How to Marry a Duke (A Cinderella Society 2)

“You haven’t visited?” Meg was surprised.

“We didn’t want to be a bother,” Charlie said. “I’d have wanted to wallop a toff who came into the mill to gawk at us at our work.”

“You must have a very good steward then.”

“Mr. Clarke certainly thinks he is. He told us everything was in hand.”

“I see. Let’s say hello then.”

Charlie followed, looking uncomfortable.

“Has Dougal been?”

“I don’t know. He spends most days reading letters and muttering about devil’s arsewits.”

Meg chuckled. “I’ve noticed that. Being a duke with as many estates as your brother owns is daunting, even for someone trained to it since birth. It’s villages and tenants and crops and field drainage and flour mills. Deer parks. Cattle.”

“Is that what Dougal does all day in that study? No wonder he looks as though he wants to poke his own eye out with a pencil.”

“Running an estate is hard work—if you do it properly,” Meg amended, thinking of several estates who were most definitely not run properly. She was grateful that her uncle’s land agent, Mr. Campbell, was usually happy to help her navigate around his more outrageous demands.

“He won’t let us help,” Charlie said, disgruntled.

“I imagine he wants you to enjoy yourself.”

“Oh yes, embroidery and walking with parasols,” she replied drily. “I am complete.” She frowned. “You don’t do this sort of thing all day, do you? Draw and change your gown and write letters?”

“Sometimes,” Meg said gently, though it was mostly a lie. She rarely had idyllic days such as the ones she’d known at Thorncroft Abbey, wandering ducks and wall-scaling debutantes, and treasure hunters included. But plenty of people did. “There are some who enjoy leisure,” she added. She could see how it might be more complicated for Charlie. “You used to work the weaving machines, but now you could weave by hand, if you wanted. You have the time. It would be a kind of art that produced something warm and practical at the end of it.”

Charlie looked intrigued. “I’m not a Luddite but I suppose I could.”

“Or you could help your brother, despite what he might say,” she added with a wink. “You don’t strike me as the kind of girl to take orders.”

Charlie positively beamed a smile. “Thank you.” Her smile faltered. “I never used to be.”

“Is that what you’re worried about? Changing?”

She nodded. Meg nodded as well. “It’s perfectly fine to change, if you want to. And it’s just as fine to decide that there are parts of yourself you won’t change, for anyone.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Meg snorted. “Nothing’s easy.”

Bees buzzed happily as they continued to walk, darting in and out of the last of the autumn flowers. Meg noticed a hive, set just at the edge of the trees. They must be very near to the village now. “There’s an orchard at the Abbey, you could see at the cider-press if they need help. Or talk to the Head Gardener, if you like gardening,” she suggested.

“I think there’s already an army of gardeners.”

“Very likely.”

“But maybe we could expand the kitchen gardens into medicines. Mints and comfrey and the like.” She pointed to the embroidery on Meg’s sleeves, all bright petals and leaves. “You like flowers.”

Meg smiled, waiting. Charlie frowned, looking closer. “Miss Swift.”

“Yes?”

“All of those flowers are poisonous.”

Meg inclined her head. “I call it my poison dress.” Priya had helped her with accuracy.