Page 14 of Her Scottish Duke
“Ha, I wish I had seen such tricks,” Jeffrey said as they stepped out of the building. “What do you say to a drink sometime?”
“What?” Gerard halted as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
“Forgive me, I am brash and speak my mind. My mother always tells me I should prevaricate and beat around the bush, but I cannot do it.” He sighed heavily. “I liked your honesty in that room. You’re a plain speaker, Gerard.”
To be called by his Christian name was strangely refreshing and Gerard smiled a little.
“I would rather call a man like you a friend than many others I have as friends. What do you say to that drink sometime? You can tell me the honest story of how you came to be duke, too, so I no longer have to listen to these rumors.”
He laughed at them, shaking his head. “In return, I’ll tell you what tales I can of myself. Although I warn you, my tales will be nowhere near as interesting. My tales consist mostly of jests and what happened during my university days. Strangely, no one ever believes me when I say a roommate brought a bear into the apartments.”
Gerard chuckled in surprise. For a second, it was as if he was speaking to a man from down the tavern, and not a gentleman of theton, though it was plain Viscount Crampton before him was a gentleman of some money.
“Aye, a drink sounds good. I have time now, if ye do?”
“I do indeed.” Jeffrey led the way out of the building and pointed to a pub at the end of the road. “How about that one? Some places turn up their noses at a man in my clothes walking in, but old Tom in there is used to me by now.”
“Aye. A proper pub. I have nae been in one since Edinburgh.”
“Then it’s high time we change that, don’t you think?”
An hour later, Gerard was feeling better for the two ales he’d drunk and the good company of Jeffrey. Old Tom who ran the pub was indeed not surprised to see Jeffrey, and even referred to him as the ‘Commoner Viscount,’ whispering to Gerard that Jeffrey probably wished he had been born in the pub rather than in a fine house.
Gerard felt more like himself than he’d done in months on the low stools of that pub drinking ale as Jeffrey told him about his life. He learned that Jeffrey, though a viscount, was not the most natural of gentlemen. He preferred his learning and good company to dancing at balls. In return, Gerard told his story.
“I never kenned him,” he said when their conversation turned to the matter of Gerard’s father. “I found out from his solicitor that supposedly the affair between me mother and father was one of love. She was a maid. Nay chance of a marriage between them. When she was with child, she fled with me to Edinburgh, takin’ solace in family there.”
“What people do for love, eh? Willing to cross all sorts of boundaries,” Jeffrey said with a laugh as he drank the last of his ale.
“Some people are.” Yet Gerard had made a promise to himself. He’d read the letters between his father and mother, tied up in that ribbon which had been kept in his father’s desk. That love had made them both miserable. They had put the expectations of thetonbefore their own happiness and been condemned for it forever more.
I willnae be that fool. I willnae make meself miserable for love.
He and Jeffrey promised to share a drink again soon and left. When Gerard returned home, he found Yates in the doorway, looking down at the now muddy boots Gerard wore because of all of his walking through London that morning. He hadn’t even bothered to take his horse, which seemed to irk Yates all the more, though he said nothing about it.
“A letter arrived for you in your absence, Your Grace.” Yates passed a letter into Gerard’s grasp then bowed and retreated away.
Gerard broke the seal, not recognizing it, and allowed his eyes to dart down the words.
Your Grace, the Duke of Rodstone,
I am coming to you this evening for your first lesson in etiquette. I shall be with you when the clock strikes seven.
Until then,
Lady Charlotte Morton.
CHAPTER FIVE
Gerard opened the door to Charlotte himself, having given Yates the evening off, for he did not want any more judgmental gazes from his butler that day.
She stood before him with her cloak hood pulled tightly over her head, half masking her features. He caught the glimpse of her biting that full lip, evidently nervous, and found it made his stomach somersault.
What is wrong with me?
“Come in, lass.” He opened the door further just as she lifted the lip of her gown and raised her eyebrows at him. “Lady Charlotte,” he corrected himself and she walked in.
“Where’s your butler?”
