having people address him by the name he had used his entire life was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘Until we meet again, Lord Liverpool.’
Mr Mix, who Simon understood to be the old Duke’s secretary and had been managing the ducal properties since the old Duke had passed, went hurrying by on his way to the front door. He was the one man who Simon needed to speak with to settle all the details about his new title and estates. If anyone knew the condition that his estates were in, it would be Mr Mix. He would also know where the ledger books were kept so that Simon could finally see how much of a wealthy man he was. When he returned to England, Lord Liverpool had informed him by post that all debts had been settled and that there were funds remaining. The only question was, how substantial was the size of the fortune sitting in his bank account and just how profitable were those estates.
‘Mr Mix,’ Simon called out, walking towards the door to catch the small, thin man before he disappeared out into the midday sunshine.
The man stopped before stepping outside. He bowed respectfully, but his eyes kept darting towards the door as if he had somewhere to run off to.
Simon held out his hand. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Mix. I understand you served as secretary for my predecessor?’
There was a slight hesitation before Mr Mix took his hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘That’s correct, Your Grace.’
‘Please, call me Simon. I’d like to arrange a meeting with you. I realise that you and I have no contract for employment, but I thought we might discuss the state of the old Duke’s affairs and perhaps we can come to an agreement for the future. And you need to come to my house to collect those snuffboxes the Duke has given you.’
Mr Mix offered him a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Of course, when should I call on you?’
‘If you have no appointments tomorrow, I think the morning would be best. I’m staying at the Pulteney Hotel on Piccadilly. I imagine we have many things to go over together.’
‘I imagine we do. Very well, Your Grace. I will see you then.’ He tipped his hat in a respectful manner and walked out the door.
Simon put on his own hat and turned to leave when the clear voice of the Duchess rang out in the entrance hall, stopping him in his tracks. He closed his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head before he turned around.
They were the only two people left in the unadorned hall and they stood only a few feet away from each other. She was close to his height, which was tall for a woman, and up close he could see her delicate features were rather scrunched up, as if she was trying to determine what to say to him.
‘Sir, I wish to have a word with you in private.’ She swallowed and looked back at the doorway that led to Mr Nesbit’s office as if she was concerned the man would come out and find them together. ‘Thank you for allowing me to remain in Skeffington House until the end of January. My man of affairs, Mr Sherman, notified me of your acceptance of our request this morning.’
‘My pleasure. I shall not be in England long so you may take the time you need to move to your new residence. Good day.’
He turned toward the door again, but once more her voice stopped him.
‘I have a proposition for you.’ The last statement was spoken in almost a whisper.
A proposition by a pretty woman—even one who was as trying as the Duchess of Skeffington—was something to consider. Simon turned back towards her and wondered what she could possibly want from him. ‘Go on.’
She cleared her throat. ‘I was wondering...that is to say...would you consider...?’
‘I am not one to couch my comments to please the world, Duchess. I do not get the impression you do either. What is it you want?’
‘I want Stonehaven.’ She said it clearly, although she was twisting the handle of her reticule as she made the statement. ‘That is to say, I would like to know if you would be willing to exchange Clivemoore for it?’
He hadn’t had the time to review each of his houses. How could he possibly give up one before he knew anything about it? And if the Duchess of Skeffington wanted that one so badly, it had to be worth something.
‘Why do you want the house?’
‘Sentimental reasons.’
‘You and your husband spent lovely weeks there and it holds good memories?’
‘No. I simply prefer that property above the others. If you are leaving England as you say you are, then it should not matter to you which house I get.’
There had to be more to it than that. He had met fortune hunters like her before in his life. Hell, he had been tossed aside by a few. If he had to wager, he would put money on the notion that Stonehaven provided more of an income than Clivemoore.
‘Ah, but your husband had a reason not to put you there. I am simply adhering to his wishes.’
‘And what about my wishes? I’m still alive. He is dead.’
Without meaning to, he let out a low laugh. Her very direct nature was comical.
‘Yes, well, it’s quite obvious you are still alive and the reason I am here is because your husband is dead... How did he die, by the way? I never thought to enquire before now.’
‘A chicken bone...he choked on a chicken bone one night at dinner.’
‘You’re sure it wasn’t poison?’
‘Poison? Of course I’m sure it wasn’t poison.’ A look of comprehension crossed her face before she put her hands on her hips. ‘Are you insinuating I poisoned my husband?’
‘You do seem very interested in that house. And as you stated, you’re alive and he’s dead.’ Simon tried to say it with a straight face, but he wasn’t successful.
‘You are an odious man, Mr Alexander.’
‘That may be true, but I am an odious man in possession of...what was the name of the estate again? Oh, yes, Rockhaven.’
‘Stonehaven,’ she corrected him through her teeth.
‘I don’t see a difference,’ he replied simply to annoy her. ‘Stones and rocks are the same thing. Perhaps I’ll change the name.’
The Duchess began to tug her purple-silk glove up. Her emerald and gold bracelet caught his eye as the sunlight glinted off it from the fanlight over the door.
‘I see you have no intention of taking my request seriously. I do believe we have nothing more to say to one another. I bid you a good day and wish you horrible weather on your journey back to whatever country has the misfortune of hosting you in the future.’
She raised her chin and sailed past him towards the front door and, thankfully, out of his life for ever.
Dorset—five
