The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,42
eyes as she often did whilst she played. Upon the last chord, she opened her eyes and found that Papa had dozed off in his wingback armchair.
With the music fading in the room, his soft snores could be heard over the crackling and pop of the fire. His head lolled against the back of the chair and his mouth sagged open. She smiled fondly at him.
“He’s tired,” Butler offered up unnecessarily.
She turned her attention to Butler. He stood near the fireplace, one hand resting on the mantel. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting light on his dark trousers.
“Yes,” she agreed. “He did not manage a nap today as he usually does.”
“That walk took him some time.”
It felt like a jab and she scowled. Squaring her shoulders, she defended, “My father is a very independent man.”
“He needs tending.”
“He is well tended, I assure you. I take care of him in a way that does not rob him of his dignity,” she insisted.
He stared at her in silence, his scrutiny intent and she couldn’t fathom his thoughts. She looked back at her father napping in his chair.
After some moments, Mr. Butler’s voice reached her. “He said you’re of great help to him.”
She must have missed that remark when she was woolgathering at dinner. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? I am his daughter.”
“And your mother is gone,” he added.
She nodded, feeling a little awkward. Butler’s eyes were far too keen on her. “He needs me.”
“Did she help him with his sermons, too?”
She tensed and cut him a sharp look. How did he know of that? Had Papa mentioned that? Oh, she really ought to have paid closer attention. She and Papa had discussed how no one in the community should be alerted to her involvement in his sermons. People had to believe Papa was the same man he had always been. No one could think his episodes of apoplexy had affected him in the long term and made him less than able to perform his duties.
“No, my mother assisted in other areas though. She was a much better gardener.”
“And you’re the better writer?”
She swallowed and shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to answer that. “Er. I also help Papa with his paperwork.” In truth, she did all of it for him these days. His bookkeeping had been a mess before she got her hands on it.
His gaze skimmed her face. “I’m sure you do. You’re quite the enterprising lady, Miss Bates. You do it all.”
She lowered her gaze, certain he was ridiculing her now. “Please don’t mock me, sir.”
“I am not mocking you. Rare is the individual as productive as you are.” Her cheeks grew warm under his regard—until he said his next words. Then the heat was the result of an altogether different reason. “I am certain once you put yourself to the task, you shall have no problem dismissing the rumors of me you started.”
She shook her head. Of course.
“Is that why you are here?” she hissed, sending a quick, wary glance to Papa. “Did you even accidentally happen on my father? Or was that a ploy?”
“A ploy? You think I stalked him?” A corner of his mouth kicked up and she ignored how rakishly handsome he looked. “If I wished to see you, I needed no ploy to do it.”
She shot a worried look at her father. Thankfully, he still snored on unawares. “I think you have one purpose here and that is to have me do your bidding,” she rushed to say, her voice a feverish hush on the air.
He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Have you ever done anyone’s bidding, Miss Bates? You don’t strike me as a biddable sort.”
“I listen to my father.” She sniffed.
No one else was due her deference as far as she was concerned.
“I might not be your father, but it is my hope that you will do the right thing of your own accord.”
Well, if that did not make her feel riddled with guilt.
As though sensing he was being discussed, Papa suddenly snored loudly enough to wake himself. He jolted in his chair, sitting up and looking around wildly as though he had forgotten his location.
Imogen quit her seat before the harp and hastened to her father’s side, resisting looking at Mr. Butler as she glanced to the clock on the mantel. The hour was growing late. She should see Papa to bed. Sound enough reason to put an end to this most unusual of evenings.