier to admire him—if she had thought he was likely to reciprocate at all, she would have been terrified at losing control, at allowing herself to fall into something more with him.
Because she knew full well that he would be the first one to see that any more of an association with each other wouldn’t be practical—he couldn’t marry anyone of her station, and she couldn’t afford to lose her living just because a handsome man decided to toss away all of his treasured logic to dally with her.
“Your Grace, this is my daughter, Gertrude. Gertrude, this is the duke, my employer.” Gertrude kept close to Edwina’s side, seeming as though she wanted to hide behind her skirts, but she held her hand out to be shaken, solemnly, by the duke, who bowed as he would to the grandest lady, as though Gertrude was the queen or something.
“It is delightful to meet you, Miss Gertrude,” he said, keeping hold of her hand. “I was wondering who had so enchanted Chester that he saw fit to leave my side. You must be a special young lady.”
Oh dear. He was being considerate toward her daughter, and she wasn’t sure her heart could take that. This was not what she’d expected, having seen him and all his abrupt gruffness over the past few days.
Gertrude smiled shyly. “Chester told me you were grouchy, but you’re not at all, are you?”
Edwina felt her face turn scarlet. “Gertrude, it is not pol—” only to be interrupted by the duke’s laughter.
“Chester told you that, did he? He is not wrong, I am normally grouchy. Wouldn’t you say so, Mrs. Cheltam?” And he turned his gaze to her, his mouth lifted in a smile, which she hadn’t seen before.
“I could not say, Your Grace.” Her stomach fluttered in an odd way.
“Or would not say,” he replied. “You cannot, I understand.” He was still smiling, and Edwina couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. She had noticed it before, of course, since she’d been taking a mental inventory of all his attractive features, but she hadn’t realized just how attractive his mouth was—he had a full lower lip, even though his upper lip was rather thin. So when he smiled, and showed his strong, straight teeth, she felt a bit weaker in the knees than she had before.
“My mother is never grouchy,” Gertrude continued, unaware that her mother was in the throes of massively admiring her employer. “Except if she does not have coffee in the morning.” She frowned. “Right after Papa died we couldn’t afford coffee, so Mother was grouchy all the time.” The last three words she drew out to punctuate them, making it sound as though it had been a gruesome time.
It had been, but Edwina hadn’t been ill-tempered because of a lack of coffee; her mood had been soured by realizing just how little her husband had left her. But she couldn’t put that burden on her daughter, nor could she hide her emotions around her, so she’d blamed it on a lack of coffee.
“I will take care not to approach your mother without her coffee, then,” the duke said, shooting Edwina an amused glance.
“Are we going to eat?” Gertrude said, looking at the table. It was huge, it could probably seat forty people, but there were place settings for three at one end, which made it look far more intimate than Edwina would have wished, given her state of mind regarding the duke.
“We are.” The duke waved his hand to one of the footmen standing at attention in the corner without deigning to look at him. “Ask Hawkins to begin serving.” The footman nodded and left the room, along with a few other of his compatriots.
“You should say please,” Gertrude said in a tone of rebuke. “Mother says that only bad-mannered people don’t say please.”
Now Edwina wanted to sink into the floor. It was true, but she should have amended her words to Gertrude to say “bad-mannered people and dukes.”
Thankfully, the duke didn’t seem to take offense. “You are correct, Miss Gertrude. I am a bad-mannered person.” He didn’t sound as though he were doing anything but stating a fact.
“Let’s sit, shall we?” Edwina spoke before her daughter could continue the conversation.
Gertrude opened her mouth as though to argue, but the lure of food overcame her desire to continue to debate the point. She allowed Edwina to guide her to one of the seats, the duke following them. Edwina sat Gertrude on one side of the table, taking the other side, leaving the head of the table for the duke.
“Do you care for wine, Mrs. Cheltam?” He gestured to one of the remaining footmen without waiting for her answer. The man, whom Gertrude likely already knew, approached the table, pouring a healthy serving of wine into Edwina’s glass.
“Can I have some, too, William?” Gertrude asked the man. Yes, she knew him already. Of course she did. Edwina’s daughter had the amazing ability to make friends wherever she went. It even seemed as though she might make friends with the duke.
William looked at the duke, his face showing concern. “Your Grace?”
The duke shook his head. “Don’t ask me, it is up to the lady’s mother.”
“Please, Mother?” Gertrude looked at Edwina pleadingly.
She hesitated. If she said no, she’d be the mean mother. If she said yes, she’d be exposing her daughter to wine at a very early age. Then again, it was unlikely that Gertrude would actually like the taste, so perhaps it would be a good risk to allow her to sample some.
She did very much appreciate that the duke hadn’t just answered for her. Another way he showed that he didn’t seem to notice whether or not she was female. A fact she was supremely relieved about. “Just a small pour, please, William,” she replied.
Gertrude beamed, watching as William poured a small amount into her glass. The duke picked his glass up, as did Edwina, and then Gertrude followed their lead, holding it in the air. “A toast to fine company,” he said, touching his glass to Gertrude’s, then to Edwina’s.
“And food,” Gertrude added.
“And food,” the duke echoed with a grin on his face.
Edwina felt her heart swell as she watched them. It seemed as though things would be all right, that Gertrude had charmed the duke as she did most other people. They weren’t in danger of starvation, they were housed well, and once she had her wages she would be able to afford to buy Gertrude some new clothing—her gowns still fit, but from the way she was eating, it was clear she was growing fast.
The door opened, and Hawkins entered, leading a line of footmen bearing serving platters. He indicated where they should be placed and watched as they were all put on the table. When everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he stepped forward and began to remove each lid from its platter, removing it with a flourish and handing each lid to a waiting footman.
It was very impressive. Another reminder, as though Edwina needed one, that she and Gertrude were living in a duke’s household. That she was here only because he employed her. If he wanted her to leave, it would be as simple as terminating her employment.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”
The duke shook his head in a decisive movement. Something habitual to him, Edwina had observed over the past few days. “Nothing else, Hawkins, thank you.” He smiled at Gertrude as he spoke. “See? I can be polite when I wish to be.”
“Mrs. Cheltam, would you mind serving?”
“Certainly. Would you like some ham, Your Grace?”
He shook his head, glancing at Gertrude. “Go ahead and serve your daughter first. She has been waiting very patiently.”
“I have!” Gertrude exclaimed.
Edwina couldn’t help but smile at her daughter’s enthusiastic support of herself. “You have, sweetheart.” She rose to take Gertrude’s plate and placed an assortment of the food on it—ham, stewed tomatoes, a bit of chicken pie, and potatoes. She placed it in front of Gertrude, then held her hand out for the duke’s plate. “Your Grace?”
He handed it to her, his eyes glinting with amusement. She hadn’t realized he possessed a sense of humor, much less one relating to food and six-year-olds and dinner.
“You can skip the tomatoes, Cheltam, I don’t care for them,” he said as she began to serve.
“Does that mean I don’t have to eat them, either?”
Edwina shot a quick glance at the duke—do you see what you’ve done?—then looked at her daughter. “The duke does not have anyone he has to listen to.”
“Thank God,” he said in a low murmur. She wanted to giggle at how relieved he sounded, but knew that would only make Gertrude more recalcitrant.
“But you do, at least for a few more years yet. And I want you to eat your tomatoes.”
She felt both pairs of eyes looking at her, and she resisted the urge to tell both of them to stop being so fussy, but then she would be the ill-mannered person at dinner this evening, not her daughter, as she’d feared.
So instead she went about making his plate—skipping the tomatoes—and handed it to him, not meeting his gaze, then set about making her own. Making sure to put plenty of tomatoes on her own plate.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
82. So they can have someone remind them when it’s time to eat.
Chapter 5
“I am so full,” Mrs. Cheltam’s daughter said, rubbing her stomach. Michael felt his mouth curl up at the corners, something he wasn’t accustomed to. Nor was he accustomed to spending any time at all with children of any age. He didn’t know if Mrs. Cheltam’s daughter was indicative of the whole species, but he was surprised to find he actually liked her. She was guileless, clearly intelligent, and enthusiastic.
It was clear she had inherited her mother’s looks and would be a beauty someday. She had dark eyes, like her mother, and hair just a few shades lighter. She did not have the beauty mark her mother did, but otherwise, she looked like a young version of Mrs. Cheltam.
Mrs. Cheltam, he’d noticed, hadn’t tried to curb her daughter’s enthusiasm for dinner, or conversation, or dessert, although she had kept her from having three desserts and had reminded her to say please and thank you a few times.
“Shall we go to the drawing room for tea?”
“I don’t like tea,” Gertrude said in a sulky voice.
He didn’t mind that she had spoken rudely, if that was how she felt. He’d meant what he’d told her mother, that he preferred honesty to nicety. But it seemed her mother was not so sanguine; a blush was creeping up her cheekbones, and she had pursed her lips. “That is not polite. Please apologize to us.”
Gertrude pouted as she spoke. “I am sorry.”
“I don’t like tea, either,” Michael said, earning a quickly suppressed glare from Mrs. Cheltam.
“It is your bedtime. Excuse us, Your Grace.”
Michael looked at one of the standing footmen. “You there. William, is it? Please find one of the maids to take Miss Gertrude up to bed. Her mother and I will take tea in the drawing room.”
He could tell she didn’t like it by the way her mouth opened, but she did not say anything, just met his gaze and tilted her head in a short nod.
Her daughter, on the other hand, apparently thought it was to be a great treat to have one of the maids put her to bed rather than her mother, judging by her smile. The novelty of it must have appealed to her.
He would far prefer to have Mrs. Cheltam put him to bed, but he didn’t have a choice in the matter, did he?
He did not. He could not. Especially now that he’d met her daughter, and understood better why the woman was so fiercely determined to take employment, and to be a more than satisfactory employee.
What must it be like to be the only thing keeping a child away from utter poverty? Because that was what she had implied when he’d first met her, and besides, no lady would choose to work if she didn’t have to. There would be too many disreputable men willing to take advantage of a lady in a precarious position, even if the lady in question had an honest desire to take and keep a position.
Thank goodness she hadn’t ended up with one of those disreputable men. Even though he was noticing his own disreputability in his thoughts regarding her, he wouldn’t act on any of his desires. She was too good a secretary and too worthy a woman to treat her so shabbily.
Even though he wished to. Not treat her shabbily, not that—but to see if her mouth tasted as good as it looked. To lick that beauty mark, to plunge his hands into her thick hair so he could hold her to him, to kiss the curve of her neck and the fullness of her breasts, which were more enticingly revealed in the gown she wore than he had seen thus far.
More than that, to be able to talk to her as an equal, a woman who could be his partner in conversation as well as in bed. Someone he could ask questions of without knowing he’d be totally bored by the answer. Someone who would ask questions of him that would make him think in a way he’d never had to before. Someone to challenge him.
The door opened, letting one of the maids in, making him snap back to attention. Dear God, Michael, he thought, what are you doing? He’d never wanted something he couldn’t have before, and he wasn’t quite certain how to handle that disappointment.
“Good night, Your Grace,” Gertrude said with a curtsey.
“Good night, Miss Gertrude,” he replied in a solemn voice.
“I will be up later, sweetheart,” Mrs. Cheltam said, holding her arm out. “Give your mother a hug, all right?”
Gertrude flung herself into her mother’s arms as Michael watched, feeling something in the area of his heart tighten. He couldn’t be feeling a pang of jealousy, could he? That he had never gotten such a vigorous heartfelt hug from his parents? Or was it that he wished Mrs. Cheltam would open her arms to him in a similar manner?
“Off you go,” Mrs. Cheltam said, finally releasing her daughter. “Thank you.” She addressed the maid. “Only two nighttime stories, please. Even though she’ll tell you I always read her seven.”
Gertrude’s face fell comically. “Mother,” she said in a long, plaintive voice.
“Go on,” Michael urged.
Gertrude rolled her eyes, but left the room, the maid following behind.
And then they were alone.
“Did you wish for tea, Your Grace?”
Michael shook his head. “No. Some brandy, perhaps.” He stood, waiting as she rose also. “In the drawing room.” He didn’t wait for her reply—he never waited for anybody, did he, he was coming to realize—just strode to the door so quickly the footman couldn’t open it for him. He held it for her as she followed, the skirts of her gown brushing his legs.
“Ask Hawkins to bring glasses to us.”
He led the way to the drawing room, conscious of her following him. Of her scent, of how he seemed to always know where she was in the room.
He flung the door open and walked in, gesturing to the smallest of the three sofas in the room. “Sit there.”
He thought he might have heard her muttering about orders and demanding dukes, but chose to ignore her. She was correct, after all. He was peremptory, given to issuing commands he expected to be followed.
She sat, rod-straight, her body not making contact with the ba
ck of the sofa.
“Is that comfortable?” he asked, nodding his head to where she sat.
“Is what comfortable?”
“Sitting like that. All straight up and down, not allowing your back to touch the sofa. All ladies do it, I’ve observed, but I’ve never really thought about it. It can’t be comfortable, though.”
She raised a dark eyebrow at him. And then lifted her chin. His chest tightened in delightful anticipation of what she’d say. He had to admit, he liked it when she was feisty, even though he deplored it in most other people. In all other people, in fact.
“It is not proper to comment on how a lady is seated, Your Grace.”
He wanted to growl and laugh, simultaneously. Something about her made him want to needle her, to see just how improper he could get her to behave. That is, to speak. He didn’t want her to do anything improper. Even though he absolutely did.
He should definitely change the conversation before he did or said something that would reveal just how intrigued he was by his new secretary.
He should change the conversation—but he didn’t. “You do know I am not proper, at least not in the way you mean it.”
She regarded him with her cool gaze. “And how do you think I mean it?” she asked in a deceptively soft tone of voice.
Something relaxed inside him. Something he didn’t feel unless he was alone with Chester. Which wasn’t alone, entirely, since he found he spoke to his dog a lot more than he did to most humans.
“Stuffy. Correct just because that is what one is supposed to do.”
She arched an eyebrow. “But if we do what we are not supposed to do, then we have anarchy. Dukes do not do well in anarchy, or have you forgotten the French Revolution?”
He waved a hand in dismissal, knowing it would irk her. Delighted to see the spark of it kindle in her eyes. “Those aristocrats were fools, not able to see how things were changing. Change needs to happen in order for there to be progress.”
Another brow arched, so both were raised up on her face, making her look entirely skeptical. And utterly fascinating.