A Duke by December

by Sabrina Darby

  Chapter Three

  Nearly fifteen years had passed since Nate had left England. It had been one thing to land at Southampton, to have the balance between English and foreign accents weigh to the side of English, to see the docks and then the countryside he only remembered in fragments. Then to enter London and take in the scents and sights of the city. He’d been a boy when he’d last been there, barely older than John. A boy who had thought himself a man.

  But now he was embarking on an adventure completely different from any he had ever had. He was a duke, had been for a year, though he had only discovered it two months earlier. The transformation in his social status was only just beginning to sink in. As the carriage drew closer to Beckworth, to the country seat of a title that had an old and distinguished history, he thought of all the aristocrats he had ever known. Born to wealth and position, they expected deference and respect simply because of that accident of birth.

  He was both excited and terrified about this new change in his life. From his childhood, Nate knew that the workings of a large estate were intricate and involved.

  The carriage was quiet, Mrs. Meachum having fallen silent when she realized the other three occupants were too filled with their own thoughts to keep up any semblance of a conversation.

  Lizzie, despite those large, luminous eyes that seemed to reveal so much of her thoughts, looked coolly collected, drawn into herself. As he’d learned over the past months, this was the mask she’d developed to hide her unease before strangers. She was not the same open and nearly artless girl she had been when they had first met. The society into which she had been thrust—his business world, the bustling metropolis of New York—all had shaped a new, guarded version of her.

  John, however, reflected the same nervousness that Nate felt. Though he was no longer the terrified and angry boy he had been when they’d first met over a year earlier, he, too, was experiencing a tremendous change in his life. “Will people hate me here?” he asked.

  “London is filled with men of many nationalities. Of many colors,” Nate assured him. “You will find that some of our most learned men, ones who are received in the drawing rooms of the wealthy and powerful, are men who look like you.” John looked doubtful, and the words stuck in Nate’s throat. The boy was old enough for honesty, and he’d been through enough to understand the realities of life. “But some people will think you inferior. Wealth will help protect you from the worst of it.”

  “Your wealth,” John whispered, and something very much like tenderness pulled in Nate’s chest. He’d grown close to the boy over the past year. Thought of him as a younger brother who needed Nate’s guidance. He had no intention of abandoning him, certainly not after dragging him to England. But Nate remembered what it was like to be poor and living a life of uncertainty, to have friends and connections far richer, and to be determined never to feel dependent upon anyone else’s largesse.

  “You’ll make your own wealth one day. The world is on the cusp of change. An innovative man can create his own fortune.”

  “Like you did.”

  Nate nodded. He had built his fortune from nothing. Despite this new turn, this strange life in which he was to also take on inherited wealth and inherited land that had nothing to do with merit and everything to do with a thin connection of blood, he was still seeking opportunities to make something of himself, as if there were still something to prove to someone, to Caro’s father, perhaps, or to his late mother.

  Or maybe simply to himself.

  • • •

  Four hours after leaving London, as Nate stood in the entry hall of Beckworth Park, he felt as if he were in a waking dream or some other life. He had been in grand homes before, but none quite as imposing as Beckworth in late December. Holly and mistletoe decorated the sideboards as if someone had desired to make the place as welcoming as possible. He wondered if the idea had been the housekeeper’s or one of the coterie of residents the solicitor had indicated resided at the estate.

  A letter had been sent in advance of their arrival and, as a result, it seemed the entire household was gathered in the entry hall for their first peek at the new duke. As he was introduced to the higher ranks of servants and employees, Nate nodded, taking in their names and positions. Remembering names and faces was a skill that had served him well over the years.

  Lady Maude was one of the first introduced to him. Nate studied the older woman as carefully as she studied him. In half a minute he had had her measure, understood that charm would be the best tool unless he intended to foist her from the home she had considered hers for the greater portion of her life.

  He was only distantly related to this woman. She was his great aunt, as she had been of the last duke, but he had never heard of her. Beckworth had been the lady’s home for some eighty years. There was no protocol to remove her to another house on the estate or a different estate, nor would Nate consider such a thing appropriate, even if there were.

  The land agent, Colin Ford, Nate had heard about from the solicitor. Originally an assistant land agent, Mr. Ford had had to assume the primary role when the old land agent quit abruptly. Later, it was determined that Mr. Ford’s predecessor, Archibald Morehouse, had been stealing from the estate. From everything the solicitor had said, Mr. Ford had done an admirable job in difficult circumstances. Nate was looking forward to speaking with him.

  The house was strangely full of people, considering the last duke had died over a year ago. Nate had forgotten how estates and noblemen seemed to collect relatives and hangers-on, particularly unmarried women. And there was still a suite for the duchess, although it was likely she would simply send for her belongings now that she was engaged to be married.

  There was no house steward, which was surprising for an estate of this size, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Pemberley, was looking at him as if he would have solutions to all of the estate’s problems even though she and the butler, Mr. Phillips, had been running the place without his help for the better part of a year. If the solicitors were accurate, the infernally cold weather that had affected New York and New England, creating food shortages and skyrocketing food prices, had had an equally extreme effect on the Beckworth lands.

  There was much to be done, and sitting with the land agent, the butler, and the stable master, among many others, would need to take priority. He glanced to his right. There was Lizzie, standing straight, her slender body full of strength, her expression focused and intelligent. He was inordinately grateful she had agreed to come to England with him.

  “Please direct any household questions to Miss Smith, for the moment,” he said to Mrs. Pemberley. Both women glanced at him sharply, but he smiled evenly. “I assure you, she knows my preferences well. I have no wish to burden the duchess with any of our particulars, as it is my understanding that she is newly affianced. Miss Smith has managed my house and affairs in New York, and I have no doubt in her ability to do so here.”

  He glanced back for the land agent. “Mr. Ford, shall we meet in your office in an hour?”

  • • •

  Despite the pride she took in his words, Lizzie had plenty of doubt. Beckworth Park was the size of a small city. She’d have felt more comfortable switching places with Nate and looking after the farms. There, at least, she had years of experience. She knew animals and crops. But here she would be expected to confer with the housekeeper and cook and, quite possibly, the butler. As the housekeeper had shown her to her room, Lizzie had the distinct impression that Mrs. Pemberley was in doubt of Lizzie’s abilities as well and definitely in doubt of Lizzie’s exact relationship to Nate. As if she thought it were possible that secretly the new duke had just placed his mistress in charge of the household.

  The very thought both shamed and amused her. After all, Nate had made it perfectly clear that he was not at all interested in Lizzie in any physical way. She was lucky he had found her to be of any use to him and that he had extended his protection to her and her brother all this time.

&nb
sp; Mrs. Pemberley directed a maid to help Lizzie unpack and settle in, and once the housekeeper had moved on, Lizzie stood awkwardly in the new room as the maid efficiently took charge of Lizzie’s single trunk.

  She wasn’t entirely certain if there was something in particular she should be doing at that moment, but there was only one thing she actually wanted to do.

  She crossed the hallway to knock on John’s door. After a moment, he opened it, clear relief across his face when he saw that it was she.

  She gave him a hug and slipped by, pushing the door closed behind her. She looked at her brother expectantly.

  “I don’t think I could find the front door again if I had to,” John said. “We must have walked a mile just to get to these rooms.”

  Lizzie laughed. “Mrs. Pemberley said she would give us a tour tomorrow. I’ll ask for bread so we can leave a trail.”

  “There’s probably a maid that will follow us wiping up all the dirt.”

  There certainly were myriad maids and other such servants about. In fact, a young girl, Harriet, had been assigned the task of acting as Lizzie’s lady’s maid, despite the fact that Lizzie was hardly a lady and had managed without the services of a maid her entire life.

  “Do you wish we’d stayed in New York?”

  John took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”

  Lizzie let out a little laugh. “Neither do I,” she admitted. Although truthfully, with Nate away, there would have been little of interest to her in New York.

  “Do you think Nate will let us stay here?” John was gesturing about the room. Sunlight flooded in through the open drapes, and the soft yellow wallcoverings glowed warmly. It was a large room, far larger than the ones they had had in New York or even the ones they had had at the hotel in London, and both of those rooms had been bigger than the ones in which they had grown up.

  “Of course,” Lizzie said with more assurance than she felt. “Shall we go down to lunch and pretend that we belong here?”

  John didn’t laugh. “I’m not certain I belong anywhere.”

  Lizzie’s heart ached. She didn’t know how to help him.

  “We’ll make our way in this world and we’ll always belong to each other,” she said lightly, although the words would never be enough.

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he stood up, stretching. “Luncheon, then. What do you think they will serve?”

  • • •

  Lizzie sat at the table, eating the cold repast of cheese and meats and hard, almost stale bread without tasting it, conversing when required without being fully aware of what she was saying. Her attention kept straying to where Nate sat at the end of the table, chatting amicably with Lady Maude, who sat to his right.

  Nate had rarely taken the midday meal at home in New York. As she had often been with him at his office, she knew he did in fact eat, although usually at a nearby tavern. There were very few of those establishments in New York that a respectable woman could frequent. She imagined England was likely similar, although once the thought struck her she was curious. There were so many differences between here and America, most so subtle they were hard to identify. Even the air felt different and the land looked different. The people did too.

  Just as Nate did at this moment. There was nothing new about his appearance, and yet… He appeared different. Golden and untouchable. Aristocratic.

  Her heart panged and her chest tightened. She took a deep breath, chiding herself silently for the foolish reaction. He was no more or less untouchable than he had been two months earlier. The only difference was that three people had not sat between Nate and her at the dining table based on precedence.

  The young woman sitting next to Lady Maude was Mrs. Ford, whose husband, the land agent, was sitting at the table as well. Mr. Ford and Nate had had their private conference before the meal, and Lizzie was curious what had been said. The two men seemed quite comfortable in each other’s company despite only knowing each other for a matter of hours. Although she knew Nate to be a quick judge of character, she could not imagine that such a brief time allowed him enough opportunity to assess whether Mr. Ford had truly stepped up into his position as land agent after his predecessor had proven to have criminal intent.

  Lizzie was not as quick to judgment. All too aware that her doubt colored her first impressions of others, she kept her impressions mutable as long as possible. Yet she had formed instant impressions of each person she met.

  The governess, Miss Vere, and his new ward, Thomas, were not present, but Mrs. Ford explained that they usually took their meals in the schoolroom. John’s quick, panicked look made Lizzie resolve to discuss the matter with Nate. Even if John would be expected to do as Thomas did, perhaps some allowances could be made as they settled into their new lives.

  Their new lives. She glanced at Nate again. At that moment he looked very much at ease. And why should he not? After all, he had grown up in England. He understood these people and their expectations. And now, as a duke, there were few more powerful and revered in the land than he.

  But none of them knew the Nate she knew. She clung to that thought through the meal and through the long afternoon. After all, that was why she was here, taking on a position for which she had no training. Risking everything simply to be with him for a moment longer.

  • • •

  After lunch, Nate sent for Mr. Coyne. From what Mr. Ford had said, it seemed the matter of the stables was one of great discussion as the estate struggled with the overly cold year and the ruined harvest.

  Although he knew little of agriculture and livestock, Nate understood money. He had made his own fortune, had worked hard that first year in the United States until he’d made enough money to speculate in a supposedly played-out copper mine. From there he’d bought another, and then he’d invested in several shipping ventures to Canada, South America, and around the cape to the Spanish colonies. Although he had traveled to few of those locales, he’d speculated in stocks and purchased land that he thought would one day be on main routes across the expanded American territories. He’d managed shop owners and farmers and had a team of men who collected rents and reported to him. In New York, he was well known among the bankers and the businessmen. He was invited out into the highest echelons of society, but aside from the occasional play or other evening entertainment, participating in that whirl had not interested him.

  There was a certain excitement to facing a new challenge. Despite the similarities between managing the Beckworth holdings and managing his empire in America, there were differences as well, ones that would force him to find creative solutions, and there was nothing Nate enjoyed more than solving those type of problems.

  After Mr. Coyne left, Nate stood up and stretched. The day’s discussion had only been scratching at the surface of a mountain of work. But now he had a better sense of what that mountain of work entailed. He left the study, which was overly ornate and would need some redecorating for him to truly feel at home, and searched for Lizzie.

  He found her in conference with the cook in the Blue Parlor, aptly named for the blue fabric above the wainscoting. Her dark head bent over a sheet of foolscap lifted as he entered. Her lips turned up in a smile, and his mood lifted as well.

  “Good afternoon,” Nate greeted them. “Miss Smith, I thought I’d see if you would care to take a turn about the gardens before the sun sets.”

  “Yes, I would love to. We should be finished momentarily…”

  Although she invited him to sit, he was aware that his presence was making the cook nervous. Instead, he had a servant fetch their outer coats and awaited Lizzie in the hall, where he studied the paintings that lined the walls. They were simple landscapes, nothing overly impressive or valuable. He tried to make out the signature of one piece and determined it was likely the work of some previous inhabitant of the house.

  When Lizzie stepped out of the room, some tension he hadn’t known he’d carried eased out of him.

  “Shall we?”

/>   Neither of them had had a full tour of the house yet, but Beckworth Park seemed to be built on a classic E shape, and they were currently in the northernmost wing.

  With their coats slung over his arm, their silence punctuated by the occasional laugh about seemingly nothing, they meandered through the hallway until they reached a room that looked out onto the vast gardens and where a door opened up onto a veranda. He helped her settle her cloak about her shoulders, and then they stepped out into the cold air. The day was overcast, and it seemed much later that it actually was.

  He let out a long breath, more tension leaving his body. He hadn’t realized how much comfort he derived from Lizzie’s presence, how much he needed this… grounding… until that moment.

  He breathed in deeply again and took in the vista of the north gardens in the gray light. Rolling lawns lined with groves of trees looked out over a lake in the distance. He thought he spotted some sort of architectural folly on the right side of the lake.

  “What do you think of Beckworth, Lizzie?”

  She laughed. “It’s… enormous.”

  “It is,” he agreed. Not only the size of the house and estate, but the title itself and all the meaning it conferred. And the estate needed guidance and wisdom that he could only hope to employ. There was much to learn. “Thank you for joining me here. I do depend on you. Simply seeing you sitting with the cook, I am confident that my preferences will be known and that they will be weighed with what is best for Beckworth.”

  She laughed. “It is quite simple to explain you prefer fowl to beef and that morning chocolate is one of your few vices. But despite the ample spread today, from what Mrs. Pemberley and Mrs. Clyde have suggested, the weather this year has limited the variety and availability of food. Bread itself must be imported and is quite expensive.”