Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston
Chapter Seventeen
“Who could be coming?” Miles demanded, glaring at the butler, who also held a silver tray with letters atop it. “Is that today’s post?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Trottmann responded calmly. “If you would care to read it now in your study, I can see who is calling at Wildwood and place them in the drawing room.”
Emery watched Miles scoop up the correspondence, his entire demeanor disgruntled now. “Yes. Have whoever it is to wait. I will see them in due time.”
He marched out of the room and inwardly, she sighed. His absence would give her a chance to speak to Lawrence Leavell first. She only hoped the artist would be cooperative instead of temperamental.
“I will see to the visitor, Mr. Trottmann.”
“Is His Grace all right?” the butler asked, his eyes filled with concern.
“We had . . . a brief spat. About the running of the mill.” She smiled ruefully. “I am afraid His Grace and I are both a bit mulish regarding our opinions. Our discussion placed him in a foul mood—but you did not hear that from me.”
The butler nodded at her explanation. “I understand. You have quite a bit of experience, whereas His Grace is still learning.” He raised his brows. “Hopefully, you brought His Grace around to your way of thinking?”
“I believe so.”
The butler left and Emery went to the front hall. Her mother called out to her.
“Do you know who this is?” she asked Emery.
“I do.”
Quickly, she explained who Leavell was and that his work was to have been a surprise but between Fillmore’s and Leavell’s wish to please the duke, the artist had left London without Emery having time to send word to him.
“Oh, dear,” Mama said. “I’ll see that a room is prepared while you greet him. I hope this can be cleared up without consequences.”
“I do, too,” she said worriedly and went out the front door just as the carriage pulled up.
A footman assisted an elegantly dressed man from the carriage. He was lean and lithe, with salt and pepper hair and a matching beard.
“Mr. Leavell?” she asked.
He gave a winning smile. “One and the same. You are far too young to be a housekeeper.”
“I am Miss Jenson. I assist both my mother, who is His Grace’s housekeeper, and my father, who serves as Wildwood’s steward. I am the one who wrote to Mr. Fillmore, trying to locate you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I must speak quickly.”
His eyes lit with mischief. “This sounds interesting.”
“His Grace doesn’t know you are coming. He only recently came into the title when his older brother passed away in a riding accident.”
“I remember that one. Full of himself,” Leavell said. “I must say I am relieved. I thought I would be painting the marquess who had become the Duke of Winslow. This will be much more enjoyable. The duke was a solemn boy but a bit of an imp once I put my brush down. I will be interested to see the man he has become.”
“The current Duke of Winslow cannot abide his older, deceased brother. I had hopes that you might alter the portrait you did of the three boys. As a surprise to His Grace. He dearly loved his younger brother, who died shortly after you painted the three boys.”
Leavell’s eyes widened in surprise. “You want me to . . . paint over him? The older one.”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
“Why, what a wicked, splendid idea!” the artist proclaimed. He thought a moment. “It would be quite easy, you know.”
“I agree. The eldest boy is on one side of the chair where the youngest brother sat. The current duke is on the opposite side.”
“It would be very easy to do though I hate altering the original work. But to please a duke, I am happy to do so. I shall erase this loathsome brother from the canvas.” He paused. “So, I suppose I am not to paint the duke’s portrait now?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “That wasn’t in the plan.”
“If I could meet Winslow, I could still paint him. He wouldn’t have to sit for me. I have a keen eye. Most people insist they sit for me but once I make a sketch of them, I can easily paint them without them being present. Since you wish to surprise His Grace, that would be two times you could do so. But I will have to meet him.”
Leavell held up a pouch. “Mr. Fillmore sent papers for the duke to review. Shall we say I am one of his clerks and have brought these for His Grace to sign?” He gave her a conspiratorial smile. “It would allow me to meet him and I could compose my sketch from that.”
“Are there truly papers to sign?”
“Yes, Mr. Fillmore mentioned that. He said His Grace could return them at his leisure. Perhaps I could insist he read and sign them and I would return them tomorrow? I could also take the portrait you wish to be adjusted with me back to London.”
“This might actually work,” she said. “Please, come inside.” She looked to the footman, who stood holding Leavell’s luggage. “Bring those inside.”
“Yes, Miss.”
She led Leavell into the house, where her mother stood in the foyer.
“Ah, Mr. Leavell. I am Mrs. Jenson, the housekeeper. A room has been prepared for you.”
He glanced from her to Emery. “You favor each other. Both of you are quite beautiful, only at different stages in your life. I would enjoy painting you together.”
“Hush!” Emery warned. “You are no longer an artist.” To her mother, she said, “Mr. Leavell is a clerk with Mr. Fillmore. Here to deliver papers for His Grace.”
“I will see to your things, Sir,” Mama said, motioning for the footman to follow her up the stairs. “Why don’t you bring Mr. Leavell to the drawing room and ring for tea, Emery? It is time for it. Perhaps His Grace can join you.”
“Won’t you come with me?”
She led Leavell upstairs and rang for the tea and then said, “I will tell His Grace you are here.” She frowned. “Do you think he will recognize you?’
“I don’t think so. My hair was quite dark and I was clean-shaven then. He was but a boy. I checked my records. It has been fifteen years since I came to Wildwood and I was much younger then. Why don’t you call me Mr. Lawrence instead of Leavell? The name is more commonplace. Leavell might jar His Grace’s memory.”
She smiled gratefully. “You are being a saint, Mr. Leavell.”
“Lawrence, my dear. I think I will enjoy a bit of subterfuge. And I think you are being most thoughtful in wanting to give His Grace a painting he will be happy to view. One of him and his younger brother.”
“Thank you. I will return shortly. I must speak to our butler and see that everything has been arranged to your satisfaction.”
*
Miles went tohis study and fell into his chair.
He had almost kissed Emery again.
Fortunately, Trottmann had interrupted them. It would have been a disaster if Mr. Jenson had returned to his office and come upon them in an embrace. It wasn’t like Miles to be so careless.
But then again, nothing had been the same since he had met Emery Jenson.
He still wanted her for his duchess. But he was having a devil of time coming up with a way to convince her that she was perfect in every way. Obviously, she understood the barrier of class between them far more than he did. He had never moved through Polite Society nor been held to their standards. He still didn’t plan to do so. As a duke, he could be a recluse if he chose, answering to no one.
She had been right, though, about their children. He would want them accepted and not looked upon as oddities because of their father’s behavior. True, they would have to overcome the gossip of her mother being the daughter of an untitled gentleman—but what good was it becoming a duke if he couldn’t follow his heart?
His heart was leading him straight to Emery and he refused to compromise. Convincing her to wed him shouldn’t be so difficult. Then again, he wouldn’t wish to marry some shy miss. If he had to work to win Emery’s hand, so be it. Miles was determined to wed her. Even if he had to ruin her to do so. He had heard talk of ladies found in compromising positions with gentlemen. How being alone with one or caught in a kiss led to a quick marriage.
Of course, Emery would remind him she was no lady even if he could arrange for someone to witness them in an embrace. She would state that she couldn’t be ruined in the traditional sense. If that did happen, it would only upset her. She had worked hard to attain the knowledge and position she held at Wildwood and had gained the respect of servants and tenants along the way. She wouldn’t want to be seen as a women of easy virtue, susceptible to the charms of a rakish duke. Not that that described him in the least.
How was he to persuade her they were meant to be together?
He glanced at the post which he had tossed upon his desk. He had stormed out like a petulant child. Regret filled him for goading her as he had. He knew what he suggested regarding the mill wasn’t wise. He had merely wanted to be near her and talk to her. Verbally spar with her.
And yes, possibly kiss her.
It had been three bloody weeks since he had and his body craved hers more with each passing day. He had taken long rides. Spoken with tenants. Swung a hammer repairing a fence. Anything to keep his mind from wandering back to her and her delicious curves.
He broke the seal and read through the first letter and set it aside. The second, though, he read twice.
It was from the steward at one of his estates in Suffolk. Fillmore had encouraged Miles to tour his holdings once he had settled in at Wildwood but he had been reluctant to do so because it meant leaving Emery. Now that a slight problem had arisen in Suffolk, it was imperative that he see the estate and make a few decisions, based upon what the steward wrote to him.
Would his absence make Emery miss him more than if she couldn’t see him every day? He certainly hoped so. He would leave in the morning for Suffolk.
“Blast!” he said aloud, remembering some visitor had arrived.
Rising, he left his study, where Trottmann hovered nearby.
“The guest?” he asked.
“It is a Mr. Lawrence,” the butler revealed. “Miss Jenson said he is a clerk from Mr. Fillmore’s office and that he has important papers for you to sign.”
“Where is he?”
“In the drawing room, Your Grace. Tea should have been delivered by now.”
“Very well. I will go see him. Trottmann, have Crowder pack for me. I’m off to Suffolk tomorrow. Something at Marblewood needs my personal attention. I will leave first thing in the morning.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Miles headed to the drawing room, where he found Emery pouring a cup of tea for their guest.
“Mr. Lawrence?” he said as he crossed the room.
The man rose and bowed. “Yes, Your Grace. I am an associate with Mr. Fillmore.”
Something seemed familiar about this man. His voice? His manner?
“Have we met before, Mr. Lawrence?” he asked.
“I suppose you might have caught sight of me at Mr. Fillmore’s office when you were in London. I am sorry we were not introduced.” He reached for a pouch at his feet. “I have brought papers from Mr. Fillmore that you are to review and sign.”
Miles wave the papers away. “I will look at them after we have had tea.”
He accepted a cup from Emery, who excused herself. He allowed her to go, not wanting to force her to stay. Instead, he spent a pleasant half-hour with Lawrence, who seemed to know a great deal about the theatre and art world.
“If you will excuse me, I shall look over what Fillmore has sent now. I assume you will stay until I have done so.”
“If that is convenient for you, Your Grace,” Lawrence replied.
“Then I will see you for dinner. Plan on staying the night. You can return to London first thing tomorrow morning.”
Miles excused himself and returned to the steward’s office, where Mr. Jenson and Emery were both bent over ledgers. His steward didn’t acknowledge him as he pored over the page but Emery asked if he needed anything.
“Yes. Would you be so good as to join me and Mr. Lawrence for dinner this evening? I am talked out after tea and could use a hand in entertaining him. In fact, why don’t you bring your parents? I would enjoy having them come, as well. I am leaving for one of my other estates in the morning. This way, if anything comes to mind, I can bring it up during our meal.”
“Is there a problem, Your Grace?” she asked, her brow furrowing.
“Just a few things at Marblewood that the steward insists I see. Some decisions he believes I should have a hand in now that I am Winslow.”
“Mr. Marshall is a thoughtful man. He is slow to act at times. I am sure he will enjoy being able to show you Marblewood and allow you to have a say in what needs to be addressed.”
Miles wished he could take Emery to Marblewood with him. Instead, he said, “It is good to know that Wildwood will be in capable hands while I am gone. As long as I am in the area, I will stop in at the two estates in Essex since they are near Marblewood. I will probably be gone two or three weeks,” he added.
Long enough to hope Miss Emery Jenson would pine for him a bit.