Page 13 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
“You do understand who I am?” he asked, setting the book back away from him and drawing himself up.
Her cheeks colored in embarrassment. “I understand full well who you are, Your Grace. I am only meaning to help.”
“I am thinking, then, that you forget who you are. This is not your village, Miss Price, where you are free to run your tongue as you please. I am your employer, not your friend.” He drew the book toward him again, dismissing her with the action.
Now it was she who drew her shoulders back, her chin coming up in the way of one doing battle. “And does being a Duke preclude acting with civility? Your mother was quite beside herself, and she still thought to make sure you had a hot meal, which you happen to be ignoring. You have only just arrived and you insult the people around you that you need to make your allies if you expect to thrive here. Or are Dukes above having allies?”
“You make it sound like I have entered into a war,” he scoffed and turned another page in the ledger, though he hadn’t finished reading the page he was on.
“I think you do not have a clear understanding of what it means to be here, atthisestate, in Ireland. Nor do you seem to take relationships seriously that you perhaps ought to. You might be a Duke, and might even have been an officer in His Majesty’s Navy, but I suspect you understand ships better than souls. And you will do well to remember that.”
With that she curtseyed prettily. “I hope I have not spoken out of turn, Your Grace. Now if you will excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”
She didn’t leave so much as she fled. Jacob watched her go, unable to shake the feeling that not only had he just been roundly scolded but warned, as well.
Chapter 8
Jacob examined the entries for an hour and was no closer to discovering anything other than what crops and stock they raised, and how much. There were no secrets in the ledgers, and he’d been foolish to think so. Owen could have told him most of this, and in fact, had.
I see conspiracies where there are none, he thought in frustration as he shoved the book back away from him. Next to him the tray rattled as the book knocked into it. He noted in surprise that at some point he’d eaten his breakfast though he didn’t remember doing so.
The folded paper that he’d dug out from under his desk was still sitting there on the blotter where he’d forgotten it. Almost idly, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands, opening it out so he might garner more of its contents. It appeared to be the first draft of an invitation, written by the Duchess… inviting guests to a ball.
Jacob blinked and read the draft again, going back to note the date, which was marked for four days hence.A ball? Why would Mother be throwing a ball so abruptly?A stone of dread sank in his stomach. It was to be a ball in his honor, he would have staked his life on it.
While he had no quarrel with the ideas of balls in general, the very fact that one was already underway two days since he’d arrived home was something of a surprise. That he hadn’t been consulted, was also a surprise, and an unpleasant one at that. Was he, or was he not, the Duke of Woodworth?
Allies. He needed allies.
Miss Price’s words came back to haunt him now. Maybe if he’d gone to breakfast his mother would have discussed this matter with him, though it was clear she’d already put this in the works for she’d left this upon his desk for him to find. And she clearly hadn’t said anything at any of the meals yesterday.
Frustrated and angry, Jacob was already halfway across the room before he’d even fully formed the idea of where he was going. He flung open the door of his study, startling a maidservant on the other side, who had just raised her hand timidly to knock. She jumped back now with a squeak.
It took him a moment to register that this was not Alicia, but someone else entirely, a girl he remembered vaguely from dinner the night before. “Yes?”
“The tray, Your Grace?” she asked, pointing feebly into the room behind him at the abandoned remains of his breakfast still sitting on his desk.
“Well, get to it,” he answered crossly and pushed past her, stopping only belatedly as he realized he had no idea where he was going. “My mother, The Duchess. Do you know where she is?” he asked, twisting to look at her.
The girl gaped at him, near tears, he realized. Blast and botheration if he wasn’t acting the ass with everyone today. She could barely form the words to tell him that he would find the lady within the parlor on the south side of the house.
“Thank you.” The words seemed suddenly insufficient. Did a Duke apologize to staff? He couldn’t remember his father ever tendering an apology to anyone. Especially to staff. On the other hand, he also couldn’t remember the staff ever speaking to his father the way one rather impertinent girl insisted upon speaking to him.
At something of a loss as to how to remedy the situation, Jacob simply thanked her, then turned and left, knowing that his actions were insufficient and not entirely sure how to change them. With more kindness, he decided. He no longer needed to snap out commands and expect everyone to jump to, the way they did on board ship. Households needed to be run with a softer hand than military vessels. He would try harder.
His mother was working a piece of embroidery in the parlor where he’d been told to expect to find her. She had with her Miss Barrow, a young Englishwoman who acted as his mother’s companion, who vanished when he came in. Well-trained in staying out of the way of family, but someone with which to while away the hours. He was glad now for the woman’s discretion, as he watched the tactful creature escape into the hall.
“You are hosting a ball?” he asked, holding up the paper he still had clutched in his hand.
He had tried to keep his voice even but the words stuck in his throat. He was still angry, regardless of his resolve to be kinder. Judging from the way she stared at him, with a trace of hurt in those green eyes so like his own, he suspected he should have opened with something less of a salvo. Perhaps they should have exchanged pleasantries first.
“The invitations may be from me, but the event is to mark your returning home, at long last. So, it is more thatweare having a ball,” she replied, putting the emphasis on the ‘we,’ a gentle reminder that whether or not he wished it, the celebration was to be in his honor.
It was a move well played, and his estimation of her rose a notch, even if his frustration did likewise.
“Am I also right in assuming that there will be several eligible young ladies at this ball?” he asked, remembering the main focus of his conversations with her since he had arrived back at home.
“You will find many suitable English ladies in attendance,” his mother answered firmly. “I have already heard from several families with their intention to be here. Am I right in assuming you will attend and not give this family cause to be embarrassed?”
