A Vixen for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 2)
A Vixen for the Duke: Chapter 3

“Uncle, are you listening?” Morgan sighed, dropping his pen on the desk.

He and his uncle had been talking business, but he seemed to be the only one paying attention. It was just as well. He was the Duke of Stanton, and having had control of the dukedom for roughly five years, the twenty-seven-year-old Morgan was capable of handling things on his own. However, for as long as he’d been a duke, his uncle had been his greatest business partner and mentor.

Oliver, a man of fifty-five, looked at his nephew briefly before glancing back out the window. He looked distracted today. Usually, Morgan would display a bit of tenderness to see if his uncle was feeling all right. However, today, Oliver seemed light on his feet, happy, and overall, incredibly distracted.

“Yes, yes, of course. Keep going.”

“I don’t feel that you’re listening to me at all,” Morgan muttered, leaning back in his desk chair. He scratched his head, his fingers getting caught in his wavy, thick brown hair.

“I am listening,” Oliver said. “Half of the time.” He winked, laughing softly.

Oliver had a soft face—a full, rounded nose, big, apple-red cheeks and a round stomach. His hair was light brown and was greying with age. Morgan had much sharper features than his uncle, but his eyes were dark and kind all the same.

“Very funny, Uncle.”

Oliver looked back at Morgan and gave a big, toothy smile. “You work too much. Make time to enjoy the finer things in life.”

Morgan frowned, his eyebrows narrowing in annoyance. “I work so that I can enjoy the finer things in life.”

It was a common complaint around the estate that Morgan worked too much. Oliver was getting older and more keen on taking time off after having worked so hard his entire life, while his daughter, Daphne, was only eleven years old and keen on enjoying her childhood and all the mischief that came with it. Perhaps a little more family time would be good for everyone.

After all, Daphne and Oliver were the only close family Morgan had. His father had passed away several years prior, and he had never known his mother. She had died giving birth to him.

“Life is not about money,” Oliver said. “Sometimes life is about taking a walk outside and enjoying the sunshine.”

Morgan blinked, his mouth drawn into a thin line. He watched the grey sky out the window churn up a terrible storm. “Mhm…”

“Well,” Oliver began, laughing softly. “Not today, necessarily. But maybe tomorrow. Point is, Morgan, that the world is made to be lived in. Living is enjoying the outdoors, discovering a new passion, or perhaps spending time with a lady friend, hmm?”

“Oh, please.” Morgan huffed. “When was the last time you discovered a new passion?”

“I have been trying my hand at archery as of late. Lady Moore has been teaching me. She’s got a good arm, you know?”

Morgan made a noise at the back of his throat. “Maybe you’ll teach me sometime. Sounds interesting.”

“Look at you, coming around.” Oliver smiled wide again, his eyes crinkling up as if he was rather pleased with himself.

“I am not opposed to these things,” Morgan said. “I just haven’t met the right person yet, so I have been keeping my sights set on bettering my future.”

“I cannot argue with that. You’ve always been very resourceful.”

“You are one to talk, by the way,” Morgan drawled, opening his top desk drawer and grabbing a new inkwell. He took the empty one off his desk and tossed it into the waste bin. “It is fantastic you have a new hobby, but perhaps we can talk after you spend some time outdoors with a woman you admire.”

Morgan laughed to himself. Oliver was a very happy bachelor, enjoying life without companionship to its fullest. He had never shown a disinterest in women. In fact, he had been married for several years. Once his wife had passed away, he had seemed to enjoy his independence. He had been an inconsolable flirt for his entire life, it seemed, but as a widower, he’d never acted seriously about a second chance at companionship.

“I told you,” Oliver said with a smile, sipping his cup of tea before setting it back down on the table beside his chair, “Lady Moore has been teaching me archery.”

“How clever.” Morgan’s focus was absorbed by a letter concerning some tenants on his land. “Practicing hobbies outdoors with a woman, all in one fell swoop. However, the eccentric Lady Moore doesn’t count. We are not talking about friends.”

Oliver smiled, clasping his hands on his lap. His lips were pressed together as if there was something that was yet to be said. Morgan dropped his quill and widened his eyes. “You are lying,” he whispered.

“I have not said a thing,” Oliver quipped.

“You cannot be having designs on the Dowager Viscountess.”

Oliver shrugged. “Yes, I know. She’s a bit… untraditional, but…” He looked out the window wistfully, warming his fingers around his cup of tea. “You know how I feel about a headstrong woman.” He rolled his eyes back with a dreamy sigh.

Morgan had long known his uncle’s preferred sort of woman. He shook his head playfully, chuckling. “Well, there is someone for everyone. I must not argue with the heart.”

“Lady Moore has invited us for dinner tomorrow at her home, and I hope you will be in attendance. She is being visited by her two nieces.”

“Oh, tomorrow?” Morgan asked, focusing most of his attention on a letter in his stack of mail.

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but a scream from down the hall interrupted them. Morgan stood up at once, followed by Oliver. Neither of them said a word. They left the office and hurried down the hall to see the mess that Daphne had created this time.

“She’s unconscionable!” the governess shouted.

Once Morgan turned the corner, he spotted her covered head-to-toe in flour. His jaw dropped. The threshold of the library was powdered white, and footsteps tracked the mess to where the governess stood. Above the doorway hung a bucket suspended by strings.

“One more prank and I swear I’ll be—” She gasped, turning to see Morgan. “Your Grace!” She bowed, her cheeks looking somewhat red, even under all the white powder on her cheeks.

Morgan crossed his arms, taking a moment to admire the contraption his eleven-year-old cousin had rigged. Daphne could have been described as a nuisance, but that felt like an understatement, when her brilliance made her that much more frightening. “I apologise, Miss Bell.” He sighed. “Why don’t you go clean up and take the rest of the day off? I will have the mess taken care of.”

Miss Bell nodded, huffing slightly, then hurried up the staircase, leaving a trail of powder behind her. Morgan looked at his uncle, whose eyes were pasted on the door of the library. His eyes were often so joyful, but now they were dark, not sparkling with the same joy that had shone in them moments earlier.

“She is getting worse,” Oliver said quietly.

After her mother had died, Daphne had begun leaving a trail of mischief in her wake. For a few years, she had simply been annoying, but during the weeks prior, she had become destructive, vindictive and spoiled. No amount of talking could get through to her. The situation had gotten so desperate that her governess was on her last nerve, and everyone was on edge.

“It’s begun raining outside. I should replace her before it gets much worse,” Morgan said.

Oliver shook his head. “She is my daughter.”

“Uncle, just stay here and collect your thoughts so that you can speak to her once we return home. I’ll be back shortly.” Morgan squeezed his uncle’s shoulder comfortingly before he left out the front door.

Outside, the sky was more burdened than it could hold. Rain had started falling, darkening the pavement and soaking through the white sleeves of his shirt. His dark hair was now flattened, clinging to his face.

He thought back to some of Daphne’s favourite places to go. She liked the apple grove further into the property as well as the old cabin by the pond. Lately, however, she’d had a particular fascination for the Dowager Viscountess’s rabbits. It also wasn’t likely that Daphne’s outburst ended with just one victim. Morgan didn’t want her disturbing the Dowager Viscountess, especially after his conversation with his uncle earlier. He hurried down the long driveway of his estate, scanning the landscape as he ran, his feet sloshing in the puddles. He took the shortcut through the wooded area that separated the properties.

“Daphne!” he called out.

He hauled himself over fallen logs and skidded down a steep incline as the rain began to pour harder. As he emerged from the woods, he came across the shallow creek. He jumped across it and landed on the other side before the modest country home.

“Daphne!” he called again.

Morgan stopped, his boots sinking slightly into the mud behind Lady Moore’s estate. There was a figure lying on the muddy ground. The rain was heavier now, falling so fast that every drop stung his skin.

“Are you—“ He cut himself off, running over to reach out a hand to help the woman off the ground. He didn’t recognise her, nor could he make out much of what she looked like through all the mud. The woman glanced at his hand and narrowed her eyes.

“I’ll get you all dirty.” Her voice was cute for a woman covered in mud. Not exactly what he had expected, but her voice was melodic and feminine.

“And? Allow me,” he insisted.

She tentatively reached for his hand, and he hauled her up, stepping back so that she didn’t crash into him. Perhaps he might have let go, but he didn’t. Their hands lingered a moment longer before she pulled hers away as if she had gotten burnt.

Morgan retracted his, flexing his fingers. As she rose, she stared at him for a moment while rain washed the mud off her cheeks. It seemed her cheeks were red. Maybe that was on account of the spring rainstorm, but perhaps he’d embarrassed her by happening upon her in such a state.

“I have this under control,” the woman muttered, using her hands to try and dust the clumps of dirt off her dress, but the motion only served to make her look even dirtier.

Morgan looked over his shoulders, wondering if this was Daphne’s work. “Did you fall?”

“Are you Daphne’s cousin?” the woman asked, ignoring his question.

Morgan nodded, wondering just how much this stranger knew about him.

“She went that way.” The woman pointed at the bank of trees that separated the two estates. He must have missed Daphne on her way back. Oliver was likely scolding her right now.

Morgan sighed, upset that he had come out into the storm for nothing. It almost seemed as if it was another cruel joke by Daphne. Surely, she’d howl with laughter when she watched him enter the house looking like he’d nearly drowned.

As the rain poured, it streaked off the mud on the woman’s face, dragging trails of grime down her cheeks and over her pouty lips. She had a soft, rounded nose, wide eyes and that same beautiful rosy colour that he’d just noticed dusting her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Her reddish brown hair was matted with mud, and she was shaking violently. The rain this evening was colder than it usually was.

The woman’s eyes widened as Morgan slipped his coat off his shoulders. Then, he stepped behind her. Immediately, she spun around much closer to him than she’d intended. He stumbled back.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I am offering my coat to you.”

“But it will be ruined.”

“Can you turn around, Miss?”

The woman stilled and silently obliged him. He draped the coat over her shoulders, and she pulled it tight around her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“My sincerest apologies, Miss…” He paused, not knowing exactly who she was, but hoping she might tell him.

“Harriet Hale.” Harriet hiked her dirty skirts as if she was worried about making them filthier, when they already were. “I am Lady Moore’s niece,” she muttered as she sloshed across the wet ground back to her aunt’s house, an empty basket hooked in the crook of her arm. “I apologise for anything I said that might have provoked your cousin. I truly meant no harm, Sir.”

Morgan followed her. “I’ll replace your clothing. Whatever she damaged, it is on me,” he offered.

“I am sure I can clean it,” Harriet said. “It is not like there is a reason to have nice clothing anymore. It has no effect on my life, believe me.”

“I cannot imagine that’s true.”

Harriet turned back and frowned. The rain pelted the ground like ice, flooding Morgan’s shoes and further flattening his dark hair. He offered her a friendly smile, but she remained forlorn. He wondered if she might treat him differently if she knew he was a duke, but there was something refreshing about being a stranger to her. She certainly deserved to be upset with him. His cousin should have known better, but sometimes, Morgan felt just as clueless as his uncle did on how to rein Daphne in.

“I am sorry,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could muster. “I hope to redeem myself to you.”

Harriet turned back to look at him, her eyebrows tilting up as if something about him had made her soften ever so slightly. “I hope so—” She stopped herself too and scrunched her eyes shut. “I am sorry you’ve seen me in such a state! Good evening!”

With that, she stepped through the back door of the house, the window shaking slightly with the force with which she had shut the door. Morgan took a deep breath before turning back in the direction of his estate. He wasn’t entirely sure who she was. He’d never met any of the Dowager Viscountess’s family before. He’d often wondered if they even associated with her on account of her eccentricities.

It seemed he’d figure it out soon enough. He had that dinner to look forward to. Maybe he could get to know the beautiful lady better.