Royal's Bride (4 page)

She looked much more presentable this morning, in another simple, remodeled version of one of Jocelyn’s gowns, a warm russet velvet with cream lace trailing from the sleeves and running in small rows down the front. The maid had drawn Lily’s silver-blond hair into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck and she had pinched her cheeks to add a bit of color.

At the bottom of the stairs, she encountered the butler, a thin, elderly man with milky blue eyes. “I am sorry to bother you, Mr…?”

“Greaves,” he said, looking her up and down. “May I help you, Miss Moran?”

“I am looking for His Grace. Would you see if there is a convenient time I might have a word with him?”

“I shall inquire, miss. If you will please follow me, you may await him in the Blue Drawing Room.”

“Thank you.”

He led her in to a once-elegant room off the entry. It had high, molded ceilings, robin’s-egg-blue walls that were in need of a coat of paint and heavy, dark blue velvet draperies. The Persian carpets, a deep royal blue in a paisley design accented with dark green and crimson, were worn but serviceable and immaculately clean.

Her bedroom had also been clean, she reflected, a concern she wouldn’t have to address. She sat down on a blue velvet settee to await the duke’s presence, wondering if he would truly be as handsome as she recalled.

Wondering if now that he realized she was little more than a servant, the duke would see her at all.

She shifted on the sofa, watched the hands on the ormolu clock slowly turn. She glanced up as he walked into the drawing room and her breath hitched. The
golden-haired duke was even more beautiful than the angel she recalled. Now that her vision was no longer blurred and her head not throbbing, she could see that he was stunningly good-looking.

And even with his well-formed features and slanting dark gold eyebrows, there was no question of his masculinity. He wore it like the long scarlet cloak that had swirled around him when he had knelt beside her in the snow.

She rose to her feet a little uncertainly and dropped into a curtsy. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

He strode toward her, stopped just a few feet away. “Good morning, Miss Moran.” His eyes were as golden as his hair and as they skimmed over her, she thought she caught a glint of appreciation.

“You appear to be recovering very well. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, I am happy to say. Again, I thank you for your very timely rescue.”

“I assure you it was my pleasure.” The glint was there again, as if there was a secret meaning to his words. She basked in it as his gaze ran over her even more thoroughly. And yet in just a few days, once he met the incredibly lovely creature he would marry, that glint would disappear.

Lily lifted her chin. “I wished to speak to you, Your Grace, in regard to Mrs. Caulfield and your future betrothed, my cousin Jocelyn. The reason I traveled here ahead of time was to insure their visit would be comfortable. Both Mrs. Caulfield and my cousin have rather…specific needs. I am here to see those needs are met.”

His eyebrows drew slightly together. “And your
cousin and her mother didn’t believe my staff would be able to handle those needs?”

She had angered him. She could see it in the set of his jaw. “Oh, it isn’t that—truly. Please, I didn’t mean any insult. It is merely that they are used to having things done in a certain fashion. If you would be kind enough to put a few members of your household at my disposal, I am sure I could have everything arranged before they arrive.”

“You are Miss Caulfield’s cousin, is that correct—a member of the family?”

“A distant cousin, yes. The Caulfields were kind enough to take me in after my parents died of the cholera.” She didn’t mention it was four years later and they were barely aware of her existence until her uncle sought them out and asked them for help. Still, she was extremely grateful. It was one of the reasons she worked so hard to please them.

“So you were orphaned,” he said softly, and for an instant she felt the burn of tears. Even after all these years, her parents’ death remained a difficult subject.

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

His look seemed to gentle. “I see…”

And to her humiliation, she thought that indeed he did see. That he realized she was merely a poor relation who lived by the Caulfields’ charity, that she was utterly dependent upon their goodwill. Still, it was far better than living on the street, or in an attic garret, as she had done before.

“The servants won’t be a problem. You may have the use of whomever you wish. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

He studied her a few moments more, assessing her in some way, then he turned and strode out of the drawing room. The instant he disappeared, Lily released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. Her heart was clattering, beating a frantic tattoo.

It was ridiculous. Things were exactly as they should be. The duke understood her lowly position and his interest was now very properly fixed on Jo.

Ignoring the little pinch in her chest, Lily lifted her skirts and started across the drawing room. She had a great deal of work to do if she was going to be ready for the Caulfields’ arrival. She had almost made it to the door when a frail, silver-haired woman stepped through the open drawing-room door.

“You must be Miss Moran.” The woman smiled, digging creases into her powdered cheeks. “I am Lady Tavistock. My nephew told me I would find you in here.”

Lily sank into a curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

“I arrived yesterday afternoon while you were asleep. I gather you had a rather nasty accident on the road.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Dreadful thing. My nephew said your carriage was attacked by highwaymen and overturned, and that you suffered a head injury. I hope you are feeling better.”

“Much better, thank you.”

“Why don’t we sit down in front of the fire. The weather outside is dismal. A cup of tea should be just the thing.”

She had so much to do before Jocelyn arrived. And yet there was no refusing the wishes of a countess. “That would be delightful, my lady.”

They sat down on the sofa in front of the fire blazing in the hearth and a few minutes later the butler arrived with the tea cart. Tea was served. Casual conversation was made. Lily tried not to glance at the clock on the white marble mantel, but apparently she failed to hide the urgency she was feeling.

“I can tell you are eager to begin your tasks.”

Lily flushed and wished she had been more attentive. “It is only that I have a great deal to do before my cousins arrive.”

“Are your cousins, then, difficult taskmasters?”

She rarely thought of Matilda Caulfield as a cousin, though by her marriage to Henry she certainly was.

“It is nothing like that. It is just that my cousin Jocelyn…depends on me. She trusts me to see to her needs, as I have done these past six years. I do not wish to fail her, or Mrs. Caulfield.”

“I see. And exactly what did your cousin Jocelyn and her mother send you here to do?”

More color rushed into her cheeks. Taking over the duke’s household and assigning tasks to his servants was hardly the proper thing. Still, it was what the Caulfields expected of her and she meant to see it done.

“Only small things, really. I—I need to inform the cook that Miss Caulfield prefers biscuits and cocoa up in her room each morning instead of a meal downstairs. And I’d like to make certain the room she occupies has a nice view of the garden.”

She bit her lip, thinking of the endless items on her list. “My cousin doesn’t do well with dust. I shall need to speak to the housekeeper, make certain the carpets in her bedroom have recently been beaten.”

“I see.”

“Just very small things, truly, my lady. I hope it won’t be too much of a bother.”

Lady Tavistock set her gold-rimmed porcelain cup and saucer down on the table in front of her. “You may do whatever you think is necessary to make our guests comfortable.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

The dowager rose from the sofa and Lily rose, as well.

The lady reached for her cane. “I suppose I had best let you get on with your work.” She smiled. “I enjoyed our visit, Miss Moran.”

Lily relaxed. “As did I, Lady Tavistock.” She watched the dowager countess leave the drawing room, silver hair gleaming in the light of the whale-oil lamps lit to offset the dark, cloudy day, her head held high though her movements were slow and a little wobbly. She was the late duke’s aunt on his mother’s side, Lily knew, a widow who lived in a manor house on one of her late husband’s estates.

Happy to have the meeting behind her, Lily made her way back out to the marble-floored hall. The list of tasks to be completed awaited her upstairs. It was time she got to work.

T
he following day, Royal sat in his study, his elbows on the desktop, his head propped in his hands. A stack of estate ledgers lay open in front of him. His eyes burned from the hours he had spent reviewing the pages.

During the first nine months after his father’s death, he had spent most of his time learning about Bransford Castle and its surrounding lands. Aside from the estate’s own farm production, there were dozens of tenants on the vast acreage. Royal had met with each family individually to discuss what improvements might be made to help production, benefiting them and increasing their profits, a percentage of which belong to the estate.

During his years in Barbados, he had studied books on agriculture and used that knowledge to help make Sugar Reef the successful plantation it was today.

Since his return to England, he had been exploring the most modern methodology, trying to find the best way to stop the declining income stream from the agricultural production and instead turn a profit.

One of the ideas he had implemented was the construction of a brewery on lands in the nearby village of Swansdowne. He intended to brew very high-quality ale, which, he was convinced, was the most profitable use of the Bransford barley crop. As he had done with the sugar produced at Sugar Reef, he intended to market Swansdowne Ale as the finest in England. He also intended to increase the estate’s sheep herds and perhaps put in a woolen mill. All of that took money, of course, of which—at least until he married—he had little.

Royal released a breath, the notion of money returning his thoughts once more to the ledgers on the desk in front of him. In the last thirty days, he had begun to study the accounts that reflected former Bransford holdings, including several mills and a coal mine, properties his father had sold in order to raise money.

He had also studied the investments his father had made over the last several years.

At first the amount the late duke had invested had been small, the losses of little consequence. About three years ago his father’s health had begun to decline, though, at the duke’s insistence, Royal had never really known how severely. In an effort to recover the money, larger, even more poorly chosen investments were made and the losses began to mount.

Good money followed bad, and the duke began to sell his unentailed holdings in order to pay off his debts. Even the house itself was not safe from ransacking, as evidenced by the sale of the priceless paintings and statues missing from the castle, and the estate’s run-down condition.

Royal raked a hand through his hair, dislodging several heavy, slightly wavy strands. He looked up at
the sound of a familiar rap on the door. The panel swung wide and Sheridan Knowles stood in the opening. Never one to stand on formality, he strolled into the study.

“I see, as usual, your nose is buried in those damnable ledgers. I suppose I am interrupting.”

“Yes, but since I am not particularly happy with what I am finding in the pages, you may as well sit down.”

Sherry walked forward with his usual casual ease, pausing for a moment at the sideboard to pour himself a brandy. “Shall I pour one for you?”

Royal shook his head. “I’ve too much yet to do.”

Sheridan studied the rich golden-brown liquid in his glass, just a little darker than his hair. “I just stopped by to tell you the patrols have been organized. My men will start tonight, cover the area around Bransford and Wellesley, and also the road between here and Swansdowne.”

“Well done.”

Sheridan sauntered behind the desk and looked over Royal’s shoulder at the big leather volumes lying open on top, some of the writing on the older pages beginning to fade. “So what are you finding that you do not like?”

Royal sighed. “I am seeing thousands of pounds draining away as if they were sand poured down a rat hole. For the last few years, my father made one bad investment after another. It is a difficult thing to say, but after he first took ill three years ago, I don’t believe his mind was ever quite the same.”

“A lot of rich men make poor investments.”

“True enough, but up until that time, my father wasn’t one of them.” He turned several pages, glanced down at the writing in one of the columns. “See here,
for example, money that quite literally went up in smoke. Last year, my father invested in a cotton mill near Bolton. Six months later, the mill caught fire and burned to the ground. Apparently, the company had no insurance.”

Sheridan shook his head. “Certainly a thing like that wouldn’t have happened to the shrewd, formidable man your father used to be.”

“No, indeed. I’ve hired an investigator, Sherry. A man named Chase Morgan. Perhaps it’s a waste of time and money, but I want him to look into the companies in which my father invested. I want to find out which men wound up with the late Duke of Bransford’s fortune.”

Sherry sipped his drink, pondering the notion. “It couldn’t hurt, I don’t suppose. And you never know, you might discover something interesting.”

Royal shoved back his chair and came to his feet. “The money is gone. There isn’t much I can do about it now. Still…”

“Still…it never hurts to find out what happened in the past. As they say, it is often the key to the future.”

Sheridan walked over to warm his hands at the fire and Royal followed. “So where are you headed from here?” he asked.

“Back to Wellesley, I imagine. Though I rode over mostly to escape the house.”

“I am feeling a bit closed in, myself.” Royal clamped a hand on his friend’s wide shoulder. “How about some company?”

“I daresay, I’d like that. I take it your Miss Caulfield hasn’t arrived.”

“I’m sure she is still in London, waiting out the storm.”

Sherry set his brandy glass down on the sideboard and the men walked into the hall. As they did, the door at the opposite end leading to the kitchen downstairs swung open and Lily Moran stepped into the passage. Her russet velvet skirt was covered with white streaks of flour, and as she approached, her mind clearly elsewhere, Royal glimpsed a spot of flour on her nose. He grinned at the charming sight she made.

Her light eyes widened at the sight of the two men. “Your Grace,” she said, her hands shooting up to smooth a loose strand of pale blond hair. “Oh, dear, I must look a fright.”

“You look…”
Lovely
, he wanted to say but didn’t. “Only a bit worse for wear.” He smiled and turned to introduce Sherry. “This is my good friend, Sheridan Knowles, Viscount Wellesley. “Sheridan, may I present my houseguest, Miss Lily Moran.”

Sherry’s green eyes ran over her, taking in the gleaming hair, feminine features and lush, full lips. His gaze lowered to the curve of her breasts and the tiny waist beneath, and Royal felt an unexpected surge of jealousy.

“A pleasure, Miss Moran.”

“It is good to meet you, my lord.” Nervously, she brushed at her sleeve, also dusted with flour. “I hope you’ll excuse my appearance. There was an incident in the kitchen—” She glanced up, her gaze shooting toward Royal as if she’d said something wrong and was worried he would scold the servants. “Nothing untoward, Your Grace, just an overturned flour tin—but somehow I managed to wind up in the middle of it.”

Royal found himself smiling. “Just be careful you don’t get too near the oven. You might turn into a loaf of bread.”

Her laugher, like crystal prisms in the afternoon breeze, was so sweet his chest contracted.

“I shall heed your advice, Your Grace.”

Sherry gave her a long, assessing look. “Should you wind up toast, I would like nothing better than to eat you up, my dear. You’re even prettier than Royal said, Miss Moran.”

Lily blushed and Royal wanted to throw a punch at Sherry.

“I really should go up and make myself presentable. If you gentlemen will excuse me…”

“Of course.” Sheridan made a modest bow.

“I shall see you at supper,” Royal said, though seeing Lily Moran was the last thing he should be wanting.

Lily slipped by them and continued down the hall, her velvet skirts swaying enticingly. Turning, she started up the stairs.

“You were right. The girl is quite lovely.” Sheridan’s gaze followed Lily’s slender figure, his eyes remaining on the staircase even after she disappeared. Royal wanted to grab him by his starched cravat and shake him till his teeth rattled.

Sheridan smiled. “Then again, as I said, perhaps the cousin will be even more luscious.” He grinned, exposing a pair of crooked bottom teeth that should have detracted from his appearance but did not. “Then you can leave Miss Moran to me.”

Royal said nothing, but his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He had no claim on Lily Moran and never would. If Sheridan wanted her—to hell with Sherry, he thought for no explicable reason, and started for the door.

“I thought we were going for a ride,” he said darkly,
pausing in the entry to allow Greaves to drape his cloak round his shoulders.

Sheridan still gazed up the stairs. “Of a sudden, I would rather stay here.”

Royal ground his jaw, jerked open the door and strode out into the falling snow. Behind him, he heard Sheridan chuckle then the sound of his boots coming down the wide stone stairs.

The following day at the end of an afternoon ride to check on one of his tenants, Royal returned to the house, his stomach pleasantly filled with the mutton stew and tankard of ale he had enjoyed at the Boar and Thistle Tavern in the village. Handing his cloak to Greaves, he looked up at the sound of a commotion going on in the corridor upstairs. Recognizing the sweetly feminine voice of his houseguest, he climbed the staircase and headed down the hall to find Lily, a pair of footmen and two chambermaids rearranging the furniture in one of the bedrooms.

She looked up at his appearance and a hint of color washed into her cheeks. Her silvery hair was tied back with a kerchief and she wore an apron over her dress. Still, she looked beautiful.

“I—I hope you don’t mind, Your Grace. I moved my things into one of the other bedrooms. I thought Jocelyn should have the one that was meant to be hers.”

He didn’t say that he liked having Lily in the room adjoining his, where he could imagine her lying on the big bed in nothing but a soft white cotton nightgown, embroidered, perhaps, with tiny roses. He didn’t say that last night he had imagined unbuttoning the row of
pearl buttons at her throat and nibbling his way down to her breasts.

Instead he said, “As you wish.”

“Also…your housekeeper, Mrs. McBride, suggested a very nice room for Mrs. Caulfield that also overlooks the garden. If you don’t mind…I’d…um…like to exchange a few pieces of furniture with those from one of the other bedrooms.”

Meaning the furniture in the room was worn or in need of repair. He knew Mrs. McBride had done her best, but until the house was refurbished, it would never exhibit the grandeur of the place he had lived in as a boy.

“As I said, you are free to make whatever changes you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She returned to her task, ordering the servants about and pitching in herself to help with whatever needed to be done. It was clear she took her duties seriously, but Royal thought it a little unfair that the Caulfields should treat her more like an employee than a member of the family.

One of the footmen reappeared, carrying an ornate writing desk Lily had procured from a room on the opposite side of the hall. She directed the man where to place it in the room, then, realizing Royal still stood in the corridor watching her activities, a nervous smile appeared.

“Mrs. Caulfield will enjoy the desk,” she explained. “She likes to keep in touch with her friends.”

“It’s a beautiful piece of furniture. I’m a little amazed it’s still here.”

She seemed surprised he would allude to his poor financial straits. “Yes…from the looks of it, a good deal of the original furnishings are missing.”

“After my father fell ill, his finances took a turn for the worse. It was his greatest wish to see the house brought back to its earlier magnificence.”

“Jocelyn seems eager to help in that regard.”

“That would certainly please my father, God rest his soul.”

“Would it also please you?”

His lips edged up. “I love this place. It bothers me to see it in such disrepair.”

She glanced down the long corridor, the paint yellowed and the wallpaper peeling in places, the rugs faded and worn. “It must have been beautiful. I’m sure it will be again.” The smile she gave him was warm and hopeful and his body flushed with heat.

Dammit to hell, an attraction to his soon-to-be fiancée’s cousin was not at all what he wanted.

“Let me know if there is anything else you need,” he said a bit more harshly than he intended. Leaving her to complete what other tasks she had planned, he made his way down the hall to change out of his riding clothes.

The afternoon was slipping away. Soon he would be joining his aunt for supper. Tonight for the first time since her accident, Lily would be joining them.

Royal swore softly as he stepped into his suite and firmly closed the door.