Page 65 of How the Duke Saved Christmas

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“Horseshit.”

Michael froze at that unexpected comment, his cup of punch raised halfway to his lips. He blinked. “Pardon?”

Thatwasn’t what he’d expected to hear in the middle of his Christmas open house.

Around him, the conservatory was a hive of warmth and activity. His nephews and nieces were having a grand time playing hosts and hostesses to the crowd of villagers and tenants who had accepted their invitation. The visiting children were all led to the tree by Susannah to select a toy and treat while Aaron and Bennie organized games. Margaret handed out to each family gift sacks containing candles, sugar, spices, and flour—staples to see them through the winter more easily. Refreshments were served from large tables where the guests could help themselves to tiny mincemeat pies, biscuits of all flavors, candied fruits, tea cakes, and a dozen more types of treats, and all were served hot spiced punch by the footmen who moved through the room with trays. And Michael’s role in all this—

“Manure,” the owner of the village inn clarified with all the solemnity of a Sunday church service. The man gestured with his own cup to emphasize the point he was making, although Michael hadn’t truly been paying attention to their conversation in the first place. His attention had been too focused on Clara. “That’s the problem. The walls haven’t been attended to.”

Michael couldn’t follow that path of logic and repeated, “Pardon?”

The man looked at him as if he were daft, but then, when it came to matters of coaching inns, Michael was exactly that. “The stone walls haven’t been properly tended to, and now when the snow melts, the water’ll carry the filth out into the street with it.”

He smiled, finally understanding the gist of the conversation. “And you want my permission to fix them?”

If he’d looked at Michael before as if he were daft, now the man clearly thought he was a complete bedlamite. He explained slowly, with emphasis, “I don’t wantto be finedfor messing the streetwhen the thaw comes.”

“Ah.” Michael finished lifting the punch to his lips and stole another glance across the conservatory at Clara, where she sat on the gold brocade settee that he’d had brought down from the drawing room so she’d have a comfortable place to sit for the open house. Although his attention was on her, her attention was focused on the villagers and especially the children, just as a true lady of the house’s would have been. “Then you have no worries. I’ll send Mr. Paulson to take a look first thing after the holidays.”

The man nodded his gratitude. “Much obliged, Your Grace.”

“Of course. And how is business during this cold snap?”

“Oh, well, you know.” The rolled his beefy shoulders as if all his financial worries rested in a knot right there between his shoulder blades. “The snow and ice has made it tough to bring in supplies…”

Michael tried to concentrate on what the innkeeper was telling him, he truly did. But no matter now much he focused, his attention kept straying.

The open house had been a grand success, and he was absolutely thrilled that the villagers and tenants had enjoyed themselves. Although he employed a good estate manager, he believed in being a conscientious landlord, having learned the importance of that from his father. After all, the future of the dukedom rested on the shoulders of its villagers and workers, and if he wanted to be a successful duke, then he needed to have successful tenants.

As he watched his nieces and nephews, the future’s success had never been more important.

And then, there was Clara.

Today, she’d risen above the doubts she’d had about being able to participate in social gatherings by easily and instinctively taking on the role of hostess for the open house. Although she couldn’t walk around the room and mingle with the guests, she still welcomed everyone and made certain they enjoyed themselves.

True, this was a country open house, not a visit to Vauxhall, and the guests were his tenants and workers who would be more than polite and kind to her, not the backstabbing and vicious gossips of theton. It was also true that he could see tension still lingering behind her bright smile. But she was easing beautifully into the moment, and he couldn’t have been more proud of her.

Or loved her more.

Although she’d greeted everyone, it was her smiles for the estate’s children that lit the room. The children knew it, too, and shyly approached her, not knowing who the warm and pretty lady was who welcomed them to Northbourne, but they were instinctively aware that she would be kind. The villagers gave her a warm welcome in return, although Michael could sense that they suspected more between the two of them than simple friendship.

But then, most likely so did Mrs. Hansen and Eads, who were constantly present in the conservatory. They were there not only to see to the needs of the guests but also so that one of them was constantly at Clara’s side, to help her with names and introductions and to make certain she wasn’t overwhelmed.

But he could have told them not to worry. Clara was perfectly in her element, and he knew she would make a fine Duchess of Wakefield and mistress of Northbourne Park.

Ifhe could convince her of the same.

Michael brought the conversation with the innkeeper to an end with a friendly smile. “If you need anything—or think there’s anything the village needs—let Paulson know.” He nodded and stepped away. “See you on Twelfth Night.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Michael set down his empty cup and sauntered across the conservatory to Clara. He hadn’t been alone with her yet today, and longing was growing in his gut. First, the morning’s presents had kept the children too excited to leave her side. Then, once the open house began, the constant stream of visitors, the flurry of servants, and the bouncing excitement of the children who were having a marvelous time meant that he and she hadn’t the chance to even catch their breaths let alone find time to talk about last night and all the future nights to come. He’d been working all day on formulating logical arguments for why she should marry him, and when those didn’t work…well, would Anthony mind if he absconded with his sister to Scotland?

Now, though, the handful of remaining guests had said their goodbyes and were making their way toward the front door. Carried along on the excitement of the day, the children bounced around the conservatory and made busy with taking down the last of the unclaimed presents and treats from the tree. Once it was bare, Paulson would take it to the south field for the Twelfth Night festivities, where it would form the core of the bonfire.

Michael sank onto the settee beside Clara, kicked out his long legs, and blew out a hard breath. Not turning his head to look at her, he reached over to take her hand and caress his thumb across the backs of her fingers. He could feel the small, hard bump of the ring. She wore gloves, most likely to hide it from any curious eyes, yet she hadn’t removed it. He took hope in that.