Duncan opened his mouth to argue, but closed it.
Xander almost laughed, suspecting the man was debating between arguing that a duke shouldn’t do that sort of thing and arguing with a duke, period.To expedite the solution, he moved to one end of the table and gestured.“I want to rotate it a quarter turn, so I have the outdoors on one side and the interior door on the other, with the rest of the room and the fire in front of me.”
“Of course, sir.”Duncan grabbed a few books off the shelf nearest him and placed them on the piles of documents on the desk so they wouldn’t spill.
“Ah, good thought.Thank you.”
The footman blinked before saying, “Certainly, Your Grace.”
After they’d adjusted the desk and Xander brought the chair around, he sat to test it, looking in both directions.“So much better, don’t you think?”
Duncan blinked twice and took a moment to form his reply.“Definitely, Your Grace.You can enjoy the outdoors whilst keeping an eye on anyone who might think to disturb you.”
Xander barked a short laugh.“Well put, Duncan.’Ta.”
The footman re-shelved the books before heading back to his post in the hall.
Alone again but in a better mood, Xander tackled the rather daunting amount of correspondence awaiting him.Munroe had opened the letters in case anything urgent required dukedom funds or arbitration.He’d been kind enough to separate letters into two piles.One was composed of letters of condolences and felicitations, often on the same page, regarding the previous duke’s passing and his ascension.Xander planned to ignore those as long as possible.
The second pile was more time-sensitive notes, including House of Lords business to review.
Xander picked up a page from the top of the pile.
To Alexander Whitcomb, Third Duke of Rutland,
He doubted he’d ever get comfortable seeing that in writing or hearing himself introduced as such.And the “Your Graces” were downright annoying.He kept looking around for a chit named Grace.He continued reading, phrases leaping out at him.
…part of an alliance…here to help…visit in the coming weeks…
He straightened in his desk chair.There was an alliance by dukes, to help dukes?He leaned back.Of course there was.Perhaps there could be an alliance of dockworkers to help each other, too, and tavern workers, and whatever else.But none of them had the time or the wherewithal to form such a thing.Even if they did, it would only take the coffers of one wealthy merchant, earl, or dare he say it, duke, to smite them.An alliance, however, would keep power centered exactly where dukes wanted it—among themselves.
Throwing the letter aside, he moved to the next one and spent the better part of an hour trying to decipher the references and the attached proposed bill from the House of Commons.That, too, was tossed to the side.Sighing with frustration, he thunked his elbows on the desk and threaded his fingers through his hair to support his head.Staring down at the desk, he closed his eyes in frustration.He read the newspapers, of course.However, the governance of the country was so far removed from everyday life for most Brits that none of them could speak to the pros and cons of a law or even whether it benefited them directly.Half the documents revised or amended older laws, which meant he’d need to see if archives were kept at this house by the former dukes or request them from London.It was exhausting.
A rustle from behind his left brought his head up and around.He hadn’t heard anyone come into the office.A maid in a frilled mob cap stood nearby.
Munroe always knocked.The whole point of working alone in the mornings was for these private anxiety attacks.
Now, however, someone had witnessed his silent panic.He narrowed his gaze at her, channeling his newfound ducal energy.
She nodded to him, appearing immune.“They’re expanding the Insolvent Debtors Act to Ireland, hmm?”
“I beg your pardon?”Was this part of maids’ training for a duke’s household?He was relatively sure she was one of the newer hires, and that the two maids who had made sexual advances toward him would not have had that observation even if they’d spent an hour with the letter as he had.
“The bill.”She tilted her head to the second letter he’d thrown aside.“I hadn’t considered Ireland.Rather myopic of me, wasn’t it?I’m glad they are rectifying it.”
He gaped.Half aware that he resembled a fish, opening and closing his mouth without emitting any words, he had a crazy thought.If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now.This had to be a dream becoming a nightmare because a lovely chit he’d never hesitate to tup before was suddenly off limits.Worse, the minute she opened her mouth, she proved she knew more about the governing of the country than he did.
Chapter Four
Realizing what she’d just done, Evie caught her breath, aghast.Servants didn’t comment on Parliamentary matters.Hellfire, not all of them knew how to read.
She’d spent her first few days cleaning whatever below-stairs rooms the duke was not using, gathering her bravery to venture into the library and thinking up ways to interact other than spilling something on him.She’d groaned when she’d seen the thirty-person set of silverware to be polished in the dining room.Then again at the mount of wood in the library to be dusted and polished.Bookshelves, windowsills, tables—a round one for a light meal, the low one in the seating area, and a side table, and the duke’s desk.
She was behind the breakfast table on her knees, half dusting, half skimming the titles on the shelves in the far corner when the duke entered the library.Her heart raced as she remained quiet.This was the chance she’d been waiting for, to observe him without appearing impertinent.
He was quickly engrossed, staring so hard at the papers before him she thought they might ignite.
She edged closer to get a better look at him.His fingers fidgeted with a pen seemingly held to take notes, and his brow was furrowed.Despite those signs of irritation, he was as overwhelming and rugged as her aunt had said.And goodness, that man was thick in all the best ways, no skinny fop in heeled shoes and floral waistcoat.He wasn’t even wearing a waistcoat and in the few glimpses she’d had of him coming and going, she had yet to see him in a cravat.
