The Perfect Kiss

by Anne Gracie

  Jake Tasker turned with leashed impatience. “Grandad, shut your gob and come home with me. There be no work for Taskers here.”

  The old man stayed put. “Six ’undred years,” he repeated stubbornly.

  Dominic ignored him. It was nothing to him how long the old man’s family had worked here. Six hundred years, sixty, or six—it made no difference. It was just employment—work for money, nothing more.

  “And the Lady told us to come.”

  He was a very irritating old man. Dominic turned an icy glare on him.

  The old man let out a gleeful cackle. “Look at that! Cold as an hoarfrost those eyes be. Ah, ye be a true Wolfe o’ Wolfestone, young maister. The blood o’ Hugh Lupus runs cold and fast in ye.”

  Dominic blinked. He’d been perfecting that chilling stare since he was a boy. He must be losing his touch. Not only had it completely failed to abash Miss Greystoke, now it caused an old man to cackle with delight and congratulate him on it!

  And he did not want it to be something passed down through generations; it was his freezing look, dammit!

  Jake Tasker gave his grandfather a burning look and began to trudge toward the driveway. Dominic frowned. He needed to speak with Tasker. There were discrepancies in the estate accounts and Dominic had a feeling this man could help him understand exactly what had gone on. He liked the man’s steady blue gaze.

  “Tasker, where the devil do you think you’re going?”

  “Leaving.”

  “Come back here!” Dominic ordered.

  The man hesitated, then said, “No point. I’ll not stay to be insulted.”

  “No one has offered you insult. But I wish to talk to you, in private,” Dominic said firmly.

  Tasker considered his words, then, with a grudging air, returned and sat himself down beside the old man.

  Dominic turned back to the other men. He sent two of them to clear up the kitchen garden, two to chop wood and do whatever Mrs. Stokes wanted them to do, and the rest he set to scything the long grass at the front and cleaning out the stables. He would organize a proper schedule of work to begin tomorrow.

  Next were a trio of pretty young girls who bobbed flirtatious curtsies and giggled. “Please, sir,” said the tallest. “We be the Tickel girls—Tansy, Tessa, and Tilly—and we be here to clean.”

  Tickel girls indeed! Dominic kept a straight face.

  The smallest added, “And Mam sent some lemons up for the young miss, too.” She proffered a string bag of lemons.

  Dominic nodded. “Take them in to Mrs. Stokes. She will set you girls to work. You other women.” His glance took in the rest. “Report to Mrs. Stokes also.”

  They all trooped off to the kitchen and his gaze came to rest on the shriveled little frame of Grandad Tasker, sitting on the bench. The old fellow eyed him with beady expectation. Eighty, if he were a day, Dominic thought. What the devil was he to do with such an ancient? “Mr. Tasker,” he said.

  Jake Tasker rose to his feet.

  “I meant Mr. Tasker senior,” Dominic corrected. The withered ancient clambered to his feet and straightened with an echo of a military past.

  “A man of your age—” Dominic began gently.

  The wrinkled face fell. Dominic cursed himself for a fool and continued, “And experience will be invaluable. I need you to, er . . .” He cast around in his mind for something the old man could do. “Supervise the young men who are clearing the grounds. You know what young men are like.”

  The old fellow swelled with pride. He gave his grandson a poke in the ribs and said, “See! Six hundred years ain’t fer nothin’. The Lady, she told us Taskers was needed agin! I’d better git off and see what them young layabouts is up to!” He creaked off with a sprightly air of importance.

  Jake Tasker rose slowly to his feet and fixed Dominic with a level gaze. “My grandad follows the old ways. He believes in the Lady and those others.”

  “Lady. What lady? You mean Miss Greystoke?”

  “According to my grandad she’s watched over the people o’ this valley for hundreds of years. Harbinger of good times, when the Lady comes, Grandad reckons.” He snorted. “Superstitious nonsense, I reckon.”

  Dominic agreed with him. Greystoke, watching over people for hundreds of years? What rubbish!

  “Taskers don’t take charity,” Jake Tasker said stiffly.

  Dominic nodded. “Good. I don’t offer it.”

  There had been mention of Taskers in the agent’s records. Something suspicious or damning, only he couldn’t recall what. “You had some disagreement with Mr. Eades, I understand.”

  “I did,” Tasker say calmly. His gaze never wavered.

  “I will be checking the estate records.”

  “You do that.” The man seemed unworried and Dominic decided to follow his instincts.

  “Can you read and write?”

  “I can.”

  “Good, then make up a list of what you think it will take to restore the estate.”

  Tasker gave him a narrow look. “You’re hiring me?”

  “Yes, I’ll give you a trial of one month in the position that Eades held. My own man will be arriving from London shortly, and I’ll listen to his advice, too, but in the meantime, you can see to what needs to be done.”

  Tasker’s eyes widened. “You’re putting me in charge? And yet you know what Eades said about me.” He shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “My word is my bond,” Dominic told him coldly. “I follow my own instincts where men are concerned. And you are here and Eades is gone—that speaks for itself. So, do we have an agreement?” He held out his hand and, after a moment, Tasker shook it.

  Dominic felt ridiculously pleased and could not work out why. What difference did it make if Tasker worked for him or not? Dominic was only putting the estate in sufficient order to break it up and sell it. And yet he did feel oddly pleased. The way he usually felt when a new venture had begun.

  Tasker hesitated, as wanting to say something.

  “What is it?”

  “You probably won’t have time, but if you’re passing by our cottage—”

  Dominic’s face hardened. Had his instincts been wrong about this man?

  “Mam would dearly love to meet Miss Beth’s son.”

  Dominic’s head snapped up. “What?” Beth was his mother’s name.

  Tasker’s steady eyes took in his surprise. “My mother was maidservant to your mother. Very fond of Miss Beth she was. Missed her mortal bad, she did when Miss Beth left. T’would please Mam no end to meet you.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “Doesn’t get out much, Mam. Crippled she is, see.”

  Dominic nodded. “I’ll see if I have time,” he said, having no intention of following up on it. His mother had never spoken a word about anyone who lived at Wolfestone. Not one single word, except to say, “You’ll know if ever you go there.” That told him all he needed to know. He was not going to waste time gratifying some woman’s curiosity.

  Chapter Eight

  For they conquer who believe they can.

  JOHN DRYDEN

  “HOW IS YOUR FATHER, MISS PETTIFER?” DOMINIC ASKED MELLY as she came out of her father’s room.

  She started and looked at him as if he were about to pounce. “H-he is resting,” she stammered.

  “Good, then you and I have leisure in which to chat.”

  She looked horrified. “Er, I was just going to have a cup of tea.”

  “This won’t take long, and I’d rather our chat was private,” he said smoothly and took her arm and led her down the hallway to a small sitting room. He whipped off the holland covers and invited her to sit. She perched on the edge of the chair, looking ready to bolt.

  He smiled to make her feel more at ease. She clutched the arms of the chair with white-knuckled hands.

  “I have been talking with your companion.”

  She blanched more. “R-really?” Her voice squeaked.

  “She tells me yo
u like foals.”

  Miss Pettifer’s mouth dropped open. “No. I am frightened of horses. Please do not say I must learn to ri—”

  “No. Perhaps I mistook her—perhaps she said you liked young creatures.” She looked at him blankly, so he made it clearer. “Babies. She said you liked babies.”

  “Ohh, that is what you’re getting at—I mean, yes, I do like babies. Very much.” She leaned forward suddenly intent. “Why? Have you changed your mind about a celib—”

  “No!” he said hurriedly.

  “Oh.” She sat back.

  There was a short silence as Dominic reviewed his tactics. He needed to learn what she really thought; the trouble was, she was so damned nervous of him. And if he handled it wrongly, it could make everything worse.

  “It strikes me that you must have been very young when this arrangement was made between your father and mine.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I must have been about nine.”

  “Have you always known of it?”

  “Oh, no. I only found out very recently.”

  “And it did not please you?”

  She blushed, glanced down at her knees for a long moment, and then looked up, flat despair in her eyes. “I think most girls would prefer to choose their own husband,” she whispered.

  “So you don’t want to marry me?”

  She looked terrified and for a moment he thought she might faint. He frowned. His question had not come out as subtly as he’d intended.

  “You may be entirely honest. I won’t hold it against you.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it, looked longingly at the door, gave him a look full of trapped misery, pulled out a handkerchief, and began to tie it into knots. He waited for her to complete this strange ritual, but the silence stretched and no words were forthcoming.

  “Well?”

  She jumped as if he’d leapt out from behind a sofa. “D-did Grace-Gracestoke tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Th-that, that, that . . .”

  He took pity on her and said in the sort of voice he used for nervous horses, “Greystoke told me nothing except that you loved children, babies, to be exact, and that I ought to talk to you about it.”

  It did not seem to reassure her.

  “Since I have no intention of getting you with child and my mind will not change on this issue, I wondered, have you talked to your father about it?”

  Her mouth opened and shut and she shook her head. Which enlightened him not at all.

  Dominic’s patience shredded. “Miss Pettifer, have you told your father you don’t want to marry me?”

  Her face contorted and he resigned himself to a display of female waterworks. “Yes, of course I’ve told him, but he is adamant that it is the best thing for me. We are so poor, you see. And now he is so ill, and he thinks he has settled my future securely . . .” She looked about to burst into tears. “I cannot upset him further.”

  Dominic stood up. “No, of course not.” He would have no such scruples. Sir John was the key to this. If the old man could be convinced that marriage to Dominic would make his daughter thoroughly miserable . . .

  “I’ll speak to him now, see if I can change his mind.”

  She jumped to her feet, her hands clasped tightly together. “What, now? You won’t upset him, will you?”

  “Of course not,” he lied.

  SIR JOHN LAY IN BED, PROPPED UP WITH PILLOWS. HE LOOKED FRAIL and ill, but his dark eyes were alive with intelligence.

  “Fetch me a minister!”

  “There is no minister available. The old one has retired and his replacement has not yet arrived. Are you feeling worse?”

  The old man gave an irritable gesture. “Worse, better, what is the difference when I’m stuck here in bed unable to do a thing!”

  “Would you like to be carried downstairs? The weather is warm and you could sit in the sun on a daybed.”

  He sniffed. “What good would that do?”

  The preliminaries over, Dominic said bluntly, “You know your daughter doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry her.”

  Sir John gave a wheezing chuckle. “Dear boy, I never wanted to marry Melly’s mother, either, and she positively disliked me, but marriage has a way of working things out. That woman became the love of my life.”

  Dominic blinked. It wasn’t what he’d expected. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t change the fact that I—”

  Sir John waved a thin hand, dismissing his unvoiced objections feebly. “My Melly is the dearest, most loving girl. You’ll come to love her, D’Acre, I know. You won’t be able to help it. I’ll lay odds she’s the sweetest-natured girl in England.”

  “I will be able to help it! I—”

  “Finest achievement of my life, that girl. Apart from marrying her dear mother.”

  “Sir John—”

  “On the road to ruin, I was. Rootless and rudderless. Her dear mother saved—”

  Dominic cut across his maunderings. “I understand a large part of your reason for wanting this marriage is to ensure your daughter is financially secure. I am willing to pay a substantial sum if you will release me from this obligation!”

  Sir John smiled. “She’ll be financially secure if she marries you. And she’ll have your protection. Needs a man to take care of her, my Melly. Innocent, softhearted little creature. Helpless on her own.”

  “Well, I won’t take care of her. I plan to abandon her at the church door!” Dominic told him.

  Sir John gave him a long, shrewd look. “No, you won’t.”

  “I damned well will!”

  Sir John shook his head. “Saw that dog of yours. Melly brought her up this morning. I’m fond of dogs.”

  Dominic frowned, bewildered at the turn of the conversation. “What the devil has my dog to do with this?”

  Sir John smiled and closed his eyes wearily. “Mixed breed, ain’t she? Mother a purebreed English retriever, father some mongrel at a guess. Pup should have been drowned at birth. Not a gentleman’s dog.” He opened one eye and said. “Lay you odds she’s gun-shy as well.” He saw the truth in Dominic’s face and smiled complacently. “See? You won’t abandon my helpless little girl to her own devices.”

  Cursing the old fox silently, Dominic rallied. “I won’t get her with child, you can guarantee that! I’m told she adores children. Would you condemn this beloved daughter to a barren, lonely life?”

  “No.” He closed his eyes again and Dominic waited in frustration. Then into the silence Sir John said, “Very feminine little creature, my Melly. You’ll fall for her after a time. No man could help it. Comes a time when a man gets tired of chasing after every skirt in town, and the woman he took for granted starts to grow in appeal.” He sighed. “She’ll get her babies in the end, you mark my words, young feller.”

  Dominic clenched his fists. The old man was as stubborn as a pig. He was so certain his beloved daughter was some siren, some irresistible beauty, damn it. If he wasn’t an invalid, Dominic might be able to shake some sense into him! As it was, he could only leave. He was about to leave, then a thought occurred to him.

  He leaned back in his chair and, crossing his leg, changed the subject. “Miss Pettifer’s companion, chaperone, whatever she is, what can you tell me about her?”

  Sir John opened one eye. “Why d’ye want to know? Not giving trouble, is she? Nice little thing, I thought, though in need of training. Keep her busy, that’s the ticket. Get her to clean up or something. This place is a disgrace!”

  “It’s beyond one small companion’s powers I fear.”

  The old man nodded. “Yes, so I gather. What provision have you made for repairs and refurbishment? You can’t expect my Melly to see to it. The place is a shambles. If you don’t do something soon, it will end up falling around everyone’s ears.”

  Dominic smiled. “It may fall with my good will.”

  Sir John’s jaw dropped. “But dammit, D’Acre, it’s Wolfestone!”

 
“I am aware of that.”

  “It’s the home of your ancestors! For more than six hundred years!”

  “I’m aware of that, too.” So that was part of the old man’s plan, Dominic thought. He wanted his daughter to be mistress of Wolfestone. He’d fix that. “I’m selling the estate.”

  “Good God, man, you can’t sell it! An unbroken line of Wolfes have been born here, back to Hugh Lupus and beyond! Every one of the Lords D’Acre since the title began!”

  “Not me,” said Dominic calmly. “I was born in Italy.”

  Sir John stared, his jaw agape. “Never have I seen such a disgraceful lack of family feeling!”

  “Yes, I know. Another reason for not marrying your daughter to me, I would have thought. Now about Miss Greystoke.” Dominic reminded him.

  “Eh? Who?”

  “Your daughter’s companion.”

  “What’s she got to do with this?” His mind was clearly still on the previous part of the conversation.

  “I am curious. Is she some poor relation?”

  Sir John gave a feeble snort. “Not likely! She’s a foundling or orphan or some such. One of Gussie’s orphans.”

  “Gussie’s orphans?”

  Sir John made a dismissive gesture. “Gussie Manningham as was. Now married to Sir Oswald Merridew.”

  Dominic frowned, trying to follow this. “The companion is the poor relation of the wife of Sir Oswald Merridew?”

  Sir John snorted again. “No, not her! She’s no relation to Gussie at all.”

  “Then why are we talking about Gussie?” Dominic said with great patience. “I asked about Miss Greystoke.”

  “Gussie is patroness of some orphan asylum for girls. Schools the brats up and trains them to be servants to the ton. Some of them have turned out quite well.” Sir John coughed, drank some of his cordial, then resumed his explanation. “Nearly everyone’s got one of Gussie’s orphans working somewhere in the house. We’ve got Greystoke. She’s still a little rough around the edges, but we’re training her up.”

  He gave Dominic a sudden suspicious look. “Why are you so interested in Greystoke? I forbid you to shame my Melly by sniffin’ around the skirts of her companion!”