by Gill, Tamara
He stared at her nonplused and she kept her smile firmly on her lips. At least if he’d gone to Scotland she’d not be forced to host dinner parties and think of things to say to please their guest. In future, no matter what her father said, she would agree, but then not follow through on any such ideas. Her father had not taken part in the evening in any case, he may as well have stayed in the library where he was most comfortable for all the conversation he’d taken part in.
“Sophie tolerated the birth well. I will travel up to Moy in the coming months after I finish moving into Ashby Cottage. I wish to lord about the house and grounds for some weeks and think myself very grand and important. I must act, you see, just as my betters do. People such as yourself. I have little doubt that you keep a steely eye on all those working for the estate.”
She raised one brow. Had he really said what he just did? Clara took a sip of wine, watching him over the rim of the crystal glass. “I do of course, just as any proficient landlord should. You forget, Mr. Grant, I’m an educated woman in possession of a brain and know how to keep not just one, but multiple estates running well.”
“Clara dear, do you think the roses are happy being on our table? They look a little sad to me.”
Mr. Grant turned his attention to the roses, reaching out to pick one. “I think, your Grace, that they are the happiest when before those who appreciate beauty, like now, as the centerpiece of your dining table.”
Clara did not know what to say to Mr. Grant’s kind words to her father. Very few, except for her father’s valet, the butler and housekeeper knew that the Duke was falling ill of mind. Mr. Grant being here this evening could soon change that fact. He’d likely tell everyone he knew that the Duke of Law was addled completely.
He’d take pleasure in embarrassing her and her family she was sure, a revenge of sorts after the many years that they had not gotten along.
“You look a little tired, Papa. Do you want me to ring for James?”
Her father’s eyes cleared and just like that she knew he was with them again. “Not yet, my dear. The night is still early.” He turned to Mr. Grant. “I’m going to go on a fox hunt tomorrow. Have some friends coming up from London for the sport. Would you like to join me?”
Clara inwardly sighed as the fox hunt her father was talking about took place two years ago shortly before his decline.
“That would be wonderful, your Grace. I shall be here before eleven.”
The Duke stood, seemingly finished with the conversation and Clara watched as he wandered about the room before walking out the door. She turned to a waiting footman. “Please escort the Duke to his room. James will take over from there.”
“Of course, Lady Clara,” the servant said, bowing and leaving to do as she bid.
She read the confusion in Mr. Grant’s gaze and knew there was little she could do but to explain, as best she could in any case.
“Apologies for my father, Mr. Grant, over the last several months his heath has declined, his memory most of all. I need you to understand that there is no fox hunt tomorrow. The fox hunt he invited friends up from London for took place two years ago around this time, but we have not hosted one since.”
He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I’m very sorry to hear this, Lady Clara. You will tell me if there is anything that I can do. I know we’re not the best of friends, but all of that is forgotten when one is in need.”
She hoped she could believe that with this man. Certainly in the past he’d had an uncanny ability to speak his mind and to go into battle for those he thought were being mistreated. She’d certainly been on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from him a time or two.
“Thank you for understanding. The doctor does not seem to know what has brought this ailment on, but he believes it’ll be lifelong.” Horrifyingly, tears sprung to her eyes at the thought of her father succumbing to his illness and she blinked furiously, lest the one man she was loath to see her upset saw her rattled.
“Truly, my lady. I’m sorry that this has happened to the Duke and yourself. I should not have come here tonight.”
She waved his concerns aside, knowing there would be many more days like this one where her father would be vague before guests and tongues would start to wag. “Father invited you, and no matter that sometimes he does not seem to know where he is or what he’s doing, having a little normalcy to his life is all I can do for him. If a friend visits, or he invites a new neighbor to dine with us, I will not stop him. In those moments when he is his old self, and I have not done what he’s asked, I would never hear the end of his displeasure, so it’s easier to be complicit.”
Mr. Grant chuckled, the sound deep and warm. Clara studied his strong jaw, straight nose and features that were similar to those of his sisters’. He had a pleasing face for a man who was not nobility and did not come from such exalted stock. Her attention snapped to his attire, his wide, broad shoulders and arms that bulged a little under his superfine coat when he cut into his meal. For all that they were enemies, Clara could admit that as a woman looking at a man, he was far superior to the many men she knew. Pity he was so very far beneath her notice and social status.
* * *
Stephen cut into his venison and tried to eat his meal as quickly as he could. Seated across from Lady Clara, he had the odd sensation that she was sizing him up and finding fault. He chanced a look at her and yes, sure as the sun rose in the east, she was inspecting him. He inwardly swore. Please do not think of me romantically. He wasn’t interested.
When he married… No, if he married, he’d marry a woman who knew a day’s hard work, a woman who was capable, intelligent and empathetic to those less fortunate. A woman who knew how to survive without servants at her every beck and call. Not like the duke’s daughter across from him. He doubted Lady Clara knew what a broom was. Not that he would expect his wife to do such menial chores—they would have servants for such matters—but he wanted to know that she at least was capable. He certainly was.
He picked up his glass of wine, taking a sip. He would not let what Lady Clara told him about her father sway his idea of the woman. Her tongue was still as sharp as a blade, and the insults they’d passed between them were too many to count. Far too many to forgive.
He would, however, help her should she need it in regard to her father. To see a man well respected and liked within the society be brought low by illness was never a pleasant thing.
“If I should be fortunate enough to meet your father again, I will not make a scene should he become fuddled or confused, you have my word. Now that I know he’s suffering from such an illness, I shall do my very best should I see him to keep him out of harm’s away.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grant. That is a comfort to me.”
Stephen pushed his plate away. A footman offered dessert and he declined. It was time he returned home and he was sure Lady Clara wished to check in on her father in any case. “Please thank your father for the invitation to dinner, but I think I should return home. It’s been a pleasure, Lady Clara.”
She watched him from across the table, a small smile playing about her lips. “A little advice, Mr. Grant. Such words are normally spoken when one is taking their leave, near the front door or in the parlor after dinner. Not at the dining table.”
And there she was again, the little so and so who couldn’t help but criticize him or his conduct. He stood, walking to the door and leaving her gaping after him. “Goodnight, Lady Clara,” he said at the threshold. “I do hope this door is adequate enough for me to take my leave, or do you want to escort me into the hall to satisfy your rules?”
He heard her annoyed sigh and left. The woman bothered him terribly. There was something about her that niggled under his skin like a maggot in cheese.
“Perfectly adequate, thank you,” she called after him, taking the last word.
Stephen took his greatcoat from a waiting footman, the cool, fresh country air minimizing his annoyance at L
ady Clara just a little. He waited while his horse was brought around and looked out over the ducal lands. The gardens were manicured, not a blade of grass dared be out of place, and even from where he stood, and the encroaching dark, he could tell the property would be even more magnificent during daylight hours.
Maybe if he were invited here again he would get a chance to see its glory. It was certainly the only thing he wished to see at the estate. Certainly the daughter was not a priority in future travels.
Chapter 3
Several days later, Clara sat under ferns at the base of the garden. She squinted, focusing on a large hare that sat in the grass looking about for any threats. Clara adjusted her rifle that sat atop a fallen tree log in her hand, trying to get a better position.
The housekeeper had asked her about tonight’s dinner and her father had requested rabbit. She’d not seen one of those yet today, but a hare would do well enough and her father would not know the difference.
It sat still, not moving from its own cover and Clara wondered if it would ever walk out into the open so she may have a clean shot.
A bird flew out of the brush and the hare darted away and out of sight. She cursed the little devil and stood, knowing she would have little chance of catching him now that he’d been spooked.
“Maybe tomorrow, Lady Clara,” the gamekeeper said, a rifle over his arm and a small smile playing about his mouth. Mr. Wilson had been with the family for as long as Clara could remember. Her father was especially fond of him and his knowledge of animals and wildlife was beyond comprehension.
“Perhaps, but today will not be the day. Father is quite adamant he has rabbit, so do you think you could try and shoot one if you have time?”
He tipped his hat, reaching out a hand to take her gun as she gained her feet. “Of course, my lady. I will ensure the dining table has rabbit on it this evening for his Grace.”
“Thank you.” She turned toward the house when the sound of voices carried over to her. She stumbled at seeing Mr. Grant walking toward her with her father. He was looking at her curiously, and she could hazard a guess as to why. She supposed he’d not thought her capable of catching her own food. Which, in truth, she had not done today, but on many other days she’d had more success. Clara leaned up and kissed her father’s cheek. “Papa. Mr. Grant. How lovely to see you again so soon.”
Mr. Grant looked over to where their gamekeeper stood. Clara turned and watched as Mr. Wilson adjusted the guns and then walked into the trees.
“Lady Clara, I did not know you knew how to hunt.”
She took her father’s arm, leading him back toward the house. “There are a great many things I should imagine you do not know about me, Mr. Grant.”
“She’s an excellent shot,” her father added to the conversation. Clara smiled, a burst of happiness filling her that her father should remember such a detail. There were times when she wondered if he recognized her, never mind what she was capable of.
“I’m not so very good at using a gun. I was not part of any shooting or fox hunting parties when growing up.”
The reminder that Mr. Grant had been poor as a child eliminated the barb that she was about to say about a gentleman’s worth when one could not shoot. Similar to those little insults often heaped onto a woman’s shoulders. That being if they could not sew, draw or play the piano. Instead, Clara found herself saying, “Having your own estate now, Mr. Grant, we shall have to remedy that lapse.”
Her father patted her hand with vigor. “Of course. Of course you shall. That is the best idea, my dear. And as you’re so proficient in it, you shall be the one to teach Mr. Grant.”
Mr. Grant mumbled reasons as to why that would not suit at the same time that Clara pointed out the facts as to why she could not teach him. She would need a chaperone and the gamekeeper was already too busy and so too was her maid to go trudging around the estate teaching a man how to shoot a gun.
“Nonsense,” her father said, quelling both their words. “You’re more than capable, Clara, and now that we’re home you have time on your side. A day or two each week is not too much to ask for our new neighbor.”
Clara fought not to show the dismay that coursed through her at the idea of teaching Mr. Grant anything. They were not friends, having never got along well in the past, and should her father be of his right mind, he would never allow her to escort an unmarried gentleman about the grounds for a shooting lesson. The idea was atrocious.
Not to mention that they could have a disagreement and she’d be tempted to shoot him in the foot!
“If you wish, Papa. Of course I’ll help Mr. Grant learn the ways of a gentleman.”
Mr. Grant met her eyes and she saw the challenge in them. She also recognized that he was dearly fighting to hold back some caustic remark that would annoy her.
She smiled. “Shall we return to the house for tea?” she asked, all sweetness.
Her father nodded, pulling her forward. “That sounds just the thing.”
* * *
Hmm, yes, just the thing. Stephen caught up to the Duke and Lady Clara, his hands itching not to strangle the little minx who at any opportunity afforded to her, bothered him. He no more wanted to learn how to shoot with her than she wanted to teach him. He was only here to see the Duke and ask if it would be all right for him to fish in the river that ran adjacent to his property and was owned by his Grace.
Another neighbor had said that there was good perch to be caught in the Duke’s stream, but it was unlikely he’d allow him to fish there, stating his Grace was quite protective of his own fish and game. Not that he’d had any trouble in gaining approval, the Duke only seemed too happy to allow him to fish there after he’d asked.
“Oh, and by the by, my dear, I’ve given Mr. Grant the right to fish in our stream. You know the place, up near farmer Coe’s cottage, on the bend where it is deepest.”
She glanced at him in surprise. Obviously she was quite aware that her father did not give approval for such occupations often. “As long as Mr. Grant does not fish it out.”
Stephen fought not to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of the comment. “I’m sure I can control myself, Lady Clara. There will be plenty of fish left for you.” And bullheaded came to mind when he thought of her.
She raised her chin, not deigning to reply. They strode for a time in quiet, just the sounds of the birds and the gardeners who worked in the beds could be heard. Stephen thought over the Duke, and his mannerisms and words the last two days. There was certainly something not quite right, and after Lady Clara’s warning yesterday, he’d seen flashes of the Duke’s mind coming and going. Even in the last half hour that he’d been here the Duke had been vague one minute and sharp the next. How much longer would Lady Clara be able to look after him by herself? And would the disease, whatever it was, become worse to the point that the Duke did not know or recognize anyone about him? Even his daughter?
A terrible thought, but one could not help but have it after observing him.
“Mr. Grant will not fish us out, my dear. I see no harm in it. Many people fish there and we’ve never had any issues yet with stock numbers.”
Lady Clara rubbed her father’s arm, a confused frown between her brows. “Papa, you never allow anyone to fish there, remember? Mr. Grant is the first you’ve ever approved.”
His Grace stared at Lady Clara and Stephen could read the confusion, the blankness behind the eyes. The poor soul had no idea he’d given him the first approval ever.
“No, you must be mistaken, Clara. I cannot see myself being so difficult to my neighbors who requested such leave.”
“Perhaps I’m mistaken, Papa,” she conceded, obviously not willing to press the point. “Let us go indoors before it rains. I think there is weather coming in.”
They walked up to the terrace and Stephen went ahead, opening the terrace door for the Duke. Clara stopped at the threshold, staring up at him. Her defiant chin rose, and her wide, blue eyes stared down her pert nose at him
. How she managed it since she was shorter than he was, was beyond him. But she did and he found himself drawn to taking in every nuance, every little freckle that flittered across her nose and cheeks. He’d thought her skin had been perfectly unblemished, but it was not and it only made her more approachable, more real. He ground his teeth. He would not see her as an attractive woman. He’d be betraying himself should he stoop to such a level.
“You need not stay, Mr. Grant. You have your approval from Papa, no need to have tea.”
He feigned injury, clasping his chest in mock pain all the while holding the door open. “You wound me, my lady. If I leave now, how will I ever recover from not taking tea with the most sought-after woman in the ton at her country estate? My reputation will never recover.”
“Are you two coming in or are you going to have a tête-à-tête in the doorway for the remainder of the day?”
The Duke’s words pulled him from thoughts of how fun it was to annoy the chit who stared up at him with loathing. He knew why she hated him so much—he’d been poor, and his sister had married her future betrothed. In her mind in any case.
The thought of her being married soured his temper and he stalked indoors, leaving her standing in the doorway alone.
She gasped and he ignored her shock. Stephen bowed before the Duke. “I thank you for the invitation for tea, your Grace, but I must be off. I hired a man of business and have to meet him this afternoon to discuss the estate and lands.”
“Do not let us keep you, Mr. Grant.” Lady Clara flopped down on a nearby settee, reaching for the teapot that a servant had brought in without having to be told. How delightful it must be to have people waiting on them hand and foot. He’d become accustomed to a similar lifestyle, but it never sat well with him. To this day he felt as though he were impersonating someone else, should be the one serving the lords and ladies instead of taking tea with them.
