A Duke for Christmas (Hearts and Ever Afters) Page 3

  “Of course,” the butler agreed, bowing his head. “You are most gracious, my lord.”

  Frowning, Charles watched the butler walk away, wondering if he had truly heard the slight tinge of sarcasm in the butler’s last words. Surely, the man would not speak to him in such a manner. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Charles turned on his heel and made his way back up the staircase towards his guests. He must have imagined it, for the butler would not have dared speak to him in such a way.

  In addition, was he not already being most kind to Miss Docherty in giving her a roof over her head and food to eat until he was able to speak to her? It was not as though he was throwing her back outside into the cold to trudge back towards the inn, which was at least ten miles away.

  Feeling more satisfied with himself and his chosen course of action, Charles entered the drawing room once more and threw himself into the festivities, determined to enjoy every moment with his guests.

  ***

  The following morning, Charles awoke late in the day, his head still spinning from the amount of liquor he had imbibed the night before. It had been a jolly evening, however—what he could remember of it at least. There had been dancing and frivolity. He was sure that this would be a wonderful fortnight.

  Groaning quietly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows before shoving his pillows behind him and resting his head back against them. His guests would not be awake yet, he was sure, for he had been the first to retire.

  Tugging at the bell pull, he only had to wait for a few minutes until a maid arrived with his breakfast tray. The aroma of warm chocolate made his stomach growl, although his eyes pinched shut when the curtains were thrown back.

  “It is a gray day, my lord,” the maid murmured as she tied the curtains back. “And the gardener says there is to be snow.”

  Charles chuckled to himself, thinking that it would not be too much of a bad thing should there be a heavy snowfall which could extend their house party for a few days. Of course, it would mean that he would miss Christmas in town, were that the case, which would bring a great deal of wrath from his mother.

  “Are any of my other guests awake yet?” he asked, only for the maid to shake her head. Relaxing against his pillows, Charles smiled to himself as the maid closed the door, finding himself at ease.

  However, he was not about to have his peace for long. To his utter shock, the door slammed open once more, and Isabella Docherty stood, framed in the doorway.

  “Whatever is the meaning of this?” Charles spluttered, pushing himself up against the pillows. “You should not be here! Get out at once.”

  “I will not!” she exclaimed, her eyes burning with fire. “How dare you send the butler with a message for me, as though I am a servant below your regard!”

  Charles blinked, finding it difficult to think coherently as he gazed at her, finding her to be something of a beauty. Now that she was clean and dry, her long, fair hair tied up neatly, he could hardly believe that it was the same woman who had appeared on his doorstep the night before.

  “You have nothing to say?” the lady screeched, storming closer to him. “I have come to you for aid, in the hope that you might assist me, only for you to inform me that I am to work below stairs for you until you deign yourself enough to meet with me?”

  “What did you expect?” Charles stuttered, grasping at the gaping collar of his bed shirt and tugging the material together. “I have not seen you in ten years, Miss Docherty, and from what I remember, you and your mother were given a very handsome living for—”

  “For a disgraced governess?” she whispered, her lips growing white with anger. “Was that what you were going to say?”

  He shook his head, wondering what it was he had been about to say. “No, indeed. In fact, the way your mother was treated by my uncle was wrong; I know that. I would say, in fact,” he continued, a surge of pride filling his chest, “that I treat my servants with more respect than any other gentleman of my acquaintance, and that is all because of your mother.”

  To his satisfaction, he saw her falter for a moment, the anger in her eyes fading a little.

  “I see,” she said slowly, her voice quieter than before. “How wonderful to know that your uncle’s prevalent behavior means that you will not take such liberties with your own staff, although I would have thought that a gentleman of firm character would know not to do such things regardless.” Her eyebrow arched, and Charles felt the sting of her rebuke almost slap him across the face.

  “Now, see here,” he retorted, growing angry with her. “I am not the same kind of man as my uncle, and he is not even my blood relative. I know how to treat my staff.”

  “But not those you once called friends,” she interrupted, pinning him with her gaze.

  Charles stopped speaking at once, his mouth hanging open for a moment before he shut it with a snap. “You do not know of what you speak,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “I know how you have treated me,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Did you not see how I was last evening? Do you think that I wanted to stand in your hallway, ice cold, and dripping puddles onto your floor? Can you not understand that, out of sheer desperation, I have turned to the only family I thought could help me?”

  A cold hand wrapped itself around Charles’ heart.

  “But you are not interested in what misfortune has befallen me,” she continued, her anger now replaced with a deep sadness that was etched across her face. “You returned to your friends without a moment’s thought for me.”

  “I said I would speak to you when I had the time,” Charles said lamely, cringing inwardly at his weak words. “I had not completely disregarded you.”

  She shook her head, rebuke in her eyes. “I had hoped that you would have even a modicum of the kindness and compassion your father showed to my mother, but instead you prove by your indifference that you are only interested in your own pleasures.”

  Heat rushed up Charles’ neck and into his face, sparking his anger. “You do not have the right to speak to me that way!”

  “Oh yes,” she murmured, completely unfazed by his anger. “I am meant to call you ‘my lord’ and show you the respect you think you deserve, simply because you have a title and I do not.” A slight sneer tugged at her mouth. “You will find my deference extremely lacking, Charles.”

  Growing more and more enraged with every word that came from her mouth, Charles threw back the bedclothes, flung himself from the bed, and came towards her, anger in his every step. “You go too far, Miss Docherty.”

  To his complete surprise, she grasped his shirt and pulled him towards her, her blue eyes searching his face. “Do you not see me, Charles?” she cried, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I am Isabella! I’ve always been Isabella to you.” Her fingers tightened on his collar and, much to his surprise, Charles felt his anger die away at once like a tide quickly receding from the sandy shore.

  “I am in desperate need,” she continued, her hands leaving his collar and coming to frame his face. “I have no one and nothing to my name. No one else can help me and so, through the cold wind and pouring rain, I made my way here, hoping that you would be glad to see me.” She closed her eyes, and tears fell to her cheeks. “How much you have changed.”

  Her last words were like a whisper, echoing around his mind and forcing their way into his heart. He stared at her, stunned at how his own frustrations had disappeared the moment she had touched him. Her hands were warm on his cheeks, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest as he looked down into her face, realizing just how close she stood to him.

  “I have no other choice but to do what you ask,” she continued, dropping her hands from his face and walking towards the door. “I shall cook and clean and do whatever I must until you find the few minutes it will take to talk to me.” Her lingering gaze was filled with disappointment, and a sting of shame pushed against Charles’ heart. “Good day, my lord.”

  Chapter Five


  Isabella made her way back below stairs, tears pouring down her cheeks. She had tried to convince herself that the way Charles had treated her was simply due to the fact that he had guests waiting for his company, but when the butler had finally given her his message from Charles, her heart had broken into smithereens.

  She was to be treated as a servant, not a friend. There was to be none of the camaraderie she had once experienced, nothing of the closeness they had shared as children. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a dream, to hope that such a thing would still exist between them, but still, the change in him had been a shock.

  Her anger had forced her to toss and turn all night, not sure what she should do. The answer had come to her in time—she was simply going to have to do what Charles said. There was nothing else for her to do. She had no home to go to and no money to her name. The solicitor had already refused to help her, and she had placed all of her faith in Charles, trusting that he would assist her.

  How disillusioned she had been.

  The staff had been more than kind, and even the cook had stayed up late with her, listening to Isabella cry her heart out over what had happened. Isabella was positive that the lady did not understand a word of what she had said, through sobs and sniffles, but it had been enough to have someone just listen to her.

  Eventually, the cook had ushered her to bed, where she had been given a nightdress and a clean dress for the morning, which had caused her to cry all over again. Only then had she truly realized the extent of what had happened to her.

  Isabella had always prided herself on being strong, but coming to terms with the knowledge that she had lost everything was too much to bear. Tears had soaked her pillow, intermingled with her anger and frustration over Charles until she had fallen into an exhausted sleep. It was a relief to have a warm bed to sleep in again, even though the bed itself was a little more rickety than she was used to.

  Come the morning, she had risen early and helped the cook with her preparations for breakfast, learning more about Charles and his honored guests. Her heart had sunk on hearing that Charles had become something of a wastrel, although she was glad to hear that he always treated his staff with respect.

  The cook had proved to be a source of information, and it had been the knowledge that he was hosting a house party that had sparked a hot anger deep inside her chest. She was to remain here, awaiting his good pleasure, like a servant before a king? She could understand that her audience with him could be held up if he had important estate business or the like, but to discover that her needs were lower than his own pleasures had upset her greatly. He was too busy enjoying himself to spare a few minutes for her. It was both a grave disappointment and a painful awareness of just how he saw her.

  That had been why she had stormed up to his room, having followed the maid with the morning tray. It had been to no avail, however, for she was still in exactly the same situation as she had been when she had arrived. She had to admit that it had been a relief to say exactly what she thought and felt, and the shock in his eyes had been evident.

  Perhaps he was unused to people speaking to him in such a manner, given that he had warned her that she had no right to speak to him so plainly, but of course, she had ignored that entirely. However, as she trudged back down the stairs, Isabella knew her words meant nothing. He would continue as he had intended, and she had probably only made things worse by her outburst. It was not as though he was going to be willing to give her any of his precious time after such a heated exchange.

  How much you have changed.

  The words she had said rang around her head, adding to her anguish. She had carried an idea of him for so long, believing that he would be just as she remembered him. How foolish she had been. The times they had spent together had been when they were children, and one’s character did not always stay fixed as they grew into adulthood.

  Charles, when she had known him, had been kind and compassionate. He had always thought of her needs, and they had spent many hours together, talking and laughing. She had been allowed to stay in the schoolroom with him, learning alongside him, and her love for him had grown with every passing day. It was a childlike love, similar to the kind that one might have for a brother or cousin, but it had never left her.

  “Well?” the cook asked, her round face glancing up at Isabella as she walked into the kitchen. Evidently, the maid had seen Isabella disappear into Charles’ room after she had left and had reported it to the cook. “Did you speak to the master?”

  Isabella gave her a tight smile and saw the disappointment flare in the cook’s eyes.

  “I am sorry,” she muttered, shaking her head as she stuck her hands into the dough she was kneading. “What with you both being such good childhood friends, I had thought that he might be willing to talk to you.”

  “I thought so, too,” Isabella whispered, a lump in her throat. Battling tears, she tried to focus on what she could do with herself. There was no use in sitting about crying over his lack of consideration; she could make herself useful until such a time as he decided to speak to her. “Now,” she said, a little more briskly. “What can I do?”

  “Are you sure you want to help?” the cook asked doubtfully. “You are not of our station and—”

  “Nonsense,” Isabella declared, thinking that it would be good to have her mind focus on something else instead of how poorly Charles had treated her. “I shall be more than happy to help. I know there are countless chores to be done with the house party, and I am happy to do what I can to help.” She gave the cook a wry smile. “Besides, it is what the master has decreed that I do.”

  The cook chuckled wryly, before suggesting that Isabella begin to help her with the preparation of the main meal for the evening before going in search of the housekeeper. There was the kitchen maid of course, but Isabella was glad to throw herself into the work and assist the cook where she could, finally getting her mind away from Charles.

  Some hours later, the meal was in the process of being served, and Isabella finally had the opportunity to step aside and allow the rest of the staff to do their work. She had no idea of procedures or the like and was glad to have a few minutes to rest.

  Isabella was not sure just how many hours she had spent helping the cook with the dinner preparations, but it had certainly stopped her from thinking about Charles and her own desperate situation. She had found the cook, kitchen maid, and housekeeper all to be of the friendly sort, although the butler did not say much to her at all.

  Hard work was never something she had shirked from, finding a joy in it. Although she and her mother had been given a home and a yearly fund, she still had to plant their own vegetables, bake their own bread, and sew their own clothes. It had meant rising with the dawn and laying her head on her pillow often before the sun set, but it had been a life that Isabella had loved. She was grateful that the skills she had learned were now being put to good use whilst she waited for Charles to spare her a few minutes of his time.

  “Oh, Isabella, there you are.”

  Pushing herself up from the table, Isabella saw that the housekeeper looked somewhat frazzled, her expression harassed.

  “I must beg a favor from you,” the housekeeper continued, tucking a few stray hairs back into her tightly coiled bun. “One of the maids has just now gone to ensure the fires are well lit in the drawing room for after dinner, and has discovered that the bourbon tray and glasses have, somehow, been knocked to the floor. She did not notice it before, apparently, because it is right in the corner. Although, that does make me wonder whether or not she is doing her job properly.”

  Isabella hid a smile, aware that the maid was probably worried that the housekeeper would think such a thing.

  “Do you need me to clean it up?” she asked quietly. “I do not mind in the least, I promise you.”

  The housekeeper’s stern expression broke away as she smiled in relief. “If you could assist the maid in doing so, I would be most grateful. The dinner is alm
ost at an end, and the ladies will soon be exiting to the drawing room, and I would not like to have such a mess still being cleared up when they appear.”

  Isabella walked away at once, promising that she would come back down to fetch another crystal decanter and glasses once the current situation was dealt with. The housekeeper said that she would leave the tray with the items on the table ready for her to collect, and without hesitation, Isabella continued up the stairs and made her way to the drawing room.

  “Oh, Miss Docherty!” the maid exclaimed, as Isabella entered. “I have cleaned up the bourbon, but glass is everywhere.”

  “Go and fetch another brush, and we shall clear this up in no time,” Isabella said, taking the brush from the maid. “Hurry now.”

  The maid scurried away at once, leaving Isabella to survey the damage. Glass was sparkling all across the floor, and she hurriedly began to sweep it up, knowing that they would need to sweep the floor at least three times before they could declare it safe. Bending down, she carefully swept the brush over the nooks and crannies in the floor, brushing the glass into a pile.

  The door creaked open, and just as Isabella was about to get to her feet and encourage the maid to hurry up, she heard the distinct sound of Charles’ voice.

  “I must return to my guests, Lady Swift,” he murmured, his voice light and filled with a warmth that had Isabella’s cheeks heating. Isabella crouched as low as she could, hiding herself behind one of the large ornate chairs, desperately hoping that neither Charles or his lady would see her. More murmurings filled the room, making Isabella cringe. This was not something she wanted to hear.

  Chapter Six

  Charles had tried his best to ignore any kind of guilt over what Miss Docherty had thrown at him, telling himself repeatedly that she was simply het up over his lack of interest in whatever she had done to put herself in such a desperate situation.