Page 29 of The Duke of Desire
Townsend didn’t sit in one of the pair of chairs. He clasped his hands together, appearing agitated. “You were there this afternoon at the shuttlecock court.” The statement held just the slightest edge of a question, as if he wanted confirmation.
West frowned, finding his almost-query strange. “Yes, I knocked you to the ground, if you recall.”
Townsend massaged his forehead with his fingertips. “Oh yes, yes.” He dropped his hand to his side. “My apologies. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite myself.”
“So I noticed.” He didn’t have to know Townsend well to realize the man had completely lost his mind for a moment. “What happened?”
Townsend’s gaze snapped to West, growing bright all of a sudden. “You were there. You heard what Pippin said.”
Actually, he hadn’t heard exactly what the man had yelled. “He taunted you somehow.”
“He called me a milksop.”
That was it? “I’ve been called far worse,” West said.
“To your face?”
By his own mother. “Yes.”
Townsend’s frame sagged. “What did you do?”
“I laughed. What else can one do?”
Townsend’s eyes narrowed with indignation. “Call the person out.”
West studied him for a moment, thinking he might have one of the shortest tempers he’d ever encountered. “I suppose you could, but unless you’re the Marquess of Axbridge, I don’t recommend you try that. Actually, he doesn’t do the challenging, so never mind.” West shook his head and turned back to the topic at hand. “What sort of advice are you seeking?” He was now relatively confident it had nothing to do with sex, for which he was thankful.
With an exhalation, Townsend’s frame drooped once more. “I suspect that today’s occurrence might have cast me in a poor light. What can I do to safeguard my reputation?” His use of the word “might” made it sound as though he wasn’t sure there’d been a negative effect.
West folded his arms over his chest. “Well, what’s done is done. You need to recognize that you acted rashly, and you need others to know you recognize that. Starting with Pippin. He apologized on the court. You did not. Have you rectified that?”
“Why should I?” There was that flash of mild temper again.
“Because you threatened him.” Did he not see that he was in the wrong? “If you hope to court Miss Forth-Hodges you’ll need to apologize.”
Townsend blanched. “You’re right, of course. I’m afraid I can be a bit…passionate sometimes.”
That was one way of putting it, West supposed.
“I shall apologize before dinner,” Townsend said, sounding a bit resigned. “I don’t want to ruin my chances with Miss Forth-Hodges. I appreciate your counsel.”
West walked the viscount to the door, glad that at least Miss Forth-Hodges could entice him to behave as he ought. “If I may offer another piece of advice? Try not to take life—or yourself—too seriously. Find joy wherever you can.”
Townsend turned and gave him a thoughtful stare. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
West opened the door and watched him leave before closing it once more. He went back to the desk and immediately thought of the duchess again. Shoving her to the recesses of his mind, he sat down and drafted a short missive to Miss Breckenridge. Satisfied, he folded it and called for Seaver, who immediately left to arrange its delivery.
West stared at the crumpled paper on the corner of the desk and narrowed his eyes.Magno cum gaudiowas the Clare motto—with great joy. West had adopted this as his personal creed. What good was this life if you didn’t make the most of it?
This was precisely what he hoped to convey to Miss Breckenridge. She needed joy in her life. And he was damn well going to give it to her.
All during dinner, Ivy had tried not to send too many glances toward Clare—West; could she really call him that?—but it had been difficult. He was too damnably attractive. Garbed in a black coat with a dark green waistcoat, he was the epitome of a well-dressed gentleman. As the ranking person in attendance, he sat next to Lord Wendover and was doted upon by everyone around him. He was the epitome of an Untouchable.
Only, he was within her grasp. At least temporarily.
He’d sent a note inviting her to meet him in the conservatory at eleven. And it had been written as a charming invitation:
My dear Miss Breckenridge,
