Page 50 of Never a Duke
“Mr. Wentworth will not like it.” Ivor was smiling, a dazzling display of teeth that suggested a wolf lurked beneath all that velvet and satin finery.
“Mr. Wentworth is at his bank, and time is of the essence. Let’s be off, shall we?”
The alley, of course, revealed nothing regarding Francine Arbuckle’s disappearance, but it did confirm Rosalind’s fear: With the trees leafing out, and high garden walls on both sides, a woman could be taken from many places along the route with no witnesses to remark her disappearance.
***
“I don’t mind telling you, fatherhood leaves me terrified.” Robert, His Grace of Rothhaven, did mind making that admission, but putting names to his emotions and speaking those names was part of the challenge he’d set for himself when he’d married Constance Wentworth.
She, oddly enough, had taken on the same challenge, and the sheer blinding intimacy of her confidences inspired Robert’s courage and his admiration.
“Constance is your ally when it comes to parenting,” Quinn Wentworth replied. Here in his bank office, he looked a little less the duke, but no less imposing. “She is your ally in all things, or do I mistake the matter?”
Robert, who had only his father’s dubious legacy to go by for ducal conduct, studied His Grace of Walden at every opportunity. Walden excelled at interrogation by innuendo and raised eyebrow.
“You do not mistake anything, and yet, children…Neither Constance nor I had good examples when it comes to parenting. We are at sea, and the waters of uncertainty are vast.”
“The stars,” Walden said, pushing a set of documents across the desk, “are more vast by far. Navigate by the fixed beams of love and common sense, as my Jane does, and you will never go far off course. Sign at the bottom of each page, and you will become one of Ned’s small project investors.”
Robert dutifully signed, though there were a deuced lot of pages. While he scribbled away, Walden rose and wandered to the window, which overlooked the street running past the bank’s side entrance. Walden’s office was in a corner, the better to maintain surveillance over more approaches.
Robert knew exactly the sentiments that prompted such vigilance.
“Where the devil is Ned getting off to now?” Walden muttered.
Robert finished his task and joined Walden at the window. “It’s a pretty day. Maybe he’s taking a pretty lady for a drive.” Robert certainly hoped so.
“With a picnic hamper at his feet?”
A picnic hamper, two blankets, and a fiddle case. “I am told, emphatically and repeatedly by those expert on such matters, that you are the best bear in the Walden nursery.”
On the street below, Ned waited until a small boy in the bank’s livery clambered up behind the gig’s bench.
“What has my growling to do with the bank’s manager nipping out again during banking hours?”
“Your manager doubtless dealt with pressing matters before leaving the premises and has a competent assistant on duty. Moreover, Ned is putting in more hours for you and your customers than you do yourself, Walden. Let the man have some liberty.”
Walden glowered down at the street as if he wanted to commence growling and snarling. “Ned has done this more lately, and the inspiration for his truancy is a female.”
“Gracious me, not afemale. I must have a word with young Ned about the perils of consorting withfemales. Next thing you know he might be smiling a bit more, or—wecannothave this—laughing.”
Ned and his minion tooled off, and Robert wished them godspeed.
“He has serious responsibilities,” Walden countered, “and this particular female has the great misfortune to be the Earl of Woodruff’s daughter. Woodruff does not manage his affairs competently, which only inspires him to sponsor the more draconian measures in the Lords for taxing the shopkeepers and smallholders.”
Walden stalked away from the window, and it occurred to Robert that he was seeing his brother-in-lawupset. Interesting.
“That explains your antipathy to Ned’s courting aspirations,” Robert said, “because we all know children invariably take on a father’s worst traits. Excepting present company, of course.” He smiled sweetly to emphasize the point.
Had a ferocious scowl, did His Grace of Walden, but nothing compared to Constance when a painting wasn’t cooperating.
Walden resumed the place behind the massive altar to tidiness that served as his desk. “I liked you better when you lurked on the Yorkshire moors inspiring tales to frighten small children.”
“You have me confused with my dashing brother, but never fear. Constance and I would not miss summer at Rothhaven for all the family drama in Mayfair. You have to let Ned go, Walden. You’ve done a fine job with him, but these last few steps back to civilization he must make on his own.”
Walden twiddled a quill pen. “Ned is exquisitely civilized. Jane saw to that, and the battle took years.”
The battle was not yet over, not for Ned. The last, highest hill remained before him. “Jane put the manners on him, and between you, you’ve given him a few people to trust. He must learn to trust himself.”
