Page 52 of No Duke of Mine

“It is a small thing. When you do have a real partner in your arms, make sure to look down at her now and then. Women respond well to eye contact and the gentle squeeze of their fingers.”

Sims laughed softly. “I had noticed that.”

“I’m glad.”

Maggie backed away from the door. Sims would never be a close friend of hers, but she liked the man. He was industrious, efficient, and usually quick to laugh. She understood why Algernon valued him so much, and she felt bad for taking away a position he’d aspired to.

She headed directly for her room and eyed her father’s trunks, still stacked where the servants had moved them a few days ago, and rolled up her sleeves.

Then she took a deep breath and unbuckled the straps that bound the first one securely before lifting the lid on the contents.

Her father’s cologne, the distinctive scent of him and books, hit her like a punch in the stomach. She steadied herself and reached for the first garment. His heavy winter coat seemed far shabbier and lighter than she remembered it being. Papa had occasionally wrapped her in it on particularly cold days when she was very young. But that had been a long time ago. Back when she’d been fussed over, and he’d truly seen her potential and not that of other people’s children, as more important.

The shabby coat only served to remind her how much time had passed since their terrible argument. If he’d changed toward her over the years, she’d never know now. She fingered her years-old gown, too, the last gift he’d ever happily provided her. Affection from him had ended abruptly through no fault of her own because of one of his precious boys.

Maggie buried her nose in the fabric, overcome with bitterness about the past and assailed by fear and loneliness for the future. Her eyes stung with tears she didn’t want to shed over him. She had to forget her disappointment, but she might never forgive.

She put the coat on her bed eventually, but as she looked up from it, she noticed Sims standing out in the hall, watching her warily. “Yes, Sims?”

“I heard a sob, and I was concerned. Is everything all right, Miss Black?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She smiled and gestured around her. “I am finally looking into my father’s trunks.”

He advanced a step to see them. “Might I be of assistance? I handled the emptying of the old duke’s chambers for the family when he passed. It can be a difficult time.”

“Well, then perhaps you can help me after all. I am not certain what to do with my father’s old clothing.”

“His Grace sent everything down to the servants’ hall, and what was not wanted there went to the poor of the village.”

Maggie nodded. “Could you help me with that? Making the offer and sending the unwanted items away?”

“I would be happy to,” he assured her, heading toward the trunk and lifting out a shirt. “It has been my experience that clothing is the hardest for the bereaved. The smell, the reminder of happier times, tugs on the heart.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. But there are few happy times that I remember now involving my father.” Her thoughts about her father were still tied up in anger and regret over his distrust.

Sims nodded in sympathy. “Then I will make short work of this and take them away immediately.”

Maggie exhaled a shaky breath and stood back as her father’s clothing was sorted, pockets checked, and then removed from the room.

Left alone again, Maggie peeked into the bottom of each trunk. Her father carried a lot of papers and journals with him. His lessons for his precious students.

Maggie considered throwing them all into the fire to burn, the way her anger still did.

Yet, his lessons had been her work for a time, too. Father had practiced all his lessons with Maggie first. Testing her and correcting his notes to help instruct others.

She had been his most constant student, and perhaps his smartest. Only Algernon’s test scores had come close to hers, although she had no way to know how his most recent students had fared.

She set out all the papers, journals, and such by the age of the students he’d taught. By the time she was done, she had covered her entire bed, and the valet had returned.

“What’s all this?”

“My father’s life. Lessons. Study materials. Everything he took to the classroom and each new employer.”

“May I?” Sims took a peek at one pile when she nodded, leafing through a book of instructions for geometry. “I had nothing like this as a boy.”

“What did you have?”

“Apples, oranges, and my long legs to mark out feet and yards.”