Page 39 of Good Duke Gone Far

“Perhaps the room where you last served tea to visitors?” Quinn suggested.

There was that laugh again. This time the man slapped his thigh. “Whooo, that was a good one, mate. Aye, the last time we had–” he whooped again. Clearly, the man was unable to finish a sentence.

“You don’t receive many visitors?” Kat asked.

“Many? Try none. Or next to it.”

This man was the duke? No visitors meant he was a resident. Could it be? The mysterious proposer was…this guy? Kat eyed him up and down, imagining him with Charlotte. It was possible…they might make a good match. He was lighthearted enough. He had a quick smile. An even quicker laugh. But there was something missing. Kat couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“Sorry, Your Grace. I didn’t realize you were the Duke of Dunbarshire.”

“Me? The duke? Oh hell, you two.” Another explosion of chuckles. “Where have you been all my life?”

Finally catching his breath, he said, “No. I’m not the duke. Definitely not.” And then he picked up the tea pot, which apparently still had hot water in it, and began pouring a drink as if there were no unanswered questions lingering in the air. Questions practically jumping up and down on the shoulders of those awaiting said answers.

Quinn cleared his throat. “Who might you be, then?”

“I’m Egan’s best mate. The Duke of Dunbarshire, I mean. You can just call me George.”

“Is that your name?” Kat asked, unsure if the man was unhinged or not.

He shot her a curious look and then broke into a grin. “Ah. Another good one. Is that my name? Why else would I have said it? Ha! Without a doubt, this last ten minutes has been the best last ten minutes of my life.”

Because that made sense,Kat thought. Aloud, she was about to say something to the same effect, but fortune shone down on her, and Quinn interrupted.

“I’m Colonel Hastford. It’s a pleasure.” He dipped his head. “George.”

George mumbled the name to himself. Whatever thought that caused him to pause must have dispelled when he was about to pass around the tea and realized there was only one set to drink from. He stood and moved to yank on the nearest bellpull.

Upon his return, he motioned toward Kat with his head. The tilt was accompanied by raised eyebrows wiggling up and down several times. It was not a subtle gesture. The question was directed to Quinn.

“That’s my wife.”

Kat would have spit the tea out of her mouth had she been drinking any, but instead, her throat went dry. She shot Quinn a look, but he ignored her.

“We’ve traveled quite the distance to see the Duke of Dunbarshire.”

“He’s not here.” George took a sip of tea and leaned back in his chair.

Kat was sure her face fell an inch because Quinn almost reached over to pat her hand. Instead, he patted the air in a less than suave and more than a little patronizing attempt to reassure her. “It’s alright,” he said. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” George cut in. “He could be gone, oh, one, two, four…”

“Days?” asked Kat.

“Weeks?” asked Quinn at the same time.

“God, no. Hours. Hours, people.”

Kat felt her shoulders relax as she breathed in to fill her lungs.

“He’s only gone out to the woods.”

“You didn’t join him?”

In a seemingly rare display of embarrassment, George’s cheeks turned as red as apples. “Uh, erm, no. I don’t usually join him in the um–woods. Anymore. That is to say, he prefers I stay away from him. There. More tea?” George lifted the teapot to his guests, both of which were lacking tea cups.

Fate was now bestowing fortune on George, for at the precise moment he lifted the teapot, a servant entered with tea service.

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