His Three-Day Duchess. Laurie Benson
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about her long, slender neck and matching earrings were very expensive and he knew her capped-sleeve black gown with the thin band of fine white lace grazing the swell of her shapely breasts must be in the latest London style.
When he had entered the room and she cast a critical gaze at his wardrobe, he knew every rumour he had heard last night about the haughty Duchess of Skeffington had to be true. What he hadn’t expected to find was an attractive woman who was only slightly younger than himself. It was apparent she was a fortune hunter who had married the Duke of Skeffington because he was a wealthy old man and she had probably assumed he would die shortly after they were married. The eight thousand pounds was a substantial amount of money in his view and could set her up with very sound investments. And yet by the furrow of her brow he saw she was not pleased.
She rubbed her lips together and narrowed her eyes. ‘Would you repeat that please, Mr Nesbit? Not all of it. Just the last part.’
‘Certainly.’ The poor man gave a small cough and shifted his gaze nervously between the papers lying in front of him and the widow across from him. ‘The will states you are to live in Clivemoore House.’
‘Clivemoore House.’ There was a cool impersonal tone to her voice.
‘Yes, madam.’
‘Not Stonehaven?’
‘No, madam, Clivemoore House.’
She pursed her lips together as if she were holding herself back from saying something. ‘And there is no mention of the London residence?’
‘No, madam.’
Her gloved hands, which had been under the table, moved to her stomach. ‘I see.’
Well, Simon didn’t see. She was getting a house to live in for the rest of her life—rent-free. What difference did it make which house it was? He had spent the majority of his childhood living in other people’s houses. And there were countless nights that he would lie awake and pray that one day he would have a home of his own. Those were the wishes of a small boy who had not yet seen the world. He thought those feelings were long gone, until he realised that now those prayers had been answered.
And from the sound of it he didn’t have just one house. He had a few. How many houses did he own? As the new Duke, he should probably find that out.
‘What other properties are there, Mr Nesbit?’ he asked.
‘Skeffington House in London, Stonehaven in Dorset, and your ducal seat, Harrowhurst Castle in Somerset.’
‘Sound structures?’
‘As far as I’ve heard they are. Although it probably would be best for you to visit them and speak with your stewards.’
He owned property in England now. The last time he’d had a permanent home here, he was nine. Now he owned houses that he could stay in indefinitely and no relative would be telling him he had to leave them after a year. Although he trusted Mr Nesbit’s words, Simon knew it would not feel real until he’d stepped foot inside them.
Within minutes, the reading of the will was over and they all stood to make their way to the front entrance hall to leave.
‘Your predecessor was a member in good standing at White’s Gentleman’s Club here in London,’ Lord Liverpool said while shaking Simon’s hand goodbye. ‘I am sure I can introduce you to the right people and sponsor your membership.’
‘That is kind of you, sir, but I have no intention of joining White’s.’
‘Why ever not?’ the Duchess asked, even though it was none of her concern.
He turned and looked into her brown eyes. ‘Because I don’t intend to remain in England long. And if I join any club at all, it will be the Travellers Club.’
She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, but Lord Liverpool cut her off. ‘With all due respect, Your Grace, a man in your position needs to remain here to fulfil his duties and needs to think carefully about the clubs he will join. It is not a decision to take lightly. The men you surround yourself with will help you shape policy in Parliament.’
‘I have no intention of shaping policy in Parliament. I intend to return to Sicily once I’ve got a good grasp of my holdings. I will be managing my estates and my investments from abroad.’
Lord Liverpool turned pale. ‘With all due respect, the men who have held your seat have been some of the most powerful politicians in the history of this country. There are men who look to the opinion of the Duke of Skeffington to guide their choices in legislature.’
‘Well, they can look to someone else now—someone who will be attending Parliament. I have other things to concern myself with.’
‘Such as?’ the Duchess asked.
Didn’t the woman standing near them have better things to do? She had just been given a house. Shouldn’t she be hurrying out to start packing?
‘Such as things that do not concern you, madam,’ Simon replied.
She gave a slight huff. She actually huffed at him before taking a step back and going to Mrs Thacker and Rimsby, probably to complain that some mere mister now had the title of Duke of Skeffington.
‘I do hope you and I can discuss your participation in Parliament further at your convenience,’ Lord Liverpool said, distracting Simon away from noticing how a few tendrils of her black hair brushed against the exposed skin of her pale neck.
It was apparent that Lord Liverpool would not let this matter rest. Simon had met men like this before. He would let him have his say and then he would continue doing what he wanted to anyway. It didn’t matter. He would not be in England long enough to have repeated visits by the Prime Minister. The Prime Minister of Great Britain. If all this wasn’t so annoyingly disruptive to his current excavation, he might have found it more amusing. As it was, he just wanted all of these details associated with his new title settled.
Lord Liverpool held out his hand and Simon clasped it firmly. ‘Until we meet again, Your Grace.’
Not having people address him by the name he had used his entire life was beginning to grate on his nerves. ‘Until we meet again, Lord Liverpool.’
Mr Mix, who Simon understood to be the old Duke’s secretary and had been managing the ducal properties since the old Duke had passed, went hurrying by on his way to the front door. He was the one man who Simon needed to speak with to settle all the details about his new title and estates. If anyone knew the condition that his estates were in, it would be Mr Mix. He would also know where the ledger books were kept so that Simon could finally see how much of a wealthy man he was. When he returned to England, Lord Liverpool had informed him by post that all debts had been settled and that there were funds remaining. The only question was, how substantial was the size of the fortune sitting in his bank account and just how profitable were those estates.
‘Mr Mix,’ Simon called out, walking towards the door to catch the small, thin man before he disappeared out into the midday sunshine.
The man stopped before stepping outside. He bowed respectfully, but his eyes kept darting towards the door as if he had somewhere to run off to.
Simon held out his hand. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Mr Mix. I understand you served as secretary for my predecessor?’
There was a slight hesitation before Mr Mix took his hand and gave it a firm shake. ‘That’s correct, Your Grace.’
‘Please, call me Simon. I’d like to arrange a meeting with you. I realise that you and I have no contract for employment, but I thought we might discuss the state of the old Duke’s affairs and perhaps we can come to an agreement for the future. And you need to come to my house to collect those snuffboxes the Duke has given you.’
Mr Mix offered him a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘Of course, when should I call on you?’
‘If you have