Page 11 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
Back in the dish room Alicia replaced the unused silver in its drawer with shaking hands.I do not know what I think of him. In one moment I am afraid he knows why I am here. In the next I find myself acting the lovesick lass, for I cannot forget the bonny charm of his smile, or the brightness of his eyes. Oh God…how will I survive this?
But there was no answer to her half-formed prayer, and there was certainly no time for tears. She had made several promises to the men who had sent her. She would do well to remember that.
Tomorrow I will find what they sent me to. I must. The sooner I am done, the sooner I can go home.
It would be good to remember that as well.
Chapter 7
The day held nothing but possibilities. Jacob awoke feeling refreshed and ready to face whatever the estate had to throw at him. Maybe that was because he’d come to several conclusions last night. The first and foremost being that he had to decide that he was either in charge of things, or should leave now before he got too enmeshed in matters that were truly none of his business. Starting with the hiring of one impertinent maid.
That he disagreed with Owen in regards to his giving Miss Price a position when she was clearly not suited to the task, was no secret. He had seen for himself last night at dinner that she’d seemed lost, and had made more than one mistake. His talk with her had likewise been disconcerting on more than one level.
It would help if she were not lying to me.
He got up to dress, not bothering to call for a servant to assist him. He was too well-accustomed to his own man who was arriving later in the day. It would be pointless to try and train someone else to his idiosyncrasies for the sake of a single morning. As it turned out, preparing his own toilet was something of a unique and even challenging experience.
It had been a long time and more besides since he’d had to shave himself. He considered letting it lapse till his man arrived, but it was incumbent on him to set a proper image of the new Duke. Indeed, it had the promise of a good day when he failed to draw blood and yet get his chin reasonably clean of whiskers.
His main problem lay in getting dressed. Who knew how deuced hard it was to tie a cravat properly? As he struggled with the recalcitrant cloth, he thought back over his conversation with the serving maid last night. The only reason he’d approached her at all was her unnatural pallor as she’d labored under what should have been a simple task. He’d paused in the doorway in passing to watch her work and had actually found himself wondering if she might faint.
But then he’d spoken to her, and found her…well, stronger than he’d expected. Not to mention refreshing. She had spoken her mind, something that he should have frowned upon, but somehow he’d gotten caught up in their conversation and found he quite enjoyed talking to her. Even if the girl was decidedly hiding things from him.
More than a little thoughtful, Jacob went downstairs, not to the dining room but to the study. He was too eager to look at the ledgers that his brother had promised to him yesterday, to gain a deeper understanding of how the estate was run. Maybe in the pages of those books he would find the answer as to whether he should stay or go. Or more to the point, whether he should allow Owen the pleasure of running the estate while he…
While he—what? Returned to sea? Spent the season in London and found a bright English bride to his mother’s liking? Neither seemed particularly pleasant just now. As a Duke, he could hardly resume his command, and the true season was months away, though he supposed there was always plenty to do in London if he were so inclined.
To his surprise his mother was just coming out of the study as he came to the door. “Jacob! I had not expected to find you here!” She pressed a hand to her chest, and stepped back a pace, fluttering the other hand before her face dramatically. “You gave me such a start just now!”
“I had meant to get started on those ledgers first thing. Was there something I could help you with?” he asked, trying to peer beyond her, unsure as to what she had needed in the study at this hour.
She seemed flustered by the question. “No…not at all. But should you not join us for breakfast before working? It does not seem quite…proper…to avoid mealtime with the family. Unless…you do not feel you belong?”
Her face crumpled as she said this, her eyes filling with sudden tears. Jacob blinked and immediately felt in the pocket of his waistcoat for a handkerchief, only to find he had forgotten it while dressing. Now he was the one flustered, not to mention annoyed, for he could not help but feel manipulated by these tears, which did not seem sincere in the least.
“Good heavens, Mother, it is only a single breakfast. If it matters so much whether I eat or not, then have them bring me a tray in the study. But whether or not I partake of a particular meal is at my discretion and has nothing to do with the company of my family. I am still most delighted to be in your presence, but I also feel the pressure that comes of having to make several decisions this morning.”
“Decisions?” Tears forgotten, his mother straightened and gave him a shrewd look. “You have given thought then as to a bride? I would be only too glad to render my assistance in helping you to select a proper young Englishwoman. I have connections to several families that have daughters that are extremely well-qualified in this regard.”
For a moment he was distracted by this statement. “Qualified? Pray tell, what qualifications have you in mind outside of fine birth?”
“What other qualification is needed?” she asked, head tilted a little to one side as though trying to ascertain whether he was speaking in jest.
“You could not possibly…” Jacob stopped. Some things were not worth arguing. “Forget I spoke. Perhaps, if you wish to be of assistance to me, you could have Owen send the steward to me as soon as possible. I expect you will find him at breakfast.”
Her lips compressed into a thin line. Clearly this was not the answer she’d wanted to hear. “As you say,” she murmured stiffly.
Feeling more than a little annoyed that he was easily trapped, he called after her, “Perhaps we can discuss your suggestions later,” and fled into the study, closing the door behind him, lest she follow and attempt to pursue the matter now.
It was a cowardly exit, and likely one that did not bode well for their future relationship, yet he could not help but think if he allowed her to manipulate him by her tears now, or her fine intentions, there would be no end to it. She had made it exceptionally clear since he’d arrived that he had been wrong to stay away for so long.
Maybe in retrospect it was wrong. But that was not her decision to make, rather mine. And I had a duty to my country that I would not have exchanged for anything. But the rest…her insistence that I marry…this needs to be my own decision. It is a matter of control.
Somewhat satisfied in his thinking, he settled at the desk and pulled the first of the heavy books toward him. As luck would have it, a folded piece of paper that had been sitting on the topmost book tumbled off to the floor, and disappeared under the desk. He was scrambling around on the floor trying to grab it when there came a knock at the door.
Jacob thunked his head solidly on the underside of the desk, quite forgetting just how far under he was when he raised his head to shout, “Come in!” which was unfortunate, for the poor man that entered likely got a solid look at His Grace’s backside as he came in.
Trying not to think about the glorious impression that he was leaving, Jacob backed out from under the desk, paper grasped firmly in his hand, and rose with as much dignity as he could muster. “You are the house steward? John Edwards, correct? Do sit down. I had rather hoped to talk to you yesterday after my tour of the estate but we took far longer than I expected.”
