Dukes By the Dozen

Just as the thought crossed Adam’s mind, the penguin-shaped little butler who had preceded him across the tidy entry hall threw open a set of doors as if invading Windsor and called out, “His Noble!!...er, no. His Gracious!….no, that’s not right either, is it?” His voice weakened with each progressive attempt, ending in a bare whisper. “His high….?”

Which was when Adam fully appreciated how young this butler was, not even to his majority, Adam suspected. The boy was suddenly red-faced and ducking his head. “Ma’am, excuse me. How do you introduce a duke?”

Adam leaned around the young man to discover a small, tidy young woman in a forest green round gown seated at a Sheraton desk, looking as if she was doing sums in an account book. “What, Tom?” she asked without looking up.

“A duke, ma’am. How do I introduce one?”

Muttering under her breath, she scratched something out and checked another page. She still didn’t look up. “You introduce them as His Grace the Duke of Whatever, Tom.”

The boy bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.” Clearing his throat, he straightened so fast it looked like he might crack. Adam fought back a smile. “His Grace, the Duke of Rothray!” the boy all but wailed, his voice breaking right in the middle, which provoked yet another blush.

The noise finally brought the young woman’s head up with a snap. She caught sight of Adam leaning on his cane just beyond her butler, and she gaped. “Good heavens.”

Adam smiled and bowed. “Lady Georgiana, I presume?”

She jumped to her feet and smoothed her skirt, which unfortunately left a smear of ink down the front. She never noticed. She was busy pulling off her spectacles and hiding them behind her skirt, as if it would make them disappear. Adam was finding it harder to maintain his ducal poise. She was blinking at him like a bunny.

“Mrs. Grace, ” she corrected, finally bobbing a curtsy. “Your Grace. Won’t you come in?”

He didn’t want to say the obvious, that he already was in. “Thank you.”

“Er….” she brushed at her chestnut hair, which seemed to be in want of some pins. “Tea? Yes. Tea. Tom, pop off and let Mrs. Cranston know, won’t you?”

The boy bounced a quick bow and left at a clattering run.

“A bit young for a butler, isn’t he?” Adam couldn’t help but ask once the boy had disappeared down the corridor.

“He is. Please accept my apologies for the, er, introduction.” She gave an ineffectual wave after the boy. “The actual butler is up in London with my brother right now, and I thought, well, Tom so wants to be a butler, that I might give him a chance for a bit while things were quiet. We have a program to teach young people from the workhouse, and, well, I never expected the poor boy would have to introduce a duke.”

Adam gave her his best smile. “A laudable act.”

She nodded a time or two, still just standing there, as if she’d never had a duke in her parlor before. Well, Adam thought, she might not have. Still. Her father was a marquess.

He might have to rethink his plan if this visit didn’t improve.

It was almost as if she’d heard him. “Oh!” she said, waving toward the sunflower-colored settee. “I’ve left you standing far too long. Please. Have a seat.”

It was all he could do to keep a straight face. He limped across the small salon, quickly taking it in as he passed. Small, square and cozy, it contained two settees and a few scattered chairs grouped around a fireplace. Considering its dominant color, the room was undoubtedly called either the Yellow Salon or the Lemon Square. At least it was warm, with a bright fire crackling in an Adams fireplace to push out the bitter January cold.

It was a pretty room, situated on the east side of the tidy Queen Anne manor to pick up the warm morning light. He couldn’t, however, call it comfortable. The settee he eased down onto was stiff with the kind of spindly legs that made him worry he would presently be seated on the floor. Mrs. Grace—he couldn’t help thinking of her as Georgie--settled herself on a matching yellow brocade chair.

Jamie had been correct. If Adam had simply seen Jamie’s wife sitting at a desk, he would have walked right by. It was when she moved that she began to make an impression. She had a compelling grace, especially for a small woman. He would have expected her to, well, bounce like a small bird on a fence. She glided as if books rested on her head.

Of course, he thought almost smiling. A marquess’s daughter. She had undoubtedly balanced a goodly number of books on her head.

“How can I help you, Your Grace?” she asked,setting the glasses down on a table and arranging her skirts. “I don’t believe we’ve met?”

Adam was becoming even more enchanted. She sat in a shaft of sunlight that wove yellows and reds into what had appeared to be dun brown hair. It also did not escape his attention that she had large, sparkling green eyes that seemed indescribably soft.