As out of the blue as the duke’s engagement had been.
As unexpected as the duchess’s last words to him had been.
An interminable prison sentence and a lonely curse he could never share with anyone.
While the acid in his stomach churned a little more at that hideous reality, he covered it to beam at his eight new employees. “Is this the entire complement of staff, Mrs. Townsend?”
“It is, Your Grace. Up until now we have had little need for more. Though I daresay we shall be run ragged over the next few days when your guests arrive on the morrow.”
Instantly, his addled, overworked brain pictured Diana, and a wave of unexpected longing hit him hard before he ruthlessly pushed the image away.
What the devil was the matter with him?
Ever since she had grabbed his hand beneath the table, his mind had been consumed by the vixen. To such an extent he was tempted to consult his pocket watch again to count how many hours it would be until she arrived in Shropshire!
What the blazes was that about?
Hoping his new uncharacteristic and inappropriate longing was caused by tiredness brought about by the fraught circumstances and too many hours on horseback, Giles inhaled a lungful of frigid air and stood straighter to get the blood flowing back to his head. “Then it is a good job I thought to bring a reinforcement for this trip.”
Right on cue, Dalton limped up beside him. “Where do you want me to shove the coffin?”
Giles smiled at his new housekeeper, whose eyes had widened at his contrary servant’s crudely worded question, and decided not to apologize for him. Dalton was always uniquely Dalton, God love him, and the sooner she realized that the easier it would be for all of them. “Have you prepared a suitable place for His Grace to lie in repose, Mrs. Townsend?”
“I did, Your Grace. I thought the private chapel would be best, especially if the locals want to pay their respects as I doubt you’d want them traipsing through the house at all hours with theirmuddy boots.” She ushered the young groom forward. “Could you please escort Mr.… er…”
“This is Dalton, Mrs. Townsend. Just Dalton. We don’t bother with the mister.”
“I run His Grace’s household.” The reprobate straightened his shoulders, peering at the woman down his nose with his good eye as he marked his territory like an alley cat.
“Perhaps back in town you do, Mr. Dalton.” She offered him a tight smile in defiant retaliation. “Although I am sure I can find something for you to do here. Once I have met privately with His Grace and overseen serving his dinner in the formal dining room, I would be delighted to show you around Harpenden Hall and discuss what your particular duties might be here.”
Both servants glared at Giles, expecting him to take sides, but he didn’t have the energy. His timepiece burned in his waistcoat pocket, reminding him ofheragain. “Dalton, if you wouldn’t mind seeing to His Grace. Mrs. Townsend, I could murder a cup of tea and a plate of something sweet and biscuit-shaped.”
Mrs. Townsend bristled. “Wouldn’t you like a personal tour of the hall first, Your Grace, to familiarize yourself with the surroundings and work up an appetite for your dinner?”
He smiled to cover his gritted teeth. “No need, as I know every nook and cranny well.” She might well have been the custodian of the place for the last few years and think herself in charge, but this house was more his than anybody’s. Or least it was for now and had been since the day Giles had been deposited to the drafty nursery on the third floor. “I lived here for my first twenty years, Mrs. Townsend.” Just him and his succession of nannies and tutors until he was sent away to Cambridge kicking and screamingand, shortly afterward, banned from ever returning and forcibly removed each time he tried.
Without thinking, he reached for his watch and glanced at the dial. “It’s getting late. I’ll have the tea and biscuits in my bedchamber as I am all done with today, Mrs. Townsend.” With everything and everyone. “It’s been a long week and tonight, all I need is some sustenance, a hot bath, and some fresh sheets to sink my weary bones into.”
Thwarted, she replied with a curt nod as she curtsied. “If that pleases Your Grace.”
“And before you have any ideas to the contrary, I’ll be the one seeing to his bath!” After issuing that parting shot to his new rival, Dalton stalked off in the direction of the laden carriages muttering under his breath.
Giles didn’t wait to be invited in and strode through the front door, leaving everyone else standing outside. He shrugged off his soggy greatcoat and tossed it on the banister, then took the ancient, creaking stairs two at a time in his haste to get away. He needed to be alone with his jumbled, racing thoughts, fraught nerves, and conflicting emotions or he would end up exploding in public. And that wouldn’t do when nobody here had done anything except the jobs they were paid poorly to do.
Instinctively, Giles headed to his old bedchamber in the east wing despite knowing Mrs. Townsend would have prepared the duke’s room in the west wing for him as befitted his new station. Amid all the chaos, he had neglected to inform her he didn’t want it, but he did not have the current capacity to care. Once inside, he threw himself on the bed to stare at the ceiling. The familiar cracked plaster was like an old friend, and he sighed aloud in reliefthat at least something else beyond blasted Diana felt solid and constant while everything else seemed so uncertain and up in the air.
There was so much to do.
So much to take in.
So much unexplained.
So much at stake.
So much still out of the sphere of his control, the weight of it all was suffocating him.
There was only one thing he understood fully and without a shadow of a doubt tonight: that was he too damn tired and overwhelmed to consider anything logically. So instead, he closed his eyes and gave in to the exhaustion, attempting to block out everything for the sake of his own sanity.
