Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02] (10 page)

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Authors: The Duke Next Door

BOOK: Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 02]
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The tension in the breakfast room didn’t ease until his lordship gruffly excused himself and tossed his napkin to his plate. Deirdre smiled brightly at her husband. “Are you leaving us today?”
He gazed sourly at her. “There’s no need to sound so hopeful.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”
“Hmph.” He turned away, then turned back. “By the way, my dear, you
will
dress for breakfast tomorrow.”
Deirdre smiled sweetly. “As you wish, my lord.”
That confused him. “Er … well. Good morning, then.” He strode away, minus just a bit of his previous smolder.
Once he was gone, Deirdre’s smile faded. As amusing as it was to tease the man, “annoyed” wasn’t precisely the eternal emotion she had in mind.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Meggie said thoughtfully. “I think Papa sort of liked having us here.”
Deirdre sighed. “I certainly hope so.” She pushed her plate away. “Fortescue, could we have some tea in my sitting room?” She smiled at Meggie. “We have some plotting to do.”
Soon they were ensconced in private comfort in the beautiful suite. Hot fragrant tea in fine china, next to a cozy fire on a damp spring day—and no Tessa. Truly more peace and comfort than she’d ever experienced.
“Fortescue—”
He looked up from the tea tray. “Yes, my lady?”
Deirdre studied her hands. “I wish to thank you, Fortescue. Despite this—this childish war between myself and his lordship, you’ve treated me with great respect.”
“Of course, my lady.” Fortescue made to move on, but Deirdre held up her hand.
“Wait. I’ll not let you brush this off, Fortescue. After living in my stepmother’s household, I know perfectly well how the staff can make a mistress’s life miserable if they wish it … and that tone is usually set by the butler.” She glanced aside to where Meggie played with her kitten by the fire, then gazed earnestly up at the butler.
“It seems silly indeed to refuse his lordship’s wish that I raise Lady Margaret, especially since she so clearly needs it. I simply wanted you to understand, it isn’t what Lord Brookhaven asks of me that I find impossible—” She shrugged helplessly, spreading her hands. “It’s the
way
he asked—or, rather, didn’t ask. Do you think I’m being ridiculous, too?”
Fortescue gazed very carefully at a spot somewhere over her head. “My lady, I have often noted when integrating new staff into the household that how they begin is how they will go on, if not corrected immediately.”
Deirdre laughed shortly. “That argument could go either way, Fortescue.”
Fortescue bowed, his eyes shadowed by the angle of the light. “My point precisely, my lady.”
Deirdre considered the man for a long moment. “You’re on my side, aren’t you, Fortescue?”
Fortescue met her gaze directly for a fleeting moment. “I hope that we can all win, my lady.” Then he bowed again. “If you require nothing else, my lady?”
Deirdre laughed and waved him. “Go strike fear into some hapless coal-boy then. You don’t alarm me anymore.”
“Oh, dear,” he said mildly. “I’ve so enjoyed it.”
Deirdre was still laughing when the door closed on the butler, but her amusement faded as she gazed at the lonely little girl before the fire. Meggie’s happiness depended on winning more of her father’s hesitant new attention—and Meggie’s happiness had somehow become very important to Deirdre.
Then she slid to kneel beside the child and coo over the kitty. Mischief-plotting could wait until after tea.
“WE COULD PUT boot black in his hairbrush.”
Deirdre gave the notion polite consideration. “I should like to see that—although such a plan might be more effective if he were fair-haired, don’t you think?”
Meggie’s face fell. “Oh.” She sighed. “Ink in his tooth powder?”
Deirdre grimaced. “What if it never came off?”
“Oh, it comes off eventually,” Meggie reassured her brightly.
Deirdre sent her charge a wary look. “Remind me not to make you angry.”
Fortescue brought in a fresh pot of tea. Deirdre smiled her thanks and went back to her evil master plan.
The butler lingered. After a moment, he cleared his
throat. “My lady, if I might have a moment of your time?”
Deirdre looked up to see Fortescue standing even more stiffly than usual. Goodness, if she hadn’t known better she would have thought he was nervous! She leaned to whisper in Meggie’s ear. “Lady Margaret, run up to the schoolroom and fetch more paper while I help Fortescue pry the iron bar from his arse.”
Meggie snickered and obeyed with speed. Fortescue looked surprised at such willingness as Meggie dashed past him with a wide smile.
“You’ve done wonders with her young ladyship, my lady.”
Deirdre frowned. She wouldn’t want something like that to get back to Brookhaven. “I haven’t done a thing. Lady Margaret makes her own decisions.”
Fortescue bowed. “Precisely, my lady.”
Deirdre gave the butler a half-smile. “What may I do for you, Fortescue?”
He cleared his throat. “I thought perhaps now that you’ve settled into Brook House … somewhat …” His words faded delicately away, for that was most certainly not true. “Perhaps you might consider making Patricia’s appointment as your lady’s maid permanent—that is, if you have found her work satisfactory?”
Deirdre blinked. “I hadn’t realized that wasn’t already the case.”
“No, my lady. His lordship asked that I find someone on the staff to fill in until you selected your own maid.”
Patricia was a lovely girl and very skilled, far beyond what one would think, what with her lack of education …
Deirdre straightened. “She is a very intelligent girl,
but her speech?” Deirdre waved a hand. “I worry that she will never be able to pursue possibilities outside of this house. It would also aid me if she could read and figure.”
Meggie strolled back into the room with a stack of paper, a smudge on her cheek and one braid rapidly coming undone. Without thinking, Deirdre tugged the child into her lap and began to rebraid it. Meggie seemed to think nothing of it, but Fortescue’s eyes widened in surprise. Deirdre went on. “If Patricia is willing, I should like to engage an instructor for her immediately.”
All tension eased from Fortescue’s handsome features and he nodded briskly. “I shall take care of it at once. I know precisely who to engage.” He left with what might have been described as a jaunty step—that is, if one were not speaking of Fortescue.
“How is Fortescue’s arse?” Meggie asked curiously.
Deirdre smiled as she used her handkerchief to absently dab at Meggie’s face. The butler and the lady’s maid? She found herself rather envious. “Oddly enough, I think it’s better now.”
Miss Sophie Blake had managed, despite her habitual clumsiness and inability to fade into the woodwork due to her height, to escape her aunt’s house unseen and unchaperoned. Not that Tessa was terribly diligent, but she did seem to have the most uncanny ability to detect someone about to have a bit of fun, just in time to spoil it for them.
It was odd to stroll down the London streets by herself. Perhaps it ought to have been alarming, but it seemed her unfashionable garb and obvious lack of wealth put her somewhere amongst the great servant class and therefore rendered her nearly invisible. This was rather freeing, in fact, and she thoroughly enjoyed the long walk to Brook House.
She even smiled at Fortescue when she entered, but missed his blink of surprise because she was looking about for Deirdre.
“Her ladyship is in her sitting room, Miss Blake. If you’ll wait in the parlor, I’ll inform her that you are here.”
Smiling slightly at the reminder that she was now a visitor instead of a member of the household, Sophie handed over her bonnet and gloves and made her way
down the hall. Just as she approached the door of the parlor, she turned in response to an uneasy sensation that she was being watched.
Fortescue remained standing where she’d left him, a bemused expression upon his face as he gazed after her. At her questioning glance, he caught himself and dipped a respectful bow before striding off to find Deirdre.
Whatever could the man have been staring at?
Then she caught her own reflection in a small hallway mirror as she passed. Her reddish hair was escaping her cap and the bump in the bridge of her nose caught the light just right and her long neck looked like a plucked chicken’s rising from the ruffled neckline of her ridiculous gown.
Oh,
that’s right
.
I’m plain.
As usual, her mind instantly veered away from that thought, heading instead to her project. Whenever she could, she escaped from Tessa’s social obligations to work on it. Having completely translated the first of the stories of German folklore to her satisfaction and to the thorough enjoyment of her cousins, she was now in the thick of the second translation, a magical tale that promised to be even more thrilling than the first.
Her mind on the delightful prospects of finding out what happened next, she sauntered through the music room on her way to the parlor with none of her usual care in entering a room. The sunny chamber was not empty, however.
Sophie stopped short just inside the door. There was a man seated at the small pianoforte, absently running through scales with one expert hand. The notes lilted up and down, melodic for simple scales.
She wondered what it would sound like if he truly tried to play. She adored music, though there’d been precious little at Acton, but she’d come here to see Deirdre, not be confronted with strange men.
She couldn’t pass through to the parlor without him seeing her—and if he saw her he would speak to her—and then she would have to speak to him—
Panic rose within her. No, she would turn around and find Fortescue—who had already disappeared to fetch Deirdre, blast it! Perhaps if she bustled right by the fellow, he would mistake her for a maid and simply keep playing. She might even be able to muster a curtsy without catastrophe—
“You’re going to scorch the hairs off the back of my neck if you keep staring that way.”
With a gasp, Sophie looked up to see that he was gazing directly at her by way of the mirror above the fireplace. From the relaxed posture that hadn’t shifted since she’d entered the room, he’d been watching her the entire time.
“Do you always dither that way? It was like watching a cat decide between a dog and a dunking.”
Sophie opened her mouth to respond but nothing came out. He was handsome—too handsome by far. His narrow face was creased with sardonic humor and his green eyes twinkled at her knowingly—oh, yes, he knew he was a delicious devil.
Sophie’s palms went damp and panic welled up within her, and even though she was standing several feet away from anything breakable, she knew it was only a matter of time. She would shatter something valuable, or knock over something loud and clattering, or spill something—oh, God, not that—and then he
would gaze at her with sympathetic confusion and then he would look away—forever—because to stare at someone so pathetic would be rude—
“Are you planning to combust or some such?” His gaze was curious and amused, not pitying. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone go from white to red to white again in the course of a breath.” He turned smoothly and stretched his long legs out, leaning one elbow insouciantly on the pianoforte.
If Sophie thought being watched in the mirror was bad, it was nothing compared to the full force of this attractive man’s attention. She stood there, frozen and feeling entirely naked, while his amused gaze went from the top of her head to her toes and back again.
“You certainly are a dress length and a half. Did your parents decide to buy by the yard?” He stood and moved nearer. “I’m still taller, so I win.”
He was indeed several inches taller than her, which gave her the oddest feeling, almost as if she were, well,
not
a towering tree. She had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye, which required her to straighten from her usual posture. How … unusual.
Oh, he was fine indeed! He wasn’t heroically handsome, like some steel-jawed, iron-thewed knight of old. He was leaner, with a long, chiseled face and eyes like seawater in the sunlight …
His eyes began to twinkle further, his grin broadening. “I’m quite the looker, aren’t I?”
“What?” Oh, God, she’d been staring at him, ogling him like a lovesick maiden! Horrible—any moment he would say something kind to let her down easy. No, how unbearable! She stepped back jerkily, almost
stumbling, not caring, just wanting to get away from the look that would momentarily rise in his eyes—
One long-fingered hand flew out to wrap about her upper arm. He pulled her back quickly, drawing her against him for a mere instant.
It was long enough to find out that his languid ease hid a lean body that was hard as granite against hers. What small bosom she had was crushed against a muscled chest that gave not at all at the impact. She gasped as much from that unexpected discovery—and the instant effect it had upon her—as she did from the surprise of his motion.
He let her go as soon as she had her balance and stepped back easily. “Door,” he said with a grin. “Those cost money, you know.”
Sophie glanced behind her to see that, indeed, she’d been about to turn and run directly into the closed door. Still turned away, she shut her eyes. Idiot! What was wrong with her?
He moved around her, his head tilted in order to look into her face. “I think you must be Miss Sophie Blake. Deirdre said you were tall and plain.”
He thought she was plain—that was no surprise. The fact that he said it so naturally—that was new. Most people either avoided saying it with such determination that their very silence had humiliating emphasis or felt it was necessary to offer her a sort of gleeful encouragement.
“Don’t worry, pet. Somewhere out there a man is looking for a no-nonsense, skin—er—slender sort.”
This fellow wasn’t pitying at all. She lifted her head a little to look back at him, curious.
“Well?” He grinned. “Are you the elusive Sophie or not?”
“Do you see any other tall, plain ladies about?” Good heavens, was that her voice, so tart and crisp?
He laughed, then gave an insouciant minimal bow. “Hello, Sophie. I am Lord Graham Cavendish. Lady Tessa is my cousin.”
Sophie relaxed slightly. He was family—or at least, he was Tessa’s family, which very nearly counted, didn’t it? Still, the way he was looking at her—right at her, no less!—was making her rather twitchy. Almost family or not, he was incredibly attractive.
“I am pleased to meet you, Lord Graham Cavendish, Tessa’s cousin.” Did that sound childish? She’d meant it to be light and worldly.
She absolutely reeked at being worldly.
Lord Cavendish seemed to think so as well. “Where have you been all these years? Living in the bottom of a well? I suppose that explains your height. You’ve spent your life trying to grow your way out of it.”
He was laughing at her, but it was entirely in fun, without the slightest cruelty. Sophie found her own lips beginning to curve. “Indeed. And every year they would hand me a spoon and ask me to dig it deeper.”
His smile widened. He bent close to her. “That’s my girl,” he said approvingly.
His breath was warm on her cheek. Sophie jerked back in surprise. Again, he caught her arm and dragged her away from a bruising confrontation with something architectural.
He released her a bit more slowly this time. “Are you a little bit insane?” His tone was conversational. “Or is something physical awry?”
Damn it! Sophie closed her eyes miserably. “It’s—I’m—” She hunched. “I only get this way around … men.”
“Hmm.” He crossed one arm over his chest and tapped the fingers of his other hand on his chiseled jaw. “All men? Does the butler send you spinning into solid objects?”
Sophie writhed. “No …” Oh, what did it matter. She opened her eyes and gazed at him miserably. “It is mostly around handsome, eligible men.”
He nodded sagely. “Well, then, you need not gain any more bruises from my availability.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled, his expression almost gentle. “I mean that I am not in the market for a wife—ever!—and furthermore, I, handsome bloke that I am, am entirely out of your reach. So you see, we might as well be friends, for there isn’t a chance in hell that we will ever be anything else.”
In a strange, skewed way that thought actually helped. Sophie looked at him—God, he was beautiful—and then down at herself. He was right. They were not even the same species. The idea of them together was as odd as mating a tiger to a giraffe.
Relief flooded her, lifting her hunch and lightening her mind. She smiled easily at Lord Graham Cavendish. “How lovely to meet you, my lord.”

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