Page 29 of Disciplined by the Duke
Liz stretched her lips into a smile. “No, I’m fine. Thinking about home.”
Peggy patted her hand, a gesture Liz was beginning to find comforting. “I know what it’s like to be homesick. How about a big piece of that spice cake to go with your tea. I know that always makes me feel better.”
Liz’s smile was genuine this time. The spice cake was freshly baked and the scents of nutmeg and cinnamon clung to the kitchen. She inhaled deeply, and her stomach gurgled in happy anticipation. Until she glanced over at the cake resting on the counter. The light dusting of powdered sugar sprinkled on top became mold. The crumbs on the plate it sat upon, maggots, wet and wriggling.
She took a hasty swallow of tea. Insect-infested food was what her sister was eating. Her stomach turned at the thought of eating something so self-indulgent as delicious cake until her sister could also enjoy the privilege. “No, thank you. The tea is all I need.” Before Peggy could express the concerns written all over her face, Liz asked, “Have you heard anything about the footman? Has he resurfaced?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” Peggy stirred another lump of sugar into her tea. “I haven’t heard anything about Bob, mind you, but I did learn of his family. He has an aunt and uncle who raised him in Lincoln.”
Liz tried to visualize a map of the area. “That’s the town directly north of the village? About ten miles away?”
“Less than that, I’d think. It only takes around two hours to get there by cart. If you’d like to go I’ll send the boy Joseph to pick up some supplies there on Saturday afternoon and he can take you.”
Liz nodded. Even though she’d recommitted herself to stealing the letter, that didn’t mean she wasn’t still curious about what had happened to the young man. And whether Mr. Pike had anything to do with his disappearance. “I would appreciate that. What’s the name of his uncle?”
“A Mr. Blackmun, same last name as Bob. He’s the town’s smithy, so he shouldn’t be hard to find.” She gathered up their cups and saucers and started washing up. Liz grabbed a wet rag and wiped down the counters. “Oh, you don’t have to do that, dear. I’ll get to it when I’m done with the dishes.”
“I don’t mind, Peggy. It’s nice to have someone to talk with. It’s the least I can do to repay you for your kindness.”
Peggy’s cheeks glowed a rosy hue. “Oh, get on with you. But if you ever do get lonely come down and talk to me. I like having a nice chat and a cuppa as much as the next person.” She picked up a cloth and began drying the dishes. She heaved a great sigh. “You’re not the only one who needs company, dear.”
Liz tapped her fingers against the tile counter. “Peggy, if you really didn’t want to be alone I don’t think you’d have to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, only that there is someone here who is looking to be friends with you, more than friends actually, and he might make a very nice companion, if you’d let him.”
Peggy paused, saucer in hand, water drops pattering against the stone floor. “Are you saying you know a man who’s interested in me?”
“Yes.”
Peggy’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Well, who? Who is it?”
“He’s a man who is very proper in his address, so proper that some might think him a bit pompous. But I think he just takes his duties very much to heart. He is very hardworking and has a good position. He needs to learn to relax a bit, but if he can do that truly I think he would make someone a very solid match.”
Peggy clasped the wet saucer to her ample bosom. “Surely you don’t mean . . . you can’t think . . .”
Liz thought about her sister alone in a cell. Peggy alone in her room with a kitten. Herself alone in that room in London for months on end. It was time for someone to be happy. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I do. I do mean him. You were quite willing to overlook the many flaws in Mr. Pike for a chance at love, but it’s time you set your sights at better men. Men who might be blustering and stiff on the outside, but who are decent and caring inside. So next time you think of passing out sweets to men like Mr. Pike and the like, I think you should know that Mr. Todd is very fond of your desserts. Very fond indeed.”
She spun on her heel and left Peggy gaping like a fish. She hoped she hadn’t overstepped her bounds and lost a friend in the process, but Mr. Todd and Peggy were both sensible people who, if they put their minds to it, could make each other happy. Peggy just needed someone to point it out to her.
If only Liz could organize her own happiness so easily.
* * *
Marcus sat through the evening meal with grim determination. Entertaining his guests was a duty to be endured, not enjoyed. He nodded at something the young Lord Spencer said, not caring about whether the new precision rifles could shoot a distance of three hundred yards or four. Everything about his guests bored him, and it was no wonder. The twentysomething lord and his two friends were nearly a decade younger than him, with nothing more pressing on their minds than their latest racehorses and which party to next attend.
A middle-aged couple, family friends of Spencer and Arabelle’s parents and accompanying the youths nominally as their chaperones, were no better. Marcus had tried to engage the husband in a discussion about crop rotations but was rebuffed. The man had a “steward” for that and never concerned himself with such “tawdry” matters. Marcus snorted at the thought, and slurped at his soup to disguise the sound. How a man at any age could think the business of running an estate tawdry was beyond his comprehension. Proper management provided food and shelter not only for the estate but for its tenants, as well.
Each year it became more and more difficult to keep Hartsworth self-sustaining. His father had been aware of that and had the idea of entering a trade in order to compensate for any losses. The previous duke had taken his responsibilities as steward of the land seriously and had made sure that no tenant or villager ever went to sleep under a leaky roof and no child ever went to bed hungry. But he’d been too concerned with public opinion about a peer entering trade to ever actualize his idea.
Marcus had no such compunctions. The year after his father had died, he’d started his shipping line with one schooner, and now, nearly ten years later, the company had a fleet of twenty-eight ships. Other aristocrats had laughed at the duke who sullied his hands in trade, but when one of them needed a loan he came to Marcus.
“Monty!”
A pale, plump hand waved in his face, and Marcus turned to Arabelle. “Yes?”
“I do believe that you haven’t heard one word I’ve said.” She pouted her pink lips and leaned back in her chair, the picture of a spoiled child. Some men might have found her arts charming. Marcus merely grimaced.