A Duke in the Night(52)

Clara sighed in resignation. “As part of Haverhall’s summer term, we place our students in a field of study that they choose as part of their curriculum.”

August stared at her before turning to Anne. “And the field of study that you chose was lye soap and kitchen grease?” he asked acidly.

“The fields of study that I chose were lodging and food service management. Labor and inventory administration. Accounting and planning services. Shall I go on?” Anne’s words were clipped.

“Why?” August asked, raking a hand through his hair.

“Because I’m good at it.”

“But you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. And for the record, lye soap is sold at a more attractive price when you buy it in bulk locally.” Her last sentence had an edge to it.

Clara watched as August pushed himself away from the door. “All of the students do this?”

“Not this, exactly, but something similar,” Clara said.

“For example?”

Clara shrugged. “My brother is currently mentoring three aspiring physicians. Small-scale amputations are not a suitable conversation topic at Almack’s.”

“I— That’s—” He was clearly struggling for words. He blinked suddenly. “And Charleaux knows about this? About Anne? About what you’re doing?”

“Of course he does. Anne is my student, and consequently his. She isn’t his first. The staff believe she is simply his assistant, hired on for the busy summer months.” She sighed. “No one is aware that she is your sister.”

“And I want to keep it that way.” Anne’s face was set in the same hard lines her brother wore so often.

“Jesus.” The duke paced toward a pile of pans that had been abandoned near the center of the room. “Who else knows? The truth about Haverhall’s summer school? About what you do here?”

Clara rubbed her forehead. “Very few,” she said wearily. “Most people do not and will not see the value in it.”

“Miss Anne?” The harried question came from the doorway to the tavern. A young maid was standing in the frame, wringing her apron between her fingers. “The brewer is here, spittin’ mad because the soldiers took his kegs from the delivery cart. I can’t find Monsieur Charleaux and I don’t know what to do but the brewer wants to know if—”

“I’ll deal with him,” Anne said briskly, already hurrying forward.

Clara saw August frowning after Anne fiercely, but he made no move to stop his sister as she disappeared after the maid.

“You think you should have told me why Anne was really here?” he asked without turning around.

“You think you should have told me why you were really here?” Clara countered, though the anger she had wielded earlier was missing.

The duke dropped his head. “Fair enough.”

Clara hesitated. She had expected a fight. “Have you taken a good look at Anne’s plans for the Trenton Hotel?”

His back stiffened. “How do you know about that?”

“She showed me her drawings. She’s quite good at this, you know.”

August shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the far side of the kitchens, and Clara had no idea what he was thinking.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Do?”

“You own this tavern. You hold all the power. But if you think to punish Charleaux for his role in this, or evict him from his position, I take full responsibility for—”

“Stop.” The duke looked up at the ceiling. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

Clara bent to retrieve a discarded wooden spoon from near her feet and considered her answer. She had no idea who he was, other than a study in contradictions. He was a man who offered no apology for his ruthless pursuit of wealth but then offered charity to a ragged boy he didn’t know. A man who loved his sister but refused to set her free. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Then ask me something.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Ask me whatever you want to know about me. I promise you the truth.”

Clara considered his offer. Her fingers toyed with the handle of the spoon. “My brother told me that your father was incarcerated. Debtors’ prison.”

The duke stilled, though he still didn’t turn around. “And just how did he come across that piece of…trivia?”

“He said that he had treated your father as a medical student at Marshalsea. For dropsy.”

“Ah.” August put a hand on the edge of the heavy table. “I suppose I owe your brother a debt of gratitude, then. Not only for his medical assistance but for his discretion. And yours. Most people do not know that about me.”

“I suspect most people don’t know you at all.”

The duke turned and stared at her then. She felt his appraisal like a physical touch. “Perhaps they don’t.” His quiet words echoed in the space.

“Is that what made you start? Your father’s imprisonment?”

“Start?”

Clara made a helpless gesture with her free hand. “Doing what it is you do.”

She heard August release a breath. “I suppose you could say that. Starvation motivates a man like almost nothing else can. Do you know what it is like to go for months and months without a proper meal? Reduced to scavenging the leavings of others just so that you might survive another day?”