Chapter Three
Heavy-eyed and muzzy-headed, Jake lifted his gaze from the numbers dancing across the page of the ledger and stared at the straw bonnet sitting on the corner of the desk.
What had he been thinking? He was the Duke, not the carefree second son any longer. He had responsibilities and, as his father had reminded him with his dying breath, a duty to the Westmoor name. A duke didn’t go about importuning ladies in a hidden garden. Surely even he had too much pride to abase himself before an unwilling woman. His brother would never have considered such a thing.
Besides, even if she was not a member of the ton, Rose was innately a lady in every respect. The rake in him had recognised her innocence from the first and he had come so close to scaring her to death, she’d had to run from him. It did not bear thinking about.
After swearing to his father to do his duty by the title, at the first temptation to come his way he’d returned to his old careless impetuous ways. Shame flooded him to the core of his being.
Thank heavens Rose had more sense.
And yet something inside him kept urging him to seek her out.
He could do it. He could find her. A widow or wife living on the edges of society in search of a bit of harmless adventure would be known to someone. As a duke, he had unlimited resources. And he could bend her to his will, make her want him if he put his mind to it, too. He’d charmed enough ladybirds and widows in his salad days to know his appeal to the ladies. A charm he’d never given a second’s thought. Until now.
Not that he would. It wouldn’t be honourable.
He really ought to apologise, though.
Those last moments with his father floated through his mind.
‘You swear you will give up your rakish ways and give the title its due? For my sake.’
‘No!’ he’d yelled. ‘You are not going to die. You must not. I do not want this—’ His voice had broken.
A heavy sigh. ‘Do your duty, my son. That is all I ask. Care for Eleanor and my mother.’
Fingers, clammy and cold, had clenched on his hand.
‘Swear it.’
His throat had felt raw. His eyes had burned.
‘I swear it, Papa. On my life.’
‘I trust you, my son.’
The grey eyes had closed for the last time.
Trust was a heavy burden. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for respite, for an hour or two of sleep before he returned to the house where his father had placed a life of duty and honour upon shoulders ill-prepared to bear them. Burdens he had never wanted.
How many times during his youth had he rejoiced that the dukedom was his brother’s destiny and not his, while he went his merry way.
‘You here again, Westmoor?’
He looked up at the impatient tone.
Frederick loomed over him, glaring down. ‘Do you not have a home to go to? Oh, wait. You do. A ducal mansion.’ He inhaled and curled his lip in distaste. ‘God, how much wine have you drunk?’ He whisked the decanter off the desk and deposited it back on the tray on the console between the shuttered windows. ‘You stink of brandy. Go home. Bathe, for God’s sake.’
Frederick’s brusque manner hid a caring heart. Jake knew this, but he simply glowered at his friend. ‘I have as much right to be here as you do. I am doing something useful.’ He glanced down at the ledger. Trying to anyway.
‘We employ a bookkeeper for that.’
‘Someone has to oversee the bookkeeper.’
What on earth was the matter with him? Fred’s advice might not be to his liking, but it wasn’t wrong.
Besides, it was a lady’s prerogative to choose her protector. A gentleman simply shrugged and moved on if he wasn’t picked. He toyed with one of the blue ribbons from the bonnet and twined it around his fingers. Not that he’d suffered such rejections in the past. After all he’d been the second son of a duke, fabulously wealthy in his own right and his reputation for generosity had not gone unnoticed.
Until now. Damn it all, he needed to think about something else. About those in his care. His grandmother, for example.
When had he last seen the old girl? He cast his mind back with effort. Two days ago? Three? She’d be worrying. The thought of her in distress made his stomach roil. Another failure to add to a string of them he dragged behind him like anchors.
Fred peered at the bonnet. ‘What is that doing there?’
‘Nothing. I found it in the garden. One of the girls must have dropped it. I thought I would ask around.’
‘I doubt any of them would want that old thing back.’
‘Probably not.’ Jake picked it up and dropped it in the rubbish basket.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Fred said.
‘Not on my account, I hope. I’m leaving.’
‘I only came by to check on the state of the cellar, which I have done. See you later, Westmoor.’
Fred left, closing the door behind him.
Jake forced himself to his feet. He was done here. There was no point in pretending to read numbers when he could barely see them. He picked the bonnet out of the bin and hung it on the back of the door. Just in case.
He wandered off to the stables. He deliberately did not glance at the garden gate and nor did he utter a word at the reproving glance he received from his coachman for keeping him waiting till some ridiculous hour of the morning. Again. Thank goodness the stables at Vitium et Virtus offered comfort for long-suffering servants.
* * *
Once home, he went straight to his room, endured the ministrations of a valet who did nothing but complain about the fit of his coats and the state of his linen, and shut himself in the library, which he now used as his office. Even after all these months, he still couldn’t bring himself to use the ducal study.
Instead, he’d had them bring a writing table in here along with the various documents he needed day to day. He’d also had them cover the most recent family portrait. His father, brother, sister and himself. Something about the way his father and brother looked out of that frame made him feel inadequate. And as guilty as hell.
Why had he not done as his father had asked him on that last day?
Such a simple request. For some reason he could no longer fathom, or justify, he had taken umbrage at the implication that he had nothing better to do than dash off to Brighton to curry favour with the Regent.
If only—
He cut the thought off and returned to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. Why had he never realised how much work it was, being a duke? Likely because his father and brother had never involved him in the routine running of the Duchy.
Nor had he wanted them to. Had he?
He shut his eyes, briefly. No. He had not. He’d been having too good a time as he’d so often gloated to an older brother weighed down by responsibilities and paperwork.
Too busy enjoying the charms of the fairer sex, his unbelievable luck at the tables and running Vitium et Virtus with his friends. Running it and enjoying its entertainments. Though he had to admit the sameness of it all had begun to pall some time ago.
The library door opened to admit an elderly lady with her hair powdered and her back ramrod straight, despite needing the support of her cane. A pair of piercing grey eyes fixed on his face. Eyes like his father’s. And his brother’s. His were blue, like his mother’s and Eleanor’s.
‘Grandmama. Good morning.’
A beauty in her youth, she was still a handsome woman in her seventies.
She snorted. ‘Don’t “Grandmama” me in that cozening tone. It is mid-afternoon. Where have you been? I having been wanting to speak to you for two days now.’
‘Out. What can I do for you?’
She pursed her lips, but plucked a letter from her reticule. ‘Eleanor asks if she may come to town next week. She wishes to shop.’
Eleanor. Something else his father hadn’t seen fit to tell him about. If ever he discovered who the father of his niece was, who the man was who had abandoned his sister to a life of secrets and loneliness, he was going to roast him on a spit. ‘She may come whenever she wishes, as I told her.’
‘Your father...’
‘In this one thing, Grandmama, my father was an ass.’
The starch went out of his grandmother and all of a sudden she looked old and frail and sad. She sank into a chair. ‘It was on my advice that we sent her away,’ she admitted, sounding miserable. ‘I thought it was for the best. You know your father always took my advice when it came to your sister after your mother died.’
Jake bit back a hard retort about his father needing to think for himself and came around to sit beside his grandmama on the sofa.
She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You are a good boy, Jake. You have a kind heart.’
Not always. His mind went back to Rose. He’d upset her very handily, when clearly she did not fancy him the way he had fancied her. It was such a spur-of-the-moment thing, he barely understood it himself.
Dash it. He would find her and make sure she had suffered no ill effects as a result of his reckless behaviour. It was the honourable thing to do. But right now his grandmother needed him. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’
‘No, thank you. I need to get a reply off to Eleanor in the post. I want to assure her right away that she is welcome. Any delay and she will think we don’t want her and these days, with my stiff joints, writing is a slow business.’
‘Why do you not let me hire a secretary for you or a companion to help with such things?’ It was not the first time he’d made the suggestions since her last lady companion had departed.
She shot him a steely-eyed stare his father would have been proud of. ‘Your wife would be companion enough, should you deign to obtain one.’
He masked a wince. ‘I have to find a willing lady first, Grandmama.’
Her brows lowered. ‘Excuses, excuses. Why, I have introduced you to a dozen suitable young women over the past few weeks.’
His hackles rose. He was perfectly capable of finding his own wife. When he was ready. ‘It is too soon, Grandmama. We are barely out of mourning.’
‘Your father would have wanted you to secure the succession as soon as possible. You danced with Mrs Challenger at the ball you threw for her and Challenger. You could have used the opportunity to meet this Season’s crop of debutantes. But, no, not one other lady did you ask to dance.’
His scalp tightened. Every muscle in his body felt tight. He now knew how a fox must feel when chased by the hounds. He forced himself to remain polite. ‘The ball was a favour to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Right now, the affairs of the Duchy require my complete attention. Let me get those in hand and then I promise you I will do my duty and attend every ball and assembly from John o’ Groats to Land’s End. I will leave no stone unturned. No maiden left uninspected for her suitability.’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Ridiculous boy. You always did have a way with words. But...’ she wagged a finger gnarled by the ravages of rheumatism ‘...I will keep you to that promise. Or the spirit of it anyway.’
She limped out of the room.
* * *
Eight hours later, Jake found himself entering Vitium et Virtus in search of an hour or two of sleep before the sun rose. Again. He’d forced himself to remain at home, to go to bed like a normal person, under his own roof—and lain awake all through the darkest hours. Now, at almost dawn, he needed sleep to the point of desperation.
Snyder greeted him briefly, took his coat and hat and left him in peace.
If there was peace to be had. The servants would soon be bustling about their chores.
He should have come earlier. He strolled past the Green Room and against his will opened the door and looked in.
Naturally no one was twirling about in front of the mirror. No one was there at all. And in the interim he’d come to the conclusion he should forget about Rose. Seeing her again, he had concluded, would only make his restlessness worse. He had a duty to the Duchy as his grandmother had pointed out. He must make a good marriage if he was to secure the future of his name and the dynasty entrusted to his care. Albeit reluctantly, he’d given in and taken up the mantle and the strawberry-leaved coronet. Blast it.
The weight of that mantle and crown had him dragging his steps towards the owners’ private quarters. He passed a maid already at her work in the grand hall, the entrance used by paying members.
On her hands and knees polishing the marble floor, she was scrubbing so hard that her bottom moved in counterpoint to the swish of her cloth.
A very attractive, lushly curved bottom it was too. Drawn by some unnamed instinct, he paused to watch, feeling a strange sense of kinship with that sweetly rounded bum. A palm-tingling urge to stroke and squeeze. And she was humming quietly to herself. A familiar refrain that... No. It could not be.
His gut clenched. He felt ill. She was not... He refused to allow it.
Unable to stop himself, he walked stealthily around her, but she must have seen a movement from the corner of her eye, because she jerked upright, still on her knees, and looked up at him, her face pink with exertion—
‘Rose!’
She winced at his shout.
* * *
Staring at the Duke, Rose felt horror roll through her in a sickening tide. Another half-hour and she would have been hidden away in the kitchens for the rest of the day.
He was staring at her as if he expected her to say something. She dropped the rag, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed to her feet.
She bobbed a curtsy, keeping her head respectfully lowered, her gaze on the floor, wishing he’d walk away. Or that the floor would crack open and swallow her up. ‘Your Grace.’
All she could see were his feet planted squarely on the patch of marble she’d scrubbed clean. She waited for him to move on. She didn’t dare look at his face, at the disgust she’d see in his expression.
Or the anger.
‘Well?’ he said softly, menacingly. ‘Are you going to explain?’
‘Explain what?’ She winced. She hadn’t intended to speak out loud. A glance upwards at his implacable expression sent a shiver down her spine. It was far worse than a show of anger. He looked merely curious. Almost cold.
‘Explain why you never told me that you work here.’ He looked down his ducal nose. ‘You do work here? Have been working here for some time?’
And was unlikely to be working here much longer. She nodded miserably. ‘As a scullery maid.’
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘So what were you doing in the Green Room the other evening?’
She shrugged. ‘I had been mending the gown. I tried it on to see...’ Dash it, if she was going to be let go, it might as well be for the true reason. ‘I wanted to see what I would look like in such a lovely gown.’
His frown deepened.
She held her breath, waiting for the full force of his wrath.
‘You made me think you were gently bred. A lady.’ Not angry, disappointed.
What right did he have to be disappointed? ‘If you’d thought me a lady, you would not have met me in private or kissed me without permission.’ She winced at her scolding tone. What was the point of feeling embarrassed? She was what she was and she cared nothing for his opinion, good or bad.
Only she did. Heat rushed to her face and she let her gaze fall away. ‘I apologise, Your Grace. I—I did not set out to trick you. It simply happened. I should never have met you in the garden, however. For that I am sorry.’
His feet did move away then. A few steps and then silence. She looked up, expecting him to be gone, not to find him perched on the second step of the stairs up to the great subscription room.
He gestured for her to come closer and she found it odd when she approached that she was in fact looking down on him by an inch or two.
It made him seem less imposing, less of a threat and more like the man she had met in the garden. As if they were somehow equals. They were not. A fact she would do well to remember.
‘This time you will tell me the truth, if you please.’
She clenched her hands at her waist. ‘What is it you want to know?’
He narrowed his eyes at her obvious defensiveness.
What did it matter? She was going to lose her job anyway. She shrugged.
‘Very well. What is your real name?’
‘Rose Nightingale.’
He made a face of disbelief.
‘Is too,’ she said.
‘Very well, Miss Nightingale. How long have you worked at Vitium et Virtus?’
‘Four months or so.’
‘Do you live in or out?’
She hissed in a breath. Why did he want to know that? Only a few of the employees here lived in. He must know that, being an owner and all.
‘Out.’
The answer was received with a heavy silence.
‘I will collect my things and leave.’ What else could she say? Clearly she had lost any regard he might have held for the woman he thought she was. An ache scoured the inside of her chest. She was wrong to have let herself be swept up in what was really was no more than a foolish dream.
‘You want to leave?’ he asked.
She frowned at him. A horrid suspicion entered her mind. Did he want to continue where they had left off only...? Now he knew who she was...what she was, would he treat her differently? With less respect?
‘I think it is for the best.’
He regarded her for a long moment. ‘You are going home?’
‘Yes.’
‘To your family.’
Truth. She had to tell him the truth. She had said she would. And then he really would despise her utterly. ‘I have no family left that I know of.’ She lifted her chin.
‘Oh, Rose,’ he said, shaking his head, sorrowfully.
‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of.’ Her face flushed again. ‘Nothing that has brought harm to anyone else.’ Even if she was a bastard. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, the nobs called it. She called it irresponsible.
To her surprise, he looked startled, as if her declaration surprised him. What? Did he think because she had no family, she was some sort of undesirable? Or worse yet, a woman of low moral character? She closed her eyes briefly. That was it, most likely. And now, like a lackwit, she had as good as told him there was no one in the world who cared what happened to her. ‘Besides, it is none of your business where I go from here.’ She turned away.
‘Rose, wait.’
She swung back to face him.
He rose to his feet. ‘You don’t need to go.’
‘Are you saying I haven’t lost my position?’
He approached her warily, as if she might bite him if he got too close. ‘No, I mean. Well, obviously I would find it difficult when...’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘When?’
He rubbed a palm over his jaw in an odd upward motion. ‘I mean, I do not like to think of you...well, scrubbing the floors.’ He gestured at the rag and bucket in the middle of the floor.
She frowned. ‘There is nothing wrong with scrubbing floors.’
‘You could be so much more.’
Anger bubbled up at the disdain in his tone. More? Such as being his mistress, perhaps? What else could he mean? ‘I am perfectly content, thank you. I certainly don’t need to make my living...’ She stopped before she said something really rude.
‘I intended no insult, Rose.’
He was the one who sounded insulted. He had gone all ducal, looking down that lordly nose of his.
She was a fool for letting herself be swept up by a dream. Really, she was. ‘I wouldn’t like Your Grace to feel uncomfortable with my presence. So I will remove it.’
He reached out as if to stop her. She jerked away, and a look of chagrin passed over his face. Followed swiftly by a haughty stare. ‘Very well. If you insist. Go.’
She breathed a sigh of relief, tempered by a large dose of despair.
She had liked working here. And the rules had protected her from unwanted attentions, as they had not in the residences where she had worked. Until she’d gone and broken those rules. She was going to miss her friends, too. Especially Flo.
Inwardly she groaned as the full implications of her stupidity landed in the pit of her stomach like a rock. Once her landlord learned she had lost her job, she’d be out on the street, unless she found another one quickly. She would certainly never find another employer as generous as the V&V.
She picked up her bucket and rag. Perhaps if she apologised properly he would let her stay?
When she turned back to ask him, he had gone. For a big man, he moved very quietly. The reason she hadn’t heard him when she had been foolishly prancing around in the Green Room and again today when she’d been washing the floor.
Sadly, she shook her head and walked to the lower reaches of the house. If one of the owners of the club wanted her gone, what could be done?
She almost fell over when he stepped in front of her as she was about to enter the kitchen. She backed up hastily. ‘I thought you went.’
‘I came back.’
She tried not to roll her eyes. ‘Was there something else?’
‘I—’ He huffed out a breath. ‘You don’t have to go. Keep your job. Just—just keep out of my way. All right?’
It took a moment to process the words. She nodded stiffly. ‘Then please be aware, Your Grace, I am required to wash the floor in the front hall every day at five-thirty in the morning and it takes me half an hour.’
‘I take note, Miss Nightingale.’
She gritted her teeth. ‘It’s Rose, Your Grace. Just Rose.’ A duke did not offer courtesy to a servant, not if he didn’t want to cause talk.
‘Rose. Good day.’
Good? What was good about today? This wasn’t finished. She could feel it in her bones and down her spine. But the reprieve would give her a chance to find a new position before he changed his mind and she was let go without a character.
* * *
As the day progressed she became less worried about him changing his mind. All seemed just as usual. No calls by Mrs Parker to see her in her office. As a precaution, she stayed close to the kitchen, never being tempted into visiting her friends in case she ran into the Duke. When, at the end of the work day there was still no threat of dismissal, she heaved a sigh of relief. It seemed all was well. She scuttled out of the side door as quick as a wink, not wanting to tempt fate by lingering in the Green Room.
‘Rose.’
A tall lean shadow detached itself from the darkness in the alley outside the back door.
She swallowed the dryness in her throat. Her heart sank. ‘Why are you here, Your Grace?’
‘I want to talk to you.’
Here it came then, after all. Her notice.
‘Allow me to escort you home. We can talk while we walk.’
‘I’m not taking you to where I live. I am a decent girl, I am.’ Her landlord would be scandalised. Well, perhaps not. He didn’t seem to care about that sort of thing, given what his other tenants were up to. But she didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about her. It wouldn’t take much and coming home on the arm of a toff like him would do it.
The Duke frowned and looked about him. ‘You can’t surely be intending to walk the streets alone.’
‘Today is no different to any other day, Your Grace.’
He looked nonplussed. ‘You will, however, permit me to walk you, if not all the way, then at least to the end of your street.’
The firmness in his voice said he was not to be denied.
‘As you wish,’ she muttered. She’d find a way to be rid of him long before then. She knew the neighbourhood like the back of her hand, whereas he surely did not.
They walked some distance in silence and she kept waiting for him to tell her she was dismissed. Finally she could not stand it any longer. ‘What is it you wished to talk about?’
He gave her a look askance. ‘I have a request to make of you. Well, more of a proposition, I suppose.’
Her heart stilled. Did she really want this? She gripped her basket tight.
* * *
Jake could not figure out what was the matter with him. He was usually so articulate, so charming around women. With Rose, he kept stumbling over his words like an adolescent stumbling over feet too large for a gangly body. And heaven knew, every time he opened his mouth he seemed to put one of those very large feet right in it.
He also noticed that while Rose seemed willing to let him walk beside her, she deliberately kept her small basket over the arm closest to him. Effectively keeping him at a distance.
Well, perhaps that wasn’t such a surprise. He’d been so horrified to see her on her hands and knees that morning he’d been unable to think straight. A nap had sorted him out, somewhat. After all, finding her, knowing where she was, had enabled him to relax enough to actually close his eyes without being haunted by images—He cut the thought off. Nonsense.
He had been able to relax merely because loose ends drove him to distraction. Rose was no longer a loose end. That was all.
‘What is this...proposition?’ she asked, clearly irritated by his continuing silence.
‘It is a matter of some delicacy,’ he said, trying to frame what he wanted to say in a way she would not take amiss. He’d rehearsed it a couple of different ways in his mind, but as her responses to him in the past were always such a surprise they threw him off stride, he wasn’t quite sure how to put it.
‘Are you asking me to keep your confidence in this matter, Your Grace?’
There, that was what had intrigued him about her. Her quick understanding. Her sharpness of mind.
‘I am. More than one matter, actually, but we will take them one at a time.’
She nodded firmly. ‘I am no gossipmonger.’
He tried to squash his scepticism, given his intimate knowledge of the female gender, and was conscious of squaring his shoulders. ‘It is with regard to my current living arrangements.’
She looked at him sharply. ‘Go on.’
They turned on to Cheapside. He gritted his teeth. The idea that Rose walked these streets alone had his anger building again, as it had when he’d learned of her address from the housekeeper. The woman had frowned at him mightily when he’d asked for it. Worse yet, she’d more or less told him to leave the girl alone, as if he had the reputation for being some sort of lecherous beast who preyed on servant girls.
A look of the sort his father used to give him when he was a lad had put her in her place. An incivility for which no doubt an apology would be required at some time in the future. The woman had told him all he needed to know without further demure.
‘To be honest the house has seemed empty since my—’ he forced the words past his lips ‘—since my father and brother died. It needs a feminine touch. My grandmother is rather elderly and cannot cope.’ He grimaced. ‘With anything really. She keeps mostly to her rooms.’ Only emerging to nag him about getting married. About the need for a legal grandchild to inherit. But that was not Rose’s business. That was his problem to solve in the future when he had mastered his ducal duties.
He plunged on, surprisingly anxious to have her answer. ‘I wanted to offer you the position.’
A small silence ensued. His throat tightened. He risked a peek at her face. Her lovely mouth was set in a thin straight line. ‘You want me to live in your house.’
‘It wouldn’t work any other way. You will be well paid, of course. Far more than your wage as a scullery maid.’
For a moment she looked torn, then her chin firmed. ‘I cannot.’
Cannot? He didn’t understand. ‘I will, of course, provide you with a suitable wardrobe. You do not have to worry about—’
‘This is my street. I bid you good day, Your Grace.’
And before he could say another word she took her heels and ran into the nearest alley.
Not her street.
A long way from her street.
In one of the worst neighbourhoods in London.
Damn it all. Why had she run, when he’d likely made the best offer of a job she had ever received in her life or was ever likely to receive?
I cannot.
A strange feeling entered his chest, sharp, ugly. Did she have a husband? A child? Such impediments would account for her reaction.
Face it, man. She didn’t want the job. There were lots of women who would be thrilled to get such an offer. Find someone else and leave Rose to it.
Yet what had he said to make her upset enough to dash off down a street nowhere near where she lived? At the very least he ought to ensure she had arrived home safely and that she understood her current position at Vitium et Virtus was secure.
Did he really want to know what was stopping her from taking what had been an outstandingly generous offer?
He sighed. He really had no choice if he wanted to sleep tonight, though why that was the case when he barely knew the girl, he could not fathom.