"Thank you, Radcliffe. You make leave now," Nate nodded at his solicitor.

"Your grace," the man bowed before exiting his study. "Send for me once you've read all the papers."

As soon as he heard the sound of the door clicking shut, Nate pushed all the paperwork on his desk with a swish of his hand.

Lord, but being a Duke was exhausting. And dull. Not at all as glamorous as people thought it to be.

He let his head fall into his hands and let out a weary sigh.

Just then he heard a knock.

Must be Winterbottom.

Good, the butler would help him pick up all the important paperwork that he'd just dumped on the floor heedlessly.

"Your grace, may I enter?" came a female voice with another set of impatient knocks.

That most certainly wasn't Winterbottom.

"Just a moment," he called and quickly crouched to the floor to pick up all the papers. It wouldn't do if Miss Butterworth witnessed his study in such a mess—he was a dignified Duke after all.

"Is everything alright?" came her muffled voice.

"Yes. I just need a moment," he ground out.

"Are you sure? Because I can help if—"

"I said everything is fine," he thundered, cutting off whatever she was about to say.

"Alright then."

Oh but the woman was talkative.

And what did she need from him anyway? Did she want to quit already—hadn't it only been four days? He'd heard about what his mother had been doing–making her lift heavy trays and the like. He'd thought about berating his mother for it but he'd thought better of it. The sooner Miss Butterworth left, the better.

Where was the other paper?

He looked frantically about his desk, on all fours now.

"Ah," he murmured as he spotted it stuck beneath the leg of his desk.

He pulled at it but it didn't budge.

How did it even get stuck there?!

He pulled again with a loud grunt.

It moved a little but the door opened as well and he turned to find Miss Butterworth standing at the doorway, staring rather shamelessly at his posterior.

Fiona swallowed.

The Duke sure had a fine pair of buttcheeks, she thought to herself.

Then again, there wasn't one thing about him that wasn't fine—she thought more than a little disgruntled.

"I believe I asked you to wait, Miss Butterworth," his voice was cold as ice as he hastily got up from the floor and dusted his clothes.

Fiona resisted the urge to giggle.

"Yes, well—I heard sounds and I thought you might need a hand," she said defensively when he continued to stare at her.

What was he doing beneath his desk on his knees anyway?

He muttered something

(uncomplimentary, no doubt) under his breath before taking a seat behind his desk.

"How can I help you, Miss Butterworth? Have you decided to quit already?" his voice held just a hint of condescension which was enough to set her on the edge.

"Now look here, your grace, I am no quitter. I merely came here to request you to restock your library," Fiona huffed.

"What is wrong with my library?" He looked appalled.

"Many things. Firstly, the books are impossible to reach. The shelves are too high for practicality. Secondly, your collection of books are awful—"

"Our library here is stocked with the books written by every renowned writer of the last four centuries," he replied, his jaw tighter than she would've liked.

"Yes, but that is exactly my point. You haven't updated it at all."

The Duke just raised one brow, silently asking her to continue.

"There's no new content. Her grace has already read almost all the books. And the variety is limited as well."

"Very well, I shall order a new collection immediately. Anything else?" he asked, his blue eyes impatient.

"No, your grace," Fiona grinned.

"Very well," he said and bent to the papers on his desk, the dismissal clear.

Fiona shrugged and turned to leave. And then, "there is something else," she turned about.

"The Duke looked heavenward before looking at her. "Yes, Miss Butterworth?"

"Make sure you order a lot of romance novels. You know the kind where—"

"I am sure that my mother does not read romance novels—especially not at her age."

"Yes but she could. Romance is so much better than reading about how to manage agricultural lands or some dead man's life history or philosophy. Philosophy is just plain dull and—"

"I get your drift," he interrupted her. "I shall order romance novels as well. Just leave a list."

"Thank you, your grace," Fiona curtseyed and rushed outside the door.

Little did she know that when she shut the door behind her with a loud thud, the brand new Ming vase placed on the little table next to the door fell to the ground and broke in two.

Little did she know that Duke silently cursed her for it.

And little did she know that the Duke was close to pulling his hair out and losing his mind.

Off she went, blissful in her ignorance.

****