Page 7 of Destined to be a Duchess
Still, with a polite nod, he took the handkerchief and wiped off what he could. The pads of his fingers were still grey when he was done. If Miss Buller noticed, she was kind enough not to say anything about the inefficiency of his ablutions.
“That wasn’tdukelyof me. My manners are usually much better.” He tried to give the handkerchief back to her, only for her to refuse with a raise of her hand. “We’ll see to it that my mother has this replaced for you. Thank you.”
“It’s no bother at all.” She exhaled deeply and looked up at the inn. Behind her, Miss Barclay and Patrick were walking away from the carriage, headed towards the water wheel. “I imagine it was quite a shock, finding a stranger in your carriage by the roadside.”
“It was not entirely usual,” he replied, surprised to find her candidness endearing. She was definitely from London, speaking with a somewhat different accent than the English aristocrats he had kept company with during his time away. “How is it possible that you know the duchess?”
Miss Buller parted her lips to speak, then quickly dipped into her pocket. She retrieved a crumpled letter, turning it towards him.
“Frankly, I don’t. Your mother—Her Grace—wrote to me earlier this week. My own mother ... she passed away just recently. It seems that she and the Duchess of Westden were connectedsomehow, but ...” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose. “I haven’t the faintest clue how that could be possible. I have come here to find out.”
Anthony was not the type of man to take someone at their word. He took advantage of Miss Buller’s willingness to be believed, asking to see the letter.
A quick scan of its contents proved Miss Buller’s story. The handwriting was undoubtedly his mother’s. He even recognized the stationery as coming from the house. The letter that had announced his father’s death had been written on the same decorated ivory parchment.
“Your Grace, I swear, I don’t mean to intrude. I would have thought twice about coming if I had known you were returning home and under such awful circumstances.” When Anthony looked up again, she was staring at him with her hands clamped over her heart.
“I realize that you would be well within your right to ask me to leave even before I have a chance to meet the duchess, but I am begging you to let me come with you—at least until I know why your mother wished to see me in the first place.”
“We owe you that much, at least,” Anthony replied, folding the letter carefully before handing it back to her. From first impressions, she must have thought he was a callous monster for her to be beseeching him so desperately. “I can make nopromises for the morrow or the day after, but you will be allowed to remain for as long as it takes for my mother to provide you the answers you seek.”
Miss Buller looked immediately hurt. He hadn’t meant to sound cruel. It shouldn’t have bothered Anthony, yet it did. He wondered why, deciding there was something piteous about Miss Buller, or perhaps, about her situation. He understood all too well how frustrating it was to have questions without answers, knowing what it could make someone do in desperation.
“Thank you for your generosity,” Miss Buller replied, and Anthony couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic. “I will be quiet as a mouse until then.”
She signed that she was locking her lips and throwing away the key. Anthony wrestled with a smile, not wanting to encourage her. The last thing he needed was a new friend or, worse, a new admirer.
Under normal circumstances, he might have been flattered because Miss Buller was beautiful. Their circumstances, however, were anything but normal—not least of all because Anthony had so many questions of his own pertaining to his father’s sudden death and so few answers.
“There is no need for that.” Anthony stepped back, wanting to take a solitary walk and clear his head. “Just behave as you normally would around me, Miss Buller.”
Miss Buller followed him. “That will be rather difficult, Your Grace. I have never met a duke before and haven’t any idea how I’m supposed to address one. Miss Barclay tried to brief me in the carriage, but we didn’t have time to cover everything before it broke.”
“I gathered that from your failed curtsy,” Anthony quipped, then suddenly felt shameful. “Forgive me. I should not be making your situation any more difficult by teasing you.”
“Actually, I’ve always found that a little humour can make some of the worst circumstances almost bearable.” She smiled, lacing her hands in front of her. “I think a lot of life is like that. You either laugh or you cry.”
Anthony supposed she was right. “Tragedy and comedy. I’m certain Shakespeare would agree.” He paused, wondering if she knew who that was. “Do you …”
Miss Buller looked immediately outraged, cutting him off.
“I am a seamstress, Your Grace. Not a wild animal.” Her lips quirked with a teasing smile. “Even my kind have accessto newspapers, you know. I may not have read Shakespeare directly, but I’ve seen his plays advertised.”
“You’re right, Miss Buller.” Anthony struggled with his apology. He was usually so well-behaved. “The question should not have passed my mind. I hope you did not find it derogatory.”
“Actually, I found it tragically comedic. And comically tragic.” She laughed. “Here, I thought I would be the one insulting you—not the other way around.”
“I’ll tell you what,” Anthony said, grinning when she forced a scowl. “Let’s put a pin in your etiquette lessons for now. Shakespeare must come before good manners. I’ll tell you all about him on the next leg of our journey, so long as you’ll indulge me.”
From how she picked up her pace, it seemed like she would.
Chapter 4
By the time the carriage reached the road leading to Moorhaven Manor, Marianne had learned the basics of Shakespeare from the duke and Mr Bowers.
The duke had promised to lend Marianne his favourite play,Hamlet, from the Colline library, which he said was about a prince haunted by the ghost of his recently dead father. She saw the irony in that but chose to keep her observation to herself. She barely knew the Duke of Westden, and until she got the answers she had come for, she couldn’t risk offending him.
At least, she thought with some humour, he hadn’t presumed that she couldn’treadjust because of her low social standing. In fact, in the few hours she had spent with the duke, he had cast doubt on just about every prejudice she had ever held about the rich. Mr Bowers, though not titled like his friend, was even more surprising in the way he spoke to her so informally.
