Chapter Five
Chapter
FIVE
Portia still could not fathom why the duke had given her the job.
Convinced that the interview had been a perfunctory waste of her time, while also irritated at her body’s peculiar reaction to a man who was the antithesis of all that she stood for, she had been rude and combative throughout it.
She had been so annoyed at him, his dimples, and his dismissive tone toward her that she hadn’t held any of her feelings back.
Irrespective her egalitarian ideals and dislike of the privileged aristocracy in general, she had never done that to someone of his ilk before.
Only an idiot bit the hand that fed—but she had bit his, and hard.
Her jaw had hit the floor when he had asked her if there was any chance that she could start tomorrow, and she had been in a state of utter bafflement ever since.
Now here she was, not twenty-four hours later, once again sitting in the Duke of Debden’s study, waiting for him to find the time to see her.
He had said one sharp, and according to the big clock on his mantel it was already twenty-five past, but at least in this instance she was being paid to sit around waiting for him to learn how to tell the time.
“My apologies for being late once again.” The duke strode through the open door, followed by his two incongruously matched loyal hounds and the disdainful cat, looking all windswept and disgustingly interesting. “I was unavoidably delayed in town with my sisters.”
Portia stood and bobbed the expected curtsy, but made sure to put more effort into it today than she had yesterday. “Good afternoon, your grace.”
“Let us hope it will be, Miss Kendall, because my morning with them has been horrendous.” He gestured for her to retake her seat, then took his own.
As soon as he did, the permanent additions of both his lumbering mastiff and the constantly staring spaniel settled on either side of his desk, while the cat jumped onto his lap and promptly curled up into a ball.
“But I am hopeful that my life is about to improve exponentially now that you are here to help me with them.” He smiled and his dimples briefly flashed.
To her complete disgust, that was all it took for her pulse to quicken.
“But before I throw you headfirst into the lions’ den, I wondered if you have any more questions. ”
As he was being unexpectedly affable, it would have been churlish for her not to make some similar concessions. So she smiled, even though it hurt her a great deal to do so. “I have none at the moment, your grace.”
His explanation yesterday had been quite thorough.
With his mother unavoidably detained in London for the entire summer, her mornings would be taken up with the social secretary side of things, sorting through the invitations and passing over to him any for the evening soirees, which he would escort the ladies to.
Or not, depending on what he decided the family should attend.
Her purview was any daytime invitations or excursions, accompanying his sisters much like a lady’s maid would.
She was to be wary of any invitations where single men might be involved, especially those from the militia, and should pass them over to him to consider.
Although, he then said that she should probably immediately burn any invitations from anyone who wore a uniform, because it would be a cold day in hell before he allowed his youngest sister anywhere near a soldier ever again.
“Emilia,” he had cautioned with worry in his eyes, “loses all sense if she comes within twenty feet of a redcoat.”
Portia’s afternoons were at his sisters’ leisure, where again she would accompany them on all forays into the outside world.
He had underscored the word “all” repeatedly as he clearly did not trust either of his sisters as far as he could throw them.
Which was why, she supposed, he needed a proper chaperone for them, and why he had been at great pains to stipulate that in all circumstances, and again the emphasis had been on “all,” the young ladies were never to be out of her sight.
Anything that Portia felt was untoward, she was to bring to his attention.
She already suspected that meant he would want to know the ins and outs of everything, whether she felt it untoward or not, because he seemed like the sort who needed to be in control.
It wasn’t her place to tell him that that was undoubtedly why his sisters rebelled against him so much.
She certainly would if she were in their shoes, because the Duke of Debden was obviously an autocratic nightmare to live with.
“Splendid,” he said, removing the cat from his lap before sweeping his arm toward the door.
“I shall introduce you to them both and then leave you to it. We have already been out today, and the weather has taken a nasty turn, so I am hopeful that your first afternoon should be quiet enough that you can find your feet here before you have to use them to run after them. Or at least one lives in hope that will be the case—but with my sisters, one always has to be on one’s toes.
” Unlike the cat, he waited solicitously for her to pass through the door first, a gentlemanly courtesy that surprised her when he significantly outranked her.
But as he then allowed his dogs to go through before him too, she decided not to read too much into the gesture.
“I assume my housekeeper has already shown you your office and your quarters?”
“She has indeed, your grace.” And very nice they both were too. “Thank you.”
“I trust both met with your satisfaction.”
“More than, your grace.” Her small but pretty bedchamber overlooked the garden and the unspoiled acres of common land beyond.
“This is a beautiful house.” And it was.
Even with the Rembrandts, Titians, and Gainsboroughs casually dotted about, there was a homely feel to this grand residence that had charmed her.
One that suggested that this was a family home first and foremost rather than a mausoleum whose sole purpose was to impress others, as the Mayfair houses of her two previous aristocratic employers had been.
“Thank you.” His dratted dimples returned again as he smiled before he glanced toward the drawing room somewhat warily, almost as if he dreaded going in. “I could show you around…”
“Your housekeeper has already done the honors.” That came out a bit more clipped than she intended, but the last thing she wanted was to engage in any more chitchat with him than was necessary. Especially when everything about him unnerved her in a way that she wasn’t pleased about.
She blamed those disarming dimples.
And his bright blue eyes.
And his shoulders.
A despicable, despotic duke had no right being so well put together when he had too many advantages already than was fair or equitable.
“Right then.” By his flat tone he had heard her clipped one and wasn’t impressed with it.
“Let’s get this over with.” He strode to the big double doors of the drawing room and muttered something under his breath before he flung them open.
She couldn’t be sure, because he definitely hadn’t meant it for her ears, but it sounded a great deal like “Abandon all hope all ye who enter here.”
Portia followed him in and bobbed a deferential curtsy to the two young ladies who were sitting on opposite sides of a tea table, regarding her with the same unimpressed interest as the snooty white Persian cat was now doing from its new perch on the sofa.
“Abigail, Emilia.” He gestured to each in turn.
“Allow me to introduce you to Miss Kendall, your new chaperone.” Both ladies stood as politeness dictated, but neither made any effort to disguise their resentment as he turned back to her.
“Miss Kendall, these are my sisters Lady Abigail and Lady Emilia.”
Her presence was acknowledged by twin nods before Lady Abigail spoke. Pointedly to her brother rather than at Portia. “I’ll confess, Leo, Miss Kendall is not at all what I expected our new jailer to be like.”
“Miss Kendall is your chaperone, not your jailer.” The duke’s jaw clenched, and a nerve ticked in his cheek. “And you are being impolite.”
“My humblest of apologies, Miss Kendall.” Lady Abigail bobbed an insincere curtsy. “It is not fair of me to take out my many frustrations with my unreasonable brother on you. I hope that you can forgive any offense I might have caused.”
“No offense was taken, my lady, I can assure you.” Before the duke could say anything further that would put Portia firmly in the firing line, she decided to deflect.
She had come here to earn what she needed to work for Equitas, not complicate her life further by becoming embroiled in a silly family war of the overbearing duke’s making.
So for an easier life, she smiled and glanced around the room for something more pleasant to talk about.
The first thing she noticed was the full-length portrait of the duke above the mantel. His painted blue eyes twinkling. His annoying dimples flashing and a different pair of loyal dogs guarding either side of his feet.
At least his dogs liked him, she supposed. From the twin hostile expressions on his sisters’ faces, not even his own family did. Hardly a surprise when he was such an overbearing tyrant.
That said, he was almost as disarming in oils as he was in real life, but at least that portrait showed him more for who he actually was, so she would take comfort in that.
It took a special sort of self-indulgent, arrogant vanity to hang yourself over your own fireplace!
So obviously, Portia would not pander further to his inflated ego by mentioning it as she wrenched her eyes away.
“Which one of you is the artist?” Thank goodness there was an easel set up by the window with a half-finished watercolor resting upon it.
“I am.” Lady Emilia offered her the ghost of a smile. “Although I think calling myself an artist is overestimating my abilities.”
“Nonsense.” Doubtless overstepping her boundaries, but acting on impulse, Portia wandered toward the picture and bent to closer inspect the details.
“You have captured the vista outside this window very well.” Which was true.
It wasn’t as compelling as the portrait of the duke, but it was still a decent piece of work.
“I have always envied those with the talent to paint as it is one which I do not possess. Your brushes in these clumsy fingers”—she wiggled them—“would, at best, result in a childish daub. Did this take you long?”
“No more than an hour, although I’ll confess that I lost interest in it before it was properly finished. I prefer painting my landscapes from life.” Lady Emilia shot her brother a peeved glare. “But alas, that is difficult to do when we are confined for hours every day in here.”
“Then we must take your easel and paints out as soon as the weather improves so that you can study some wildflowers in detail.” The best way to get these young women to cease seeing her as their jailer was to let them know that she wasn’t going to keep them inside like their brother.
“There is a pretty stretch of riverbank less than twenty minutes west of here that is a carpet of buttercups and oxeye daisies at this time of year.” She did not wait for agreement, or for the duke to lay down yet another set of constrictive rules for such an outing, and instead turned to Lady Abigail, who was still regarding her with suspicion. “Do you paint, Lady Abigail?”
The elder sister shook her head and likely would have left it at that if her brother hadn’t stepped in to save them all from an awkward silence.
“Abigail likes to read.” A lifeline!
“So do I!” Portia smiled at her. “What book are you currently enjoying?”
“I think enjoying would be overstating it.” The duke chuckled and his sister simply glowered at him. “My sister prefers lengthy intellectual and philosophical tomes and never seems to read fictional escapism for pleasure.”
Lady Abigail bristled at that. “As I prefer to broaden my mind, I am currently enjoying a biography of John Locke.” She announced that with the arrogance of one who assumed that nobody else read anything of substance.
Portia pitied her that arrogance. It was so typical of someone from the aristocracy to underestimate the educational level of someone who did not come from their ranks.
“Ah yes. The father of modern liberalism.” The young woman’s eyes widened in surprise.
“He is indeed an interesting character, although not quite as progressive in the modern liberal sense nowadays as he was considered back in Tudor times.” Then as an olive branch and because she could not resist quietly putting the young woman in her place: “I have a copy of his Two Treatises of Government if you would like to borrow it once you have finished your biography. The Old English language is a tad cumbersome and the spelling bizarre, but it is easier to read than Latin and fascinating to hear his opinions straight from the horse’s mouth.
Even if some of those opinions have not traveled well. ”
Lady Abigail was all astonishment but did her best to politely cover it. “I would indeed, Miss Kendall.”
“Excellent.” Then, because she had no intentions of staying longer and creating any more opportunities for the overbearing duke to cause friction now she had made some inroads in disarming these two ladies, Portia took the lead again.
“Then I shall let you get back to your tea in peace. Do let me know if you need me at all later. I shall only be down the hall.”
“The only place that we would like to go later is to Lady Southgate’s reading salon.
” That came from the bookworm Lady Abigail.
“But alas, our unreasonable brother has decreed that we must all stay in tonight after dinner as he claims to have better things to do than accompany us. So we must suffer an evening of tedium incarcerated here as a result.”
The duke’s mouth flattened at that barb. “One evening at home while I catch up on all the important work which I have been forced to neglect to cater to your selfish whims is hardly the end of the world, Abigail.”
Portia acknowledged both comments with a suitably nondescript, almost-sympathetic nod and then wisely left the three battling siblings to it.
They all knew that it was not her place to offer to attend the reading salon with them in his stead because that would be impossible.
Servants weren’t welcome in aristocratic parlors under any circumstances.
Never mind that her working hours here ended at six and she had absolutely no intentions of ever outstaying that.
The moment you gave the aristocracy an inch, they always took a mile.
Besides, she also had a mountain of her own work to do at Equitas and that was far more important than whatever nonsense three spoiled aristocrats got up to in the evenings.