Page 6 of Taken By the Dangerous Duke

“And, what is that supposed to mean?” asked Margaret.

“I did not mean anything by it,” said Arthur. “Yesterday, I was not myself. Today, I am a different man. Or, slightly different.” Arthur knew that was mostly the truth. He still held the pain inside, only he could better control it now. The incident with the boy had given him an adrenaline rush, and he felt more alive than he had in a while.

“I find that people don’t often change,” said Margaret.

“Margaret!” gasped Cynthia.

Margaret shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the ground. When she looked back up at the duke, her eyes had a little more sparkle in them.

“I apologize too,” she said. “I was having a bad day, and you reminded me of someone else, and I can see that you are nothing like that. You did save the child, and if my… well, I might have misjudged you.”

“And I misjudged you,” admitted the duke. “Though, your tongue is still as barbarous.”

Margaret smiled this time. “It has gotten me into trouble before, and I fear that it has again. Can you please forgive me for what I said yesterday? My anger was not aimed at you, please believe me. I did pass your message onto my father, but I don’t want my family to be evicted because of my stupidity.”

“Are you the one who is making the noise?” asked the duke.

“Not at all,” she replied.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Well, as long as the noise is kept down. I strongly insist that you remind your father to listen to my words. I don’t plan on evicting anyone, but if the complaints continue, I will be forced to.”

“I will try to talk to him. No, Iwilltalk to him. I am sure that he sees the gravity of the situation and will see reason when he knows we are facing losing our home.” Margaret was silent for a moment as she thought it through. “Yes, I will make him see reason. This is different from… well….”

“Come on,” said Cynthia. “We should go before my father starts to wonder where we have gotten to.”

“Yes, of course.” Margaret looked back at Arthur. “Just give me some time, please. I will work all of this out.” She turned back to Cynthia. “I will work it all out.”

Arthur felt an understanding pass between both women, and he felt the futility that it conveyed. Without hearing it, he could feel that James Wellington, one of the men who rented his land, was a stubborn and prideful man. He was also an impolite one for not coming to the door and talking man to man.

“Take some time,” said the duke. “I am not going to evict anyone immediately.” He hated even having to think about it. If it were only Mr. Wellington, he could do it in a heartbeat, but this woman was struggling, and he longed to help her. “If he won’t listen to reason, you can contact me, and I will come and speak to him.”

“Thank you,” muttered Margaret, a woman beaten down by life.

“Come on, Margaret,” pleaded Cynthia. “We have to go.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Margaret before she turned and left with her friend.

He watched her walk, the floral dress fluttering carefree in the wind, contrasting the trapped woman below the fabric. He noticed the slight shake side to side of her rear, and he let a smile creep to his lips. She was a fine woman.

Arthur had evicted people before, and it had all been deserved, and it would again if he had to evict this family, but how could he do that to her? Just one small interaction and he had seen the deep sadness she possessed. She did not seem to have many things in life, and he might have to take whatever was left.

CHAPTER3

Thoughts Of the Past

“Go on, Duke!” came a call from the side.

Arthur smiled. The whist games here were a lot more vocal than the ones back in York, and you could be ejected from a house for calling out while a game was in process. The games here were held in the gentlemen’s clubs and not in residences, and you could still be ejected from the building, but not for calling out. The crowds were much more raucous here.

Arthur looked across at his partner, his best friend in the whole world, and tried to discern whether or not he should throw in the ace. Parker smiled back at him, the amusing smile that was permanently plastered on his face during any game of whist.

If Arthur threw the ace in, it was lost, but to who? Did he risk losing it to their rival players, or had Parker calculated that his jack would win it? There was no communication allowed, and Arthur tried to remember what had been played already. By his considerations, they had a slightly better than fifty-fifty chance. But, did Parker have the queen of hearts?

The duke took a swig of his cognac and threw the ace into the middle of the table. The people around erupted into impassioned shouts, and Parker slammed his hand down on the table three times with a large smile on his face. The fourth player threw in a seven, but it did nothing other than gift points to Arthur and Parker.

Parker led with the queen of hearts next, and the three tricks following were scooped easily, taking the majority of the points from the hand, and the match.

“Bloomin’ lucky,” muttered the fourth player as he rose from his seat.

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