Ten Things I Hate About the Duke - Loretta Chase Page 0,43
took their leave not long thereafter.
* * *
Camberley Place
Tuesday 25th Instant
Dear Miss Pomfret,
Blackwood and I are now settled at our favorite place, which Lady Charles most kindly offered us as a retreat for thinking. She seems to believe we can do this, although Blackwood claimed that any attempt on my part was likely to unhinge me. He watches me closely for signs of fever. She told us to fish, and we’ve followed orders, as we don’t dare to do otherwise where she’s concerned.
We’ve moved into the fishing house, lock, stock, and barrel, and Sommers. He cries a great deal, though less today than yesterday. It wasn’t what he expected. Primitive conditions, as you’ll remember. He expected a grand fishing temple like mine at Selston Hall. But he turns out to be as adept at scaling fish as he is in every valeting skill. I reckon it’s all the practice shaving me. You’ll wonder how he’s resisted accidentally cutting my throat. I can hear you saying that, actually.
We had planned to go to the Stockbridge races this week, but to our surprise, we find that we like the quiet. The quiet here, at any rate. This place was always different. Even with Lord Charles gone and Lady Charles in London, the atmosphere remains. If it rains, I daresay our mood will change. It’s cramped quarters for three men. While we deal well enough in fair weather, we should be at each other’s throats if forced to stay indoors for more than a day. The servants come and look in on us now and again, bringing this or that, while discreetly checking for broken furniture and such. But we are peaceful, and settled, for the present, at any rate.
I’ve written to Keeffe, but since he has difficulty with a pen, as you explained last week, perhaps you’ll be so good as to let me know how he’s mending. I hope it’s quickly and well.
Yours sincerely,
A
Cassandra looked up from the letter.
She visited Keeffe at least once a day. Grandpapa Chelsfield, who’d hired him, paid for everything. He’d made sure the quarters in the mews were large and well appointed, more befitting a former champion jockey than even a head coachman, let alone a lowly groom.
Keeffe had hung the painting in pride of place over the chimneypiece.
“The duke is corrupting you,” she said.
“Like you didn’t use me to send a letter to him. It was you, miss, setting a bad example, though I grieve to say it.”
“You asked me to write it.”
“I was in a delirium from the pain, else I’d’ve realized it wasn’t proper.”
“You were perfectly in your senses, and I only wish I’d been in mine. I made an error of judgment, and he took it as encouragement.”
A gross error of judgment. Giving Ashmont a point was one of the more idiotish things she’d done, and she’d done more than a few in that category. She knew as well as everybody else that he couldn’t resist a challenge. She’d as good as invited him to get more.
“What’s His Grace say? Or is it too precious to tell?”
“Precious, indeed.” She read the letter aloud.
“Fishing,” Keeffe said. “That’ll keep him out of trouble.”
“He’ll very quickly grow bored with keeping out of trouble.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But long as we’re on this improper course, maybe you’d be so kind as to write him an answer from me.”
* * *
deGriffith House
Thursday 27th Instant
Dear Duke,
I am to tell you that Keeffe is completely healed, only nobody believes him and he’s a prisoner, practically, of quacks and worrying women. In fact, he is improving as predicted, and nobody locked him in, let alone chained him to his bed—although I have considered such measures more than once, because he doesn’t know what “rest” means. “No exertion” might as well be a phrase in Sanskrit, for all he understands it. Lord Pershore was so kind as to send his own surgeon on Friday, and Mr. Williams echoes Mr. Greenslade’s recommendations.
Keeffe has hung your painting in the place of honor above the chimneypiece.
I am to tell you he never learnt to fish, although he did try mudlarking when he was a lad, without much luck.
Sincerely,
Cassandra Pomfret
P.S. Don’t write to me again.
* * *
deGriffith House
Saturday 29th Instant
Dear Duke,
I am desolated to interrupt your alleged fishing or debaucheries or whatever you are doing, and I would not do so, believe me, had I any satisfactory alternative. At present, however, I discern none, and upon applying to Keeffe, was advised to request your services.