The Earl's Iron Warrant (The Duke's Pact Book 6) Read online

  The first six were as off-putting as she thought they would be. All from her father’s unsavory cronies, all purporting to be devastated to hear of his demise, and all proposing to call upon her to pay their respects. Some claimed they understood her at-home day to be Tuesday, some Wednesday, still another Thursday. She had set no at-home day, and if she had she would not be at home to any of them.

  The seventh letter was entirely different. It was from Lord Burke, who informed her that he stayed not a mile off with a family named the Minkertons. His note was kind. Though he recognized she was in mourning, he ever so gracefully hinted that she might not be overly distraught and he did not think an intimate family dinner would go amiss. The Minkertons, according to Lord Burke, were anxious to make her acquaintance and Mrs. Minkerton and her daughter would call upon her whenever she found it convenient. He would await her further instructions in case he had overstepped and she was not equipped to see anybody just yet.

  It was so like Lord Burke. There was a kind offer, but no pushing in. She would write him back this very day. She was anything but distraught and if he judged the Minkertons worth knowing, then they certainly must be.

  Daisy heard a soft knock upon the drawing room door and Bellamy came through.

  “The candidate for housekeeper, a Mrs. Broadbent, has arrived,” he said stiffly.

  The butler’s tone was distinctly disapproving, which gave Daisy the idea that she was about to like Mrs. Broadbent.

  “Do show her in, Bellamy,” she said pleasantly.

  Though she attempted to look unconcerned, Daisy felt her nerves creeping up on her. She had been determined to do the interview herself with no help from Lord Dalton, or even Mrs. Jellops. She’d felt it vital for anybody who was hired to be in no confusion over who was in charge. Dear Mrs. Jellops would have been a mighty help to her, but Daisy knew that it would appear as if she were not old enough or wise enough to manage her own affairs.

  For all that, though, she now wished her companion was by her side.

  Daisy had expected the lady to walk through the door, but Mrs. Broadbent rather charged through it. She was, as her name hinted at, rather broad, not just in figure but in features. The bent half of her name let her down however, as there was not anything bent about the lady—she comported herself ramrod straight like any soldier. Daisy’s grandmother would have called her looks farm-raised on ample fresh food.

  Aside from her stride, there was a general energy about the lady as she ducked her head and said crisply, “Miss Danworth.”

  “Mrs. Broadbent,” Daisy said. “Do sit down, Bellamy will bring in tea.”

  Despite telling Lord Dalton that she would do the interviews, Daisy had not the first idea of how they were conducted. As the lady seemed rather surprised that she would get tea, Daisy said, “I will admit to not knowing what is regular in these circumstances, but I do not see how one goes wrong with tea.”

  Mrs. Broadbent sat herself down and said, “Quite right, Miss Danworth. Just don’t go giving tea to a candidate for housemaid else they’ll take on airs and prove themselves intractable.”

  Daisy nodded, though she had no idea what sort of airs a housemaid might take on or what the trouble might be if she did. The housemaids she was used to generally were of a skittish nature, always looking to be well away from wherever her father happened to be.

  Bellamy brought in the tea in good time, as Daisy had forewarned him that it would be wanted. He had sniffed at the idea, which had not moved her at all on the subject. She rather thought his complaint was over having to deliver tea to a mere housekeeper.

  As he laid the tray, Bellamy eyed Mrs. Broadbent. Mrs. Broadbent eyed Bellamy. The lady did not look the least put off by him.

  As Bellamy shut the door, Daisy poured the tea and handed Mrs. Broadbent a cup. “I have your references of course, but perhaps you could tell me of your last employment?”

  Mrs. Broadbent nodded as she added an alarming amount of sugar to her tea. “The dear earl and his lady were quite kind, I got on very well there. They ran a tight ship, which any housekeeper must find comfort in. Though, the poor earl was not so tight with his money, gambling you know. Now, they’ve set off to India to try to rescue his fortunes. I was sad to part with them, but I could not see my way clear to accompany them.”

  “Ah, I see,” Daisy said. “I suppose you would be averse to the heat of the place?”

  Mrs. Broadbent shook her head vigorously. “Weather, Miss Danworth, would never have the power to overcome me, of that I can assure you.”

  Daisy waited to be told the reason, then, that the lady did not go with her employer.

  “I see you wonder at it,” Mrs. Broadbent said. “I will not prevaricate or shilly-shally round the thing. As much as I like a tight ship, I will never set foot on an actual ship. I do not approve of all this traipsing about the world. Englishmen should stick to England and all this marching into other countries does us no more credit than if we were Napoleon himself. It is my view that people, wherever they live, would prefer to be left alone. I am afraid you will find that a daring opinion, but I am an exceedingly direct person!”

  Daisy nodded, and heartily agreed that the lady was direct. However, it was not an opinion that concerned in the least as it related to housekeeping duties.

  “We have an unusual situation here,” Daisy said, “as I imagine you’ve gathered.”

  “Oh yes, everybody in town talks about the poor orphaned miss and how the duke ought to have brought you to his estate in Somerset. A shame, everybody thinks it.”

  Daisy worked not to blush, she’d had no idea her circumstances were spoken of widely. She supposed she should have, there was nothing the ton liked so much as gossip. Once a thing was said in a drawing room, it was just as quickly said at the servants’ table, and then out the door it went into the wider world.

  “Ah,” Mrs. Broadbent said, “I should not have been so frank in this matter, I see. It’s just that, you strike me as a lady who might appreciate directness.”

  “You are right in thinking it,” Daisy said, collecting herself. “Now, I will be direct with you. The duke and his son have loaned me some servants—Mr. Bellamy, he is the butler, and Gerald and Tom, the two footmen. I would like to hire a housekeeper who can keep them in order. I know, of course, that the butler is supposed to be the senior servant, but this is an unusual case as he is not my own and he has been used to working for a bachelor.”

  Mrs. Broadbent set her cup down with a clatter. “I understand you perfectly. You wish to employ a lady who, through sheer force and energy, will cow those fellows into some semblance of a respectable staff.”

  “Well…yes,” Daisy said. She had not put it into precisely those words, but that was what she wanted done.

  “Look no further, Miss Danworth,” Mrs. Broadbent said, “though the earl’s butler was nominally in charge, it was me everybody came to. And why? Well, I simply over-ran the man with questions and notations and comments until he made a hasty retreat. That is what manages men—requiring them to justify themselves day and night. In the end, they are rather weak creatures who cannot bear the onslaught.”

  Daisy had not the first idea if that were true, but she was delighted that Mrs. Broadbent thought so.

  “Also, I have a lady’s maid, Betsy,” Daisy said, “she has been with me through some difficult times, and I wish to know that she might be made comfortable in the house.”

  Mrs. Broadbent nodded knowingly. “A favorite. I understand you. We may think servants and masters are standing on the opposite sides of a great divide, but there are times when the two come to depend upon one another. What Betsy will require is a calm atmosphere, a kind and steady hand to guide her, and a formidable housekeeper to stand in front of her, depend upon it.”

  “I think you will do very well, Mrs. Broadbent,” she said.

  “I will do better than very well, Miss Danworth,” Mrs. Broadbent said. “I always aspire to excellence, nothing else will suffice.
Now, might I suggest that I interview the housemaids? We will want pliable girls who know their place and do not dare to attempt any lording it over Betsy—a lady’s maid must have her proper place in the rank.”

  Daisy nodded, exceedingly relieved by the suggestion. “We also need to hire a cook and kitchen maids, may I suppose you might oversee that as well?”

  “Naturally,” Mrs. Broadbent said. “I happen to know that the earl’s cook does not travel with him to India, he informed the earl that he could not cook with foreign ingredients if one were to point the barrel of a gun between his eyes. He’s an emotional creature, cooks always are you know, but I can vouch for his skills. He may cry in the kitchen and throw a pot if a sauce curdles, but the food he does send up is always first rate. As for the kitchen maids, there are no end of them wanting employment—we will simply hire those that do not mind ducking the occasional pot.”

  Though Daisy had somewhat dreaded interviewing the servants, it had all come out highly satisfactory. She had full confidence in Mrs. Broadbent. Betsy was sure to get on with the lady and Bellamy…well, he could just fall in line or face her energetic questions, notations, and comments.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  A week had passed uneventfully, other than Bellamy and Tate grumbling over various circumstances that Charles could not be much bothered to hear about. Bellamy was forever blathering about some contretemps or other with Mrs. Broadbent, Tate was mostly put out about the cat hair that now seemed to be everywhere.

  Charles was doing his best to attend to the pile of correspondence that lay on the makeshift desk in the cottage while the cat ate a piece of chicken at his feet. He found he kept losing his train of thought as the sounds of the recently delivered pianoforte being played reached him through the open windows of the main house.

  He’d not known that Miss Danworth was particularly skilled on the instrument, she had never been one of those young ladies who pushed forward to play whenever the opportunity presented itself. He’d given her some amount of credit for that—who forced to listen was not painfully bored as one miss after the next showed off her very middling skills? Some of them even sang, to add to the racket. If that were not tedious enough, at the end of it there were the expected compliments to be doled out while the girl blushed and pretended she’d never heard anything so shocking.

  The only time he had heard Miss Danworth play had been toward the end of an evening and she’d been practically forced to it. She’d played a quiet Irish air that had in no way indicated the skill he heard just now. It was as if her fingers flew across the keys.

  The door swung open and Bellamy came through. “My lord,” he said.

  “I do not need anything just now,” Charles said.

  Despite this dismissal, Bellamy stood staring at him. Charles sighed. “What is it?” he asked.

  “My lord, you have no idea what goes on in that house!”

  “Am I to understand that you wish to tell me, though I have no wish to hear it?”

  Charles hardly needed to have asked, as Bellamy was already pacing the floor. “That Mrs. Broadbent! She is a terror! For one thing, she is everywhere. One cannot turn a corner in peace without running into her. For another, she questions everything—why do the boys not sit up straighter at breakfast? Why is there a smudge on one of their neckcloths? How late are the boys up at night and is that really for their good health?”

  Charles had not the first idea why he was to know or care in what manner the new housekeeper was harassing his butler.

  “Then,” Bellamy went on, “we are all to tiptoe round the cook so he doesn’t get upset. He’s an Irishman! Where did they find an Irishman and why am I to worry about Mr. Flanagan’s feelings!”

  Charles had no idea where they’d found an Irishman, nor was he particularly outraged. He’d done some shooting there and had found them a remarkably pleasant people, despite what anybody else said about it.

  “He is a Catholic! He does not say so, but I know it. He must be.”

  “See he doesn’t make you a convert, then,” Charles said.

  “Oh, and because she hired them all, they all look to her!” Bellamy said, ignoring the idea that he might soon be turned into a papist. “The cook, the maids, everybody! I say a thing, and they all look to her.”

  “You have been outfoxed, Bellamy,” Charles said drily. “My advice is, get on as best you can.”

  Bellamy appeared stricken by this idea, as if there were simply no way to get on under these outrageous circumstances.

  “Very well, my lord,” he said. “Though I may die of shattered nerves one of these days, I will soldier on. I can at least be satisfied that I have won the cocoa bean debate. Mrs. Broadbent may look down her nose all she likes about that, but I have won. We will have drinking chocolate every night.”

  “I am delighted for you.”

  Bellamy turned to exit and then stopped. “I am sorry, I nearly forgot,” he said, pulling a folded paper from his waistcoat, “this was just delivered for you.”

  He handed over the letter and left, sighing loudly all the way across the garden.

  Charles could see it was in Burke’s hand and tore it open.

  Dalton,

  I am well settled at the Minkertons and have taken the liberty of suggesting an introduction to Miss Danworth. Miss Danworth has replied favorably and Lady Bartholomew and Miss Minkerton are to call on Miss Danworth this afternoon. They will issue an invitation for a small dinner, just you, Miss Danworth, Mrs. Jellops, and the family. I presume you will welcome the invitation as the word in town is that you are living in a shed and have table scraps delivered for your dinner.

  Burke

  Dalton crumpled the letter and threw it on the floor. He was incensed over the idea that such a picture had been painted of him!

  Perhaps he ought to ingratiate himself to the Minkertons and secure an invitation to stay there. He could, he was certain. A family with a lady ready to be launched always had invitations ready to throw at any highly-placed bachelor. Whatever their accommodations, it must surpass where he currently found himself. As well, he would dine at a dining table, not a tray in his hovel like he was a mistreated governess.

  He paused his planning as he glanced at the pile of letters Miss Danworth had handed over. They were from rogues in town who would attempt to push into her company, all after her financial prospects no doubt.

  Charles still had not decided what to do about it. Should he write them as her guardian and warn them off? Should he just ignore them and hope they took the hint?

  As much as he wished to pack up and be off from this ridiculous place, he could not be entirely comfortable leaving Miss Danworth here on her own. What might be attempted by a man who saw a chance when there were no other chances in his future?

  He’d hired a couple of watchmen, but if he were not here what might they be convinced to do for a few pounds. Fall asleep? Look the other way? Pretend they’d seen nothing?

  He was still especially wary of Lieutenant Farthmore. So far, it had been silence from that gentleman. Silence, sometimes, was a dangerous thing. Had all of this occurred before the war, he would not have known how far a man would go. He would not have yet seen what desperate depths a man might travel. Now, though, he knew.

  It was all well and good to defeat his father and that stupid pact at every turn. It would be another thing, though, for anything to happen to Miss Danworth. Despite her often impossible manner, she did not irritate him like the simpering misses that regularly surrounded him.

  Truth be told, he was rather fond of Miss Danworth.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Belle had dressed with great care for her visit to Miss Danworth and Mrs. Jellops. She was all but convinced that she could not hold up against Miss Danworth and her famed blond curls. Harry, or Lord Burke, as she must be careful to call him when out in society, had gone on and on about the wonderful Miss Danworth. Belle had avoided any commitment to visit this paragon of beauty for as long as she could, but Harry
would not be put off. Finally, it was her mother who arranged it all.

  If only her dear mama could see into her daughter’s heart, she would not have done it! Belle could not tell her; she could not tell anybody. She could not bear to be seen as ridiculous.

  And so, they had gone. There had been some slight hope, as she’d stood on the doorstep, that Harry had exaggerated Miss Danworth’s charms. Sadly, he had not.

  The lady was exceptionally beautiful, elegantly composed, and so much taller than she was. Then, to add salt into the wound, she’d been so kind. Miss Danworth said she would herself likely not attend the next season, but she would write letters of introduction for Belle to her various acquaintances.

  Belle threw aside her sewing. “Really!” she said to the empty drawing room. “It is all very inconvenient.”

  Miss Danworth was to come to dinner, accompanied by Mrs. Jellops, and Lord Dalton, who she had not been introduced to yet. Belle knew very well that she’d end up liking Miss Danworth, though it would have been far more satisfactory to despise her.

  She ought to be delighted for Harry. Is that not what one felt when a beloved found happiness?

  Belle picked up her sewing and promptly pricked herself with her needle. She ought to be happy for him, but she was not. Her heart felt very like her poor bleeding finger.

  Chapter Five

  Daisy had become wary of hearing a knock on the front doors, but one knock brought a delightful surprise. She’d nearly forgotten that the London modiste had taken her measurements and promised to send her all manner of dresses, just as the duke had directed.

  The trunks had arrived, and Daisy could see now why the duke’s wife had claimed this particular modiste as the only one who would do. There were day dresses, tea dresses, and evening dresses, all done in simple and elegant designs. Some were eminently suited to mourning in deep grays and lavenders, though some did seem a bit too cheerful for the state. There was a particularly charming dress in a reddish-orange silk that could not be imagined as mourning clothes—it was divine, but she might wait a few weeks at least before donning it. In all the selection, the modiste had made the most of it with cut, fit, and ingenuity. This night, Daisy had enjoyed donning a light silk gown, dyed a deep gray and decorated with pearl beading on the hem.