Part 3 (2/2)

After a short pause, the agent continued, ”When it became clear that Lady Arabella had no intention of making an early marriage I tried to persuade her father to settle some part of the estate upon her, but . . .”

”He refused?” Jack glanced sideways at his companion.

”Not precisely. It was more neglect than refusal. I cannot imagine that he would ever have envisaged a situation like this. He thought, of course, that Lord Frederick, when he inherited, would take care of his sister.”

”And he didn't.”

Peter shook his head. ”I tried to persuade him to make provision. But . . .” Again he let the sentence trail off, before picking up more strongly, ”But to be quite frank, my lord duke, there was little love lost between the earl and Lady Arabella.”

”I see.” Jack inclined his head in faint acknowledgment of a fact that didn't surprise him in the least. Now that he'd met the sister. Anyone more unlike Frederick Lacey would be hard to imagine.

Peter cleared his throat and continued, ”Lord Frederick had little or nothing to do with the management of the estate. If you'll pardon me for saying so, your grace, it's a crime that the one member of the family who ever cared about the welfare of the tenants and the good management of estate affairs should be the one with no stake.” He looked with a mixture of defiance and anxiety at the duke. ”You'll forgive my plain speaking, sir.”

”Certainly,” Jack said. ”But I should tell you that if this is a plea for me to settle something on Lady Arabella, it will fall on deaf ears.” Offering the lady a palatable alternative to his proposal would not advance his cause.

Peter flinched slightly at the coldly matter-of-fact statement. He decided he cared for this new master even less than he had cared for the previous one. At least the earl had had an inalienable right to his land.

”You will find, however, that I am not careless of my tenants' well-being and I appreciate a well-managed estate,” the duke continued. ”I trust you'll do me the favor of remaining in your position.” He looked sideways again, reading the other man's frozen expression with little difficulty. Lady Arabella was obviously dear to his heart.

”I will remain for as long as you wish it, your grace,” Peter said stiffly.

”Thank you.” The duke smiled and the agent had the strange sensation of suddenly finding himself in the presence of a completely different man. ”And you may rest a.s.sured that I mean Lady Arabella no harm. I will not turn her out of house and home until she decides she wishes to leave.”

Peter unbent a little. ”You will be staying at the local inn, then. It's a decent-enough post house.”

Jack shook his head. ”No, I'll be remaining at Lacey Court.”

The agent stared at him. ”But . . . but . . . your grace, it's not seemly.”

”Lady Arabella considers it seemly,” Jack said gently. ”I stand, after all, in place of her brother.” He changed the subject abruptly. ”Now, explain if you please the t.i.thing system you use.”

It was just after five o'clock when Jack returned to the house. Peter had left him some time earlier, presumably to keep his rendezvous with Arabella, and the duke had continued his tour of the grounds alone. Everywhere he looked he saw the products of careful husbandry. The flower gardens were beautiful, evidence of skilled and loving care, and the home farm was a thriving affair. There were ducks on the duck pond, chickens in the henhouse, doves in the cotes, bees in the hives. The trees in the orchard were heavy with fruit, the hay in the fields ready for baling, the cows in the milking shed lowing anxiously for the evening milking.

He was aware of the buzz of speculation as he made his tour. The dairymaids stopped churning b.u.t.ter for an instant when he entered the refres.h.i.+ngly cool dairy, but a red-cheeked woman skimming b.u.t.termilk spoke sharply to them and they returned to their task. A kitchen maid picking runner beans in the vegetable garden straightened from her task and stared openmouthed at this elegant visitor among her cabbages and potatoes. Jack gave her a brief nod, and blus.h.i.+ng violently she turned back to her harvesting.

If Peter Bailey was to be believed, the credit for this smoothly efficient and productive operation was to be laid at Arabella's door. Jack knew well that while estates could run along well enough without careful supervision, they wouldn't produce at their peak level without someone taking responsibility. Peter Bailey was a good agent, clearly, but he was still an employee of the estate, and Lacey Court and all its agricultural components showed the involvement of someone with a personal stake, an emotional one even.

Surely the love Arabella had for her home would make her more likely to accept any proposition that would enable her to keep it? It was another string to his bow anyway, he decided, turning his steps back towards the house and dinner. He was ravenous, having eaten nothing since his dawn breakfast. He vaguely remembered Arabella offering him something at midday when she still a.s.sumed he would be returning to London, but since the conversation had taken a rather contentious turn at that point, the question of food had been lost. He hadn't asked what time the lady of the house normally sat down to dine. In London he usually dined at around six o'clock, but he guessed that his hostess, if she could be called that, probably kept country hours. So he was keeping her waiting.

He hurried into the shadowy cool of the hall. Franklin seemed to pop out of nowhere at the sound of the duke's first footfall. He bowed in stately fas.h.i.+on, asking, ”What time does your grace wish to dine?”

Jack offered him a friendly smile, hoping to break through the steward's stiff exterior. ”As soon as I've changed out of my dirt, Franklin. I'll not be above fifteen minutes.”

Franklin, impervious to the smile, merely bowed again. ”Very well, your grace. Dinner will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes.” He turned and walked back into the shadows.

Jack shrugged and took the stairs two at a time. He didn't ordinarily give a second thought to whether his servants liked him or not. It was a matter of complete indifference so long as they did the job they were paid to do, but this situation was rather more delicate. These people hadn't sought out his service. They would stay perforce, but he would prefer they did so because they wanted to and not because there was nowhere else for them to go.

His valet awaited him in the s.p.a.cious apartments that had belonged to the earl of Dunston. ”I thought the turquoise velvet, your grace. With the gold waistcoat.” He gestured with the clothes brush he was using on a coat of turquoise velvet edged in gold lace.

”Yes, that will do fine,” Jack said, shrugging out of his riding coat. He stripped to his underdrawers and sponged away the day's sweat and dust with water from the basin on the washstand. He intended to spend a pleasant, companionable evening in Lady Arabella's company and if he kept his dinner partner waiting too long for her dinner, it might well get off to a bad start.

Ten minutes later he stood in front of the cheval gla.s.s, adjusting the foam of lace at his throat. As usual he wore his hair unpowdered, but that was the only failure to conform to strict sartorial rules for an evening party. He wondered what efforts Arabella had made. She had looked tidy enough in the apple-green morning gown, but before and after that short interlude the only candid adjective for her appearance was careless. But she would have made some effort for dinner.

He fastened a diamond pin into the ruffles, reflecting with a private smile that he would like to have a hand in her wardrobe. Her unusual coloring and her rather Junoesque form were her a.s.sets and would lend themselves to an innovative, even daring style. He could think of at least half a dozen modistes who would slit one another's throats for the chance to dress the d.u.c.h.ess of St. Jules.

”Something has amused you, your grace?” His valet handed him an embossed silver snuffbox.

”Nothing of moment, Louis,” the duke said, slipping the snuffbox into his coat pocket. Why on earth was he thinking of this prospective marriage with pleasure, planning it as if it was intended to be a perfectly normal arrangement? Frowning now, all amus.e.m.e.nt vanished from his eyes, he walked to the door. ”By the way, I trust your accommodations are satisfactory?”

”They will do, your grace,” the man said with a little sniff. ”But if I may be so bold, I find this country staff lamentably lacking in the knowledge of the requirements of a gentleman's household.”

Jack paused, his hand on the latch, and regarded his valet with a calm gaze that nevertheless made the man swallow uncomfortably. ”Bear in mind, my friend, that these people have been running an impeccable household without interference from us. I would have that continue.”

Louis bowed until his nose almost touched his knees. ”Of course, your grace. A mere observation.”

”Observe it no more,” the duke advised, and left the chamber.

He reached the hall as the clock chimed the quarter hour. The door to the drawing room stood open and he paused for a minute to see if Arabella was awaiting him there. The room was deserted, and yet there was the sense of her presence. Great bowls of heavy-headed roses perfumed the air and the cas.e.m.e.nts stood open to the coolness of evening and the scents of the garden. The woman's touch in this grand salon was unmistakable. And pleasing.

Charlotte had had that touch, he thought with familiar pain, but Lilly didn't have it. Her house, or rather her husband's house, was in the first style of elegance, kept ruthlessly up-to-date, nothing unfas.h.i.+onable allowed to sully the pristine presence. These roses, for instance, would be rejected because they were somewhat untidy. Rather like their gardener. Again he found himself smiling.

”Your grace?”

Franklin's voice brought him away from the doorway. The steward stood holding open the door to the dining room on the opposite side of the hall. ”Dinner is served, sir.”

”Thank you, Franklin.” The duke crossed the hall and entered the dining room, a smile of greeting on his face. The apartment was bathed in the soft light of early evening, the windows again open to birdsong and garden fragrance. Candles were lit along the glowing expanse of the mahogany table, crystal glimmered, silver shone. The rich scents of roasting meat set his saliva running.

But there was only one setting at the table. At the far end, in the bow-windowed embrasure there was a carved dining chair, and in front of it on the table, gla.s.s, cutlery, china for an elaborate dinner. But it seemed he was to dine alone.

Franklin had moved to hold out the chair, was saying something about how he hoped the duke would approve the claret he had chosen for dinner. Jack blinked once, then said, ”I will await Lady Arabella.”

Franklin coughed into his hand. ”She is abovestairs, sir. In her parlor. She desired that I open the-”

The duke interrupted him. ”Is she aware that dinner is served? Please inform her. I'll await her in the drawing room.” He turned to leave.

Franklin spoke rapidly. ”Your grace, my lady has already dined.”

Jack spun around. ”Already dined?” he demanded.

”Yes, your grace. She preferred to dine in her parlor. My lady always dines at five o'clock and she didn't wish to . . .” The steward's powers of invention dried up. Lady Arabella had given the impression to her staff that her own independent living arrangements were perfectly understood by the duke. Not so, it seemed. He didn't like the look in the duke's gray eyes one little bit.

Then that unnerving glint died and the duke said calmly, ”Pray tell Lady Arabella that I would enjoy her company over a gla.s.s of wine while I dine.” He moved around the table to take the chair the steward still held for him.

Franklin hesitated for barely a second before going to the door. He was about to leave when Jack said, ”No, wait.”

Relieved, Franklin paused. ”Your grace?”

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