Page 4 of From Unwanted to Duchess
CHAPTER 2
James
James leapt out of the carriage, the vehicle swaying behind him. As soon as he laid eyes on the house before him, he let out a deep sigh.
“Perdition… Blast and confound it! This looks like more than minor damage,” he said to his valet.
“I dare say that the butler might have downplayed the damage in his letter,” Franklin agreed, taking in the sight before them.
The grandiose Saint James’s townhouse looked as though it had seen the most vigorous of battles. The top two stories looked as they usually did: stunning, grandiose, a marvel to the eye… and whatever superlative his father might have affixed to the structure.
But the bottom three? No, from the servants’ area up, the outer walls were charred. The windows were broken, curtains flapping out into the breeze as though they were somewhere in Islington or another part of town where the paupers lived.
All that was needed was the stench of urine wafting through the road, and he would have thought he was in the rookeries. No, his house was a proper disgrace when compared to the beautiful ones all around him.
James ran a hand through his neatly cropped hair. “Well, let us see what the damage is like inside,” he said. “It’s the back I’m most concerned about.”
He strode down the pavement toward the back of the property.
The sight there was no more encouraging. Worse, in fact. The entire servants’ area was blackened.
He groaned as they stepped inside, Franklin walking up ahead with a candle he had quickly lit. The kitchen, where the fire had started, was a complete loss. There was nothing recognizable left but the stone walls. Likewise, the servants’ dining room, the stillroom, the pantry, the butler’s pantry, and the housekeeper’s quarters. All of it was a loss.
And the stench… He’d never liked making his way down here because of the stench of the tallow candles, but he would have paid handsomely to have this horrible, putrid, biting smell replaced by the unpleasant one of the tallow candles.
The first floor was in slightly better shape. Some of the walls were blackened along the servants’ stairwell and leading into the family areas. However, there was water damage, and the smell, though less intense, was still there.
“It is a good thing that you will be staying with your godmother,” Franklin remarked.
“Wewill be staying with my godmother,” James corrected. “You are coming with me.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I had hoped not to trouble the old lady for too long, but I would think a fortnight was generous. Perhaps I should have stayed in Somerset,” he said.
But then he shook his head. No, he didn’t want Somerset Trust plaguing him most dreadfully, breathing down his neck. Besides, he had to escape from them. The last few meetings had been most uncomfortable, and he didn’t think he was able to keep his temper for much longer.
No, Aunt Eugenia, as he had always called her, was a much better option. The food was better there, too.
What misfortune that his sanctuary, his beloved London townhouse where he had spent so much of his time when he had been merely the Duke of Somerset’s second son, should catch fire right when he needed it the most.
The cook, a doddering old lady quite in her dotage whom he knew he should have let go years ago but hadn’t been able to make himself, had accidentally caused the fire, which had spread quickly by way of more stupidity he was not quite sure about. He would have to speak to the butler. However, he was in no condition, having inhaled far too much smoke.
He had visited the old man to check on him earlier in the day. He had been quite alarmed to hear him coughing and looking terribly unwell. He sent his own physician to check on him, not trusting the one who had looked after him and the other servants thus far. The concern had been the smoke his trusted butler had inhaled while doing his best to save the servants and the home.
He closed his eyes as a pain started behind his left eyeball as he thought of the cost. Not just the cost of the medical care for all of the servants affected, but also the accommodations he would have to find for them. They all had lived with him at the house, after all.
The servants’ quarters under the attic were not affected by the fire, but if he wasn’t willing to stay in the house with the horrid smell, he could hardly expect them to.
“Shall we press on to there at once?” Franklin asked.
“We will fetch a few things first. I have to get my suit for tonight’s ball.”
“Ball?” the valet echoed.
James sighed. He had forgotten to tell him in his haste to get here.
“Yes, I received an urgent message from Sanderson at Somerset Trust. His sister, Lady Farside, is hosting a ball, and he told me it was imperative that I attend. They want titled gentlemen there. I suppose it will be another event for those on the marriage mart.” He shrugged. “Women looking to set their caps at anyone with a title above baronet.”
