Chapter 20
BECKETT
Being a duke wasn’t all shits and giggles.
Two days after Arden had scurried away to the coast like the sensitive little mouse he was, Jack was dragged back to Sevennis by more of those endless Council obligations and business concerns that demanded his every waking moment, it seemed to Beckett, and Beckett was left to kick his heels in the countryside and brood about the whole mess.
Oh, did he brood about it.
Jack shouldn’t ever have let Arden go, if you asked him.
He got why Jack did it. Jack was all about giving Arden choices, and Beckett agreed with that. He did.
Just not when Arden made the wrong choice.
Not when Arden made a choice that put Beckett’s needs above his.
Didn’t seem right that he had to start over again somewhere new, when he’d barely even settled at Avendene. There wasn’t any point in it, anyway, seeing as sooner rather than later he’d be right back here, where he belonged.
Beckett wasn’t sure how that was going to happen, only that it would.
Jack wanted it. He wanted it. Arden wanted it. The duch was just scared of it—scared of Beckett—and on top of that, he was trying to be noble for Beckett, by taking himself away.
Luckily for everyone, Beckett didn’t have a noble bone in his body.
He’d push all three of them through this, see if he didn’t.
Of course, that was a bit hard to do when the three of them weren’t ever in the same place.
Weeks later, Beckett decided that enough was enough. He wasn’t going to get anything fixed by staying at Avendene on his own, was he, so best he take himself off to town, collect Jack, and together they’d go and collect Arden.
First things first, though: he had to tell Marl he was leaving.
He dreaded that almost as much as he dreaded facing Arden after what he’d done.
Marl had been freezing him out.
He wasn’t unkind or anything. It was worse. He was polite. He was distant.
He was disappointed.
Beckett was starting to think that he’d lost the man’s respect for good. He tried to pretend it didn’t matter to him. No one else’s opinion did, after all, except perhaps Mrs Foley’s, and she’d got over it once she’d given him a right scolding.
He marched to Marl’s office, knocked quietly and, when he was called in, he turned the handle and opened the door as whisper-soft as any posh butler could demand.
Then he ruined it by striding across the room and announcing, “Right, then. I’m off to Sevennis.”
Marl was behind his desk, squinting at one of the many ledgers he kept for the running of Avendene.
That was technically the estate manager’s job, but the manager was even older than Marl. More bugger-minded, too. The old coot refused to retire, and Jack refused to shuffle him off regardless, what with him having been the estate manager back when Jack’s pa was the duke.
Marl had taken on the bulk of the job.
Of late, he’d been tossing a fair bit of the work Beckett’s way. If loading Beckett down with extra hours and responsibility was another way to show his disapproval, along with all the frosty silences and the dismissive looks, he’d missed the mark by a mile and then some.
Beckett loved it.
He did most of the legwork and the face-to-face bossing, Marl handled the paperwork, and between them they got it done.
So Marl probably wasn’t going to be too keen on him heading off to town leaving him in the lurch. That was too bad.
Marl set down his pen and said flatly, “Are you?”
“Yes. If that’s all right with you?”
“Are you actually asking for permission as a member of my staff? Or are you telling me as His Grace’s lover?”
“I—”
“Decided you’re ready to take your place at his side, now that you’ve successfully run off the duch?”
“Come on, now.” Beckett rolled his eyes. “I didn’t run no one off.”
And if Marl didn’t care for his familiar tone, then Marl shouldn’t go bringing up Beckett’s sex life.
“No?” Marl made a big show of looking around. “And yet the duch, who should be here running his household, is nowhere to be seen.”
“All right. Been a long time coming, I s’pose. May as well get it out. Let’s have it.”
Marl glared at him.
Just glared.
Didn’t actually come out and say anything.
Looked like Beckett had to be the one, then. “If you think I don’t feel bad about the duch haring off, you’re wrong,” he said.
“I’m sure you do feel bad.” Marl picked up his pen and returned to his ledger.
“Just as I’m sure the duch is aware of that.
I’m sure the duch is greatly comforted by it, as he lives in solitude in his self-imposed exile.
” He looked up briefly over the wireless rims of his thick spectacles.
“Since comprehending the subtleties of communication seems to be beyond your grasp, allow me to enlighten you. That was sarcasm. Consider it a helpful lesson.”
“Lesson, eh? All right. Teach me anything you like. I’ll listen.”
That shut him up, didn’t it?
“While you’re at it,” Beckett continued, “if you’d like to give me any hints as to how I can go about fixing things, I’d be obliged.”
Marl put the pen down again. Slowly. “What, exactly, do you mean by ‘fixing things’?”
“Way I see it is, I’ve got to get the duch back here where he belongs. That’ll make him happy, which will make Jack happy. ‘Bout all that matters.”
Marl’s brows lifted when Beckett called him Jack rather than His Grace.
It didn’t feel wrong. Beckett didn’t take it back.
“Their Graces will be happy.” Marl unhooked his spectacles and removed them. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Will you still be here?”
Beckett narrowed his eyes. “You ain’t firin’ me.”
“Will you?”
“Course I will. You ain’t firin’ me.”
Marl looked exasperated. “No, I’m not firing you. I doubt it would do any good if I tried.”
“It wouldn’t. You can’t get rid of me.”
A glimmer of amusement showed in Marl’s frosty eyes. “I meant that His Grace wouldn’t allow me to get rid of you, not that you’d refuse to go. So, you’re staying?”
Beckett really didn’t know where Marl had come up with the idea that fixing it involved Beckett not being here.
“Even though the duch might not like to share his home with his husband’s lover?” Marl clarified.
“Oh, don’t you worry none about that. He’ll be fine with it.”
“What an extraordinary statement for you to stand there and make. You, the man who ran him off. Who frightened him into running.”
Beckett heaved an impatient sigh. “I didn’t run him off, he’s the one who bolted.
And listen, we may as well clear the air.
I never meant to hurt him. I didn’t. I’ve not had anything to do with a man like the duch before.
” Or been as worried about anyone as he was about Jack on those suppressants.
“I’ll learn, though. If people give me a chance. ”
Marl considered him for a long moment. It didn’t matter one way or the other whether Marl approved of things or not. As he’d said himself, he couldn’t fire Beckett.
And as Beckett had said, he wouldn’t go.
“Would you like to know the real reason I’m angry with you?”
Beckett sighed. “Not really.”
“It’s because I expected more from you, Tobias.” Marl twisted the knife. “I’ve never been so mistaken in a man in my life.”
“You ain’t mistaken.” Beckett kicked his chin up. “You’ll see.”
“Do you know the future His Grace has planned for you?” Marl said abruptly.
“No.” Jack loved him. That was all Beckett cared about. The rest could unfold as it would.
Marl drummed his pen absently on the side of the ledger. “He’ll have you running Avendene within the next ten years.”
Beckett stared at him. Then he laughed. “Pull the other one.”
“I will not.”
“Me?” Beckett scoffed, even as something roared up inside him and cried out, Yes. Mine. Give it to me.
I can take care of it for you.
“Yes. You,” Marl confirmed. “Up until how poorly you handled things with the duch, I was very much in favour of the scheme.”
“And now?”
Marl shrugged. “You have a lot to learn.”
“I’ll learn it. Again, if people give me a chance.”
If you give me a chance, he didn’t say.
Beckett hadn’t known his father. Hadn’t particularly felt the absence of the man, either.
His mam had been a good, strong woman. Done a bang-up job of raising him, Beckett thought, and no one could doubt it now, what with him standing here talking about one day running a duke’s estate, and him a washerwoman’s son from the slums.
If he had to guess, though, he reckoned paternal disappointment felt a lot like this. It didn’t sit well. Not at all.
“As long as you keep trying, Beckett, I’ll give you a chance.”
“Fair enough.”
They stared at each other.
Beckett scratched the back of his neck. “So, about going to Sevennis…?”
“If I said no, that I need you here?”
Beckett could spot a test a mile off. “I’m supposed to say I’ll stay. We both know I won’t.” May as well go with honesty.
It didn’t seem to irritate Marl, though. “In that case, for what it’s worth, you’re dismissed.”
Beckett got to the door before turning back.
Marl raised a brow.
“About fixing things with the duch…?”
“Gifts? Love notes? Flowers?” Marl took great delight in adding, “Poetry?”
Beckett grimaced.
“Don’t worry about the duch. His Grace will bring him home. You can court him then.”
“With poetry?”
“Court him however you usually court your lovers! I am willing to train you to become an estate manager. I am not willing to train you how to woo someone.”
Beckett didn’t mention that he hadn’t ever actually courted anyone before. He’d shagged plenty, but that was a straightforward enough business. Do you want some? was what he usually said, and things went from there or they didn’t. Mostly they did.
Worked on Jack.
As for Arden…Arden would accept him when he was in heat, Beckett was sure enough of that. And he liked to look at Beckett. He was sure enough of that, too, going on the number of times the little omega had crept about and peeked at him.
Whether he’d let Beckett near him when he wasn’t in heat, or for anything other than a shag, was another matter altogether.