Page 48 of Earl on the Run (The Duke's Estates 2)

“Your Grace!” Marston—the valet—betrayed into the exclamation, looked mortified.

“And yet also a diverting game,” said the duchess.

It seemed the Terefords, pictures of modish elegance, might be amused. Jack couldn’t really tell. The English nobility seemed to be trained from their earliest years to reveal only what they wished to.

“We’ll leave you to settle in,” said the duchess. “I’ve ordered dinner in half an hour. Unless you would prefer another time?”

He was hungry. “That will be fine.”

She smiled at him. The duke gave him a nod. And they left, trailed by an escort of “their people.”

When the door closed behind them, Jack relaxed for the first time since he’d stepped into Ferrington Hall. There was no one watching him. He was not shadowed by a cloud of mysterious expectations. For a time, at least. Also, he could send all these people away if he wished to. He could live on bread and cheese with the Rileys.

But that would not mend his fences with Harriet Finch.

Jack took a deep breath. She was his reason to be here. He must remember that.

He looked more closely at the grand chamber. The room was spacious but shabby. Windows looked south and west. The blue hangings were frayed and faded in stripes by the sun. Bits of gilt had fallen out of the trim around the fireplace. The furnishings were solid but old. It didn’t look like a place to be happy, he thought. And then wondered where that notion had come from.

The atmosphere seemed stifling suddenly, though the ceiling was high. Jack went over and opened one of the casements. Outside air flowed in, carrying the scent of flowers from somewhere in the neglected garden. Neglected. The whole place felt as if no one had cared for it in a long time. He had an odd flash of sympathy.

Jack wondered about the man who’d lived here before him—his great-uncle, the previous earl. Why hadn’t he taken better care of his home? Jack’s eyes narrowed. Had the Earl of Ferrington been one of those impoverished aristocrats mocked on the stage? Had he stepped into the shoes of such a caricature? Lady Wilton hadn’t mentioned money. In fact, he knew next to nothing practical about his new status. That wasn’t like him. He was known for sharp analysis and decisive action, not for running from challenges. He’d let Lady Wilton’s scolding rattle him. That had to stop.

He breathed in the soft air. He’d taken time to recover from the disappointment his father’s remaining family presented. Well and good. More than that, his flight had led him to Harriet Finch and let him make her acquaintance in easy circumstances. Until they became distinctly uneasy. Perhaps it had all been for the best. With a determined nod, Jack turned away from the window.

He joined the duke and duchess at the appointed time and sat down to a meal that was far better than anything Jack had eaten in his life. Each dish he tried was rich with subtle flavors, a revelation on the tongue. “Your cook travels with you?” he asked.

“Not usually,” replied the duchess. “We’d heard there was no staff here.”

“Syllabub, my lord?” asked Bert, the footman, popping up on Jack’s right to offer a dish.

Suppressing a start, Jack said, “What is it?”

“A creamy dessert,” replied the duchess.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” said her husband. “Sickly sweet.”

“It is not.”

The duke grinned at her. “One of Cecelia’s indulgences,” he added.

“Shouldn’t you have said ‘many indulgences’—to achieve a proper effect?” she replied.

“Not at all. Exaggeration quite spoils commentary.”

“Am I some weighty issue then, to warrant commentary?”

“More a work of art,” the duke replied.

They laughed at each other. Jack had heard no sting in their exchange. They seemed to enjoy the teasing, and he got the impression of a couple very happy in their marriage. It didn’t seem fair they should have a high position, striking good looks, and marital felicity.

The meal concluded, and the servants withdrew. “Are all thesemy lords andYour Graces necessary?” Jack asked when they were gone. “It becomes oppressive.”

The duke looked surprised. “They’re customary terms of respect.”

“Are they?”

The other man paused. His expression grew wry. “Well, customary at any rate.”

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