Page 17 of A Duke Changes Everything
Nick lifted his head, pushed the ugly memories away, and focused on his very unexpected steward. Though she looked as angry as she had at the oak tree, everything else had changed. He tried, and failed, not to notice what her dress accentuated that her men’s clothing hid. Oddly, he rather missed the sight of her in trousers and a waistcoat. Not to mention the tangled waves of chestnut hair that were now imprisoned under pins.
Yet even in the plainest drab brown dress he’d ever seen, Miss Thorne was unaccountably appealing. Especially her fierce amber gaze and cheeks that heated whenever he irked her.
“Whatever your plans, Your Grace, the staff need to know.” She inhaled sharply. “Should they begin seeking new posts? Many were dismissed over the last few years. I understand the need to economize, but I assure you all of those remaining are essential.” She lifted a hand and fussed with her collar, waiting for him to respond. When he didn’t, she added, “I could forgo my own wages for a time, if—”
“That won’t be necessary, Miss Thorne.” Nick swallowed down a chuckle.
She was earnest and determined. Demanding, for one supposedly in his employ. Why the hell did he find her tenacity so bloody amusing? The lady had installed herself as estate steward and deceived his solicitor, aided and abetted by a staff who she claimed were loyal to him.
The worst part was that he couldn’t blame her. Claim a bit of power for oneself? That he understood. And untruths? He’d lost count of the lies he’d told to save himself from hunger.
“May I have your assurance, then?”
He snapped his head up. “My assurance?”
“That the other staff won’t be dismissed and that I may keep my post as steward. Most dukes wouldn’t approve of a woman serving in such a role.”
“My brother did, apparently.”
She bowed her head. “The late duke was absent from the estate a good deal and resided mostly at Tremayne House in Belgrave Square.”
“Ah, yes.” A property that, blessedly, was not entailed. Nick had already hired a crew to clean and refurbish the elegant townhouse to go on the market. “He must have returned now and then. When he did, he couldn’t have failed to notice that you weren’t your father.”
Everything about the woman was noticeable. She had a vivid bristling energy about her that filled up his father’s dimly lit study.
“I’m not sure he thought about who ran the estate, as long as the work got done.”
Nick remembered his brother’s laziness well. Eustace had never been interested in duty. Only play, diversion, and avoiding the responsibilities their father heaped on him. Poor, useless sod.
“How did he die?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking. Wasn’t sure if he truly cared about any Tremayne history that had passed since he’d departed.
But this woman cared enough for both of them. He could hear devotion in her voice when she spoke of Enderley. He could see the pride in her eyes when she swiped a bit of dust off the edge of a lampshade as she passed.
For whatever reason, she loved this accursed place.
“An injury, my lord. He fell and never recovered.” Miss Thorne swallowed like she was parched, as if the memory disturbed her.
“Fell?” The solicitor’s letter had been vague, but Nick had always imagined Eustace’s end involved women or drink or some argument over one of his vices.
“From his horse.”
“Here at Enderley?”
She bobbed her head, and Nick kept his gaze on her as long as he could while he crossed to the cart on the far side of the room. He poured her a finger of what smelled like sherry and approached to hand her the tiny cut crystal glass.
“No, thank you.” She wouldn’t look at him. Wouldn’t even turn her head an inch, though he stood less than a foot away.
“You’re shivering, Miss Thorne.” Nick got a few inches closer and caught her scent. Flowers, peonies, and hyacinth, sweet and fresh, blotted out the room’s old smells and dark memories.
“There’s always a chill in this room.” She gestured toward the fireplace. “I can ring for a maid to light a fire.”
“I don’t plan to spend any more time in here than I must.” He positioned himself in front of her, giving her space to breathe, and offered the glass again. “This will warm you.”
Her eyes flickered closed. From the tension in her jaw, he guessed she was biting her tongue. Eventually she took the glass, tipped it back, and swallowed the contents in a single gulp.
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.
“So, Miss Thorne, it seems I inherited a dukedom, and you inherited your father’s post as steward.”
