The Duke Who Loved Me by Jane Ashford

Twenty

They moved into the rented house the following day. Cecelia’s maid and Ned came with them, along with James’s things from his former rooms. Cecelia sent for her clothes and other personal items from her father’s house. She thought it fortunate that neither of them had too many possessions, if one didn’t count the mass left by his great-uncle Percival, which she refused to do.

When her trunks arrived on a cart the next day, Aunt Valeria came with them. She walked through the house as the carters unloaded, her round face sulky. “Really, Cecelia, I do not see why you have set yourselves up in this distant place. You might easily have come home.”

“Papa’s house is no longer my home,” Cecelia pointed out.

“Of course it is. And if you would only return, you might be some help to me. Really, you are familiar with everything that needs to be done, while I am not. The servants miss you sadly.”

Cecelia could easily believe that. Aunt Valeria was an erratic mistress. Cecelia experienced a brief, unworthy temptation to hire the staff she knew away from her father. Of course she could not be so underhanded. Except, there was Janet, the cook’s assistant. She’d thoroughly learned her trade and begun to chafe under Cook’s orders. She would be moving on to another position soon, no matter what Cecelia did. And Archie, one of the footmen, was on the verge of leaving as well. He’d told her he hoped to find a place in a larger household. He might like to come here, as the first of a ducal staff that would be much larger in time. Her father’s household would carry on quite well without these two. Perhaps even more smoothly. And Aunt Valeria wouldn’t even notice they were gone. She never could tell the footmen apart. “I’m sure you will settle in very soon,” she said to her aunt.

“I do not want to settle in,” replied her aunt. She might have meant to be plaintive, but the word came out sulky. “They ask me things. When I am trying to concentrate.”

“Send them to Mrs. Grant,” Cecelia suggested. Her father’s housekeeper was extremely competent.

“Well, I do, but she seems to think I should have opinions on the most trivial things. New types of coal scuttles!”

“Tell her that you are happy for her to make decisions,” Cecelia suggested.

“I have. She does not appear to believe me.” Aunt Valeria pulled a long face.

Cecelia had liked to supervise, and Mrs. Grant was accustomed to working with her. But the housekeeper would actually relish the chance to take more into her own hands. “I will send her a note explaining that you are quite serious,” she told her aunt. She would mention Janet and Archie in the letter. She suspected that Mrs. Grant would see losing two of her junior servants as an acceptable trade for greater scope.

All this proved to be true. Janet and Archie accepted her offers with alacrity and moved themselves in that very evening. Janet was delighted to rule her own kitchen and suggested two girls of her acquaintance to assist her. Hoping she was not establishing a tyranny, Cecelia agreed.

Thus, the next morning, there was expertly brewed tea and fresh baked bread, along with the dishes Cecelia customarily ordered. She waited for James to notice this minor miracle, but he appeared to take a fine breakfast in a completely new household for granted. “I found a cook,” she pointed out.

“Ah? Yes. This jam is quite good.”

Which of course had been purchased; there had been no time to make jam. This was the heedless James she knew. Testing him, Cecelia added, “I shall be looking for other servants today. Would you care to join in the interviews?”

“What about Will Ferris for a butler,” he replied.

“Mrs. Gardener’s brother?” She was nearly certain he was joking.

“I like his style.”

Cecelia did, too, but it was not that of a majordomo. “Perhaps some other post—” she began.

“He has a great deal of pride, you know. And he is quite capable.”

“I have no doubt of that.” She did doubt that he understood all of a butler’s tasks. “But another position might be better. I was thinking we should talk to the Gardeners about whether they would like to be in town or the country. We will have many positions to fill, since we must assume that Uncle Percival left his properties…unkempt.”

James stared at her. “You don’t think they’re all like…”

She saw visions of endless chaos in his eyes but could only shrug.

James groaned. “I believe I shall go to the club.”

Knowing she would accomplish more in his absence, Cecelia encouraged this plan. And by late afternoon, she’d found everyone she required for now and felt smugly efficient. She would have been happy to share her successes, and be praised for them, but there was no sign of James. She was upstairs making ready for bed when she finally heard him call her name.

Footsteps bounded up the stairs, and he appeared in the bedchamber door. “Prince Karl has left England,” he said. “Word is buzzing about town.”

“Has he?”

“Couldn’t tolerate the taste of his own medicine seemingly. You routed him.” James’s glance was admiring. “Tipped him a leveler, as they say.”

She enjoyed his approval, though not the way it was framed. And she did not, of course, mention the two men’s actual fight. That would be folly.

“Also, I found a new valet.”

“Did you?” That was one position she had left to him.

“Henry Deeping’s man knew of a fellow. Served old Falcourt until he died last month, and as you know Falcourt was always complete to a shade.”

She didn’t know, but she nodded anyway.

“The valet’s not a doddering fossil though. He’d only been with Falcourt two years.”

“Oh, good.”

“So I went right over and engaged him. I knew you wouldn’t want me to delay.”

Perhaps this was meant to be an excuse for his lengthy absence. Cecelia didn’t require it.

“Bingham, the sneaking cur who stole Hobbs from me, is sorry now. He looked nohow when I told him. Because if he’d left Hobbs alone, he might have had Phipps, you see. A much better choice.”

James looked elated. How he liked to win. “So you have paid Bingham off for his sneakiness,” she responded.

“And more.”

“Well, bravo.”

James bowed as if to an appreciative audience. “And then I had to go by Tereford House, as I’d told Nordling I would.”

Definitely excuses, Cecelia decided. She was enjoying them a little. She continued brushing her hair. “Have they made a good beginning?”

“It’s going much faster with a team of brawny haulers. And Nordling’s keeping a close eyes on things.”

“Will you tell him to keep an eye out for the family silver? And china? I don’t want to purchase things we may find later in one of those piles.”

“Umm,” said James. He finally had a bit of attention to spare for his surroundings. “There’s a fresh scent in here. You’ve made the bedchambers very pleasant.”

“It’s potpourri.”

“Ah. It’s become a very comfortable room.”

“I hope to make you comfortable.”

“Only that?” He came over and put his hands on her shoulders.

“Well, more than comfortable perhaps,” said Cecelia. She turned from the mirror. He bent. Their lips met. The kiss began softly and rapidly rose to incendiary.

They had acquired some skill in removing their clothing by this time. In this at least they moved in perfect unison. And they’d learned the caresses that roused passions to a fever pitch—fingertips on silken skin, flurries of kisses. James made his wife cry out in delight, and his own release was like drowning in pleasure. Sleep overtook them in each other’s arms.

But the next morning, the deluge of business descended on their heads once more, so different from the soft and fiery intimacies of the bedroom. James’s new valet arrived early, and Ned had to be placated because James had forgotten to tell him that Phipps had been hired. Other new servants were joining them as well, and the house felt nearly as chaotic as great-uncle Percival’s for a time.

Then when James went out to discover how one arranged for an apprenticeship with a fashionable tailor, he was nonplussed to discover that the Terefords’ positions in the world were now reversed. His minor, personal success in securing a new valet was utterly eclipsed by Cecelia’s triumph over Prince Karl. Everyone was talking of her assurance and aplomb, admiring her courage. The tale of her confrontation at the ball was told and retold. James was the nonpareil—or he had been—and yet all anyone thought of now was his wife. On top of that, he was taxed with a day of drudgery. How had this happened? It was hours before it occurred to him that Mr. Dalton was the man to deal with apprenticeships and dispatched a note to the man of business saying as much.

James retreated to Tereford House, fully aware that this was what he had done the last time he felt vexed by society. But the situation was quite different, he told himself. Tereford House had become an active place. Men called back and forth from room to room, vying for Nordling’s attention. Mrs. Gardener was kept busy providing refreshments to fuel the search. And one never knew what would turn up. Yes, most of it was detritus. There were long, boring stretches. But once in a while a gem emerged, sometimes, as today, quite literally.

James headed back to the rented house with a velvet case in his pocket containing a diamond necklace. He bore it to Cecelia as a lavish gift, imagining her surprise and praise. When they were apart, he yearned for her. Yet when they were together, outside of the bedroom, they could not seem to avoid friction.

He found her in the small back parlor surrounded by a mass of papers. Before he could bring out the necklace, she said, “I had Mr. Nordling send over the basket of letters from the Tereford House library. Can you imagine, I’d nearly forgotten about them!”

There it was, the basket they’d found that first day, as long as his arm and nearly as deep, mounded with correspondence. “Without asking me?” he said.

“Asking you what?”

She seemed to have no idea of consulting him. “About the letters,” he replied, jaw tight.

“We can’t neglect them any longer, James.”

“They have been neglected for months. More than that perhaps. And nothing dreadful has occurred.”

“We don’t know that.” Cecelia gestured at the papers around her, which he realized now were these letters. “Who knows how many tragedies have befallen the writers in that time?”

“Tragedies! You exaggerate.”

“How would you know? You’ve never even glanced at them.”

“They are not addressed to me. They are begging letters to Uncle Percival. Very likely from people making unwarranted demands. Or even false appeals, fabricated to extract funds.”

“People in distress,” she began.

“As you imagine,” he interrupted.

She frowned at him. “We cannot know until we look. I shall read them and make some response. It is not a task I look forward to, but…”

“Yes indeed, you are the poor martyr who must do everything. Fortunately, you are eminently capable and always right. Don’t worry, everyone admires you.” James regretted these words, and the cutting tone, as soon as they were uttered. Particularly when Cecelia drew back as if he’d struck her. “I did not mean…”

“That is why you married me,” she interrupted. “So that the work would get done. How can you complain now when I do it?”

“That is not why I married you!” James snapped, exasperated by this repeated accusation. She started to speak, and he held up a hand to forestall her. “And do not throw my first proposal back in my face again. You know very well that things changed after that.”

“Do I?”

“You are a fool if you do not. And everyone knows you are not a fool, Cecelia.”

“Everyone but me, perhaps.” Her voice had gone softer. “You said that love was a ridiculous illusion and that you would marry as a duty.” She recalled his words so clearly. “Add another portrait to the long line of languishing females in the gallery. You called marriage dreary.”

“It is inexpressibly annoying to have my foolish opinions thrown back in my face,” he said. “Might we make a pact never to do that again?”

“Why did you marry me, James?” she asked.

“Because I love you, of course.” He knew his first utterance of those words shouldn’t have sounded angry. But it did.

“You…”

“These past weeks have made me see how much.” That sounded so flat to convey all he meant. “I brought you a diamond necklace.” He pulled the case from his pocket and dropped it among the letters. “Nordling’s people found it today.” This was all going wrong. She was staring at him as if he was mad.

She didn’t open it. Instead she said, “I’ve loved you for years, you know. Even when I was the bane of your existence.”

James’s heart began to pound. “You never were.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a small smile on her face. A vast relief. “Oh yes.”

“It took me longer than that to understand love,” he said.

“And now you do?”

She was teasing him. Thank God, she was teasing him. James’s heart seemed to expand in his chest. “A large claim, I am aware. But I believe it is made up of desire and friendship and respect.”

“Like a recipe?”

“More a magical spell. Some mystical power takes those elements and makes them into a greater thing.”

“How poetic, James.” She looked happy. She truly did.

He opened the jewel case and held up the necklace.

“It’s lovely!” she exclaimed.

He stepped over to fasten the glittering stream around her neck. “You outshine them.”

The kiss that followed was soul deep. It would no doubt have led to more intimate caresses, but a clatter of footsteps heralded the entrance of Lady Wilton, waving a sheet of paper. Ignoring their embrace, she said, “I have had word from Ferrington Hall.”

“Have you?” James was lost in his wife’s gorgeous eyes. He refused to let go of her. His grandmother could simply endure the sight.

“I have!” she replied. “Which is more than your useless agent ever managed. There is a group of Travelers camping on the land near there.”

“Travelers, like the lost earl’s mother?” asked Cecelia.

The old lady scowled at the mention of this supposed disgrace. “Yes,” she replied curtly.

“That is suggestive,” said James.

“Very,” answered his entrancing wife.

“Perhaps we should pay them a visit.”

“I think we must.”

“Well, someone must,” said Lady Wilton. “And it seems that all I have are two mooncalves with no more sense that a booby. Nevertheless, you will depart immediately!”

“Yes, Grandmamma,” said James.

“You know, I still mean to read these letters,” said Cecelia, gesturing at the flood of paper.

“Yes, my darling duchess, I do,” said James.