Chapter Ten #2
The world had clearly gone quite mad as Portia was making toast for a duke and—this really flummoxed her—she had offered to.
She wanted to blame that solely on how unsettled his question about her mother’s imaginary neighbor escorting her back had made her because she didn’t want to keep lying to him.
She preferred never to outright lie to anyone—which was why she was still avoiding her mother like the plague—so that wasn’t unique to the duke.
But after the way he had selflessly saved her yesterday, she felt bad about all the necessary fibs she had to tell.
The duke was, she realized now, not quite the archetypal aristocratic villain that she had been keen to paint him. Despite his galling title and his overbearingness, he actually seemed to be quite a decent man.
He was an affable, reasonable sort who was trying to do his best under the most challenging of circumstances.
Two weeks into her employment and she realized that he was not one of the idle rich because he had neither the time nor the patience for their usual pursuits.
Instead, he worked hard managing his estates and fulfilling his duties as a magistrate while being the best brother that he could be.
It could not be easy to juggle all that he did with the added responsibilities of two rebellious sisters, who she now knew firsthand were quite the challenge. So yes, he was a bit of a controlling tyrant where they were concerned, but it wasn’t entirely without cause.
She lifted the hot toasting forks from the edge of the fire and deposited the two steaming slices on a plate that she set before him.
They were lopsided and not pretty, but they did at least smell divine.
“Here you are, your grace.” As she had already put the butter dish and a pot of strawberry jam on the table, she offered him another surprisingly genuine smile.
“Don’t stay up too late.” Then she spun on her heel, ready to escape.
“You’re not having any?” Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t it.
“Well … I…”
He picked up one of the slices. “Only thanks to your rather cavalier way with the bread knife, these are two gargantuan pieces of toast, Miss Kendall.” Then he smiled but there was a vulnerability in his expression that tugged at her heart.
“And I cannot deny that I would appreciate the company after being imprisoned in my bed and forced to stare at the same four walls all day.” Then his dimples worked their usual magic as he grinned.
“Besides, as I have been starved all day too, despite the ridiculous thickness of these slices, I still might need you to make a second round. We don’t want me wasting away now, do we? ”
As there seemed no way of getting out of that without appearing churlish, she sat in the chair opposite him and tried not to wonder what sort of a state her hair was in after her brisk walk home across the city all the way from the newspaper in the dark.
The duke spread a generous layer of butter on a slice and passed it to her before he set about buttering the other for himself, apparently oblivious to the fact that men of his station did not generally prepare or share their food with someone of hers.
“I suppose I need to ask you if you would be kind enough to cancel all my social engagements for the next few days?” He tried and failed to look disappointed at that prospect.
“Which obviously devastates me.” He covered the threatening grin with a huge bite of his toast.
“That is already done.”
“That was very proactive of you, Miss Kendall, but thank you.”
“It was your sister’s idea actually.” She pulled a tiny corner of her crust off for appearance’s sake.
Not because she didn’t want to eat the toast—quite the contrary as she was hungry too—but because good manners dictated that she eat it like a lady.
He was a duke after all and, uncharacteristically, she was self-conscious about eating in front of one despite the informality of the setting.
“Lady Abigail told me to cancel everything until Friday straight after the physician left yesterday.”
“Did she?” He seemed surprised by that as he chewed thoughtfully. “I wonder how long this armistice will last?”
“Just enjoy it while it does.” Portia popped the tiny crumb into her mouth, and he paused chewing to stare at her, incredulous.
“Oh please don’t tell me that you are one of those women who pretends to eat like a bird?
Because such restraint really doesn’t suit you, Miss Kendall.
You’ve always struck me as a grab-the-bull-by-the-horns, I-do-not-care-what-anybody-else-thinks sort and if I can sit here proudly with butter all over my chin, so can you.
” He took another huge bite, his blue eyes lit with challenge.
“Or does my lofty title intimidate you so much that you are suddenly rendered meek?”
Could he read her like a book? “Nothing intimidates me, your grace, and especially not your title.” And to prove that, she stared him dead in the eye as she lifted the whole slice to her mouth and took a hearty crunch out of it.
“There she is! That is the Miss Kendall I employed.”
“I’ve often wondered why you did employ me. Especially when I cannot believe that I was as experienced as the other candidates.”
“You weren’t—but you came across as fearless and that clinched it. My sisters need fearless. They also need a chaperone who is wily, tenacious, determined, unflappable, unbelievably stubborn, and annoyingly clever.”
Portia felt a blush infuse her cheeks at him quoting back her own arrogant words but made no effort to hide it. “Oh please don’t remind me of all that I said in that interview as it was not my finest hour.”
He had such a lovely smile. The sort that utterly charmed.
“Whyever not? You were magnificent in that interview. Unconventional, yes. Overconfident—perhaps a tad.” He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart.
“Borderline rude too—most definitely. But still impressive.” His deep chuckle drizzled over her like the melted butter on her toast. “I’ve honestly never seen anything like it. ”
“Any other duke would have thrown me out for my impertinence.”
“I like to think that I am not like any other duke—but I know that I am merely flattering myself on that score. Unfortunately, I am simply a replica of my father in every way possible. Everybody says so,” he said, swiping crumbs from his lips.
“We even have the same sized feet and identical dimples.” He smiled broadly just so that he could poke his finger in one.
“Really?”
“Well you tell me—you must have seen the portrait? The enormous one hanging above the fireplace in the drawing room.”
Portia gaped at him, so shocked by that unexpected revelation that she forgot herself. “I thought that was you!”
“See,” he said shaking his golden head in amusement.
“My point is proved. There is absolutely nothing original about me. I am my father’s son through and through.
Not that I am complaining because my father was—” Then he frowned.
“Wait…” His blue eyes narrowed. “You thought that I was so vain that I actually hung a giant portrait of myself above my own fireplace?”
“I … um…”
“Oh I see!” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms, those mesmerizing cornflower eyes twinkling.
Looking utterly disarming thanks to his pillow-mussed hair and the day-old, burnished-gold stubble on his chin.
“Now it all begins to make sense why you didn’t like me.
You had me pegged as vain and self-absorbed. ”
“I … um … wouldn’t say that…” But as he was laughing, she couldn’t help sniggering too, seeing as he didn’t seem to have taken the slightest bit of offense at her assumption. “Perhaps I did form some opinions of you that weren’t correct on the back of that interview.”
“Ah-ha!” He pointed at her. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover, Miss Kendall?
” His cover now, thanks to just the thin, untucked linen shirt and breeches, was about as un-ducal as it was possible to be, and heaven help her but it suited him.
Somehow more than the well-tailored coats and silk waistcoats those garments were usually covered by.
“In my defense—you did keep me waiting for almost an hour and you did as good as offer Miss Strictland the job beforehand, so I thought you were wasting my time.”
He leaned on his propped hand across the table, staring deep into her eyes with such hypnotic intensity that, for a moment, she clean forgot he was a duke. “What changed your mind about me?”
“What makes you think that I have?”
“You are talking to me, Miss Kendall, rather than glaring. And…” He flicked a finger in the direction of her face. “Your smiles aren’t false anymore.”
“Yesterday,” she said honestly. “With the cat, the bird, the fall, the books, and…” In for a penny, in for a pound. “In the way you dealt with the constable.”
“Constable Nolley would try the patience of a saint.”
“Everything about yesterday’s debacle would try the patience of a saint, but you managed to deal with it all—with the exception of your pathetic swooning at the blood—with remarkably good grace.” Then, because the irony amused her, she added, “Your grace.”
“Ah yes…” He winced. “I am pathetically not good with blood after a bad experience with it. Try not to judge me for it.”
“We all have an Achilles’ heel.”
“What is yours, Miss Kendall?”
Currently, it was clearly a delightfully rumpled, blue-eyed, dimpled duke who refused to fit the mold, whose company she was enjoying more than she ever would have thought possible.
“By all, I obviously didn’t mean me, your grace.
I am too wily, tenacious, determined, unflappable, unbelievably stubborn, annoyingly clever, and fearless to have any sort of weakness.
And even if I did, I am too proud to admit to one. ”