Page 2 of The Icy Duke Claims a Bride

“Poppycock!” Rebecca huffed, still holding onto him. “When will you learn to let go of the past? You were thirty years old on your last birthday.”

“I’ll let go of the past when the past lets go of me,” Hugh answered. “Until then, I see little reason to burden myself withthe company of others, let alone shock them with mine. You know very well how things stand.”

“I will not listen to this again, Hugh,” she insisted, although she now released him from her grip and allowed him to lead them to two comfortable leather chairs beside the largest window. “It’s long past time that you took full responsibility for your estate. You use your uncle as your stooge.”

“Stooge?! Hardly!” Hugh protested angrily. “Uncle Edwin does as he thinks best, and I allow it. If my lawyers, bankers, and agents prefer to deal with a man with a normal face, I understand that. Half of them are terrified of me. Would you have me revoke permission for Uncle Edwin to act on my behalf and frighten them all the more?”

“Edwin’s representation was never meant to continue beyond your majority, except for emergencies. But still, you’re letting him handle your lawyer, your bank, and your agents as though the business of the duchy is beneath you. Is that how the Duke of Redbridge should conduct himself?”

“Beneath me?! Ha! As I’ve already told you, these people are terrified of me. They stare, and I hear them whispering. What good does it do the duchy if they’re afraid to speak up when I ask them a simple question? Around the ton, they still say that I’m cursed. You must hear it, too.”

“Foolish women’s gossip and childish gibberish. Anyone I hear spreading such rumors gets the sharp end of my tongue, I assure you, and—”

“Grandmother!”

They looked at one another for a long moment with equally determined eyes, both at an impasse.

Then, Rebecca sighed. “Please, Hugh, listen to me, even if you’ll listen to no one else. You are the Duke of Redbridge, like your father and your grandfather before him. Their blood runs in your veins. Do you think they’d want to see you like this, skulking about and barricading yourself in your library in case of unwelcome guests? Showing the whole world your contempt?”

“Don’t,” Hugh bit out, flinching at the mention of his father. “I know there are those who believe I’m not half the man that my father was. Or that Henry would have been—”

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s high time you simply live such nonsense down and do your duty as the Duke of Redbridge. You have responsibilities.”

“Redbridge needs an heir,” Hugh said flatly. “Yes, I’m well aware of that fact, Grandmother, and have thought on it at length. But there are certain prerequisites for siring an heir. I admit that I have a certain arrogance and disdain when it comes to dancing and having foolish conversations. Even if I partake in such petty amusements, I doubt I will find a woman suitable enough to become my Duchess.”

He again indicated his masked face with a humorless laugh and shook his head at the absurdity of the idea, his dislike of social engagement very evident in both his expression and tone.

“You must go out into Society and take your place, regardless of how you feel,” his grandmother insisted, undeterred. “I know that Lady Tarleton has invited you to her ball next month. Accept her invitation and attend without that mask.”

“A Society ball?! What fun that would be,” Hugh said sarcastically, the idea evidently holding little attraction. “What a coup for the gossip sheets if the cursed Duke of Redbridge’s entrance silenced the conversation and emptied the ballroom…”

“There’s no need for such melodrama, young man. The Duke of Felbourne lost one arm during his time with His Majesty’s army, and Lord Gasborough has a glass eye from experimenting with explosives in his outbuildings. We’ve all seen scars before.”

“Youmight have seen scars, Grandmother, and your friends the Duchess of Felbourne or Lady Gasborough. But not the young ladies and gentlemen who will be at Lady Tarleton’s ball. Be realistic, Grandmother, and don’t patronize me with sympathy or wishful thinking. I’ll be merely an object of derision and fear if I go about normally in Society.”

“If that’s what you set out to be, yes, you would,” the Dowager Duchess countered mercilessly. “But not otherwise. It’s your choice, Hugh. Please, go to Lady Tarleton’s ball without such ideas fixed in your head. Dance with some pretty young lady who pleases you and bring her back here to be the Duchess of Redbridge…”

“Grandmother, what young lady of a good family would ever want a man like me?”

“There are hundreds of suitable young ladies who would still want to be the Duchess of Redbridge even if you had three heads and a thoroughly evil disposition. I promise that all you have to do is show your face during the Season, and they’ll flock to you. I would vet prospective brides, of course, and help you choose someone appropriate for the estate and title.”

Hugh continued to shake his head at his grandmother’s suggestions. He seemed to find her ideas the most absurd notions in the world. “With my face? Impossible! I do not see how it is to be done.”

Rebecca pursed her lips and then nodded to herself as if coming to a decision. “I did think that you might persist with this line, Hugh. There is also another way.”

“Another way?” Hugh echoed.

His grandmother opened her elegant reticule and extracted a small, rolled document from within. “Another way,” she confirmed. “Ring for tea, Hugh. We’ll discuss this over some refreshments.”

“Can’t you even take that mask off when you’re only with me?” The Dowager Duchess of Redbridge sighed as Perkins bowed out of the library once more and closed the doors.

On a table beside the fireplace sat a steaming silver teapot and two slices of buttered fruit cake.

Hugh shook his head, his hand flying defensively up to his face as if to check that his mask was still in place.

“Hugh…” his grandmother began but then paused, accepting that whatever she could say on the subject of his face would be pointless.

Instead, she unrolled the slightly yellowed parchment and placed it on the table, pinning the ends with the sugar bowl and milk jug.

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