Page 11 of A Bride for the Icy Duke
Defiance flashed in the older woman’s eyes. “Your Grace, I hardly see how you think I would know the answer to that question.”
“No, of course not.” He pinched his nose again. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw another of his past mistakes coming to haunt him. His wife. Helena. The former Lord Blackmoor, Lydia’s father. So many mistakes. Each one catastrophic.
“Very well,” he muttered. “I will continue waiting here. Let her know that I wish to breakfast with her.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Jones curtsied, though with rather less enthusiasm than she had in the past, and closed the door behind her with a definitiveclick.
Alexander took another sip of coffee, trying to stem his impatience. Of course it made sense thatshe, his estranged wife, would not be overly eager to see him again. But at the same time, he had business to return to in London. His clubs were expecting him back in a matter of days, and he had promised to attend a masquerade next week. Not to mention a meeting with his man of business to discuss his investments and estates; for his own survival, he kept busy.
These periods of nothing, where his mind was free to wander, he inevitably thought of other things.
His childhood in this house.
Helena.
The loss that still clawed him open, as terrible and ruinous as addiction…
The door opened again, revealing the butler. “Ah, Philips,” Alexander said in relief. “Is Her Grace—”
“You have a caller, Your Grace.”
A caller. Sonot, presumably, his wife, but someone else. But a distraction, in whichever form it came, was welcomed. He rose immediately.
“Show them to my study,” he declared, already moving. Perhaps it was his steward or one of his tenants. He would receive themthere and discuss whatever needed to be discussed, and he would be able to stopthinking.
But when he reached his study, he found an entirely different room awaiting him. Before the arrival of a woman in his life, his study had been neat, perhaps even a little plain. Heavy wooden furniture from the last century, and two rather stern paintings on the walls. A bookcase on one side.
Now, it looked as though a whirlwind had passed through, making a mockery of the room’s former purpose. Novels cluttered his desk; pairs of gloves, not necessarily matching, had been deposited over the back of the high-backed chair, and a new, elegant armchair had been placed before the fire, only to then be covered in various papers. Why she had chosen there instead of the desk made very little sense.
He would not be having his meeting in here, evidently.
When he left the room again, he found Samuel Godwin, his old friend, approaching down the corridor.
“Not here,” Alexander said by way of greeting, though he wanted to sigh in relief at the sight of a friendly face. “We can talk in the drawing room. Why have you come?”
“Why?Because I knew you were returning to our part of the country, and I thought I would drop by.” Samuel doffed his hat in a low bow. “Your Grace.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is that you are in a bad mood even upon seeing me.” Samuel followed him into the room. “Are you telling me you are in this terrible mood despite your wife being the best-liked lady in York?”
Alexander felt a little flare of irritation he couldn’t place. “It’s hardly a varied society here.”
“And yet, she has been making the most of it. And, as I’m sure you’ll know by now, quite the prettiest girl I have had the pleasure to lay my eyes on.” Samuel winked, and Alexander felt another rush of irritation.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been usurping me,” he muttered.
“Me?” Samuel grinned and finally sat, resting his ankle on his knee. “Not I, Rayment. You see, I have no strong wish to lose my head. You are not a man prone to sharing. Besides, I doubt she would look twice at me.”
Alexander inhaled sharply, searching for patience. “It hardly matters. I’m going to take her back and get the marriage annulled.”
Samuel’s teasing smile fell. “Tonight?”
“Yes. Why do you think I traveled here at such a godforsaken time? The sooner we return to London, the better.”
“But Rayment.” Samuel leaned forward, a frown on his face now. “She is holding a soiree tonight.”
“My wife?”
