Game of Dukes Read online

  ‘Dash it all, Cel,’ he said, throwing himself into the nearest chair and draping one leg indolently over its arm. ‘Don’t go ringing a peal over me because it won’t serve. I know you don’t like me bringing strangers back to my own home, but it would be a sorry state of affairs if a man let his future wife rule the roost.’

  Celeste rolled her eyes, refraining from pointing out that the house belonged to the new duke, not him, and that she was most definitely not his future wife. Alvin was affable and full of charm, until he was reminded that he had not inherited the title and was now obliged to make way for what he described as an uncivilized American impostor. Why he had imagined he ever stood to inherit Celeste was at a loss to understand. He had always known that there were two male cousins ahead of him.

  But then again, Alvin believed whatever his mother told him, and didn’t think too deeply about the practicalities of any situation, as evidenced by his determination to marry Celeste despite the fact that he didn’t have two pennies to his name. Even if he had been in a position to support a wife, he must be aware of the animosity between her and Lady Alice, who would throw him beneath a dozen rampaging horses before she allowed him to marry Celeste. That situation suited Celeste perfectly well, although sometimes, especially when Lady Alice was being impossibly demanding, Celeste amused herself by pretending to enjoy Alvin’s attentions.

  ‘It was Toby who issued the invitation, not I,’ Alvin remarked indolently, recalling Celeste’s wandering attention. ‘So vent your spleen upon him, if you insist upon upbraiding anyone.’

  Celeste didn’t doubt it. Emma’s husband was a vile individual, with wandering hands and ideas above his station. Celeste had learned early on never to be caught alone with him. The more she resisted his questionable charm, the more violently he pursued her. Threatening to tell Emma would get Celeste nowhere, since the old duke’s daughter idolised her husband, made allowances for his laziness and saw absolutely nothing amiss in his unwillingness to step up and help hold the estate together. He was, as she never tired of reminding Celeste, a gentleman, and gentlemen were entitled to live a life of leisure. It was expected of them. Reminding Emma that they could only do so if they had the wherewithal to support such a lifestyle fell upon conveniently deaf ears.

  ‘Come along then, Alvin,’ she said briskly. ‘You created all this mess, so you can help me to clear it up.’

  Alvin brushed the suggestion aside. ‘That’s what servants are for.’ He righted himself in his chair and patted his knee. ‘Come and give me a kiss instead.’

  ‘We don’t have any servants, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Celeste replied, exasperated. ‘Well, only one or two, and they have too much to do to run around after you and Toby, as well you know.’

  ‘Have a heart, Cel.’ Alvin groaned dramatically and clutched his head. ‘I have the devil of a headache.’

  ‘Really?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t begin to imagine why.’

  ‘You are a hard woman, my sweet. If I didn’t love you quite so comprehensively, I would have to send you packing.’

  ‘And then who would run this place?’

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t have to be you, and it won’t be for much longer. I have plans. Well, Mama does. Big plans, and everything will change soon. You’ll see.’

  ‘I can barely wait.’

  Celeste swept from the room, intent upon attending to the dozens of other self-imposed responsibilities that awaited her attention. When the rest of the family came down, they would either have to clean up the debris from the parlour themselves or sit somewhere even less comfortable. Celeste would tell their three remaining servants not to touch it.

  Her position at Webster Abbey was an invidious one. She was not a servant or a housekeeper either, although she had lived there for three years, ever since her mother had taken her there when she had been appointed as housekeeper. Mama had become a great deal more than that to the old duke, whose health had been failing since before their arrival. He depended upon her as a companion, confidante and intimate friend. Quite how intimate no one knew, but Celeste had heard it whispered about, speculated upon and resented. But now her mother was dead, killed in the same accident that took the duke and Matthew, her friend, away from them. Celeste was left as the only person with the practical skills to keep the Abbey running in light of the terrible shock they suffered when they learned that the coffers were bare. She had known that things were difficult, the old duke had become vague and not paid proper attention to his responsibilities, but Matthew had assured her that he would take control.

  He never got the chance.

  And now Celeste found herself marking time, waiting to see what the new duke would make of things, if and when he deigned to put in an appearance. She was tolerated by Alice and Emma, who would have had to exert themselves if she was not there, but there was most definitely no love lost between them. Celeste had bullied the duke’s family into making economies, forbidding them to entertain or make any purchases that were not absolutely necessary. It was that, she had told them, or live in absolute squalor, as opposed to teetering upon the brink of it.

  She wondered for the hundredth time why she didn’t simply pack her bags and leave. Her mother was dead, her presence here was resented and there were too many ghosts, too many memories of happier times at Webster Abbey for her comfort. She had a little money of her own that would enable her to live comfortably and with considerably less stress than was placed upon her at the Abbey.

  But something held her back. Fear of the unknown, perhaps, or a premonition that she was supposed to remain for reasons that were beyond her comprehension. There again, the vague suspicions that had gathered at the back of her mind and refused to budge might be the real reason. She would wait and see what she made of the new duke, and if she liked what she saw she might share those suspicions with him. They were his responsibility, not hers, and once she had unburdened herself she would have done her duty and could leave with a clear conscience.

  ‘Foolish, Celeste, foolish!’ she muttered to herself, as she considered her stubborn determination to remain in a household where her efforts went unappreciated.

  Foolish she might be. Put upon, definitely. But her patience was not limitless. Even so, she would wait a little longer for the duke to arrive. She didn’t know quite what else she could do. She had trusted her instincts for so long that she seldom took any action that went against them. Besides, despite the fact that it was crumbling around her, she was inordinately fond of the Abbey. She was intimately acquainted with every inch of it—the main wing at least, which is all that was habitable, and then only barely—and couldn’t imagine herself living anywhere else.

  She bustled into the kitchen to placate their long-suffering cook, who had been at the Abbey forever. It was the only home she knew, accounting for her willingness to remain, even though she had not been paid for two quarters. She was the only person who had a good word to say for the new duke. Of course, she had only known him as a child. What sort of man he had grown into had become a subject of endless speculation. Emma and Alice were united in their opinion that he must be uncouth, uncivilized, unappreciative, un-everything. Perhaps so, but Celeste supposed he couldn’t be any worse than the men who currently resided beneath the leaky roof of Webster Abbey.

  ‘They have left the parlour in a dreadful state again, Mrs Gibson,’ Celeste said, rolling her eyes. ‘Make sure that Meg and Daisy don’t touch it. I want to make a point.’

  ‘Fat lot of good that will do you, love.’

  ‘Even so, it’s worth a try.’ She headed for the door to the scullery, where she kept her shotgun. ‘I’ll see if I can pot a few rabbits for a stew,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t need to be doing that. I know how soft-hearted you are and how you hate killing the poor things. I’ve heard you apologising to them when you bring them in.’

  ‘Well, needs must. I’m a better shot than Ned,’ she pointed out, referring to the one outdoor servant they had managed to retain. ‘Besides, he has more than enough to keep him occupied.’

  Celeste couldn’t recall the last occasion upon which she had ventured outside wearing a bonnet and gloves. She laughed at the very idea, having far too much to do to worry about her appearance. Today she wore an old apricot muslin gown that had definitely seen better days and was too large for her. She had hurriedly pulled a brush through her tangled hair when she got out of bed and tied it back with a ribbon. Unlike Alice and Emma, who spent hours every day admiring themselves in front of mirrors and bemoaning the fact that they were not fit to be seen, that was the extent of the attention she ever bestowed upon herself.

  She grabbed her shotgun and left the scullery. A sorry tangle of fur and paws emerged from a corner and whined at her. Celeste’s heart quailed as she bent to ruffle the ears of Matthew’s dog, Rufus. Ever since Matthew’s death, the collie-cross he had rescued from a farmer who had beaten him had refused to come into the house and remained outside, loitering close to the stables, waiting for Matthew to return. Celeste was the only person who could touch him and she made sure that at least he was fed and received a few kind words every day.

  ‘He’s not coming back, sweetheart,’ she said softly, feeding him a scrap of bacon she had taken from the kitchen in anticipation of seeing him. ‘We shall have to make the best of things, you and I. There’s nothing else for it.’

  Celeste made her way towards the coppice to one side of the Abbey where she knew the rabbits had a network of burrows, with Rufus at her heels. But before she had progressed very far, the sound of an approaching carriage caused her to change course. They were constantly being pestered, by Alvin and Toby’s creditors and by others keen to take advantage of the family’s reduced circumstances, presumably thinking that they would be easily duped. Given the state of the Abbey, Celeste couldn’t blame them for that, but she was happy to put them right on the point. After the confrontation with Alvin earlier, she was in no mood to be bullied and would make her unwelcome visitors fully aware of the fact.

  She faltered when she saw the quality of the carriage that had halted in front of the house, drawn by a team of four decent horses. Two men and a tiger were in occupation of it, a cut above the customary types who tried to ingratiate themselves. Even so, Celeste wasn’t about to let her guard down.

  ‘Who the devil are you?’ she demanded to know, levelling the shotgun at them. Rufus’s hackles went up and he barked.

  ‘I was about to ask the same question of you.’

  The man who had been driving the conveyance tried off the reins and leapt to the ground with athletic grace.

  ‘Don’t come any closer.’ Celeste waved the barrel of the gun at him, trying not to be impressed by his authoritative presence, the breadth of his shoulders and ruggedly handsome features. Dark hair blew across intelligent green eyes. He pushed it aside, revealing an exasperated expression.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you that it’s dangerous to play with guns?’ he asked, walking up to her and snatching the shotgun from her hands.

  ‘How on earth did you manage to…’

  Celeste allowed her words to trail off, acutely embarrassed when the answer to her own question sprang into her head. No one had ever managed to disarm her before, and certainly not with such ease, but she had been so taken with the stranger’s elegance that she’d been guilty of gawping at him, forgetting all about the gun in her hands and the danger that he represented. He was dangerous, she instinctively knew, but somehow she didn’t feel threatened by him. Nor, it seemed, did Rufus, who astonished her by trotting up to him, sniffing his dusty boots and then wagging his tail. It was the first time Celeste had seen the dog show any animation at all since Matthew’s death.

  ‘My God!’ she said, surprise taking precedence over manners.

  ‘Close enough.’ He allowed himself a droll smile that stole the arrogance from his words as he dropped a hand to scratch Rufus’s ears. ‘I am Webster and I believe this crumbling pile is now mine.’

  ‘You?’ Celeste’s mouth fell open. ‘You are the new duke?’

  ‘So it seems. May I know your name?’

  Chapter Two

  Phin’s despair at everything he had seen so far was tempered by the appearance of the spirited chit whose identity he had yet to ascertain. He glanced at John, who shrugged, indicating that he too was in the dark. It was difficult for Phin to decide what situation she occupied at the Abbey. Her garb was ill-fitting but too colourful to be that of a servant. He didn’t imagine that his cousin or aunt had employed her as a companion and there were no children that he was aware of who might need a governess. Her wild curls were barely restrained by a ribbon that struggled to hold them in place—further evidence if any was needed that she was not a lady of quality in the strictest sense of the word. No such creature would dream of wandering about with her hair all over the place, but Phin had no complaints to make about this one’s willingness to do so. Her untamed and unconventional appearance that appealed to him on any number of levels—most of them inappropriate.

  He directed his attention to her eyes, filled first with suspicion, then surprise when the dog seemed to take an interest in him. Astonishment and a modicum of relief took over when he revealed his identity. The girl’s triangular face had high cheekbones and finely arched brows, but was dominated by those sloping, expressive eyes. Her mouth was smooth and beautifully sculpted, albeit a hint too wide, and her complexion flawless. Phin felt a stirring in his loins as he continued to assess her, appreciating what he saw. This was no ordinary female, he sensed, but one with a strong sense of will and equally strong convictions. She returned the favour by subjecting his person to a prolonged perusal but not, Phin suspected, with the same lascivious thoughts occupying her brain. Phin found himself hoping that he did not disappoint, but quickly pulled himself together. It mattered not one jot to him what the wretched girl thought of him.

  ‘I should have realised who you were at once,’ she said, her voice low and melodious. ‘You have a look of Matthew about you. Perhaps that’s why Rufus has taken a liking to you.’

  ‘Ah, now I understand. Rufus belonged to my cousin.’

  ‘And is inconsolable at his loss, as am I.’

  ‘You were affianced to my cousin?’ Phin asked, feeling an unnatural bolt of jealousy rip through him at the prospect. She dashed at a tear that trickled down her cheek, leading Phin to suppose that must have been the case, despite her unorthodox appearance—or perhaps because of it. He and Matthew had enjoyed unconventional tastes when they had been children. Phin’s had not altered with the onset of maturity and it appeared as though Matthew’s had not either. Why she was in residence at the Abbey if she and Matthew had not been married was less clear to Phin, but doubtless she would have the goodness to explain herself in the fullness of time.

  The girl straightened her shoulders and fixed Phin with a considering look. ‘No, nothing like that,’ she said. ‘Matthew and I were friends.’ Phin wasn’t sure if he believed her. Perhaps her love for Matthew had not been reciprocated and she was too proud to admit it. ‘I am Celeste Stirling.’ She lifted her chin and bobbed the suggestion of a curtsey. ‘Welcome back to what remains of Webster Abbey.’

  Stirling? He glanced at John, who whispered “housekeeper” out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘You lost your mother, as well as my uncle and cousin in the accident that killed them all,’ he said, sympathy in his tone. ‘I am very sorry. And now, to make matters worse, you have to put up with me and my friend, Mr Kline.’

  ‘Since you own the Abbey, your grace, it is you who must tolerate us.’ A brief smile touched her lips and as quickly disappeared. ‘I trust you possess a strong constitution. You will certainly need it. However, of more immediate concern to me is the welfare of your horses. You should not leave them standing about, you know.’

  ‘They are liveries. This lad will return them,’ he said, indicating the tiger.

  ‘They should be fed and watered first,’ she replied briskly, ‘but you will have to deal with them yourself. If you know how.’ A suggestion of a smile once again troubled her lovely mouth, almost as though she had got out of the habit of smiling during the past year. Given the condition of the Abbey—at which, presumably, she had assumed her mother’s position, struggling to maintain control whilst grieving for her loss—it was hardly to be wondered at. She was far too young to shoulder so much responsibility and on a whim Phin made it his purpose to see her smiling freely once more.

  ‘Oh, I dare say I shall manage,’ he said, ruefully accepting the fact that servants must be in short supply. Better that, he supposed, than having a small army of them taking advantage of Miss Stirling’s inexperience and neglecting their duties. He nodded to the tiger, who jumped down and commenced unloading their luggage.

  ‘You should have sent word that you were coming,’ Miss Stirling said on a note of censure. ‘I would have ensured that rooms were ready for you.’

  ‘I am sorry to have inconvenienced you,’ he said, amused rather than offended by her outspokenness.

  He unharnessed the horses with swift efficiency, helped by John. He noticed her watching him, finding it hard to disguise her surprise at his lack of artifice. He still found it necessary to remind himself at frequent intervals that he was now a duke—and dukes, he imagined, were not supposed to know how to unharness horses, much less prove willing to set to and see to the beasts’ comfort. He hoped she approved of his down-to-earth approach. From what little he had thus far seen of the state of the Abbey, he suspected that a great deal more hands-on effort would be required on his part if he was to restore it to its former, if still somewhat dilapidated, glory.

  ‘I shall deal with the horses whilst you find us somewhere to sleep. Then you can tell me what…’

  Phin glanced up and allowed his words to trail off. He caught a flash of apricot as she disappeared around the side of the house and he found himself talking to fresh air.