He was reading the mail as though he owned the place. She wondered what her husband’s reaction would be if he were there to take in the picture, and then checked herself.
She knew perfectly well what it would be. Similar to all the other reactions she had seen him make when he saw something that displeased him. Yelling. Threats. And St John banished from the house without a hearing. If she could do nothing else in the house, perhaps she could find a way to end the foolish bickering that these two seemed to revel in.
‘Miranda.’ He stood and beamed at her and she felt unaccountably less lonely than she had. ‘You are already having a positive effect here. There is breakfast for a change. And, although I would not trust the kippers, the eggs today seem fresh enough. Come, sit down.’
‘Aren’t you a trifle free with your brother’s hospitality, for one I saw banished from the house yesterday?’
He smiled again. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps. But they informed me at the inn that my brother was riding out for London. And although he cannot abide my company, the servants here are still quite fond of the black sheep and I count on them to hold their tongues when he comes home to pasture. And …’ he looked probingly at her ‘… I wondered if the new duchess might need assistance after being abandoned by her husband on her wedding night. Are you well?’ The question was gently put, but he was no longer smiling and he tensed, waiting for a response.
‘Of course,’ she lied. She had not been dismissed, if Polly’s attitude was any indication of the duke’s mood. And to be left alone by her new husband, but allowed to stay in the house was quite the best of all possible results, if a trifle annoying. ‘I am beginning to feel at home here already. Is that the mail?’ She reached towards the letter in front of him and he gathered it to himself.
‘Expecting a billet-doux, little sister? No, not the mail. Just something I brought with me to dispose of. Damn bill collectors tracked me to the inn. Let us show them what I think of them.’ And he resealed the letter, than twisted it into a roll and walked towards the fireplace. ‘The less time spent with this odious missive the better for all concerned.’ He struck a lucifer on the mantelpiece and held it to the paper, watching it blaze before tossing the smouldering end into the fire.
‘Really, St John, you should not be so casual with your responsibilities.’
‘Miranda, my dear, I am quite serious at times, when a goal is before me. You have not yet seen me at my best. And I am sure, if you have talked to my brother, you have heard nothing but the worst of my character.’
‘Oh, no, I assure you. There was very little time to discuss anything with the duke last night.’ She paused, embarrassed. It sounded rather like they were occupied in other ways. She looked down at her plate and nibbled on a slice of toast.
‘Did he take the time to tell you, then, why he was leaving you so quickly?’
‘I am sure he has a good reason for his actions,’ she answered.
St John nodded over his coffee. ‘I’m sure he does. There might be certain people in London that need to be informed of his nuptials. So as to avoid embarrassment later.’
‘Certain people?’ She waited for him to continue.
He cleared his throat. ‘Well. Yes. It doesn’t do to let the rumours come back to town before him. It needn’t change the current situation, if he has married again, but it is wise to put her mind to rest. To let her know that her position is still secure. Jealousy, thy name is woman, and all that.’ He looked at her and a faint blush was visible on his cheek. ‘I know I shouldn’t even hint at such things, especially not to a lady, and on your first day here. But I felt you deserved to know the lay of the land. I meant no insult.’
So her husband had left the marriage bed still cold and gone to London to be with his … She very deliberately buttered another slice of toast and bit into the corner, chewing as it turned to sawdust in her mouth. And there was no reason that it need bother her in the least. She had expected something of the sort. And this was neither a love match, nor she some giddy girl. ‘It is all right, St John. Thank you. You are right. It is better to know how things stand.’
He sighed in obvious relief. ‘Good. I am glad you are taking this so well. And remember, as I offered before, if you need a strong arm to support you, and my brother is nowhere to be found, you can always call on me.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled wanly back at him.
‘And now, my dear, I must be off. To see about the responsibilities you would have me attend to.’ He sighed. ‘To appear as idle as I do requires a surprising amount of effort. May I have the honour of joining you at supper this evening?’
‘Of course.’ As she watched him go, it occurred to her, if he was to join her for dinner, it meant that there must be a meal. Which required menus, shopping, and co-ordination of the staff. Perhaps the duke had managed to subsist on weak tea and stew, but surely there must be something else in the kitchen.
She was in charge here. At least until the duke came and relieved her. And if she was in charge, there were going to have to be some changes.
She stiffened her spine as she walked down the last of the steps to the servants’ hall and the kitchen where she had been the night before. The remains of breakfast were congealing in plates on the table. That they had not been cleared bespoke a slovenliness she wouldn’t have believed possible.
When she examined the contents of the plates, the situation grew worse still. The crusts of bread were soft and light. Jam. Porridge in bowls. A single rasher of bacon still sat on the edge of one plate.
She remembered her runny eggs and the inedible kipper and fought down an urge to scoop up the remains on the table before her and sneak them back to her room for later. As she stood there, a door at the far end of the room opened and a woman entered. She was short, stout and sour faced, and fixed Miranda with a glare. ‘Who might you be and what are you doing below stairs?’
Miranda drew herself up to her full height and smiled. ‘I am the lady of the house. And who, exactly, are you?’
‘There ain’t a lady of the house. Least not since the dowager, her Grace, died.’
‘There is since yesterday, when his Grace and I were married. Mrs …?’
‘His Grace didn’t say nothing to me about it.’
‘As I understand it, you were out, and the servants had no idea how to contact you. Mrs.?’
‘His Grace didn’t say nothing about getting married,’ she argued.
A kitchen maid crept in to stand quietly in the corner, drawn by the housekeeper’s raised voice.
‘It was a bit of a shock to him as well. Perhaps he neglected to inform you. But surely Wilkins …’
‘That old drunk ain’t allowed to get within ten feet of me or I’ll—’
Clearly the woman was used to having her way with the running of the house. Miranda took a firmer tone and a half-step forward. ‘His Grace didn’t have to say anything to you, Mrs …?’
She paused again and the woman reluctantly supplied, ‘Clopton.’
‘Mrs Clopton. You knew I was here, since you must have sent breakfast up to me earlier.’ She
