To Con a Gentleman (Dalton Family 1)

Mr. Gardener’s displeased eyes settled on Rose before turning back to the Duke. “Nothing I haven’t had to deal with a dozen times from the likes of those vulgar commoners. I say it’s too bad that we even have to deal with any of them.”

Rose could feel the tension growing in her back, as well as Carver’s eyes burning into the side of her face. But she resisted the urge to look at him and instead kept her eyes fixed across the table.

“It’s just horrible!” Mrs. Gardeners shrill voice pierced the room. “We give these servants a roof over their heads and they repay us by stealing a watch out of Mr. Gardeners own jewelry box! Can you even believe it?” She spoke more to the room than to anyone in particular. Although, her gaze did rest on the footmen standing at the sides of the room more than a few uncomfortable times.

Stay quiet. Don’t comment. It’s not your place.

But her intrigue got the best of her. “Why did he steal the watch?”

Mrs. Gardener looked physically disgusted as she puffed up further, her enormous bosom swelling with indignation. “How should I know why the man took it? An employer should never have to even ask such a thing of their servants.” She looked around the quiet room for support.

“True…” said Rose. “On the other end, a servant should also be provided with adequate wages which they very rarely ever are.”

Every eye in the room flashed to her. Even the two footmen across the room who, until that point, had been doing a remarkable job of pretending not to listen to the conversations happening in front of them.

“I beg your pardon!” said Mrs. Gardener. The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Are you implying that I do not pay my servants adequate wages?”

This was not at all the polite sort of conversation that normally took place at a dinner party. It was rude and almost unthinkable in London Society. But this wasn’t London, was it? Maybe the rules were more relaxed in country parties and the guests were free to insult each other as much as they wanted.

Rose took in the table as she weighed her options. Miss Gardener looked far too pleased at the scene Rose was making. The duchess watched Rose with a wary expression. Mary, Robert and Elizabeth had all taken a very sudden interest in their soup bowls, but she didn’t miss the slight smiles hovering over their pursed lips. And as for Carver, she couldn’t see him without pointedly turning her head in his direction.

Should she say what she really felt? Daphney would have never understood anything about servants wages or the horrid living conditions of the lower class. But Rose did, and she ached to speak of it. But what she wanted to say was from her heart, not Daphney’s. It would mean pulling her facade down for a moment and exposing herself to those people. Could she risk it?

A last look down the table took her eyes to the duke. He locked her gaze for a moment and then gave her an almost undetectable nod. It was so discreet she wondered if she had imagined it. But the confidence granted by that single gesture was enough to make her square her shoulders at Mrs. Gardner. “Forgive me,” she began, “it’s only that in my experience, servants are very rarely paid what is actually needed to provide for themselves and their families.”

“Now we are expected to provide for their families?” The woman let out an incredulous laugh and looked anxiously around the table again. “Upon my word, Miss Bellows! Who gives you the authority to speak on such matters? I think you forget your place and would do well to not pursue such unladylike subjects.”

“On the contrary.” The duke’s voice carried down the table. “I should very much like for Miss Bellows to speak her mind on the matter.” He smiled at her and she felt a fatherly approval. She tried not to linger on that thought and how much it tugged at her heart.

For once in her life she had been given permission to speak freely among those above her station, and she would not waste it. She only hoped that Carver was also as approving of her opinion as his father. “Respectfully, Your Grace, I have always felt that those who are fortunate enough to enjoy wealth and standing in society often do not do as much as they ought for those who are less fortunate than themselves.” After a brief thought, Rose amended, “As ourselves, that is.” But it was difficult for her to lump herself in with those she had been angry with and felt dismissed by for most of her life.

Rose had her faults, but turning her back on the hungry and needy was not one of them. Uncle Felix had always said it was her biggest fault, giving away almost every guinea that she had ever earned on their jobs. She knew that underneath his tough exterior he shared her views. It was impossible to ignore the hungry stomachs of orphans when she herself had been one. When she had felt the sting of loneliness. The fear of death.

“And you do not think it just to release a servant for stealing?” His tone was not accusatory, but inquisitive.

The duke carried an intimidating air, when he chose it. Had she not seen the same kindness in his eyes that she often saw in Carver’s, she might not have continued. But it was there. “I believe that the world is often more gray than black and white, Your Grace. And as such, every person ought to be treated with compassion before justice.” She took a breath. “I can’t help but wonder how the world might be better if a servant—or even a thief for that matter—were given the chance to explain what situation might have brought on such a desperate act before being released without recommendation or turned in to the magistrate.”

Mrs. Gardener gave a huff from across the table. Her husband looked unwilling to comment until the duke had first stated his opinions on the matter. And Carver…well she didn’t know what Carver thought of her words because she still couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Why was she so afraid of what she might see? It wasn’t as if his opinion of her mattered. Or did it?

“And a better way is increasing wages?” asked the Duke after a thoughtful moment.

“It’s a start, yes,” she said. “When we have more to give, I think that we have a responsibility to give it. Especially if what is needed is compassion and sympathy.”

The duke took in a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, intertwining his hands over his stomach, holding the attention of everyone at the table. No one uttered a word. Not even the sound of a spoon clinking against the side of a bowl penetrated the silence. Blood whooshed through Rose’s ears. Never had she said something so bold to a Peer before. And yet, she didn’t regret it.

Chapter 22

Rose hadn’t realized that she had been holding her breath until the duke spoke. “I agree with you, my dear. I think you said it very well. And I’m thankful to see that more young ladies exist, besides my own daughters, who care more about the welfare of other’s than the embroidery of their neckline.”

Her mouth felt dry. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She swallowed and caught a glance of the glowering Miss Gardener before taking her eyes back to her bowl of soup. She raised a trembling spoon to her lips but hesitated before taking a bite. She had seldom been so nervous, or cared so much what a member of the gentry thought of her. But she was beginning to realize that she did care very much about how Carver’s family viewed her.

And Carver. She could feel his gaze, but nothing in her dared meet it. Did he think her impertinent? Brass faced? Or did he think that she had simply defended criminals because she was one?

He knew too much about her now for her comfort. And when he looked at her with those stormy grey eyes, like he had in the nursery, she felt he could see right to her soul. It wasn’t a good feeling. It was uncomfortable and overwhelming and left her feeling as if the world was turning over on itself and she was losing her hold.

Dinner dragged on endlessly. Eventually the duchess stood from the table and suggested that all the ladies move into the drawing room and leave the men to their port. The gentlemen stood along with the ladies and Rose could feel Carver trying to catch her eye. But she resisted and hurried out of the room like a coward. When had she become this way? Avoiding the gaze of a man because she feared that he might be disappointed in her? It was stupid. And she wouldn’t allow herself to act that way when the gentlemen rejoined them.

The ladies trickled into the drawing room. Each of the Dalton women looked desperate to hide their misery as they settled onto the various sofas and chairs scattered about the drawing room and took on the task of entertaining their guests. Rose, however, took the opportunity to retreat to the window. Night had saturated the grounds, making it impossible to see anything oth