Game of Dukes Page 3

  ‘Well,’ John said, grinning as he and Phin led the horses towards the stables. ‘Life will never be dull with that chit around. Highly unconventional, like everything else about this Godforsaken place, and not the least bit intimidated by your arrival.’

  ‘What’s she still doing here though, John, that’s the question?’

  The dog followed at Phin’s heals, wagging its tail whenever Phin glanced down at it. He felt sorry for the mutt, and being fond of dogs himself, decided that he would adopt it. Besides, showing it some kindness would stand him in good stead with the beguiling Miss Stirling, about whose circumstances his curiosity was piqued. He anticipated a battle of wills with his relations, who were hardly likely to welcome him back with open arms. Procuring the approval of Miss Stirling who, he suspected, more or less ran the place single-handed, would do his cause no harm.

  ‘Good lord!’

  Phin was appalled to find stables that he recalled being full to bursting with the finest horseflesh mostly unoccupied. Two indifferent carriage plods occupied stalls, and there were a couple of half-decent saddle horses. And that was it. Shrugging, Phin led his two horses into vacant stalls and John did the same with the other pair. Phin found oats, John hay. They filled water buckets from the pump in the yard and left the horses munching contentedly.

  ‘Ready to do battle?’ Phin asked.

  ‘Lead the way.’

  Rather than risk the crumbling front steps, which Miss Stirling had avoided, Phin led the way to the scullery door and let himself into the kitchen. He stopped dead in his tracks when a stout woman with flour on her cheeks turned to look at him, gaped for a moment and then let out a whoop of delight.

  ‘About time, an’ all!’ she cried, flinging herself at Phin. ‘You ain’t changed a bit from the days when I used to tan your backside for grabbing all the cakes soon as I took them out the oven.’

  John turned a guffaw into a cough.

  ‘And you are lovelier than ever, Mrs Gibson,’ Phin replied, relieved to see a familiar and friendly face.

  ‘Ah, get on with you!’ But she looked pleased, both by the compliment and the fact that he remembered her name. ‘Who’s this then?’ she asked, sending John an assessing look.

  ‘My friend, Mr Kline. John, this is Mrs Gibson, who makes this best apple pie this side of the Pennines.’

  ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,’ Mrs Gibson said demurely. ‘I dare say you’re sharp set,’ she added, returning her attention to Phin. ‘I can do something about that. Here,’ she added, only just seeming to notice that the dog had followed them inside. ‘How did you make him do that?’ Mrs Gibson scratched her head. ‘Well I’ll be blowed! He hasn’t been inside since the young master passed, not even when we tried to tempt him with a beef bone. We were that worried about him. Well,’ she added with a huff, ‘those of us with hearts were, which means Miss Stirling and me.’

  ‘Food can wait, Mrs G. I’m more concerned with finding my feet, and this mutt seems determined to help me.’ Phin reached down to scratch the dog’s ears, and the dog responded with a single bark, making them all smile. ‘Miss Stirling said something about having rooms prepared for us.’

  ‘She’s upstairs attending to the matter now.’

  ‘She has to do it herself?’ Phin frowned, wanting to ask more, full of curiosity and a sense of foreboding about the downturn in the Abbey’s fortunes, but it was not Mrs Gibson’s place to tell him.

  ‘I’ll take a look around then,’ he said, steeling himself to meet the other members of the family.

  But a glance around the door to the grand drawing room revealed furniture shrouded in dust sheets, closed curtains and an aroma of combined disuse and mould. Clearly this room, once the centre of all activities within the Abbey, had not been closed up for a considerable time. The same proved to be the case with the formal dining room. The smaller one, across the wide expanse of corridor, was clearly in regular use but the double doors to his uncle’s library were firmly closed. He tried the handle and found they were locked. Shrugging, he turned towards the small drawing room and was appalled to discover the debris from what had obviously been a wild evening. Glasses and empty bottles littered every surface, and Phin’s nose twitched at the stale smell of rum.

  He turned towards John with a grim expression. ‘Things will have to change,’ he said, wondering who had footed the bill for this night of excess, suspecting it had been financed from the duchy’s coffers. This meant that he had paid for it, albeit indirectly.

  ‘I wonder where the rest of your relations are hiding themselves.’

  Phin rolled his eyes. ‘It’s not yet noon. I doubt if any of them are out of their beds, and I am in no immediate hurry to reacquaint myself with them.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but I’ll wager they are all aware of your arrival by now.’

  ‘Come along. Let’s risk going upstairs,’ Phin said, deciding not to explore the other wings of the Abbey immediately. The doors that led to them were closed, implying that they were also not used, and Phin wasn’t yet ready to confront further evidence of the rot that he would be obliged to stop.

  The Abbey, built in the twelfth century, was occupied by the Roundheads during the Civil War and had been badly damaged in the fight to reclaim it. Maintaining such a rambling and unsuitable residence had proved an uphill struggle. He recalled hearing his uncle complaining about the cost of its upkeep, but had been too young when he had lived there to understand the complexities his relative battled with daily in order to keep the estate profitable. Looking at it now, as an adult, Phin had a much better idea.

  The building surrounded three sides of a courtyard, edged with cloisters that had been the province of the monks who had originally occupied the building. He could see that they were crumbling and unsafe now. He recalled the courtyard being an oasis of calm, lovingly planted and maintained under the direction of his late aunt. With its tinkling fountains and wildly rambling flowers it was a tranquil place in which to sit and contemplate during the heat of the summer. Not that rumbustious ten-year-olds had much need or patience for contemplation, but that was neither here nor there.

  A glance out of the window confirmed that it was now as neglected as the rest of the place—an overgrown wasteland that would require the attention of a dozen gardeners for a month in order to put it to rights. It seemed less important than returning the Abbey itself to a habitable state, but sentimentality, pride and stubbornness would likely override practicalities, making one of the first areas to benefit from Phin’s return.

  Grimacing, Phin avoided their luggage which was piled up in the hallway and climbed the magnificent oak staircase—one that he had not anticipated ever seeing again—taking two steps at a time, the dog still staying by his side. He smiled to himself as he recalled the number of times that he and Matthew had been chastised for sliding down the bannisters. He had always thought those punishments most unreasonable since such a wide, inviting bannister was simply too tempting for young boys with energy to spare to resist. The oak now lacked the lustre that it had once sported and Phin suspected it was also infected with woodworm. He noticed that many of the valuable pieces of porcelain and silver that used to decorate the various shelves and alcoves in the hallway and beyond were missing. Perhaps his uncle had sold them before his death, since funds had clearly been tight. Miss Stirling would probably know.

  He heard voices coming from the main bedchamber and realised with a start that he would be expected to occupy the rooms he had always associated with his uncle. He wanted to tell the energetic Miss Stirling that something less salubrious would serve, but changed his mind at the last moment. He sensed even more acutely now he was actually here that his presence would be resented, so he needed to exert his authority immediately. Now. Today. There was no better way to achieve that ambition, he knew, than taking over the master suite of rooms.

  Sharing another resigned look with John, Phin put his head round the door. Two maids were in occupation of the voluminous bedchamber and its adjoining sitting room as well as Miss Sinclair. She and one maid were engaged with tucking sheets beneath the mattress and plumping up pillows. He had a clear view of her slender backside as she bent over his bed, hair tumbling over her face, and it had a most disconcerting effect upon him. He turned away from her and waited for his tumescence to subside. It had been too long since he’d lain with a pretty woman, making him susceptible to this particular one’s wiles. Not that she had attempted to deploy said wiles to make a favourable impression upon him, he accepted, preferring not to dwell upon the dent to his pride that realisation caused him.

  The other maid was polishing the old furniture that he remembered so well. The windows had been thrown wide and dust motes stirred in the breeze that filtered into the chamber. The frames looked warped and Phin hoped the windows would close again.

  ‘We are not ready for you,’ Miss Sinclair said impatiently. ‘The rugs have to be beaten and the room thoroughly aired.’

  Without saying a word, Phin picked up one of the Turkish rugs that covered the boarded floor, carried it to the window and shook it hard against the stone walls. It weighed a great deal and it would have required both of the maids to perform that task, probably less efficiently than Phin was able to manage. He ignored Miss Sinclair’s look of astonishment and continued to give the rest of the rugs similar treatment. By the time he had finished, John had made use of a broom and swept the floor.

  ‘As good as new,’ Phin said. ‘I have slept in worse places.’

  ‘The floorboards need to be polished and the bed hangings taken down and cleaned. If we had known you were coming, we could have prepared properly.’

  ‘It was not my intention to make more work for you,’ Phin replied meekly.

  ‘Yes, well…’

  Miss Sinclair seemed disconcerted by his apology. She smoothed the quilt and sent him an assessing look. ‘I will have someone bring your luggage up and unpack,’ she said briskly.

  ‘Is there anyone employed here to provide that service?’ Phin asked, suspecting that she had intended to see to it herself.

  ‘We will manage.’

  ‘No need.’ He took her elbow and steered her from the room. ‘John will attend to the luggage, if your maids would show him where he is to sleep. You and I need to talk.’

  *

  Celeste’s reaction to the touch of his hand on her arm came from somewhere deep within her core. A place that she had not been of aware before but which seemed determined to make its tingling presence felt in her dealings with the duke. She was overwrought, she told herself, as well as being relieved that he had finally deigned to inspect his inheritance. Not that he could have got here much quicker, the rational part of her brain reminded her, but she was in no mood to pay rationality any heed. She was more concerned with the havoc his touch had caused, but told herself that he had simply taken her by surprise. The feeling would pass and she would soon be her level-headed self again.

  ‘My uncle’s library is locked,’ he said.

  She indicated the bunch of keys attached to her waist. ‘I locked it, and I have the only key. We can talk in there uninterrupted.’

  ‘Where is the rest of the family?’

  She motioned towards several closed doors as they traversed the wide landing. ‘It is only just noon. None of them will be about yet, although I did briefly see Alvin earlier.’ She frowned. ‘I wonder what became of him, and what persuaded him to leave his bed at all for that matter. He and Toby were up half the night, drinking and playing cards with cronies from the local tavern.’

  ‘I noticed the debris in the small drawing room,’ he replied, following her down the stairs. ‘Does that happen often?’

  She pursed her lips. ‘More often than I would like, but I have no real authority here and cannot prevent it.’ She smiled at Rufus as he walked between them, wagging his tail. ‘At least he is more like his old self again.’ She stroked his head. ‘That is something. But if he is to be in the house, I shall have to give him a bath,’ she added, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the dog’s matted coat. ‘This place is already quite odorous enough without Rufus making matters worse.’

  Their conversation took them to the doors to the library. Celeste found the correct key and turned it in the lock, leaving it there and not reattaching it to her belt. The room was the duke’s domain now, and she had no further need to protect its contents. The curtains were closed and she pulled them back to allow sunshine to flood into the room. She noticed the duke’s surprise when he saw that none of the furniture was covered in dust and instead sported a high shine.

  ‘You?’ he asked, nodding at the pristine state of the room and simultaneously smiling when Rufus turned in several tight circles and settled on the rug in front of the empty fireplace.

  ‘Yes. I remember my mother and the old duke spending many happy hours in this room,’ she said, taking a seat close to Rufus. The duke took the chair that faced her—the same one that his uncle had been accustomed to using, and which still bore the imprint of his body, just as she had taken her mother’s favourite place. ‘You will recognise all of his books, I expect,’ she said, waving a hand in the direction of the loaded shelves. ‘Toby wanted to sell some of the more valuable ones,’ she added, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Emma’s husband?’ She nodded. ‘Which is why you locked the door, to prevent him from ravaging the collection?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

  ‘I didn’t do it for you. Well, not exactly. I just cannot abide people who assume…That is why I removed some of the smaller items of value out of temptation’s way. They are locked in that cupboard in the corner.’ She reached for her keys, detached the appropriate one and passed it to him. ‘Anyway, would you like refreshment? You have had a long journey.’

  The duke waved the suggestion aside. ‘I would prefer to learn more about what lays ahead of me.’

  ‘Well, to start with, this room would have received the same abuse that you saw in the small drawing room if I had not taken measures to ensure its protection, and I could not have borne it. I wanted to hold things together, at least until you got here.’ She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘I didn’t know what else to do.’

  ‘Tell me what happened. I recall the Abbey always being expensive to maintain but this…well, it’s come as a bit of a shock.’

  ‘It was not crumbling as much when you were a boy here as it is now?’ She nodded, as though answering her own question. ‘You find it hard to imagine that it reached this state of dilapidation in a little over a year since the old duke died, I suppose.’

  ‘Something of that nature. I don’t blame you,’ he hastened to assure her, ‘but I shall need some time to adjust to the situation, and I will depend upon you to help me.’

  ‘I will do all that I can,’ she replied, surprised that such a forthright person required help of any kind, especially from a woman.

  ‘There used to be people in and out all the time when I was a boy. Weeklong summer parties, lots of laugher and no shortage of funds to maintain the ostentatious display of wealth and consequence.’

  ‘You are disappointed?’ Celeste was conscious of the defensive edge to her voice.

  ‘Not with you. None of this is your fault.’ He paused. ‘Your mother was my uncle’s housekeeper, I believe.’

  ‘That was the role she was engaged to fulfil. We moved here three years ago, when Mama had been widowed for over a year. I know it’s unusual for a housekeeper to have a dependent child. Well, I was not exactly dependent. I was twenty at the time but Mama insisted that she would only take a position if I was allowed to join her. Your uncle was an unusual person. He took an immediately liking to Mama and agreed that I could come too. You, I suspect, are not conventional, either,’ she said, fixing him with a speculative look.

  He canted his head and offered her a guarded smile. ‘Perhaps.’

  Celeste was unable to tell if he resented her familiarity. His expression gave nothing away, but his keenly intelligent eyes—so similar to Matthew’s—his handsome features and those muscular thighs encased in close-fitting buckskin had a most disconcerting effect upon her. How was she supposed to think coherently with such a specimen of raw masculinity sprawled so elegantly across from her, seeming perfectly at his ease? Rather as though he owned the place—which, of course, he did.

  ‘I gather your uncle had turned down a dozen applicants for the position of housekeeper, but he took an immediate liking to my mother, agreed to her unusual terms and engaged her on the spot. She was elegant and educated, as well as being a proficient housekeeper and nurse. She’d had enough experience caring for my father when he became ill, and it was a skill that stood her in good stead.’ She plucked at the fabric of her skirts, unable to meet his searing gaze. ‘Your aunt had been dead for some years when we moved to the Abbey, and your poor uncle was besieged by ambitious females keen to take her place. Mama took it upon herself to turn them all away, aware that the duke had no interest in remarrying, but his illness had weakened and confused him and she worried that one of them would exploit his vulnerability.’

  ‘Vulnerable? My uncle?’ The duke flexed a brow. ‘That is not my recollection of the man. I remember him having a terrible temper. Matthew and I were terrified of him if we did anything to get ourselves in trouble.’ He gave a brief snort. ‘Which was most of the time. We didn’t seem able to help ourselves—but then boys will be boys and we egged each other on, I’m afraid.’ He smiled at her and the simple gesture turning her insides to mulch. ‘But still, if he became senile, I am glad he had your mother to protect his interests. They became close?’

  ‘Very much so.’ Celeste was aware of her cheeks flaming. ‘I don’t know precisely how intimate they actually were, and don’t see that it matters much. They were a great comfort to one another, and that thought comforts me in turn now that they are both gone.’