Chapter 11
Eleven
“Where the devil is the tea set?” Rowen massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers.
Mrs. Patmore flushed, wringing her hands as she shifted from one foot to another.
They were standing in the dining room of Kidlington House, one of the few rooms that had any furniture in it. Rowen had been doing an inventory of all the crockery and plates that remained in the house.
It had been a few days since they had moved in, and she had decided that it was high time she invited the other widows. She missed her friends, and though they did not stand on ceremony, she would be dead before she invited them somewhere and did not serve them refreshments.
“We do not have one, Your Grace.”
Mrs. Patmore winced as Rowen turned to her, sure she must have misheard.
“What do you mean we do not have one? How can we not have one?” She shook her head, feeling like she had stepped into a parallel universe. “Is this not an English household? How on earth can we not have the dishes required for afternoon tea?”
“His Grace got rid of most of them, and our last remaining set broke a few months ago. The Duke felt it was not necessary to replace it, as no one would be entertaining at the house. He goes to the club for such things, and when there are meetings here, the men drink scotch, not tea.” Mrs. Patmore cast a look at the door and then back at Rowen.
“He got rid of them?” Rowen gaped at her. “What kind of person gets rid of good china? No, do not answer that, Mrs. Patmore. Of course, a man would make such a foolish decision.”
No tea set, no furniture. Next, she will tell me that the man does not even have a proper pantry!
Rowen could not tell if it was exasperation, amusement, or horror that was twisting her stomach into a tight knot, but she suspected it was a combination of the three.
“He has been a bachelor for a long time, Your Grace. If you will pardon me for being so forward.” Mrs. Patmore swallowed, clearly nervous.
Rowen closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair.
Please, give me strength.
She exhaled through her nose and opened her eyes, her voice clipped with the effort of keeping her temper in check.
“And do all bachelors live like this? That is hardly an excuse. The lack of furniture is one thing. It gives me a reason to only invite my closest friends to visit—but I cannot even do that!”
“You can always host a dinner party, Your Grace. The dining set is still intact.” Mrs. Patmore brightened and gestured to the table and chairs, and the cupboard that contained the dishes in question.
“And after dinner? What will we do? Am I to simply ask them to leave after pudding?” Rowen pressed her knuckles to her forehead.
“If I cannot provide refreshments, there is no chance of games. Which would not be a problem if we could provide music, but there is not an instrument in sight. And it would not change the fact that not everyone enjoys evening social calls.”
“I am sorry, Your Grace.” Mrs. Patmore hung her head.
“It is not your fault.” Rowen made a mollifying gesture and then shook her head. “But I have no intention of letting things continue like this.”
“Your Grace?” Mrs. Patmore’s brow furrowed.
Rowen looked around the sparse dining table, then at the housekeeper, who was clearly embarrassed by all the things they lacked, and something inside her snapped.
She stalked out of the room. “No, this will not do.”
“Your Grace? Where are you going?” Mrs. Patmore called after her.
“To speak with my husband!” Rowen shouted back as she stormed up the stairs. “He does not even have a tea set, my goodness! The kind of things men think are not essential truly boggle the mind. No wonder he is a recluse.”
She reached the door of his study and rapped hard on the door, barely bothering to wait for his reply before she flung it open.
Tobias turned to face her. The sunlight streaming through the window sharpened his profile, making his green eyes sparkle like a forest in the depths of winter.
He looked like a fey prince, with an otherworldly beauty that would have been bewitching if she had not been so irritated. He arched an eyebrow at her and leaned against the windowsill, his arms folded across his chest.
“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” His voice held a note of amusement.
That jolted her out of her reverie, and she gave herself a little shake as her anger reared back up.
He has no right to be this handsome and this irritating. No right at all.
“Do you enjoy living like this?” she demanded, her temper getting the better of her.
“If you mean, do I enjoy having a beautiful woman storm into my study, then yes, I do.” He executed a mocking bow. “Though I admit, it would be far more enjoyable if you did not look like you were about to commit murder.”
“Do not think to distract me with your empty compliments, Tobias,” Rowen growled.
“And why are you convinced that I do not say what I mean?” Tobias cocked his head.
Rowen decided not to play his little game and gestured around the practically empty room. “What I meant was whether you enjoy living like you are a monk who has taken a vow of simplicity.”
“You know some rather wild monks if you think I am like one.” He chuckled, his eyes darkening. “I assure you, I am not monk-like in the slightest. I can prove it if you wish.”
Oh, I will not rise to your bait. Not this time.
Rowen moved closer to him. “Then why do you have an aversion to furniture and basic things that make socializing possible and living pleasurable?”
“I simply do not care for frills.” He shrugged and made a dismissive motion with his fingers. “Why bother with extravagance?”
“A tea set is not an extravagance; it is a necessity if one is to socialize like a civilized person. Most houses have at least two or three sets, and we do not even have one!” Rowen held up her hand to illustrate her point.
“I can count on one hand just how many sofas we have, and I do not even need all of my fingers to do it.”
“Perhaps I like it that way.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I assure you, I put what little I have to good use. One can always find a suitable seat if one is willing to be creative.”
“Talented as you are, I doubt even your lap could hold all of my friends at once.” She gave him a sweet smile and noticed with satisfaction that his cheeks turned a delicate shade of scarlet.
A taste of your own medicine.
“That depends on how many friends you have and how willing you are to share.” He leaned towards her.
“I am not known for sharing, Duke.” She did not back away from him.
“And quite frankly, the lack of proper seating is just one of the many things this place is missing. There are no decorations, no art, no rugs—nothing. It makes this house seem utterly uninviting and unwelcoming, and I am sick to death of it. You may be happy to live like a mad hermit, but I am not.”
“That is a little extreme, do you not think? It is only furniture, and I barely drink tea, so what is the point of having a tea set?” Tobias countered. “No one else has complained.”
“And how many women have you entertained? No, do not answer that. I do not want to know.” She waved her hand. “Most people expect a place they visit to be furnished.”
“It is furnished.” Tobias gestured around them. “There is a desk here, a chair—what else do you need?”
“Tobias, I want to be able to invite my friends over. They are like family to me, and right now, I fear Cora would not even have a decent place to sit. And, as amusing as I find the thought of the telling-off she would give you if you suggested that she sit on the floor or a desk or a cupboard, I also value her company, and she will not visit if she is not guaranteed a comfortable sofa.”
Rowen let the image of Cora tugging on her husband’s ear cool her anger.
She let out a long, shaky breath. “I am not trying to force you into a life of frills and frippery. Goodness only knows that is not the kind of woman I am. But I do want to be able to have a social life.”
“And what if I want you all to myself?” His eyes danced.
“You and I both know that is not what you want.” She gave him a pointed look.
No one wants that. “I am a duchess, and I swore that I would be of use to you, and a part of that will require a setting in which one can socialize like a civilized person. Do you really want to live in a house that is about as inviting and welcoming as a jail cell?”
“It is simple and efficient. There is no clutter, nor ostentation. I do not need my house to be anything other than a place to eat, sleep, and occasionally read and check the accounts.” Tobias shrugged.
“Besides, you make it sound as though this is the least inviting place in England, and it is not anywhere near that bad.”
“Tobias, you may not see it, but I do. I want people to walk through the door and feel at ease. I want them to relax and think well of this place.” Rowen met his gaze, keeping her voice calm and even as she began to pace.
“Your home sets the tone of your encounters. If one walks into a space that is austere and empty, especially a house that belongs to a duke, one might think that the owner could not afford comforts.”
“Or that the owner did not care for such things,” Tobias countered.
Rowen sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.
Conversational, not combative. You said you would try.
“You hold meetings in this house. If people are relaxed, that gives you an advantage. It helps lower their guard, and you can make use of that. You lull them into a false sense of security.”
Tobias’s eyes widened, as did his smile, as he cast an appraising look at her.
It was like a physical touch. Rowen resisted the urge to squirm, as she felt like he was seeing all of her, even the parts she herself could not.
He nodded to himself, his eyes still boring into her. “That is rather cutthroat of you. Here I thought you simply wanted to make the place more livable.”