Page 26 of Most Unusual Duke

Osborn ranged around the edge of the study, as much as he could given his relative size (substantial) to the room (bijou).

“As we have established, there is no one here to do anything.” The duke was like a dog with a bone. “Unless Todd is to accomplish it himself.”

“He is not,” she said as she dipped the pen in the crystal inkwell and made another note. “Mr. Todd’s most pressing task is the refurbishment of the ducal suite, Your Grace.” She glanced at the factotum. “If you would inform us of your progress?”

“We have taken the utmost care with the belongings—” Todd began.

“Get rid of them,” Arthur said. A beat of silence greeted this outburst.

“If they are packed, they will be ready to be stored,” Beatrice said. It was clear the ducal suite held bad memories for Osborn, but there was no call to do away with its contents. “How fortunate that at least one section of the attics is currently undersubscribed. Please continue, Mr. Todd. How may we speed along the process?”

“While the maids are acting with as much alacrity as is possible, the suite is only just habitable at this stage.”

“I would think the roof of greater urgency.” Arthur opened the curtains draping the lone window and closed them again. At least they did not tumble to the floor.

“I agree, ” Beatrice said. “Mr. Todd, I recall asking you to investigate the nearby villages to see if any need gainful employment.” She treated His Grace to an inquisitorial eyebrow arch. “What think you, Osborn?”

“You need not speak around me, Madam, as Todd is at both our disposals.” He faced her down, and she had the unexpected urge to laugh. He knew she was running roughshod over his ill-tempered dictates, and now she knew he knew, and it was… It wasexhilarating.

“It is time to swell our ranks,” she said. Osborn acknowledged what must have been a victorious look on her face with a tilt of his chin. “If only there was someone nearby who had a surplus of footmen.”

Eight

A mere hour by horseback due east, another ducal breakfast was underway in Lowell Hall, very much later than that enjoyed by the denizens of Arcadia, as this couple looked to be continuing as they’d begun their married life, that is to say, by lingering abed. Well, the bride had; the groom had his duties as Alpha to see to and had only taken his seat when she came down.

Alfred rose as his blushing bride entered the room.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied, to the amusement of the footmen. “I do apologize for my lateness.” Mr. Coburn rushed to pull out a chair opposite Alfred, who shook his head and indicated the seat to his left.

“I had business in the farthest field,” Alfred said as she took her place. “I am only lately returned myself.”

The usual complement of footmen ringed the wall, and Coburn tended to the couple’s needs, freshening pots of tea and keeping a weather eye on the sideboard’s offerings, taking his responsibilities as ducal butler seriously indeed. As Alfred’s mate pushed eggs counterclockwise round her plate and failed to conceal another yawn, he opened a letter weighed down with royal seals and made himself familiar with its contents.

“Osborn has wed the Marchioness of Castleton,” he announced.

“Beatrice?” Felicity made to freshen her tea but was unequal to their butler’s attentiveness. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Coburn. I was unaware she was being courted.”

“No one knew I was courting you.” He smiled at her and leaned an elbow on the table to gaze at her. She reproved him with a mere glance, and he sat up properly.

“No less a personage than myself knew you were courting me,” she countered, and the footmen snickered. “Who is Osborn?”

“Still not up on yourDebrett’s?” Alfred buttered half a scone and put it on her plate. “Arthur Humphries, Duke of. I knew him growing up, he lived in Court with Georgie, big lad, always on the fringes,” he said. “He was present at our nuptials.”

“I did not notice, I regret to say.” They exchanged a fulsome look, and Alfred considered convincing her to delay attendance upon her duties at Templeton Stud.

“Did you not? What held your attention, I wonder?” The footmen giggled, and even Coburn cast aside his dignity enough to crack a smile. “His Highness demanded Bates’s company once our vows were said,” he continued. “Perhaps he had been called upon to witness theirs. I, too, had my attention elsewhere.” He reached back to stroke the spot at the top of Felicity’s hip that carried his mating mark.

She batted him away with her napkin. “Does he enjoy a similar, er, status beyond his ducal duties?”

“He is an Alpha,” Alfred said. “Although he is not doing his duties. His father was challenged for primacy over their clan and lost. It is past time Osborn took up his mantle.”

“Challenged?” Felicity warmed up his tea and administered the requisite two spoonfuls of sugar.

“A usurper of his species fought for the right to command the Osborn holdings. It is an old, old custom ofversipellianlife. George’s great-great-grandfather upheld such hidebound notions, but they have largely been abolished.” Alfred waved away the kippers proffered by Coburn at his mate’s minute flinch.

“Largely?” Felicity added jam to the scone, cut it in half, and put the larger piece on Alfred’s plate.

“Most completely. As our kind have become civilized, so have many of our ways, but not all.” Alfred applied himself to his meal.

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