The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he following afternoon Elsie had made up her mind about the following points. One, that she had enjoyed writing lists in her youth, they had encouraged her to remember things and most crucially get her tasks completed. With that in mind, Elsie resolved she would begin again. Today. So, on to point two, which was that last night’s kiss might have been the greatest kiss that she had ever experienced. If she allowed herself the luxury of remembering it—recalling the scratch of his whiskers, the way Kit had cupped her face and stroked her cheek whilst his tongue had delved into her mouth, robbing her of her senses and wisdom—if she indulged in the memory, she would forget a key part. The most important reason why Kit had kissed her last night was incidentally her point three, and possibly the most important point, he was saying goodbye to her. Or at least to their dalliance.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Elsie knew there wasn’t any purpose in adding any more items to her list, as the final point was the key, and the thing she was having the greatest trouble accepting.

“There you are, miss.” Samson bustled in, carrying a tray laden with tea things, and a large slice of fruit cake. “I’ve been round and round the house, in all the rooms looking for you. I suppose I should have checked the library first.” Samson’s good cheer delivered with a happier bounce of words than was normal for her, convinced Elsie that her maid hadn’t been just dallying with the driver, Clary, but was clearly rather enamoured of him. But her maid also could not possibly have heard the news of the butler’s dismissal—or at least not the real reason for it.

“Thank you, Samson,” Elsie said, lowering herself into the nearest armchair, and reaching for the teapot. It was lukewarm, and yet Elsie did not have the heart to send Samson away to bring back any hotter water. Not when the reason she had been lurking in the library on the pretence of finding a book, when all she really wanted was to run into Kit. A swell of disloyalty to her normally bookish tendencies, wriggled through her, and she forced her mind back to questioning Samson. “I don’t suppose you have heard about?—”

“About Peterson?” Samson’s bright eyes encouraged questions, and Elsie nodded, realising that perhaps her maid’s good cheer was less to do with romance and more to do with gossip. “Oh, you will never guess…” Samson edged closer. “I got down this morning to the kitchen as I do every day, and there was such a hullabaloo. I have never seen the like. Not even when poor duke Ashmore…” she trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “You will remember that day miss. Horrible day. God rest his soul.”

“Amen,” said Elsie, and to this Samson nodded most earnestly.

“Downstairs was in uproar at Peterson’s disappearance, nothing was right down there, and Mrs. Whitelaw was furious at the state of things, but she couldn’t say a thing not with the master just standing there watching us all… You know, I’ve never seen a duke in a kitchen before.”

“His Grace was there?” Elsie asked, unable to picture quite how Kit would manage the inevitable fall out of Peterson’s departure. After all, the idea of a male servant invading a young lady’s chamber, where it is widely known, would ruin whatever prospects Lady Flora might have.

“Oh yes, indeed the duke was. He was the one who said Peterson had been dismissed. Explained why he was down there with us this morn. His Grace told us Peterson had been caught stealing. Several footmen had seen Peterson off the property. Can you imagine?”

Samson clearly wished she’d been awake to witness it, whereas Elsie would have liked nothing more than to have the memories of Flora’s distress removed from her memory forever. “His Grace said that Peterson had been let go without references, and if any of us felt any loyalty to him, that we’d best be going too.”

“I would imagine you wished to ask the footmen several questions?” Elsie asked.

“Of course I did, but His Grace told us, anyone trying to find out more about what had happened, could also go the same way as Peterson—out the door. Then he said that Mr. Moore had been placed in Peterson’s position and would be the new butler… and you can guess how well that went with Mrs. Clarke. I thought her mouth couldn’t get any thinner. She doesn’t like Mr. Moore.”

After Elsie’s initial trip downstairs to find her post, meeting the cold-eyed housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke, the bossy cook Mrs. Whitelaw, and even the then stoic Peterson, she had been put off from investigating where her letters had gone. It had been weeks since she’d given up asking Samson. But even by removing Peterson from the equation, it still left the formidable cook and housekeeper down there. A small wave of sympathy swelled in Elsie for Mr. Moore, and she agreed with Samson’s summary.

“Did you?—”

“Me and Miss Bright, she’s Lady Flora’s maid, the ginger one, we hurriedly grabbed up the breakfast trays.”

Arching an eyebrow, Elsie gazed up at her maid. From a frightened nitwit just weeks ago, to a young woman enjoying a romance, to now an excited gossip, Samson had gone through quite a change despite her initial reluctance to leave London. Then again, since she wasn’t much older than Lady Flora, Elsie reasoned it was to be expected, and were she an older or wiser employer, she would probably have set a better example for Samson to follow. But since she wasn’t, she would at least resist lecturing her maid, and therefore devolving into a hypocrite, so instead she asked, “I don’t suppose you heard anything else?”

“As His Grace left, he told us to send for the estate manager in town, so Nealy went for him. The duke said he wanted the place readied for his departure. After that Mrs. Clarke went straight for Mr. Moore, with a dozen questions that would have been difficult to answer all in one go. Poor Mr. Moore. I tried to listen as best I could, but I could see Clary watching me, and he doesn’t approve of me—” she blushed, and Elsie realised that this was the information she had been waiting for, that Samson had accidentally let slip—what Kit had been doing and planning. Why wasn’t he in the library, or the breakfast room, or in his sister’s rooms? Elsie had lingered in each chamber in turn, in the final ensuring that Flora was comfortable and wished to nap, before slipping away. “I’m sorry miss, I shouldn’t refer to…”

“I don’t mind, Samson.” Elsie leant forward and squeezed her maid’s hand. “Here, I’m sure you haven’t had any breakfast with everything that’s going on. You have the cake. I don’t care much for raisins.” Any sort of hunger that Elsie felt had fled with the news that after everything Kit had finally decided to leave Tintagel. She jumped out of her chair, and grabbed Samson, pushing the younger woman into her seat. “You sit and eat.”

“Miss…” Samson eyed the cake with sudden interest, and unable to help herself Elsie let out a laugh. It seemed like the infectious good cheer Samson had enjoyed earlier was suddenly seeping into Elsie. If Kit was prepared to leave the estate, then perhaps he was prepared to see sense and disregard the fears of old. He could finally see that, if there was a curse, it was tied to this house, and leaving it was the best way he could escape .

“And if anyone tells you off, then you send them to me,” Elsie called over her shoulder, hurrying to the door. If luck was on her side, then perhaps she could find Kit before the estate manager did, or better yet their meeting would have been a quick one. Even if yesterday had been a goodbye, it didn’t mean that Elsie no longer cared. They had been friends before he’d kissed her, before they’d fallen on each other in the ruined ballroom… and they could be friends again.

Perhaps it was poor logic, and Elsie knew she wouldn’t have rushed in such a manner, for any of her friends normally, but she reasoned that he never had to know that she loved him. As his employee—companion to Lady Flora until he found someone more suitable—she could maintain a semblance of closeness… The very neediness of her love caused Elsie to stop in the middle of the hallway.

It was strange to feel that heady rush of want, a desire for confirmation that she was not alone in such feelings, and yet knowing she could not ask someone who was so above her station. A lone tear slipped out, and Elsie balled her fists, trying her best to stop any more from falling—she needed to gather together her strength and if needed be suppressing any feelings that might linger.

With such thoughts in mind, she walked down the corridor to Kit’s study and knocked with as much force as she could muster. He did not need to know her weakness, she could at least hold on to some semblance of pride.

“Enter,” Kit said, the tone brusque and not filling her with much confidence.

Elsie pushed the door wide, nonetheless. “Your Grace.” She moved forward, bobbed her head in greeting, and assumed a dignified pose with her hands clasped behind her back. “I am sorry to disturb you.”

Despite his forbidding voice, Kit’s reality was very different from what Elsie had been expecting. He had bounded to his feet at her entrance, his jacket was discarded, his shirt loose, and there was a smile on his lips. If she had to describe him, it would be carefree. Indeed, when he reached her, his hands encircled her waist, and he lifted her up in the air.

There was a freedom with which he spun her, and Elsie let out a surprised gasp which hastily shifted into an unexpected laugh. She clung to him, her fingers sinking into the folds of his shirt, and the study swirled around them.

“Your Grace—Ashmore…”

“I thought we had removed all formality between us,” Kit said as he lowered her down. The devil did so by placing her on his chest, so Elsie had no choice but to slide down his body. He was delightfully warm, the muscles of his chest pressed into her day dress, and Elsie had to keep herself from emitting a different kind of gasp. Hastily, she took a step back, watching Kit as he perched on the edge of his desk, his expression bright.

“I have been speaking to my estate manager, man hadn’t been a bit of use to my father, but—” Kit leant forward and touched a curl that had loosened itself from Elsie’s chignon. “So soft,” he added, then tucked the strand behind her ear. “Locke—the manager agreed.”

“Agreed to what?”

“That he is to oversee Tintagel when we go up to Town. I thought we could leave tomorrow. Or if we must the day after that but?—”

“What made you change your mind?” Elsie cut him off, she had been desperate to leave here, and now finally Kit could see the logic of it. This was the moment she had been hoping for. It meant an opportunity to finally see her sister, and to tell Kit everything she had omitted previously—that Margot was his cousin, and about the annuity. It was high time she told him everything, after all they would be in London within the week.

“It wasn’t a curse—” Kit said, moving closer to reach out and grab her hand until she was beside him. “It must have been Peterson, he’d been in the family for years, and we’d simply overlooked his involvement. I never would have considered him capable of such cruelties, but as I thought through it, he must have committed all the ‘accidents.’”

“Are you?—”

“I was convinced that it all linked back to my family, and every bad thing that has occurred to them.”

“It wasn’t merely your family being unlucky,” Elsie said, her thoughts catching on her sister. “I mean, your uncle treated my mother terribly, and as for Margot…”

A frown creased his happy face, and Kit paused. “She isn’t his goddaughter, is she?”

Despite it not being a question, Elsie shook her head. “Margot is your uncle’s natural daughter.”

“And you?”

“I’m not related to you,” Elsie said. “There’s no aristocratic blood in my veins.”

“Did you wish—or rather, did your sister wish to receive something from me? From the estate?” There was a tiniest fraction of coldness to his query, and it angered Elsie.

“The previous duke did nothing for my mother, abandoning her and their unborn child. If Margot expected anything, I don’t think that unreasonable, do you?”

“I am not angry with you or your sister. I am embarrassed by my family. By how my uncle behaved,” he said, running a hand over his face. “My father often spoke of how his brothers treated women, and I swore I would not behave in such a manner. I would never abandon you to such a fate.”

Elsie had no idea of precisely how to respond to that. Her decision to fall into Kit’s arms had been one driven by love, need, and fear of what could have happened to him. She had not considered the consequences of it, never once thinking she might fall pregnant.

Without entirely realising it, she raised her arm in a protective gesture, suddenly motivated by a dread of what might happen to her if she found herself in her mother’s position. When she raised her eyes, she found she did not wish to voice any of those things to him, instead she said her earlier words, ones she’d promised her sister to repeat, “Your uncle set aside a provision for Margot, an annuity that would see her comfortable.”

“I will honour it.”

His pronouncement should have been greeted with relief, or at least a welcomed smile, but Elsie could not bring herself to do that. Instead, guilt for her decision was rolling through her—the shame her grandmother had spoken of when she’d been found with Captain Graves arrived within her, twisting through her unpleasantly.

“Where are you going?” He tried to snatch up her hand once more. “You have been chasing me to leave Tintagel since the moment you arrived, and now you have my agreement, you cannot wait to be rid of me?” There was a lightness, a teasing quality to his voice. If it had been the Elsie of thirty minutes ago, she might have laughed with him, but now all she could see was the future: their arrival in Town, him signing off the papers, and packing Margot and her away, before sinking into the legendary Season with the purpose of finding a bride.

It would happen, and Elsie would read about the wedding months from now, locked in a sad and lonely cottage at some great distance away. An image of her with a rounded belly pranced through her mind, and she could not decide whether it would be a worse torture to bear Kit’s child without him, or to have nothing to remember him by. “Is it that now you have your sister’s annuity, you have no need of me?”

“That is not the case.” How she wished she could tell him to be quiet, to cease his teasing and to let her think for a moment. “I am happy you mean to come with us. It is what I wished for.”

“I know.” Kit drew nearer. “I meant to send for you, so your arrival is most fortunate. ”

“Indeed?”

“Yes, Locke did not just agree to my plan, he also provided the second key to our lock box.”

“I suppose you will need funds to get you up to Town,” Elsie said as Kit drew her over to the desk.

“Well, that was in part why it was useful to see him. But not merely for that reason.” He gestured at the desk, which currently had a stack of bank notes on it and what looked to be a series of jewellery boxes.

“I thought you told me that Tintagel had very little in the way of funds.”

“Those are the family jewels, a few trinkets. I suppose there will be a greater collection in London.” With ease, Kit leant forward and prised them open, revealing a string of pearls, an amber pendant, several gold bands, and what looked like a pearl and sapphire ring.

“Lady Flora will look most lovely in the pearls.” Elsie wondered if the other pieces would be worn by his eventual bride.

“And yourself?” Kit asked, lifting first the amber piece to her neck and then lowering it when he saw her expression. “Don’t cry Elsie. You do realise I am asking you to marry me?”

“No,” Elsie said, turning towards him in confusion, her hands coming to rest and then twisting in the front of his shirt. She looked up into his handsome face, frowning. “No.” She had not realised it in the slightest, and it annoyed her no end. “You haven’t asked me. You have simply shown me some items of jewellery.”

He released her and snatched up the sapphire ring from the desk before lowering himself before her, bending at the knee in the traditional pose of a proposal and lifting the sparkling ring towards Elsie. “Now do you believe me?”

But all she could do was stare at him in a state of shock.