Heartless by Jaimey Grant Read Free Book Online Page B

demands, and requests ranging from new farm equipment to new houses.
    One man even requested a wife. The little scullery maid shyly volunteered for that particular post and Leandra was satisfied to note that the man was only too delighted with the pretty girl. That was the easiest problem she had come up against to date.
    Leandra tried to handle every tenant’s problem to the best of her ability and limited experience but she felt at a distinct disadvantage and wished that her husband were there to relieve her of some of the responsibility. At times, when things were particularly hectic, she felt a surge of anger at the man who had given her his name and then so insensitively abandoned her to fend for herself in a social station of which she knew nothing, among complete strangers who made their distrust and antipathy apparent.
    Hence, her relief was immense when Derringer’s secretary arrived to lend support and knowledge where necessary. She was so grateful for his timely arrival that she failed to realize that her husband had sent the man specifically to help her. Had she thought about it, she would have been touched by the duke’s unusual show of concern.
    Now, nearly two weeks after her husband’s departure, Leandra sat in the morning room and stared through the window. She wore one of her new gowns, a charming creation of white sprigged muslin with cherry red ribbons at the high waist and along the hem and tiny puffed sleeves. A matching cherry ribbon was threaded through her curls, which were arranged into a loose chignon, a few wayward tendrils escaping to frame her face. She wore no jewelry since she had none, but Liza had taken a length of the leftover ribbon and tied it around Leandra’s slender throat. Her feet were shod in delicate slippers of white silk embroidered with tiny red roses. She wondered if her appearance would be pleasing to her husband.
    His birthday had passed, the All Hallows Eve celebration had passed, and still she received no word from him. She hoped he was well.
    She’d spent the past three days with Mrs. Stark learning all she could about her husband and trying to understand why he was… well, the way he was. Every new piece of information was surprising, shocking, depressing, or so completely unbelievable that Leandra wondered if she had fallen into a Gothic novel. She listened in awe to the housekeeper’s stories as the woman went about her duties.
    “Master Hart was only six when his mama died, God rest her soul,” Mrs. Stark began. “The poor lad had no sooner stopped mourning his mother than his father passed on as well. He was a duke then and his uncle moved right in and tried to be the duke himself. No, Alice, not there. Here. Where was I? Oh, yes, Master Hart’s uncle. He wasn’t so bad as his wife, let me tell you. She was a greedy shrew. She made the young master’s life miserable.”
    Mrs. Stark paused to show little Mary, the new scullery maid, what she was doing wrong. Leandra was pleased to note that the housekeeper was more of a mother to her underlings than a stern taskmaster. In the new duchess’s opinion, a happy and well-contented worker was a more efficient worker.
    “So his grace was forced into the role early in life,” Leandra murmured. “How terrible for him. How did his mother die?”
    The housekeeper’s lips pinched in at the corners, her eyes darting away from Leandra’s. “I reckon that would be for the master to tell, your grace.”
    Leandra let it drop but placed it in the back of her mind to ask her husband when he returned. “How did his father die?” she asked instead.
    “That was a strange thing, if you ask me,” the older woman replied, head shaking as her brows drew down into a V. She handed a bucket and brush to Hannah, one of the upstairs maids, then stood there and silently stared at her feet for a few moments before finally raising her eyes to meet Leandra’s hazel gaze. “He died in a boating accident, they do say, but I have