Chapter Five
“Was the meeting a success, Your Grace?” the butler, Thomason, asked. Not that the butler knew what the meeting entailed or who it was with.
Duncan handed him his hat and gloves. “Yes, it was successful. Where is McGloin?”
“Upstairs in your rooms, Your Grace.”
Duncan hurried up the stairs to his bedchamber.
McGloin was more than just a valet; he had served as Duncan’s batman in Upper Canada during the American War and even earlier, during the Peninsular War in Spain.
Patrick McGloin was also his good friend.
He entered the room and found McGloin arranging Duncan’s smoking jacket on the bed.
With a frustrated sigh, Duncan unhooked the mask and tossed it to McGloin, who caught it with one hand. “I am to be married.”
“Was the lady in question satisfactory?”
“Yes. She is a country squire’s widow with a five-year-old son.”
McGloin put the mask in the drawer and shut it. “That was a twist you weren’t expecting. At least it proves she can bear children, if the lad is even hers.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “You have a suspicious turn of mind.”
“I’m paid to consider all aspects. Does she have the bearing to be a duchess?”
“Mrs. Cheevers is the daughter of a viscount.”
“Then that should satisfy the jabbering society class, not that you care.” McGloin assisted him in removing his coat and waistcoat. “Although marrying beneath her had no doubt caused a few squawks among the old hens. But in marrying you, the new duchess will have the means to silence them.”
Duncan snorted in amusement. “I almost wish I could see that. Did you visit the Hanover Street residence?”
“I informed the staff that you would be renting it starting next year, and that they will serve the new tenants with no change in salary.”
Duncan slipped his arms into the smoking jacket McGloin held aloft, then tied the sash around his waist. He turned to face his valet.
“Since I became the duke, you have performed your duties above and beyond my personal finances and dressing. I want you to become the steward of the dukedom. It will come with a substantial raise in salary.”
“You already paid me bonuses for the extra duties. What does a steward do, exactly?”
“Hiring and firing workers, settling tenant disputes, and overseeing harvests and livestock, such as they are. I intend to expand in that area. There is also the collection of rents and the maintenance of the dukedom’s financial records.
It is a highly trusted and esteemed position. You are perfect for the job.”
McGloin rubbed his chin. “It will mean a lot of travel between London and Bamford Park.”
Duncan sat in the wingchair as McGloin poured scotch for them. The man handed Duncan a glass, then sat across from him.
“Patrick, there is no one I trust more.”
“Thank you, Duncan. I accept. You will need a new valet.”
“Hiring workers is your first new duty. We will wait until we return to Bamford Park to make the changes official. First, I need to find a malleable bishop to grant me a special license. Special licenses are not easy to obtain. I want to be married within the next ten days and on our way to Bamford Park.”
Patrick took a sip of his scotch. “Is the little boyo with the widow?”
“No, he’s with his nurse in Otham, Kent. We will need to send carriages to collect them and their belongings. There. Another duty for you when we reach home.” Duncan smiled as he took a drink.
“I have the feeling I will be earning that substantial salary.”
They sat in companionable silence for several minutes as the fire crackled in the hearth. “You will never guess who I saw at the Lyon’s Den, working as a door greeter a few nights a week. Sergeant Finnian Mannix.”
Patrick snorted. “There’s a name I never expected to hear again.”
“I gave him my card and told him to get in touch. He works with disabled war veterans, between the club and any shifts he can secure on the docks. I agreed to make a donation.”
Patrick raised his glass. “Good on him and all. And you, as well, for the donation.”
“I also handed my card to a legless corporal begging on the streets.”
Patrick choked on the mouthful of scotch he had taken. “Bloody hell. Why?”
“I promised him a job.”
Patrick stared at him incredulously. “No offense to the unfortunate bloke, but what work can a legless man do in a manor house?”
“Anything that requires sitting in a chair. He still has his knees. Polishing silver, for example—”
“That is a footman’s job and takes only an afternoon. Then what?”
Duncan grew annoyed. It was clear he hadn’t thought this through. “Peeling vegetables, wiping down the leather in the stables, and cleaning the fireplaces… There are all kinds of possible duties.”
“Those responsibilities are handled by other servants. I admire your compassion, but this man’s disability will place a burden on the existing staff.
How will this man get around? Will you employ people to carry his chair?
Who will assist him in getting in and out of that chair? Going to bed? His ablutions?”
Duncan’s eyebrows furrowed. “I would imagine he can already manage most activities, personal and otherwise. There are crutches, oh, devil take it!” he barked crossly.
“Look, the man may not even show up here a month from now. But in case he does, I want you here. I am determined to assist Corporal Samuel Barlow in whatever way possible.”
Patrick sighed. “You cannot hire every down-on-his-luck veteran you encounter.”
“I hired you, didn’t I?” Duncan snapped.
Patrick laughed. “Aye, you did at that. Very well, I will make certain I’m here in thirty days’ time. Perhaps I will contact Mannix. He might have suggestions on how we can accommodate Barlow. I suppose Mannix will welcome the extra work.”
Duncan’s expression softened. “There. Already thinking like a steward of a dukedom. See it done. Inform the staff here at Hyde Park.”
“Would you like me to look into Mrs. Cheevers’s background?”
It would be prudent to do so, but there was no time, and he had promised to keep her secrets. When all was said and done, Duncan believed her. Still—
“I’ve heard that the Earl of Southen recently passed away. Could you investigate the details and gather any information about his background, and his successor? I will need to handle matters with the new earl when I attend Parliament in the spring.”
“I’ll get on it tomorrow while you find a bishop.”
Duncan leaned back in his chair and sipped his scotch thoughtfully.
Patrick knew him well enough not to ask questions about the earl.
It was wise to have any information about the earldom in case of future trouble.
And yes, to see whether Augusta spoke the truth about the earl and his untimely death.
Nine days later…
“Mrs. Cheevers, the viscount and viscountess wish to speak with you before the Duke of Allenby arrives. They are in the drawing room.”
But, of course.
Living with her parents temporarily felt stifling, though she hesitated to seem ungrateful because they had paid a significant fee for the upcoming wedding.
She hadn’t seen the duke since their private meeting at the Lyon’s Den, but they had exchanged messages over the past few days.
His most recent letter said they would be ready to leave once he arrived with the special license.
Augusta had packed her small trunk two days earlier, anxious to move on with her life.
“Thank you, Lily. I will be down directly.”
As she descended the stairs, she regretted that her brother wasn’t there.
He must be seventeen now, busy with school and preparing to attend university next autumn.
They were strangers, and much of that was Augusta’s fault.
She should have written to Gregory long before this.
She pushed the guilt to the back of her mind and entered the room.
Her imperious father stood at the window, gazing at the small garden, his hands clasped behind his back.
Not that there were any flowers left, since it was November.
Augusta hurried to her mother, sitting by the fire, and kissed her cheek. “Mother.”
“Please sit, my dear.” Her mother inspected her plain iris-blue gown. “You must visit a dressmaker, Augusta. Your gown is hopelessly out of date. Waistlines are dropping somewhat and growing tighter. You must be well versed in this, since you will be a duchess.”
Her father had not turned around, so Augusta sat across from her mother. “Perhaps in the spring. Why do you wish to see me?”
“Your father has a few questions.”
Finally, he turned to face her, his expression stern, as always. Even before she had left home, her father had been distant, never showing affection. Augusta had no idea how her mother tolerated him. She supposed the intimate intricacies of their marriage were none of her business.
“Describe this duke. What does he look like?” her father asked pointedly.
Augusta arched one eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because I made inquiries about him. I want to verify that your description aligns with what I was told. I am not going to allow this marriage to proceed unless I am satisfied. What if this man is a charlatan? It is better to know now before a scandal ensues.”
“Of course. Scandal. We must avoid that, at all costs,” Augusta replied sarcastically.
“That is correct, Daughter. You brought it to my door, and I intend to ensure it never takes root or is exposed. Your brother’s future is at stake.
The ton is unforgiving, and I do not want this family to be ruined socially.
Regardless of what you think of me, that includes you.
I will not hand my only daughter over to a stranger without at least a cursory investigation. ”
Augusta’s face flushed. She had brought scandal to their doorstep. That was not a lie. “Allow me to apologize. I was young and felt I had no choice but to flee. I did not want to marry that decrepit marquess or any other elderly men of the peerage. Besides, I—”