The Duke's Disaster (R) (12 page)

“They love the flowers as Anselm does,” Erikson said. “So we learn about the flowers together, and thus they become little scientists. My uncle was the same with my brother and sister. We learn by enthusiasm and example, and his enthusiasm was catching.”

The vanilla orchid’s scent blended with the earthy, herbal aromas of the laboratory to create a fragrance both peculiar and exotic.

What had Noah learned from the example of his profligate progenitors?

“Your enthusiasm is contagious too,” Thea said to the bespectacled Erikson, “though small children can be taxing, even when fascinated with their lessons. Do you speak in your native language to your flowers?”

Thea couldn’t quite refer to them as beauties, though the rest of the Winters family apparently did.

Erikson’s expression turned thoughtful. “I think my tone of voice matters to them, not my language. Why?”

“Might you also share some Dutch with the girls?”

“Tea words, my aunt called them. Please and thank you, good day, and how do you do? I can start them off on tea words, and when we are chattering in Dutch, maybe then some French?”

Exactly how Thea’s governess had eased her into French. “They’ll like the Dutch, because they’ll share it with you and your beauties.”

When Thea took her leave, Erikson was beaming as if she’d told him the Regent sought a Royal Botanist of Dutch extraction.

In the nursery, she found Nini and Evvie were napping, an unusual occurrence, but not unheard of, and that gave her the chance to ask Davies and Maryanne what exactly the girls were studying.

“A bit of this and that,” Maryanne said. “More to keep them out of trouble than anything else.”

Which scheme was meeting with mixed results, apparently.

“His Grace trusts us,” Davies added, exchanging a glance with Maryanne. “We take good care of the girls, and they’re good girls.”

The nursery maids also took care of a prodigiously nutritious tea tray, the remains of which would have made Harlan several nice snacks.

“I’d say Evvie and Nini are very good girls,” Thea replied, helping herself to a ginger biscuit. “Though staying up here all day is confining to their minds and their bodies. Do they have ponies?”

“That’s just it, Your Grace.” Davies’s expression grew earnest, and she and Maryanne were still finishing each other’s sentences, and trading impatient glances thirty minutes later.

“We thought about writing to Lady Patience,” Davies said when Maryanne let her get a word in, “but she might take it amiss, you know? She does dote on the duke something fierce. The girls have needed a guiding hand, and His Grace already provides them so much, but they’re
girls
, and he’s, well, he’s Anselm.”

Except for those moments when he was Noah, stealing Thea’s tea or lending her his cat.

Thea appropriated a second ginger biscuit, the last on the tray. “One comprehends the difficulty. Did you two teach them to read?”

“They just picked it up,” Maryanne said. “I don’t have much reading, though Davies has her letters. His Grace reads them bedtime stories, or he used to, and they’d cuddle up, one on each side, and he’d ask them to pick out words, and that sort of thing. They’re frightfully bright.”

Another Winters family trait.

“And the little one, Nini,” Davies said around a mouthful of tea cake, “she can mimic anything you say, while our Evvie has a wonderful eye. They need a drawing master, and it isn’t too soon to start them on the pianoforte.”

“Make me a list,” Thea said, as “I’m awake now” rang out from the next room. “A list of supplies and subjects. You’ve both done yeoman duty, but we need a governess, at least, if not a governess and some tutors. Surely we have a drawing master in the area, and a music teacher. His Grace will see the need, and it will be addressed.”

Noah would see the need when Thea pointed it out to him, which she would do immediately upon his return from Town.

“Yes, Your Grace,” they chorused, but as Thea retraced her steps to the main staircase, she realized what neither maid had said. Evvie and Nini were little girls, but they were
illegitimate
little girls, and their welcome could not be assured, even on the rolls of a piano teacher’s students.

Noah had dealt with such complications now for years as best he could.

For the next phase in his campaign, however, he needed a wife. A lady to call upon the neighbors, to take the girls shopping in the village, to sit with them at services and stare down the small-minded bigots of the shire. Noah’s wealth and title could do a great deal, but some doors only a determined lady could open.

And Thea was nothing if not a very determined lady.

Twelve

“Jesus spare me,” Timotheus Collins groaned into his pillow. “Not you again.”

“Be warned, Grantley: your sisters are not underfoot to intercede for you,” Noah replied. “Are you trying for the dissipated scoundrel look, or living the part in truth?”

If anything, the boy looked worse—man, rather. Grantley was again sprawled on his counterpane in all his skinny, naked glory. His eyes were sunken, his hair greasy, and his chin sported at least a day’s growth of dark whiskers.

“For the love of God, go away.” Grantley hunched into his pillow, then his head came up, and he turned bleary eyes on Noah. “Thea’s all right?”

“A glimmer of brotherly concern,” Noah observed to the room at large. “Thea thrives in my care, and Lady Antoinette is similarly enjoying my sister’s hospitality not three streets over in the direction of Mayfair. I take it you have no valet?”

A knock on the door interrupted Grantley’s reply, and then Hirschman trouped in, rolling a large copper tub before him.

“Water’s nice and hot,” he said. “Morning, Master Tims.”

“Thank you, Hirschman. His lordship will need strong tea in addition to his bath,” Noah said. “Where’s his shaving kit?”

“I’m awake.” Grantley swirled the sheets over his nakedness, then lay flat on his back and closed his eyes. “I’d rather not be, but I am awake, which suggests I’m alive too.”

“You’re still drunk,” Noah said as Hirschman emptied buckets into the tub, “and you’re the worse for it. This is a particular folly of young fellows, but you’ve been down from university long enough to outgrow it. Out of bed, now.”

“Go to hell.” Grantley rolled over and buried his head under his pillow.

Noah used a riding crop to swat his lordship on his backside through the sheets. Thea had asked him to look in on Tims, after all.

“For shame, your lordship,” Noah said. “You have company, and you are not displaying your company manners.”

“Holy perishing saints.” Grantley rubbed his posterior and he sat up. “In what jungle did Thea find you, and how soon can we ship you back there?”

Noah slashed his crop through the air, as if testing a foil at Angelo’s. “A spark of wit, however feeble. Out of bed with you, now.”

“Out of bed with you,
my
lord
,” Noah’s host muttered, slogging to the edge of the bed. When Grantley gained his feet, he dropped back onto the mattress like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Does
your
lordship
need the basin?”

“I need the damned room to hold still.”

Hirschman reappeared with the tea tray, and while more buckets were added to the tub, Noah poured tea down Grantley’s skinny gullet. Thank goodness Thea wasn’t here to see her brother in all his disgrace, for she was a good sister, and she’d be more concerned than outraged.

Three cups later, Grantley scrubbed a hand over his face. “What’s all this in aid of?”

This exercise was in aid of Noah’s matrimonial good will. “We are family now. Your days of useless fribbling are over. You have responsibilities.”

Grantley hoisted himself back against the pillows. “I most assuredly do not. I have sense enough not to be getting bastards all over the place, like certain other people I could name.”

“We are not discussing certain other people, we are discussing you, and you might be surprised to learn you are Lady Nonie’s legal guardian.” For the present, in any case.

Grantley blinked, then blinked again. “I am about to be sick.”

“You are not,” Noah shot back. “Get your arse into that tub and close your eyes.”

On unsteady feet, Grantley complied, more falling into the water than sitting in it. His eyes slammed shut, and if Noah hadn’t shoved a hot cup of tea into his hand, he’d no doubt have gone right back to sleep.

Charming. And this malodorous, inebriated stripling had been Thea’s source of masculine protection?

“Now,
your
lordship
, you will attend me.”

“I’m attending.” Grantley kept his eyes closed. “Might I have more tea while I’m being tormented with your pontifications?”

“You are worse than your older sister,” Noah pronounced. “With respect to Lady Nonie, you are an outright disgrace. She had not one dress that fit, much less one that was acceptable for making calls. She had no gloves that hadn’t been stitched, and no mount suitable for hacking in the park. Were you thinking she’d not live to turn eighteen?”

“I won’t live to see her turn eighteen. My thanks for the tea.”

Somebody—Thea, no doubt—had put the manners on Grantley, which was fortunate, for he appeared without other redeeming features.

“Drink it,” Noah snapped, “and then get busy with the soap, for there’s a deal of you in need of a thorough scrubbing. I am prepared to provide a home for Lady Antoinette, and Thea and my sisters can see to her come-out next year.”

Grantley set his teacup aside, the saucer and cup clattering in his unsteady grip. “That’s all right then, if Thea’s taking Nonie in hand.”

“You are their
brother
. You were in no shape to review Thea’s settlements, were you? Have you even read them yet?”

“Been a bit busy.” Grantley sank lower into the water, then grunted when Noah fired a hard-milled bar of French soap at his chest.

“You don’t know busy, Grantley. I have three sisters, and they all required launching. You will call on Lady Nonie this afternoon, you will drive her in the park tomorrow, and you will take her to visit my sisters Prudence and Penelope by week’s end. You will take her shopping on the Strand by Saturday.”

Grantley stared at the soap, which bore a strong scent of lavender. “In daylight?”

“Civilized society conducts most of its business in daylight,” Noah replied. “Now dunk.” He emphasized his command by shoving Grantley’s head under the water and holding him there for an instant.

“You bloody bastard…” Grantley came sputtering up, flailing for a towel. Noah slapped a dollop of soft soap—rose was such a lovely scent—onto his palm instead.

“Your hair reeks,” Noah said. “Wash it thoroughly, or I’ll wash it for you.”

Grantley complied, while Noah rummaged in the wardrobe for clean clothes. Mrs. Wren’s sense of duty was to be commended, for at least his lordship had decent linen.

Noah laid the clothes on the bed and stalked over to the tub. “I’ll rinse you off, assuming you can stand unaided.” He poured the rinse water over Grantley’s head, taking care not to splash on the floor. By the time Noah had finished, Grantley was shivering, naked, and a great deal more sober than he had been.

“Close the bloody window, for God’s sake,” Grantley muttered, belting the robe Noah tossed at him. “Do you want me to catch a lung fever?”

“This room reeks,” Noah said. “Your life reeks, and lung fever would be a mercy, if it would give you time to grasp the extent of your own folly. Now, you may eat something.”

“Couldn’t possibly.”

Noah passed him a plain piece of toast. “A show of petulance isn’t the same thing as a display of spirit. Eat.”

“I do hate you,” Grantley said, eyeing the toast. “Some dark night, you’ll hear a twig snap behind you, and that will be your only warning I’ve come to exact my revenge.”

Noah suppressed a smile from long practice dealing with Nini and Evvie.

“You’ll exact your dread revenge by sneaking up from behind? In the dark?” Noah went to pour himself a cup of tea and found the pot empty. “Hardly sporting. One shudders for your honor.”

By degrees, Noah bullied, teased, reasoned, and forced Grantley into a semblance of order, then all but dragged him out into the midday air.

“Where are we going, now that I’ve been tortured to your satisfaction?” Grantley asked as they headed out the town house door.

Noah snapped off a rose from the trellis near the door and tucked it into the younger man’s lapel.

“Anselm, are you daft?”

Anselm as a form of address was a presumption, but—may God have mercy on dukes with marital schemes—Noah and Grantley were family, so Noah tolerated it.

“You look a fright, your lordship,” Noah replied, which did not directly answer Grantley’s question. “A cadaver has more color than you, smells better, and exudes more charm. A boutonniere will distract the unwary from your ghoulish countenance and provide a hint of scent. We are off to Tatt’s, where you will do as I say, bid as I say, and otherwise impersonate a young man with enough sense to accept a decent influence on his life when it resists the urge to drown him at his bath.”

Grantley pursed his lips and sniffed at his lapel.

“Damask,” he said. “Emphasis on the damn. Tatt’s it is.”

* * *

Noah wasn’t coming back to Wellspring, not that night anyway. Thea folded the note brought by one of Noah’s grooms, silently congratulating herself on not crumpling the paper and tossing it on the dung heap. Married less than two weeks, and the duke was “delayed by the press of business” in Town.

Business
likely sported an impressive set of bosoms, while Thea had merited two lines of scrawled information.

“Thank you.” She managed a small smile for the groom. “No reply, but you should take yourself to the kitchen, where you’ll find food and drink.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” The groom tugged his forelock, showing Thea a sort of deference she found difficult to accept.

Harlan would be disappointed Noah wasn’t rejoining them at Wellspring, as would the girls. Thea’s guess was they noted the comings and goings on the property far more intently than the adults around them surmised.

“We shall have a picnic.” Even saying the words made Thea feel better. “Harlan can take up one little girl, I’ll drive the other in a cart, and we’ll bring blankets, kites, and a storybook. My husband will regret that he was so sorely pressed by his
business
.”

A bold claim, and sincere. Thea suspected she’d cry herself to sleep that night anyway.

* * *

“At least you have your late papa’s sense of horses,” Noah allowed as he and Grantley mounted up to leave Tatt’s.

Thea had horse sense too, and she smelled a good deal better than her brother.

“Hunters were his specialty,” Grantley replied as he clambered aboard his gelding. “Some of my best memories are of being up before him for the family meets. You think Nonie will like her mare?”

That Grantley would ask was encouraging.

“She will like that you thought of her,” Noah said, “and Thea will approve as well.”

“Approve of you?” Grantley bent his head at an angle that allowed him to sniff at the rose in his lapel. “For rousting me out of bed and spotting me the blunt for the pony? Was my morning’s rest sacrificed on the altar of marital politics?”

Which question also did not merit a response.

“You’ll have the next quarter’s funds within two weeks,” Noah said. “As loans between family members go, that’s short term enough, I don’t need a note of hand. When we’ve had some lunch, we’ll call on your solicitors. For your information, your sister has no idea how I’ve wasted my morning.”

But she would. Noah would make a full report within an hour of returning to Wellspring.

“Meet with the solicitors? And spoil a perfectly good tot of gin?”

Noah fell silent, because Grantley was serious. Many young men consumed spirits in great quantity, but Grantley was in deplorable condition. His hands shook, he yet smelled of the previous night’s imbibing, his complexion was waxen, and his eyes were bloodshot.

From a distance, the earl was the picture of the successful young man about town. Up close, he was the image of inchoate ruin. He would have made a fine addition to the Winters line.

“You have a choice, Grantley, barely.”

“Now he gives me choices. Be still my joyous heart.”

Noah tipped his hat to the Duchess of Moreland as she tooled along with her youngest daughter on the bench beside her. Grantley was too busy fussing his posy to notice the ladies, though with a glance, Her Grace had noticed—and disapproved—of Noah’s companion.

Duchesses had that ability—most duchesses.

“You have the barest hope of a choice, Grantley. One option is to climb into the gin bottle and pickle away the few years remaining to you. In that case, you will be at the mercy of the solicitors, though they will be free to pilfer your funds, and no one will stop them. You will console yourself with the company of your drinking companions—you will have no real friends, of course—and they will find great sport in goading you to increasingly dangerous wagers, all for their entertainment.”

Noah drew True up, Grantley’s horse shuffling to a halt as well while they waited for a crossing sweeper gathering horse droppings.

“To soothe your troubled spirit,” Noah went on, “you will seek the company of the whores willing to service you in your stuporous lusts. One of them will know to turn the lamps down, so you won’t see the evidence of the pox that eats her alive. You will die alone, stinking, penniless, and brokenhearted. If God is merciful, you will also die soon, so your sisters needn’t be humiliated by this debacle.”

Grantley kicked his horse back into a trot. “You pronounce me dead in the gutter because I want a bit of hair of the dog? God help Thea should she spike her tea.”

Somehow, Noah knew she’d never do that, and he need never worry she’d abuse spirits. Not ever.

“If that option does not appeal,” Noah went on, as if Grantley hadn’t spoken, “then the first step you ought to take is to shift your associations. When Corbett Hallowell comes around offering to stake you to a few wagers or buy you a few drinks, you decline.”

“
Hallowell?
” Grantley looked genuinely confused. “He’s a friend. He’s the one who found that last position for Thea. She was at loose ends and refusing to come home when old lady Besom or Bosom—I forget which—went to her reward. You suggest I cut him?”

Noah would have insisted upon it, but his experience with Thea suggested the Collins siblings dealt poorly with ducal insistence.

“Hallowell’s papa is a viscount. Your papa was an earl,” Noah said. “For Thea to be a glorified governess to Hallowell’s sister was a humiliation for your sister, not a coup. Thea was not respected in that household.”