Chapter Twelve #2
‘—push forward with your arms, yes, perfect, Emmeline, and turn. What did I tell you, Brian, about getting ahead of yourself?’
Ditty closed the door as quietly as she could without being seen.
‘Ah, you’re here to visit your young man, aren’t you?’ Mavis continued blithely. ‘Oh, that Henry will be such a catch for someone and I hope it’s you, dear. I do wish in a way you were here for us, but you’re not, are you? It’s your young man.’
Ditty flushed. ‘He’s not—’
‘He’s in his study, at least he was the last time I checked,’ said Mavis, as though it was her job to continually review Henry’s movements. ‘Along with you.’
It did not appear Ditty was to be given much choice. Besides, she could not deny—even if she did not say it aloud—that she wanted to see Henry. If only for a minute.
* * *
No matter how long he pored over these numbers, Henry knew he was never going to understand them.
He groaned. ‘If only you were a wound I could suture, or a fever I could bring down!’
Then he might have some idea how to understand these terrible ledgers.
‘There has to be an answer,’ Henry muttered under his breath, picking up a bank statement and sighing as he saw a plethora of others underneath, all just as incomprehensible.
That was the trouble with the strange way he had inherited the duchy. Most people would love to be a duke. A title, prestige, a manor, wealth…it was an honour to inherit. That was what the solicitor had said anyway when he had handed a befuddled Henry the keys and a pile of bills.
And Henry knew in a way, he was right. But didn’t most dukes with manors have heaps of money?
There had to be a way to save money. He could cut the waltzing classes, except they were run by one of the residents.
He couldn’t cut any more desserts, they were down to weekends as it was, and there had been a small yet polite riot over that.
If it hadn’t been for Mavis calming everyone down and promising to bake twice a week, things could have got awkward.
But how would he buy her the ingredients?
Henry wracked his tired brain, trying desperately to think of a way to find a few more coins. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to have to reduce the coal order again, and he was certain it was morally reprehensible to allow the elderly to freeze.
But what else was he meant to do? They were in arrears with everything—it was thanks to the kindness of the townsfolk of Brexley they were still given credit for repairs at the boot-maker. How much longer could this last?
‘Planning?’ came a voice from the door.
Despite his troubles, despite his frustrations, despite the concern he had for each and every one of his residents, Henry could not help but smile as he saw Ditty leaning against the door-frame. He hadn’t even noticed her open the door.
‘You were so lost in your thoughts, I could have left you there for hours,’ she said conversationally.
Henry tried to smile. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. It’s good to see you. Any fireworks?’
He cringed inwardly the moment he spoke. What had he been thinking? Any fireworks! She might think—
‘No, they’re delayed again,’ said Ditty with a sigh. ‘But I have the courier’s assurances from Mrs Fletcher that they’ll be here by tonight.’
‘And that’s enough time to get them all set up?’ asked Henry. ‘Come in, by the way.’
Ditty’s smile danced as she did so, shutting the door behind her. ‘Do you not ever get tired of the place being so untidy?’
Untidy?
Henry looked around him. It was untidy—he hadn’t wanted Ditty in here just days ago, he was so conscious of how it would look. A doctor, a duke, unable to keep on top of his paperwork!
‘I had a personal clerk,’ he said, by way of explanation, and shrugged with a grin. ‘And a steward, and a man of business. But after they left—’
‘You didn’t want to replace them?’
Henry hesitated as Ditty lowered herself onto the sofa. If only it had been that simple. He’d thought at the time it was an easy way to save them seventy pounds each month. After all, how hard could it all be? Write letters, post letters, file letters. He could do that.
It had only taken two weeks for the place to get like this, and then he hadn’t the heart to do anything about it.
‘There’s always…something else more important to do, I suppose,’ he said aloud.
Ditty grinned. ‘You’d never find my study like this—if I ever had a study, that is.’
Henry laughed as he stepped out and around from his desk and unceremoniously tipped a pile of paperwork off the sofa and onto the floor before sitting beside her on the sofa. ‘I wouldn’t think so. Yours would be organised, colour-coded—’
‘You say that like it’s a bad thing!’ Ditty protested, though she was smiling as she twisted on the sofa, pulling a foot underneath her to look at him.
Henry smiled. How did she do it? Her mere presence was enough to calm him, to remind him there were more important things in life than money. After all, it wasn’t going to be as simple as finding a few shillings behind the back of a sofa.
‘I don’t think being organised is a bad thing,’ he clarified. ‘I’d love to be more organised.’
He watched Ditty cast an expert eye over his study. ‘You know, I could get this sorted for you in, say, an afternoon.’
Henry tensed, the taut awkwardness rising up his spine and across his shoulder blades. ‘No,’ he said quickly.
Too quickly. Ditty looked at him with a curious expression. ‘Why?’
How could he explain? There was so much he wanted to tell her; Henry had never met anyone he wanted to be so open with.
Did he fear her discovering the truth of the financial state of this place? Or was he more afraid because the more time he spent with her, the more he…cared about her?
Ditty Oliver might have arrived at Brexley just weeks ago, and he may have accidentally berated her about her very reason for doing so, but so much had happened since then. So much had changed.
And yet in a very real way, nothing had changed. He was still the doctor here at Brexley, still the penniless duke of a place he knew he never wanted to leave.
And Ditty Oliver would complete her matchmaking here, help his brother get engaged, then disappear back to London. They’d never see each other again.
She had likely been right to call their kiss a mistake…
‘I just…it’s my job, you know,’ he tried to say with more ease than he felt. ‘I may be His Grace if I ever bothered to step into London, but here, I’m Dr. Paisley. I can’t have you doing my job when you’ve got your own to worry about.’
Ditty’s smile was so innocent, so eager. ‘I don’t mind! It’ll keep me from worrying, to be honest. I can’t stop thinking of all the things that could go wrong, and I haven’t thought of a way to help Reg yet…’
Henry nodded as she chattered on, feeling the tension in his bones melt away.
Because it was true. It wasn’t a lie, he would have felt awful letting Ditty do something that was his responsibility.
But it wasn’t the only reason. If Ditty started to help him clean up, it would only be a matter of time before she realised the numbers on these balance sheets were low. Dangerously low.
Henry had managed to keep this fact from his brother, all the residents here at the Lodge and everyone in town. He wasn’t about to give it away now just because of a pretty face.
‘—must be something I can do, I just haven’t thought of it yet,’ Ditty was saying. ‘What? You’re smiling.’
Henry hadn’t noticed he was, but it seemed to be an occupational hazard whenever he was around her. ‘I am?’
‘You are,’ she said with a grin of her own. ‘Go on, tell me what you’re thinking.’
Not on your life. ‘I was just wondering why you always feel the need to help people. Solve their problems for them?’
Ditty blinked, as though she did not understand the question. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. Proposal planning,’ Henry said, hardly knowing where he was going with this, but absolutely certain he wasn’t about to reveal the dire state of his finances.
‘You’re helping people, solving problems—it speaks so highly of you, Ditty,’ Henry said, unable to stop smiling. ‘You’re…you are a really good person.’
Would it be so bad to let her help him?
She was only inches away. Henry hadn’t noticed when he had sat on the sofa just how small it was for two people. Usually it was only himself, when there wasn’t paperwork covering it. He only ever sat there when his desk chair got too uncomfortable.
But with two people, their knees were almost touching.
Henry tried to breathe normally, but something funny seemed to have happened to his lungs, and all he could do was think of her. Of Ditty, and how close she was. How it had felt to have her in his arms, his lips on hers.
‘You’re not too bad yourself,’ she said gently.
Henry coloured. ‘What do you—’
‘Well, this place,’ Ditty said, gesturing around them. ‘The Brexley Lodge for Gentlemen and Ladies of a Certain Age. You think I haven’t noticed how much work you put into it, how your whole life is consumed by it?’
Now that was not something he had expected her to say. The heat in Henry’s cheeks burned. ‘It’s what anyone would—’
‘No, I don’t think it is, actually,’ she said gently. Her voice was low, soft, melodious. Henry itched to reach out and take her hands in his own. ‘I think you go above and beyond what is expected of you here, and you’re doing two jobs—more than that, from what I’ve seen.’
Henry’s stomach lurched at the thought of Ditty seeing him in such an honourable light. Goodness knew he hadn’t thought of it in that way in a long time.
‘I think you’re doing great work here, and I’m not the only one who thinks so,’ Ditty said.
It was all he could do not to beam. Henry knew he worked hard, but the idea someone else had noticed, and that it had been Ditty…
‘No one really ever says thank you,’ Henry said gruffly. ‘And don’t get me wrong, I don’t need them to, it’s just, well. It’s nice to hear.’
He caught Ditty’s gaze and saw something in her eye he thought he recognised. Was it affection? Or was he simply fooling himself, making him believe there was something between them?
‘You should celebrate, you know,’ she said softly, and to Henry’s astonishment, she actually reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘Why not do something nice on Valentine’s Day?’
Henry’s head spun. She couldn’t mean—
‘Obviously I’ll be gone by then, but I’m sure you could do something nice here, at the Lodge.’
Ditty’s hand left his and her words made his heart sink. Of course. She was just being polite, Henry tried to tell himself. There was no more in it than that.
‘Yes, maybe,’ he said, as briskly as he could. ‘Why don’t you go and see how Mavis and Avril are doing? I’m… I’m very busy here.’