Page 12 of The Moonstone Governess
She nodded. “Very well. Two o’clock this afternoon at the house.”
He smiled. “Until then, Miss Angel.”
Daire rose and walked to the tea shop door, sparing a greeting for Mrs. Halsey, who was quite the gossip but also baked the best pies he had ever tasted. “Have a good day, Mrs. Halsey.”
“And you, Your Grace. Will you and your party be stopping by later for tea and cakes?”
“Yes, as always. It is the high point of our day.” Which was not far from the truth, since little went on in this quiet village to amuse his friends. As for Daire, he enjoyed the quieter life and had never been much enamored of the typical London entertainments. After all, how many dinner parties, balls, musicales, and theater outings could one attend with the same people? How could one speak of the same trivial things, and listen to their infuriatingly petty complaints?
He had long ago lost any feeling of excitement in bedding the same bored ladies, most of whom were married and unhappy with their lives. Not a one would have traded their wealth and titles for a true love match, but that did not stop them from bemoaning their plight.
He looked back, sparing a glance at Brenna, who was chatting with Mr. Priam.
She was the romantic, impossibly idealistic sort who would insist on a love match.
Perhaps this is why she fascinated him—this refreshingly innocent hope she had of finding love. And yet she was also sensible, quite independent, capable enough to teach at an elegant girls’ school in Oxford, and not afraid to live on her own.
In her own way, Brenna was formidable.
He had yet to cross the street to return to the inn when another of the tea shop’s patrons hurried out after him. “Good morning, Lady Dowling,” he greeted her.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” She flashed him a seductive smile that did not impress him in the least. Many considered Lady Dowling to be the most beautiful woman in Moonstone Landing, and he had to own she was quite nice looking. But the lovely widow was also an opportunist and not above breaking up a romantic couple if it served her purpose. He had seen her in action trying to break up Viscount Brennan and Lady Chloe Killigrew—fortunately, a failed attempt on her part.
She smiled at him quite prettily. “A lovely day, isn’t it?”
Daire sighed, for he did not like the woman very much. Not that he had a conscience to speak of, but he knew love was something important and rare. He did not like to think it could be so easily destroyed by this temptress. “Yes, quite a pleasant day.”
She took his arm as they walked toward the inn, although he had no idea if this was her destination. “Will you be attending the assembly ball this evening?” she asked with a charming lilt to her voice.
He nodded.
“Excellent. I shall see you then. I was thinking of taking a room at the inn for myself.”
What was she suggesting?
“For tonight, Lady Dowling? Why? You live close by, and any of a dozen gentlemen would not hesitate to see you safely home.”
“Are you offering? I do so appreciate it.”
“Of course.” He cursed silently, for being seen in her company would not endear him to Brenna. She would never believe his actions were innocent. Not that his affairs were any business of hers, but the girl already thought he ran a brothel in his room. He did not want her mistaking a simple offer to walk Lady Dowling home as something more and refuse to lease her property to him.
Not that he intended to stay the night, which was obviously what Lady Dowling was offering. Now, if Brenna were to invite him, his answer would be quite different. But she would never do such a thing.
He left Lady Dowling in the dining room with the others of his party, who had not budged and were once again complaining they had nothing to do. “Really, Claymore,” Lord Danson drawled, “must you leave us when you see we are so miserable?”
“Alas, I must.” Daire retired to his suite to attend to the packet of business delivered yesterday by his man of affairs.
There was not much to do, for Daire’s detestable brother had not lived long enough to inflict much damage to the dukedom their grandfather had ruthlessly built up to be one of the most profitable estates in England. Daire’s brutal father had died shortly after his grandfather, to everyone’s relief, and Morgan, his reckless bastard of a brother, had inherited next.
The only good that could be said of Morgan was that he left the business matters to Daire, for the most part, while he wreaked havoc in his tenure as duke, running up gambling debts and siring a slew of illegitimate offspring, all but one of whom had died.
The boy, Matthew, was as wild as wolves.
Perhaps it was a mistake for Daire to bring his mother and Matthew here. Well, he had made the decision, and hoped it would not prove to be a bad one. The boy’s mother had died, too. Daire was the only one left to look after him.
He finished the most pressing matters and delivered his mail to Thaddius. “See that it is put on the next mail coach to London.”
“At once, Your Grace,” Thaddius said with an amiable smile.
