Page 45 of The Texan Duke
“You may go, Elsbeth,” the duchess said, waving her hand toward the closed door. “I don’t want to hear anything else from you. What a blessing Gavin never had to witness your betrayal.”
That was too much.
“Your Grace, I wasn’t certain if Connor meant what he said. I didn’t even know if he could sell Bealadair.”
One of Rhona’s delicate arched eyebrows moved upward.
“Connor, is it?”
Elsbeth could feel her cheeks warm.
“He doesn’t like being called Your Grace. I think it’s because he’s an American.”
“He called you Elsbeth last night. Did you give him leave to do so?”
Elsbeth smoothed her hands down her skirt, wishing a few magical words would come to mind to explain. Nothing she said would make a difference. When the duchess decided to be angry, no one—not even Gavin—could alter her mood.
She opened the door, glancing back once at the duchess, seeing in that proud, immobile figure a woman she’d never understood. Elsbeth wanted to ask what it was about her that seemed to summon the woman’s antipathy. Had it been that Rhona was forced to take an eight-year-old child she hadn’t wanted into her home? Or was it the fact that she and Gavin had a bond that hadn’t existed between Gavin and his daughters?
She didn’t know, but for the first time she was glad she was going to have to find another place to live. A place that would be home, as Bealadair hadn’t been ever since Gavin’s death.
“Is it true?”
Felix appeared in the corridor as if by magic. It wasn’t magic; it was just that Bealadair was so big and Sam hadn’t gotten the lay of the land yet.
“Is what true?” he asked.
“That the fool is going to sell Bealadair.”
Sam bit back his first retort—that the only fool he saw was Felix—and said, “I take it you’re referring to Connor?”
Felix nodded.
He disliked being waylaid in a corridor, let alone by Felix. He’d formed an impression of the young man the night before at dinner that wasn’t flattering. Felix was a blowhard, a man who evidently disliked who he really was and therefore assumed talents he didn’t have.
Most of the time he could ignore men like Felix. Unfortunately, Felix was now making that impossible.
“I think it would be best if you ask Connor his plans,” he said.
“I’m asking you.”
He tried to be on his way, but Felix moved to stand in front of him. Short of bodily removing the man—and if Felix remained obtrusive he just might have to—he was forced to listen to him.
“He can’t sell Bealadair. Or the land.”
He really didn’t want to have to talk for Connor. The man was more than capable of explaining himself, but it looked like he was going to have to have this conversation whether he wanted to or not.
“I believe he can,” Sam said.
“So it’s true? What about the family? What does he expect us to do? Bealadair is the only thing the McCraights have in their favor.”
“That’s hardly the way to talk about your wife’s family.” And, if he had it right, the people who’d supported Felix since his marriage. “It’s my understanding that the previous duke was very generous in his bequests.”
“If he’d only given me an inkling of what he was planning, I would have been able to talk him out of it.”
“Talk him out of dying?” Sam said. “Now that’s a trick.”
“Out of signing away everything to a stranger from Texas.”
