‘We employ a bookkeeper for that.’
‘Someone has to oversee the bookkeeper.’
What on earth was the matter with him? Fred’s advice might not be to his liking, but it wasn’t wrong.
Besides, it was a lady’s prerogative to choose her protector. A gentleman simply shrugged and moved on if he wasn’t picked. He toyed with one of the blue ribbons from the bonnet and twined it around his fingers. Not that he’d suffered such rejections in the past. After all he’d been the second son of a duke, fabulously wealthy in his own right and his reputation for generosity had not gone unnoticed.
Until now. Damn it all, he needed to think about something else. About those in his care. His grandmother, for example.
When had he last seen the old girl? He cast his mind back with effort. Two days ago? Three? She’d be worrying. The thought of her in distress made his stomach roil. Another failure to add to a string of them he dragged behind him like anchors.
Fred peered at the bonnet. ‘What is that doing there?’
‘Nothing. I found it in the garden. One of the girls must have dropped it. I thought I would ask around.’
‘I doubt any of them would want that old thing back.’
‘Probably not.’ Jake picked it up and dropped it in the rubbish basket.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Fred said.
‘Not on my account, I hope. I’m leaving.’
‘I only came by to check on the state of the cellar, which I have done. See you later, Westmoor.’
Fred left, closing the door behind him.
Jake forced himself to his feet. He was done here. There was no point in pretending to read numbers when he could barely see them. He picked the bonnet out of the bin and hung it on the back of the door. Just in case.
He wandered off to the stables. He deliberately did not glance at the garden gate and nor did he utter a word at the reproving glance he received from his coachman for keeping him waiting till some ridiculous hour of the morning. Again. Thank goodness the stables at Vitium et Virtus offered comfort for long-suffering servants.
* * *
Once home, he went straight to his room, endured the ministrations of a valet who did nothing but complain about the fit of his coats and the state of his linen, and shut himself in the library, which he now used as his office. Even after all these months, he still couldn’t bring himself to use the ducal study.
Instead, he’d had them bring a writing table in here along with the various documents he needed day to day. He’d also had them cover the most recent family portrait. His father, brother, sister and himself. Something about the way his father and brother looked out of that frame made him feel inadequate. And as guilty as hell.
Why had he not done as his father had asked him on that last day?
Such a simple request. For some reason he could no longer fathom, or justify, he had taken umbrage at the implication that he had nothing better to do than dash off to Brighton to curry favour with the Regent.
If only—
He cut the thought off and returned to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. Why had he never realised how much work it was, being a duke? Likely because his father and brother had never involved him in the routine running of the Duchy.
Nor had he wanted them to. Had he?
He shut his eyes, briefly. No. He had not. He’d been having too good a time as he’d so often gloated to an older brother weighed down by responsibilities and paperwork.
Too busy enjoying the charms of the fairer sex, his unbelievable luck at the tables and running Vitium et Virtus with his friends. Running it and enjoying its entertainments. Though he had to admit the sameness of it all had begun to pall some time ago.
The library door opened to admit an elderly lady with her hair powdered and her back ramrod straight, despite needing the support of her cane. A pair of piercing grey eyes fixed on his face. Eyes like his father’s. And his brother’s. His were blue, like his mother’s and Eleanor’s.
‘Grandmama. Good morning.’
A beauty in her youth, she was still a handsome woman in her seventies.
She snorted. ‘Don’t “Grandmama” me in that cozening tone. It is mid-afternoon. Where have you been? I having been wanting to speak to you for two days now.’
‘Out. What can I do for you?’
She pursed her lips, but plucked a letter from her reticule. ‘Eleanor asks if she may come to town next week. She wishes to shop.’
Eleanor. Something else his father hadn’t seen fit to tell him about. If ever he discovered who the father of his niece was, who the man was who had abandoned his sister to a life of secrets and loneliness, he was going to roast him on a spit. ‘She may come whenever she wishes, as I told her.’
‘Your father...’
‘In this one thing, Grandmama, my father was an ass.’
The starch went out of his grandmother and all of a sudden she looked old and frail and sad. She sank into a chair. ‘It was on my advice that we sent her away,’ she admitted, sounding miserable. ‘I thought it was for the best. You know your father always took my advice when it came to your sister after your mother died.’
Jake bit back a hard retort about his father needing to think for himself and came around to sit beside his grandmama on the sofa.
She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You are a good boy, Jake. You have a kind heart.’
Not always. His mind went back to Rose. He’d upset her very handily, when clearly she did not fancy him the way he had fancied her. It was such a spur-of-the-moment thing, he barely understood it himself.
Dash it. He would find her and make sure she had suffered no ill effects as a result of his reckless behaviour. It was the honourable thing to do. But right now his grandmother needed him. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’
‘No, thank you. I need to get a reply off to Eleanor in the post. I want to assure her right away that she is welcome. Any delay and she will think we don’t want her and these days, with my stiff joints, writing is a slow business.’
‘Why do you not let me hire a secretary for you or a companion to help with such things?’ It was not the first time he’d made the suggestions since her last lady companion had departed.
She shot him a steely-eyed stare his father would have been proud of. ‘Your wife would be companion enough, should you deign to obtain one.’
He masked a wince. ‘I have to find a willing lady first, Grandmama.’
Her brows lowered. ‘Excuses, excuses. Why, I have introduced you to a dozen suitable young women over the past few weeks.’
His hackles rose. He was perfectly capable of finding his own wife. When he was ready. ‘It is too soon, Grandmama. We are barely out of mourning.’
‘Your father would have wanted you to secure the succession as soon as possible. You danced with Mrs Challenger at the ball you threw for her and Challenger. You could have used the opportunity to meet this Season’s crop of debutantes. But, no, not one other lady did you ask to dance.’
His scalp tightened. Every muscle in his body felt tight. He now knew how a fox must feel when chased by the hounds. He forced himself to remain polite. ‘The ball was a favour to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Right now, the affairs of the Duchy require my complete attention. Let me get those in hand and then I promise you I will do my duty and attend every ball and assembly