The Duchess Takes it All

Chapter Eight

Christian glared at the document in his hand and again cursed his cousin. If the man wasn’t already deceased, Christian would smother him with his own paperwork. The only reason the estate wasn’t in complete shambles was because the seemingly vast resources and incomes it collected from its various properties and investments—that had been heavily augmented by Rupert’s marriage to Tamsin—had thankfully been wisely managed by the competent managers who had been left in charge.

But the former duke had already been well on his way to squandering the fortune Tamsin had brought into the marriage and had done precious little to maintain any sort of order in either his bookkeeping or the running of the estate as a whole. There were stacks of reports and accountings spread throughout not only the office but the library, salon, master bedroom… One ledger had even been found under a potted palm in the conservatory. And nothing was in any sort of logical order.

Their saving grace was likely the fact that the former duke’s own father had maintained excellent records and lived a very long life, leaving his son little time to destroy what he’d so carefully built. Despite his cousin’s advanced age when he’d died, he’d only been the duke for a little less than a decade. Enough time to make a mess of things and whittle his fortune down to the point he needed to marry a wealthy heiress, untitled though she might have been.

His previous wives had been titled but hadn’t brought a great deal of wealth with them. Without Tamsin’s fortune, the estate would likely be bankrupt. Thankfully, the former duke had not had enough time to completely decimate the estate or fortune attached to it. But it would take Christian weeks to straighten everything out.

The knock at his door wasn’t entirely unwelcome. The ache that had begun to form behind his eyes was only building in its intensity. A break would not come amiss. Though he was also loath to quit as he had finally been making some headway.

He called out, “Enter,” and placed the document in a new stack on his desk before moving to the next one on his pile.

He glanced up as the door opened and immediately stood to greet the duchess.

“Meine Herzogin.”

She blinked, her perfect, plump lips open slightly in surprise, and he bit his lip, trying not to outwardly cringe. Not only was it not the appropriate way to address her, she was not, and never would be, his duchess. Or his anything, for that matter. And he hadn’t meant to slip into German. Again. He couldn’t seem to help it around her. The woman had a decided knack for flustering him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, hoping she would ignore his slip…and the increasingly possessive meaning behind it.

She gave him a hesitant smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, my lord, but you said I should come to you if I had any issues…”

He gestured to the chair in front of the desk. “Of course, please come sit,” he said, a rush of gratification that she had come to him filling his chest. And mere days after their discussion. Perhaps there was some hope they could be friends after all.

She gracefully sank into her chair and waited for him to retake his seat.

“Now, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“James, it seems, has grown out of his clothing yet again. He grows so quickly!”

His brow creased. Of all the reasons she could have come to him for help, that was not one that had occurred to him. Why was she telling him this? “That seems to be what children do best.”

“Indeed. So…”

He raised a brow. “So?”

“Do you have any suggestions on where to get him new clothing? And indeed, on what type of clothing should be purchased? I wouldn’t want my poor choices to affect his standing. I realize he is young,” she said, heading off his comment, “but that just means I must be even more careful not to start him off on the wrong foot. Especially now that he has begun playing more with the Duke of Beaubrooke’s little son. He will not only be seen by his peers, but by their parents. It would never do to have him inappropriately dressed.”

Surely there were better people to ask than he. Not only was this an issue that a man wouldn’t normally undertake—aside from paying the bill, of course—but he wasn’t familiar enough with the area to offer a suggestion. In fact, he was nearly positive she didn’t truly need his assistance.

Then again, she made a good point about her son being seen at the Beaubrookes’. Not that a toddler’s clothing made much difference. But if the wrong material were chosen or…

He rubbed his head again, tempted to call her out on this nonsense so he could get back to work. However…he had told her to ask him when she needed something, so he could hardly turn her away.

He chose his words carefully. “Being new to this area, I’m afraid I can’t provide guidance on where you should go.”

“This is my problem as well, my lord. There is a seamstress in London who typically makes his clothes for me. I had thought to wait until we return to purchase new clothing. However, I do not know when that will be. And living in the country is harder than I anticipated on his clothing…”

Christian nodded. That made sense. “If the young duke requires new clothing, he should certainly have it. Perhaps one of our neighbors could better advise you. Or mayhap there is a seamstress in the village who could make adequate clothing for His Grace.”

Her face brightened. “Now that you mention it, I believe our cook Mrs. Sorrell’s daughter is an accomplished seamstress. Perhaps she would be amenable to making some clothes for James.” She gave him a brilliant smile and stood up to leave. “Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded, though his brow still creased with a slight frown. He hadn’t really suggested anything that shouldn’t have already occurred to her. But…as long as he could be of some assistance…

He shook his head and got back to work.

Not more than a quarter of an hour later, another knock sounded at his door. And again, the duchess entered. He smiled, though he couldn’t imagine what would bring her back in so soon. Perhaps she had forgotten something the first time.

“Your Grace,” he said, taking care to give her a friendly smile. At least he’d kept his wits about him and addressed her correctly this time. “I confess I am surprised to see you again so soon, though you are always a welcome distraction.”

He was surprised by how much he meant that.

Her cheeks flushed. “I sincerely apologize, my lord. I had meant to ask you something else earlier, and it just slipped my mind.”

He waved that off. “It is no matter. What can I do for you?”

She pulled a piece of paper out of her skirt pocket. “Mrs. Sorrell wishes for me to approve the menu for this evening and—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “I am sorry, Your Grace, but…” He hesitated, trying to make sure he broached this tactfully. She hadn’t broached this subject with him once since he’d been there, so he’d assumed she knew, but perhaps she’d been leaving such things to the servants prior. Considering her upbringing, she may genuinely not understand how such matters were handled. “In most households, the menu is typically overseen by the lady of the house and—”

“Oh yes, I am aware, my lord.”

He dragged in a breath through his nose. “Then why—”

“I thought perhaps you and Lord Feldhagen might have a request or two, or something you do not care for. You have been with us several weeks, and now that I have spare time on my hands, I am just realizing that I have never asked if either of you have any special preferences. So I thought perhaps I should ask…”

Her reasoning was sound, he supposed. Thoughtful even. If a bit annoying. “That is very kind of you, Your Grace. But I assure you, Lord Feldhagen and I will be quite happy to eat whatever you wish to serve. I will leave that, and all other household matters,” he said, hoping she understood the emphasis, “entirely in your hands.”

“Oh. Very well, then. I shall endeavor to present you with the most scrumptious meals available.”

She beamed at him, and a small twang of guilt washed over him. The woman was just trying to ensure his comfort. An even greater nicety considering how at odds they often were.

“That would be lovely, Your Grace. My sincere thanks. Now, if there is anything else…”

She shook her head and stood. “I apologize for the interruption. It shan’t happen again.”

“That is quite all right, Your Grace. Whenever you need me…”

The smile she flashed him sent a rush of warmth through him. Though he was beginning to think he’d have cause to regret his original offer. Still, he couldn’t rescind it now. And he did truly want her to come to him with any problems she had. As long as they were actual problems, that was. He only had a few months left to get everything in order, and he needed every moment.

“I shall leave you to your work,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder while she hurried out.

Christian’s lips twitched despite himself. He shook his head as he retook his seat, letting out a long breath as he did so. If Frederick was around, he’d have him sit in front of the door to guard against any further interlopers. But the man had disappeared again directly after breakfast. Something about going riding. He always seemed to be galloping off lately. If Christian wasn’t so busy trying to create some order out of the chaos before him, he’d take the time to find out where Frederick was going every day.

Unfortunately, the pile of paperwork before him was still daunting, so his curiosity would have to wait. Though he had been making headway. And would make even greater headway if he could get a few minutes of peace and qui—

There was another knock at the door, and he closed his eyes with a groan. “Yes?” he barked, not bothering to mask his annoyance. He fully expected the duchess to come bustling in again, but this time it was a footman, carrying in the morning’s correspondence that had just arrived.

He thanked him and added the letters to his already overflowing pile. No sooner had the door closed than it burst open again. The duchess rushed toward him, carrying her son in her arms, her face the picture of maternal concern.

His annoyance instantly turned to concern. “Your Grace. What is wrong? Is His Grace ill?”

“I do not know,” she said, thrusting the boy at him.

Christian’s mouth dropped open, and he sputtered as he held the child beneath his armpits, his feet dangling in the air. He’d only held a child a few times in his life, the recent carriage ride included. And none of the children in question had been screaming and in a state of supreme dishevelment at the time. Neither he nor the young duke were thrilled with their current situation. Christian only lamented that he couldn’t express his displeasure in the same way that the young duke did, or he too would be screeching into the ether.

“See here,” the duchess said, pointing at a spot on the boy’s cheek. “He has this strange spot. It wasn’t there yesterday and now look.” She pointed at it again. “What could it be? Do you think he is ill? Should I send for the doctor?”

“Madam, I—” He stopped and peered closer at the offending spot. He grimaced and plunked the child back in her arms. “It appears to be a bit of marmalade, madam.”

She frowned deeply. “What? No, that can’t be…” She wiped at the spot, which came off easily on her finger. Her eyes narrowed. “I suppose. But…what if it is some sort of strange boil or—”

Christian rolled his eyes, grabbed her finger, and sucked it into his mouth. Her gasp made him freeze, belatedly realizing what he’d just done. He removed her finger, somewhat stunned she hadn’t immediately yanked it away. And he was going to go straight to hell, but he couldn’t help sucking slightly as he did so.

Her breath caught in her throat in an adorable little hiccup that had all the blood in his body rushing south so quickly it made him a bit dizzy.

He cleared his throat, though his voice still came out gruff and gravelly. “As I said, marmalade.”

She said nothing for several heartbeats, just stared up at him, her mouth still slightly open as she drew in one shaking breath after another.

“Mama!” James said, squirming in her arms with a childish giggle, his momentary distress completely forgotten.

The duchess sucked in a sharp breath and withdrew the hand Christian still held so she could better support James.

“I…” She cleared her own throat and forced an embarrassed laugh. “You are right. It was only marmalade. I…I feel so silly. I’m sorry for the interruption, my lord. I…” She shook her head and snuggled her child to her bosom. A sight that made Christian’s confirmed bachelor heart constrict and, for the briefest of moments, he thought of how she’d look cradling his child.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image. A difficult task with the taste of her marmalade-sweetened skin still on his tongue. The woman was going to be the death of him.

“It’s quite all right,” he finally said, holding up his hand to stop her apologies. “If you will just…try to keep the interruptions to a minimum?”

Her eyes widened, and she looked for all the world like a puppy who had just been chastised. Guilt spiked through him, hot and fast. Especially after such inappropriate behavior on his part.

“I do want you to come to me if you need me,” he added, “but if I do not make more progress on all these accounts, it could take me months to get everything in order, and my time here is not unlimited.”

And he knew very well the last thing she wanted was him in her hair for any longer than necessary.

“Of course, my lord.” She’d already regained her composure. Impressive, since he still felt seconds from dragging her into his arms and seeing what the rest of her tasted like.

“I am truly sorry for all the interruptions,” she said, though her gaze remained riveted on his lips. “In London, I would have simply sent for the physician. I have not had the need of one while at Herringbrook before. I should have just sent to the village.” She shook her head with a self-deprecating laugh. “You won’t see me again unless there is a dire emergency.”

He gave her a smile that brought another becoming blush to her cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

She smiled shyly, picked up her son’s hand to make him wave goodbye to Christian, and hurried from the room.

Christian returned to his desk and dropped into his chair, scrubbing his hands over his face. Why had he done such a thing? He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to do so. Her finger was just there, and she’d looked so enticing, and all right, yes, perhaps he’d wanted to rattle her just a little bit. But he never meant to suck on her finger or any other part of her—

He cut off that line of thought with a groan, not sure if he wanted to laugh or scream. Possibly both. How had one woman so completely turned his life upside down in a matter of weeks?

And why, despite how supremely aggravating he found it, was he looking at the door with an air of anticipation?