Page 41 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“I? What has it to do…”

“You know very well what I mean.”

Cecelia stood straighter, resenting the old woman’s dismissive tone. “I assure you that I do not, Lady Wilton.”

“A woman can always maneuver a man if she makes the effort.”

“Indeed? Can you give me lessons?”

“Don’t be insolent with me, girl!”

“I was quite sincere. Wasn’t I, Harriet?”

Harriet started, surprised to be brought into the conversation. Then she bit back a smile.

Lady Wilton scowled at all of them. “This is an outrage! Tereford has important matters to attend to. He shouldn’t be playing with swords, and he certainly can’t go off sulking like a spoiled child.” She fixed her intimidating gaze on Cecelia. “I expect you to do something about this.”

“Then I fear you will be disappointed, ma’am.”

“Miss Impertinence! How dare you speak to me so?”

“I did not mean to be rude. Simply clear. Tereford is not my responsibility.”

“You’ve decided to take the prince then?” asked the old woman. She shrugged. “I’m not certain that is wise. He comes from a small, insignificant country. Nothing to compare with an English duke.”

Cecelia had to struggle with a flood of anger. “There has been no occasion for adecision. Nor do I have any expectation of making one. Ofanykind.”

“He hasn’t offered? After the way he hovers over you? I know foreign manners can be different, but that is outside of enough.” Lady Wilton appeared quite indignant on her behalf.

“Like a gourmand debating his choice in a chocolate box,” said Harriet.

“What?” James’s grandmother swiveled to frown at her.

Harriet looked as if she wished she’d kept silent.

Lady Wilton examined her from head to toe. “Improved expectations donotgive you a license to say whatever you please,” she said. “Still less to be offensive.”

“She wasn’t,” said Sarah.

This brought Lady Wilton’s glare over to her. “In my day, girls did not speak unless spoken to. And often not even then!”

“So you were silent and demure?” asked Cecelia. “I beg your pardon, but it is difficult to picture, ma’am.”

Lady Wilton gave a snort of laughter. “That is neither here nor there. We were speaking about James. You must find him and bring him to me, Miss Vainsmede. I insist!”

“I cannot promise that,” replied Cecelia. She sketched a curtsy. “We must not keep you from your walk any longer, ma’am.” She moved away quickly and managed to ignore Lady Wilton’s burst of indignation.

That did not end the matter, however. Cecelia was asked about James over and over through the remainder of their outing, as if she was some sort of authority on his movements. And his absence was the talk of the party she attended that evening.

By the end of the following day word had spread everywhere that the new Duke of Tereford had disappeared from London society.

The gossips went wild.

Eight

James Cantrell, at the end of his first month as one of the highest-ranking peers in the realm, sat in a house crammed with broken-down furnishings and decided that his life had become a rather similar mare’s nest. Somehow, steps that had seemed reasonable one by one had led him to that blow at the end of the fencing match. And its consequences, which he must of course face. Just not now.

He’d discovered one functional bedchamber on the first floor of his great-uncle’s town house. It contained the customary furnishings, not an insane, dusty tangle of discarded items. The single servant had clearly cleaned and aired it out before she departed. The sheets on the bed were fresh, and whatever clutter Uncle Percival had left was tidied away. The previous duke’s clothes remained in the wardrobe, however, and his shaving gear on the washstand. James hadn’t brought himself to use either. He still wore the shirt, coat, and breeches in which he’d fought the disastrous bout. His cheeks rasped with whiskers. His hair had been left to its own devices.

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