Page 53 of My Demanding Duke

Shatter referred of course to Nate. Hugh’s heart gave a leap of hope.

“He still is,” Hugh called over his shoulder, as he raced out the door.

Graystone House stood in silence, looking out over the gardens of Charterhouse Square. Black crepe was tied in thick rosettes along the railings and over the brass knocker, a sign to any visitors that those within were mourning.

Hugh did not wait for his footman to approach the door with a card to seek an audience with Nate, as was usual. Instead, he banged the brass knocker himself, his boot tapping an impatient tattoo as he waited for someone to answer.

After a few moments, a butler appeared, wearing a black armband and offering a low bow.

“Falconbridge,” Hugh said, thrusting his card at the astonished man. “I seek an audience with Graystone, at once.”

“His Grace is in mourning,” the butler stuttered but was unable to protest any further, for Hugh pushed past him calling for his friend.

“He’s in the library, your Grace,” the butler called, desperate to exact some control on the chaos Hugh had brought. “If you’ll just follow me, quietly.”

He led the way through dark halls which smelled of beeswax and polish, until they reached a door. The butler gave a knock that somehow managed to sound apologetic.

“Come in,” a voice called.

Hugh pushed open the door to find his old friend seated in a high-back chair, facing a roaring fire. His head turned as Hugh offered a greeting and Nate quickly rose to his feet, once he realised the identity of his unexpected guest.

The war had carved a maturity into Nathaniel’s face since last Hugh had seen him. His cheekbones were sharp as glass, his chin dark with stubble, and shadows smudged beneath his eyes. He looked, Hugh realised with a start, haunted by the ghosts of the battles he had fought.

“I am sorry for your loss, Nate,” Hugh said, crossing the room to his friend who—he noted with alarm— now walked with a stiff gait and a pronounced limp.

“You of all people understand what a loss a brother is,” Nate—or Graystone as he was now styled—inclined his head graciously at Hugh’s condolence.

Hugh reached out his hand and Nate clasped it, in a strong soldier’s hold, and the two men briefly embraced.

“It’s good to see you, if unexpected,” Nate continued, turning an amused eye to the door where the disapproving butler still hovered. “That will be all, Ronson.”

The butler disappeared and once he was certain they were alone, Hugh told his friend the sorry tale of his marriage, his altercation with Gravesend, and Anna’s disappearance.

“I am not acquainted with Lord Gravesend,” Nate said apologetically as Hugh finished. “I am not acquainted with anyone, after five years on the continent. Though I will call for a horse at once and accompany you on your search.”

“Five years of war has not changed you,” Hugh noted warmly. Nate had always been steadfast, brave and loyal, even as a boy.

“I wouldn’t say that,” the new duke gestured ruefully to his leg.

“You have one connection still, who might be able to shed some light on the matter,” Hugh continued, choosing his words carefully now. “Your brother, Edwin.”

“Edwin, useful?” Graystone raised a dark brow in amusement. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything. He’s in one of the parlour rooms, I believe, sleeping off a sore head. He’s taken the Irish approach to mourning.”

Hugh noted his scathing tone, filing it away for a later date. All was not well between the brothers Lewisham, as Thorncastle had suggested, but now was not the time to discuss it.

Graystone led the way to the parlour room, where heavy velvet drapes were drawn against the late- afternoon light. Lewisham was sprawled across achaise longue, shirt undone, one stocking half off his foot, a brandy decanter clutched in his hand with the same reverence as a penitent might hold rosary beads.

“I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed,” Lewisham croaked, as the light from the open door spilled across the room.

“I will take but a moment of your time, my lord,” Hugh said dryly, as he crossed the room in three strides and hauled the young lord to his feet by his lapels.

“Unhand me, at once,” the lad squeaked, both confused and terrified by the sudden turn of events.

“I will,” Hugh answered evenly, “Once you tell me where I can find Gravesend.”

If the situation were not so serious, Hugh might have found some entertainment in the brandy-sodden lad’s confusion. Lewisham glanced from Hugh to Nate, beseeching his half-brother to help him.

“Tell him where your friend can be found,” Nate instructed, with a lazy shrug.

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