The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

K it had to admit, when the chit emerged downstairs an hour later, he was mildly impressed. In truth, he had half thought she would cry off. Surely, further exploration of the manor would put off the most hardened of women, and if not, then the old house’s general noises, atmosphere, and staff should have done the trick—but she was still here.

Slowly he got to his feet when Miss Keating entered and made a slight bow of greeting. She had changed out of her wet travelling clothes, and in the soft light of the fireplace, he saw she now wore a simple evening gown of soft blue. It was not quite navy, nor royal, or pale enough to be periwinkle—but it suited her better than the sombre outfit she had been in previously.

Raising his eyes to her petite face, he saw her smile at Mrs. Clarke in some vague attempt to engage the housekeeper—a na?ve effort on Miss Keating’s part. It would be more helpful to try to charm the chill outside.

Mrs. Clarke departed, leaving Miss Keating and himself, with a large stretching table between them and the two-footmen setting out the food.

“Good of you to join me.” Kit sank back into his seat, indicating that Miss Keating should do the same. She was a great distance away from the flickering candles and an array of hastily prepared food was scattered haphazardly over the table. There were some cold cuts of meat, beef he thought, and rather more tempting was vegetable and chicken soup. From somewhere bread rolls had been found and a bottle of claret. It was not the stuff that London would have deemed “fine” by any stretch of the imagination, but his staff had tried to prepare dinner for guests, but he doubted it was what Miss Keating was used to.

“Of course, as my honoured host…” Miss Keating began.

“Would we go that far? After all, I don't have much choice in the matter. You are an uninvited guest to all intents and purposes…”

“Would you prefer to throw me out?” He saw a flash of a challenge on Miss Keating’s face as she settled more comfortably into her seat. She certainly had a flair for the dramatic which, although he was hardly immune himself, Kit did not know if he appreciated in her.

He sucked in a breath before continuing, “No indeed, but I would have preferred a little warning. I do not believe that to be unfair.”

Any sort of notice would have been nice—a letter from his uncle stating he was ill, a notice from the lawyer… anything. It was not every day that someone learnt they were a duke. Now most men of Kit’s acquaintance, when he’d had a social life at university, would have been delighted at this turn of events, but having never desired such a “blessing,” Kit could not muster a thrill at the news. Especially since he knew the sordid nature of his family’s modus operandi, and being forced to step into such a gilded cage left him dubious at best and at worst, angry. The title was not the gift most would view it as.

“This is delicious.” Miss Keating was smiling at one of the footmen, her face between the candles illuminated a gracious smile, one that caused a dimple in her left cheek. “Please thank your servants for their kindness.”

“We rarely see anyone down here, miss,” replied the footman, Creed, bobbing his head to her as he stepped back.

“Can’t say I blame anyone for that particular choice,” Kit said. “Your Mr. Holt could not bring himself to come down here…” Kit had dutifully read the letter in full, confused by the vagueness of the missive from a supposed man of business. His uncle was dead—that much was clear—but why it would be this opinionated, tiny female who the lawyer had sent down here baffled Kit. Finally, to add to the mystery, Mr. Holt’s letter gave no mention of Miss Keating. So, what she was doing in his manor was another matter entirely.

“He is hardly my Mr. Holt,” Miss Keating said, primly as she sipped her soup. “I only know the man because he works for my godfather.”

Before Kit could think of a suitable reply, there was a crashing noise from the dining room, and the side door swung open.

Into the chamber stumbled Kit’s younger sister, her hair wild and flowing, her dress ill-fitting and stained. She looked far younger than her seventeen years. The impression his sister gave, presumably to their guest and footmen, was of a staged version of Ophelia driven mad. His sister certainly fit the role. From her trailing, tangled locks, the spring flowers might be seen braided through her ringlets. However, the handful of twigs and dried mud would not be seen in such a romantic light.

Kit looked down the table at Miss Keating to see that the chit had gotten to her feet and was watching his sister with wide eyes.

With a forced grimace, Kit said, “This is my sister, Lady Flora.”

“Lovely to meet you, my lady. I am Miss Elspeth Keating.” Miss Keating gave his disordered sister a warm smile. As his sister swayed back and forth, her wide, staring eyes darted nervously around the room. “We have just started dinner. Would you care to join us?” Miss Keating indicated the table, although it had only been set for the two of them.

The suggestion landed flatly, and Kit tried his best to think of what to say to Miss Keating. What explanation could he give for his sister that would make sense to a stranger? When he himself was not sure of the answer, and neither were the doctors he had hired, none of them knew what was precisely wrong with her.

Lady Flora’s mouth opened, and her large eyes bored into his, so that she resembled a distressed, gaping fish desperate for air. Kit knew that look all too well. Flora would start to shriek, then at best run, or at worst, sink to the floor and require medicine to regain her equilibrium.

Before she could do any of this, Miss Keating had moved forward. Stepping towards Flora, and reaching out a hand to take the dirty, wavering fingers of Kit’s little sister. “I understand the news of today must be overwhelming.” Her tone was soft-spoken, gentle, and so quiet that Kit could not hear it, all Miss Keating’s concern was directed towards Flora.

Again, his sister’s eyes swept around the dining room before they focused on Miss Keating. Despite being the younger by at least six years, Flora was tall for her age and towered over Miss Keating. A frown creased her brow as the younger girl tried to make sense of the woman before her.

Leading Flora towards her own chair, Miss Keating encouraged Flora to sit, and proceeded to hand her a piece of buttered bread from her own plate.

“Is it not quite delicious?” She asked as she passed the slice to Flora.

To Kit’s surprise, Flora took the bread and slowly raised a chunk to her lips, before taking a tentative bite, and then nodding in reply to Miss Keating’s question. A strange sensation occurred in Kit’s belly at the sight despite her wild exterior Flora was acting almost normally. It dawned on him that it was the first time in months since their parents’ deaths that Flora looked like herself once more. There was even in the corner of her mouth the tiniest glimmer of a grin—a normal occurrence for her. She had always liked her food, but recently Flora had grown too thin. Perhaps Kit thought as he looked towards Miss Keating, someone vibrant and young like her, with tales of London would brighten up his poor sister, would offer the distressed younger girl a chance to see and look to the future.

The earlier intrusion seemed soothed, even when Creed brought a chair for Miss Keating to sit in, and she sank into the cushioned squab, and began cutting herself some cheese.

Kit copied her, his movements slow as the energy in the dining room seemed to quieten, to return to a sense of normality.

“You must send my compliments to your cook, Your Grace,” Miss Keating said as she finished her mouthful. Her smile was gracious and for a moment Kit returned it before his gaze turned to his sister.

Flora had swallowed down her bread, and was looking between the two of them, fear making her eyes widen as she jumped to her feet, setting the contents of the table close to her spilling this way and that.

“Duke?” even in the one-word query Flora managed to imbue an anxiety to her question as she stared at Kit. Words were rare for her, infrequent now, but even though it was an accusation she levelled at him, Kit was pleased to know she could form them still.

One of the doctors had suggested Flora might have been mute, after the accident. Her eyes tightened urgently, and it was clear to him that Flora wanted to know if he had inherited their uncle’s title, and reluctantly he nodded. It was not in his power to deny this inheritance. Hell, he was not even sure if he could. Flora moaned—an unpleasant sound that echoed through her shaking body, her eyes moving to Miss Keating accusingly.

Flora had never been moved to violence, but for one worrying moment Kit feared she might. He closed the distance, striding down the length of the dining room, and coming to stand between Miss Keating and Flora. Taking hold of Flora’s hands, he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing and reassuring manner, “It will be alright, I swear to you. I will protect you. There is nothing you need to fear.”

I will succeed where our father failed. You are safe.

Words failed her, and Flora mutely shook her head. Emotions darted this way and that across her face, uncontrollable and beyond Kit’s comprehension, and he felt her thin frame shake as she struggled to formulate the right response. She gave an almighty shake of her shoulders and body, and Kit feared she was about to have a fit.

“Leave us,” Kit snapped, pleased to hear the servants slip from the room. When he glanced to his side, he saw that Miss Keating was still lingering close by, watching Flora. She did not seem afraid, simply concerned.

Before Kit could find any other words to warn her, Flora had rushed away from the table, her feet carrying her towards the roaring fire, and grabbed at the side door that lay ajar. Without a backward glance, she ran from the dining room, too overwhelmed to stay a moment longer.

An uneasy silence took hold, one in which Kit tried his best to focus on his surroundings. To see it through the eyes of his guest, whether it was the faded handsomeness of the room, the pleasant dishes laid before her, the heat of the fire, or even the departed form of his sister. Anything rather than dwell on his sister’s wellbeing, and how he had no idea of what he could do to help her.

None of the inanimate objects present in the chamber worked as enough of a distraction, so he turned to his side, to look down at the diminutive Miss Keating. “I think,” he said dryly, “you can now see why I am reluctant to leave for Town.”

Briefly Miss Keating looked as if she might agree with him. There was a thoughtfulness at play over her features, but when she sucked in a breath and turned her elfin face to his, he saw he was mistaken.

“Your Grace, perhaps your sister might even benefit from a trip to London.”

“With all those staring eyes, and busy gossips, yes I am certain London is the perfect place for my vulnerable little sister.”

“I did not mean to cause offence, but more than that, she would be able to access the most skilled physicians money can buy.” For a moment, Miss Keating looked as if she meant to add more, and Kit wondered if perhaps she wished to add that removing Flora from the mausoleum of the manor might be beneficial.

“Indeed,” Kit finally said, his response dry. He didn’t move away from Miss Keating and nor did she step back and resume her seat.

“It is not merely for your sister’s health,” Miss Keating continued.

“No, of course, as I would imagine you had no idea of her existence until now.”

“I did not. But very little was told to me of you either,” Miss Keating replied. “After all, I thought I was here to retrieve your father. I quite believed from what Mr. Holt had told me, that the duke would be in his dotage.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, you do not. That is…” Miss Keating looked befuddled and slightly embarrassed. “I was sent down here, as the current occupant of your uncle’s house is in need of support.”

To his surprise, Miss Keating fixed him with a stare and then said, “I have come on my older sister’s behalf. She has been left in charge at your uncle’s townhouse—managing it all. I should say it is your townhouse now of course. As the late duke’s goddaughter, my sister needs you to be in Town to help her… There are a great many affairs, matters I should say that require your presence.”

It sounded too strange to Kit’s cynical mind. Too many dots that did not join up to his head. Immediately his thoughts turned to everything his father had always told him—that Kit’s uncles were of a highly libertine persuasion, and that their numerous bastards cluttered various parishes. Perhaps the Misses Keatings were in fact, relations of his. Still if that was the case, why did the younger Miss Keating not simply say so?

“Are you related to the late duke?” For some reason, it suddenly mattered a great deal to Kit that he would know for sure whether the younger Miss Keating had any biological connection to his uncle. He told himself it was merely to ensure she was not in fact his cousin or his uncle’s mistress—either position would need a change in his behaviour.

He needed to know she was not related to him.

Miss Keating looked a little surprised at his question. “No, there is nothing untoward in my relationship with the late duke. I hope you are not implying anything improper in either of our behaviours. I can assure you I am an honourable spinster.” As she spoke her voice gained strength, and Kit was pleased to see the earlier spark colour her cheeks. “I am here for my sister’s sake. You may rest assured that His Grace was no relation to me.”

Perhaps it should have sparked some kind of shared familiarity in Kit—Miss Keating loved her sister, the same way as he did Flora. But he was too deep into his own embittered emotions to wish to hold on to this bond.

With a small curl of his lip, he drew away from her and from the table. His entire body ached from the storm, from the added complication and, he supposed, from the expectation that he must be the one to solve it.

It was important, he reasoned, to clear his head and to set out what he meant to do next. Ignoring Town for a long period was not a possibility, and yet venturing out tomorrow was also unlikely given tonight’s storm—he had only briefly seen the devastation. As someone accustomed to the Cornish environment, Kit knew that many of the roads would be flooded and unpassable given the strength of the storm. But that meant he would have to make Miss Keating welcome in the manor for a considerable amount of time. This realisation was a rather confusing one for him—most men would have felt pleasure, no doubt, at having a young, pretty female who was to all extents and purposes trapped with him. This turned Kit’s stomach. Better to be dead than like his late uncles with their rakish ways.

Looking around at her, Kit gave her a brutal appraisal, hoping to fully establish his own distaste with her presence and person. “If you are done with the food, I will bid you goodnight.”

“My Lord—Your Grace!” She made to follow after him. “You have not given me an answer on when we will travel to London.”

“You can leave as soon as you are able.” With that Kit left her alone, pleased to have rendered her speechless with his curtness.