His Unsuitable Duchess (The Brooding Dukes #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Yvette, a moment, if you do not mind.”

Miss Yvette Norleigh was walking past the doorway to her father’s office when she heard him call for her.

She was busy at the moment, an entire morning of chores that needed to be done, but her father’s call was enough to drag her away from them, as she knew that he would not be asking for her unless it was something important.

“Yes, Father?” she asked as she stepped into his office.

Her father’s office was a clustered mess of shelves and stacked books, the type that needed a good clean and sorting through, but would never get such a thing, as this was the one room that Yvette was not allowed in on her own.

While her father had changed much these past few years, there were still glimpses of his old self about, notable in how messy and disorganized he could be. Not to mention stubborn.

She stood in the doorway, waiting until he saw her.

His head was bent over his desk, his eyes fixed on the tome he had open before him. He held a quill, and as he read through the tome, he scratched at a piece of parchment beside it. Brow furrowed, shoulders rigid, he gave no indication that he noticed her.

“Father…” she pressed gently.

“One moment,” he responded without looking up. “Just allow me to…” He continued to scratch away.

Yvette’s father was the vicar of this church and had been since he was a young man. His parish was a rather small one, existing on an estate owned by His Grace, the Duke of Pembourne, and at most it might see a congregation of two dozen local farmers, their wives, and their children.

Not an important church in the grand scheme of things, but that made little difference to her father. This might have been Westminster Abbey, for how seriously he took his role.

“Where are you off to?” her father asked without looking up.

“Off to?” Yvette blinked. “I do not understand…”

“Your tasks, girl,” he corrected. “What tasks have you left for this morning?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, of course. I was just about to finish cleaning the church, Father. It has always confused me how dirty it gets after a single mass. I suppose that’s what comes with serving mostly farmers, though, isn’t it?

” She laughed softly at the comment. Her father, however, continued to scribble away without looking up.

“After which…” Yvette cleared her throat.

“I expect the children will have finished eating by that point, so I will be attending to that mess.” She laughed again. “And what a mess they make.”

“Children?” Her father paused.

“The orphans,” she corrected. “I saw them making their way over just now, and there are close to a dozen. I swear they are like mice, the way they multiply.” More laughter, again not returned by her father.

“Good. Good…” Her father scribbled a moment longer and then sighed before placing down the quill, shutting the tome, and folding his hands on the desk. And then, he looked at her. “I ask because I am expecting an important guest later at the house and –”

“A guest?” she interrupted. “Who is it, Father?”

He looked at her flatly.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I did not mean to interrupt.”

He sighed. “That is fine. As I was saying, I am expecting an important guest later at the house, and I would prefer not to be interrupted. So, if you might oblige this request and spend your morning at the church, that would be much appreciated.”

“How will I know when this guest has left?” she asked.

“I will send word.”

He continued to look at her, likely expecting her to ask again who the guest was. And oh, how she wanted to. It was rare for anyone of importance to visit her father outside of church hours, and that her father saw fit to warn her… it must be someone very important indeed.

Yvette did not ask the question again, because she knew there was no point. While her father was not overtly strict, and he certainly was not cruel, she knew him well enough to know that if he wanted to tell her who the guest was, he would.

That he did not tell her meant that he did not want her to know.

“Is there anything else?” she asked, sensing an end to this conversation.

“Yes, actually.” He smirked and shook his head. “At the risk of showing my vanity, how was the sermon today?” He gestured to what he was working on: the tome and the parchment on the table. “I worry sometimes that I ramble.”

Yvette smiled. “You were wonderful, Father. As always.”

He rolled his eyes. “We both know that is not true. It is not a sin to be confident, but modesty is a virtue, and there is no shame in seeking self-improvement.”

“I still think you did a fine job,” she said, holding her smile so that her father could see it. “I already look forward to the next one.”

That saw her father smile, which was a rare thing.

That wasn’t to say he was often angry or wicked.

In truth, he was kind and gentle, even caring – one had to be, to be a vicar.

However, not so long ago, and for reasons that Yvette did not like to think about, he had succumbed to the cruel lure of excessive drinking, letting its wicked touch taint him so that Yvette once feared he might never return to the man he once was.

He had since abstained from the drink, going five years sober, but the effects lingered, and he was always careful not to return to who he had been during those hard years.

Things were not perfect between Yvette and her father, and she was always careful not to step out of line or give her father a reason to falter.

She watched over him like he watched over his congregation, and while he never said it out loud, she liked to think that he relied on her as they relied on him.

“That will be all,” he said as he bent his head back over his work.

“I will let you know if there is anything else I need, Father.” Yvette smiled one more time and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Yvette…”

She turned to find her father back at work. “Yes?”

“Thank you for your help today. Your mother…” The scratching of his quill, and she saw his hand shaking. “She would be proud.”

A single tear leaked from Yvette’s eye, and she offered him a final smile, seeing no need to say anything else.

She watched him a moment longer, pride felt at how far he had come since he stopped drinking, and how dedicated he was once again to his work.

Then she stepped outside his office and closed the door gently.

It is slow and steady, but he is getting there. Not quite the man I remember, but so very close…

Her interaction with her father was not a particularly warm one, but that wasn’t expected. Rather, that he had thought to thank her at all told Yvette that her help was noticed and appreciated, and that was all she ever wanted.

As such, a natural smile formed on her lips as she went back to her daily tasks, of which there were many.

It was earlier this morning that congregation was held, so Yvette’s first task was to clean the church from top to bottom. She spent an hour on this task, humming merrily as she swept and dusted and replaced any flowers that had started to wilt.

Yvette had grown up as the daughter of a vicar, so she knew no life outside of this one, and she aspired to nothing else but helping those who could not help themselves. After all, was that not her purpose? Was that not how she had been raised?

Nowhere was this creed more prevalent than in the feeding of homeless children.

It had been her father’s idea to start feeding the youths who lived on the estate.

Some of them worked on the farms, others moved between them, and many were from London, which itself was only ten or so miles south.

Twice a week, her father arranged through his congregation to have food delivered and served to these youths, and over the past years, the number of children had grown from less than five to nearly two dozen.

When her tasks were done, Yvette made her way to a shed located behind the church, where the food was set for the children to eat.

By this time, she expected most of them to be gone, but there were always a handful that lingered because they had nowhere else to go and likely hoped that Yvette might bring them something else.

Today, there was just one youth remaining.

“Someone is moving a little slowly today,” Yvette joked as she walked into the shed and spied its single occupant.

He was huddled over the table, bowl in hand, which he scraped at and licked clean so ensure that nothing was missed or left behind. When he heard Yvette’s voice he jumped in the air, dropped the bowl, and looked ready to run away as if he was doing something wrong.

“Not that there is anything wrong with that,” Yvette made sure to add. “In fact…” She flashed her eyes at the youth. “I think you might see the benefit this one time.”

His name was Hugh and he was, by Yvette’s estimation, eight years old.

He was short for his age, underfed and scrawny so that his bones could be seen through his collar.

Hair as black as coal, eyes that were as blue as deep pools, and tanned skin from spending a life outdoors. Hugh was a street urchin to his core.

He was also one of the friendliest children Yvette had ever met. She saw dozens of children pass through here, and while many smiled at her, and some even greeted her, only Hugh ever spoke to her properly. Only Hugh ever tried to connect.

He is lonely, is why. How many times have I asked where he stays when he is not here? How many times have I tried to find out more? That he speaks to me at all is a miracle.

“Miss Norleigh!” Hugh yelped. “I – I – I did not hear you.” He spoke with a slight stutter, always more prevalent when he was nervous.

“Were you listening?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Or were you too busy feasting?” She eyed the bowl he had dropped at his feet.

He smiled sheepishly. “I was ru – running late. By the time I got here, most of it was gone. Figured I’d take advantage the best I could.”

“How industrious of you,” she laughed as she crossed the shed. “You know, they say that the early bird gets the worm, but they never say what the late bird gets.”

“Nothing, is my guess,” Hugh grinned.

She laughed. “Oh, I don’t know about that…” She flashed her eyes at him as she reached into the front of her dress. There, she pulled out a slice of lemon cake that she had brought specifically, knowing that there would be at least one child here who wanted it. Truthfully, she was glad it was Hugh.

His eyes widened when he saw the cake, and she could see the hunger in them. “Is that…”

“This?” She acted nonchalant. “Oh, this is just a little something extra I had on me. Why…” She frowned as if confused. “You don’t want this, do you, Hugh?”

He licked his lips and edged closer.

Yvette hesitated. What she wanted to do was use this moment to learn more about Hugh.

He had been coming here for a year now, he was easily the most starved and uncared-for of the children, and she was desperate to find out why so that she could help him.

Where did he come from? What happened to his parents? And who was he?

However, she also did not want to blackmail him. Yvette was trying to build trust between the two of them and figured that using food to force him to open to her was not a good idea.

“Here you are.” She held out the slice of cake. “Take it – oh!” she yelped in surprise when he snatched it from her hands.

She laughed as he hurried back around the table and began to shovel it into his mouth. And she smiled when she saw his eyes light up and heard the moan escape his lips.

It warmed her heart to see how happy he was.

Yvette did not have children of her own, nor did she want any.

The reason for that… it was not something that she liked to think about, nor was it important, as she doubted that she would ever be in a position to have children anyway.

For now, caring for these orphans was enough to satisfy her, and if she never had a child of her own, she was sure that she would still die a happy woman.

“Thank you,” Hugh made sure to say when he finished eating; he licked his fingers clean, making sure to get every single crumb.

“For you, Hugh, anytime,” she said. “Now…” She clapped her hands together. “You and your friends have left quite the mess for me to deal with here, so if there is nothing else…” She raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“Do you need help?” he asked her, his stutter now gone, as was always the case once he calmed down and his nervousness left him.

She beamed. “That would be lovely. Thank you, Hugh.”

They spent the following hour cleaning up the mess. Mostly, it was stacking bowls to be washed later. But they also swept up the crumbs, packed away the tables, and checked that nothing had fallen to the floor and rolled into corners or under tables where rats and mice might get to them.

Once they were done, she asked Hugh if he wished to come home with her and take a bath. Perhaps she could even mend his tattered clothes.

“I am sure we might even have some clothes that will fit you,” she offered him.

He took a nervous step back. “I… that’s fine. I do – don’t… I have somewhere I need…” He looked around anxiously.

It was always this way. As soon as Yvette offered him help of any kind, he would deny it and act as if he worried that she was trying to trick him.

“That is fine,” she said with a soft smile. “Maybe next time.”

Once Hugh left her, Yvette spent the rest of the morning washing the dirty bowls so that they could be returned to their owners; those who had brought the food in the first place. When that was finished, she figured it was time to be getting home.

Yvette’s home was located half a mile from the church, and she walked the dusty road with a smile on her face; memories of her day and the joy it brought her. It wasn’t a particularly important life, nor was it exciting, but it was her own, and that was what mattered.

The smile fell from her lips when she spied her home at the end of the road.

It was a small house, just the two rooms for her and her father, no bigger than the church and not nearly as well maintained. What had Yvette coming to a sudden stop, was the black stallion tied to a post by the front door.

She had completely forgotten that her father told her that he had a visitor, and when she saw the horse she hesitated, wondering if it would be better to turn and leave because whoever this was, her father had not wanted her to know about it.

Before she got the chance to do such a thing, the front door opened, out walked the owner of the horse, and Yvette’s mouth fell open and a pang of nerves flooded through her the likes of which she could not have predicted but she felt were perfectly justified.

I really should have listened to my father…