Page 33 of A Bargain with the Rakish Duke
“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitfield said with a nod. “Let us start with the inventory and then move on to the management of the staff.”
Beatrice spent the morning touring the estate with Mrs. Whitfield, learning about the daily operations of Dunford Castle. They visited the kitchens, where she met the head cook, Mrs. Potts, who promised to prepare a special dinner for the Duke and Duchess that evening.
“You’re in for a treat tonight, Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts said with a smile as they walked through the bustling kitchen. “His Grace always enjoys a fine meal. He’s really turned things around here, you know. Quite the change from his father, bless his soul.”
Mrs. Whitfield cleared her throat sharply, causing Mrs. Potts to falter.
“I mean, he’s done wonders for the estate,” Mrs. Potts corrected quickly.
Beatrice’s curiosity was piqued. She had heard rumors about the late Duke’s fondness for gambling halls and his less-than-stellar reputation, but she had never paid much attention to gossip. Still, it was interesting to hear how different Kenneth was from him.
“I see,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “It sounds like a lot of hard work has gone into maintaining the estate.”
“Oh, indeed, Your Grace,” Mrs. Potts replied, more cautiously now. “His Grace has been very dedicated.”
Mrs. Whitfield chimed in, smoothly changing the subject, “Shall we move on, Your Grace? There is still much to see.”
As the day progressed, Beatrice found herself in the grand ballroom, its ornate moldings and high ceilings reflecting the opulence of Dunford Castle. She walked slowly, taking in the intricate details of the room—the rich tapestries, the crystal chandeliers, and the polished wooden floors.
Mrs. Whitfield followed closely, ready to answer any questions. “Your Grace, we could change the draperies and perhaps consider a new color palette for the walls. The current decor is a bit dated.”
Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. Something lighter and more modern might breathe new life into the room. What do you think about pale blue or soft gold?”
“I think those would be lovely choices, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitfield replied with a smile.
As they discussed the possible changes, Beatrice glanced towards the large windows that lined one side of the ballroom. To her surprise, she noticed Kenneth watching her from across the courtyard. His figure was framed by the window of his study in the opposite wing. The moment he realized she had seen him, he turned and walked away.
Beatrice’s curiosity was piqued. “Mrs. Whitfield, is that the Duke’s study?” she asked, nodding towards the window where Kenneth had been.
Mrs. Whitfield followed her gaze and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. His Grace spends a great deal of time there, attending to estate matters.”
Beatrice continued to gaze out the window, her eyes drifting to another window on the east side of the castle. “And that room there? The one with the sea view?”
“That is the morning room, Your Grace,” Mrs. Whitfield explained. “It offers a beautiful view of the sea, especially at sunrise. However, His Grace rarely uses it.”
“Good,” Beatrice said with a small smile. “I might make use of it someday.”
Mrs. Whitfield’s eyes sparkled with approval. “I think that would be a wonderful idea, Your Grace. It’s a lovely room, and I’m sure you’ll find it a pleasant place to spend your mornings.”
Beatrice nodded, feeling a small thrill of anticipation. She could already imagine herself sitting in the morning room, the light of dawn streaming through the windows as she sketched or painted the sea. It would be her private haven, a place where she could find solace and inspiration.
As they continued their tour, Beatrice kept feeling that Kenneth was near, watching and waiting. It was as if the very walls of Dunford Castle held their own secrets, and she was determined to uncover them.
Her thoughts drifted back to the glimpse she had caught of him earlier. What had he been thinking as he watched her? Was he regretting their marriage, or was he simply trying to understand her better?
Later that afternoon, a footman approached her with a respectful bow. “Your Grace, a delivery has arrived for you from Wales.”
Beatrice’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, my belongings!” she exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over. “Please, show me to them.”
The footman led her to the entrance hall where several trunks and crates were stacked. Beatrice’s eyes lit up at the sight of her beloved items, wrapped and waiting to be unpacked.
She turned to the footmen with a bright smile. “These need to go to the morning room overlooking the sea. I will unpack them myself.”
Mrs. Whitfield, who had accompanied her, raised an eyebrow and said, “Your Grace, the staff can certainly unpack these for you. There’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”
Beatrice smiled, shaking her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Whitfield, but some of these items are quite personal. I would prefer to handle them myself.”
Mrs. Whitfield nodded, her concern quelled. “Very well, Your Grace. If you change your mind, please let me know.”
