“But your parents must be happy now—you are a duchess.”
She let out a peal of laughter tinged with bitterness. “Oh, no. Of course they are not satisfied. Yes, I may be a duchess, but I am eligible again—don’t you see? They won’t be happy until I’m married off once more and have the chance to produce an heir.”
“Ah, yes,” West agreed. “We must do our duty. My mother wishes me to marry as well, and I know I’ll need to eventually. But I will never marry to please anyone other than myself—my father’s wishes be damned,” he said harshly.
“Hear, hear,” Lady Priscilla said, raising her glass.
“Pardon my language, Your Grace,” he added sheepishly. “I’m afraid I was a bit worked up.”
“Not at all, I feel the same.” They shared a smile, and he felt pulled toward her once more.
“I like you much more than is convenient,” she said a moment later.
“What do you mean? Did you not want to like me?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “My mother told me to look out for you. Young and available marquesses are hard to come by, you know.”
There was a glint in her eye as she said it, and they both dissolved into laughter.
CHAPTER 7
Suppressing a yawn, West tried to focus on the papers before him. He removed his spectacles and scrubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to wake himself up. Without fail, West spent the first few weeks of every season adjusting from country hours to being up all night long at events in the city. If it were up to him, he’d skip half the gatherings and sleep at more normal hours. Humans were not naturally nocturnal, and exhaustion washed over him just thinking about the months of late evenings ahead of him.
A quick knock sounded before his butler’s head appeared around the edge of the door. “Your brother is here to see you, my lord.”
“Please send him in, Morton. And could you bring some fresh coffee?”
“Feeling the effects of the first week of the season?” Morton asked with a sympathetic smile as he stepped fully into the room. He had been around for years and was well-versed in West’s annual struggle. “I’ll bring in a tea spread and make sure Cook includes some coffee as well,” he said over West’s affirmative grumbling.
Noticing the cravat West had removed and piled in a heap on the desk, Morton tsked at him like a housewife. “We also need to continue the conversation about finding you a new valet, my lord.”
His valet had recently asked to be pensioned off after thirty years of service to the old marquess, and West was more than happy to let the man retire and live in one of the cottages on the estate. Alton had served well, but had also been his father’s man through and through. Once the previous marquess passed, he’d tried valiantly to adjust to West’s preferences, but it had not been the best fit for either man involved.
Now, Morton was on him to find someone new to fill the position. He knew he needed to as the vacancy was unfairly adding to the workload of others serving the household, but he had been avoiding the task. It was hard to find someone with whom he would feel comfortable working so intimately with his person—shaving him, dressing him, and taking care of all his personal needs. A valet knew all his master’s secrets, and a high level of trust was needed for it to be a healthy relationship.
“I know, I promise I’ll visit an employment agency soon.” West tried to give a reassuring smile to the butler, but he knew the man wasn’t buying it.
“Very well, just don’t take too long. I’ll go and retrieve Lord Beaumont.” Morton exited without another word after abruptly turning away to signal his displeasure, West’s chuckles following him out of the room. Many within thetonwould be appalled to see a butler speaking in such a manner to his employer, but West enjoyed that the man felt comfortable enough with him to do so.
Since his father’s death, he’d encouraged a more relaxed atmosphere within the household. While it had taken a while for many of the lesser servants to loosen their demeanors, many of those occupying higher positions had been serving the family for years and had known West since he was a boy. That familiaritymade it easier for them to serve in a more casual, yet still respectful manner.
“What’s got Morton twisted up?” John asked as he strode into the study and sat across the desk from West.
“Oh, he’s just displeased with me because I’ve been dragging my feet on finding a new valet,” he informed his brother through another yawn.
“The season?” his brother commented with understanding. “I’m grateful I can skip most events and not be noticed. There’s no pressure for second sons.”
He was spared from having to answer that quip when a maid entered holding a tray loaded with coffee and a tea spread. Without saying a word, his brother sprang from his chair and to help her with the heavy tray.
“Thank you, Molly,” West said to the maid, hoping she would take the hint and exit quickly as he noticed her blushing from his brother’s assistance. He didn’t want the young woman misconstruing John’s gesture as anything more than his simply being kind.
“Careful there,” he told John as he poured himself a fresh cup of strong coffee. “Don’t go causing trouble with my staff by being too much of a gentleman.”
John stared at him, at a loss to understand West’s statement, completely oblivious to the effect he’d had on the young woman. Shaking his head, West let it go and moved on.
“I’ve news on investment opportunities I want to share with you, because we may need to move quickly,” John said while loading a plate with clotted cream and jam for his scone, pre-empting West’s inquiry as to why he had stopped by.
“Excellent, what have you discovered?”
