Page 16 of The Not So Perfect Duke

“And who knows, a summer romance may flourish between Damon and Althea. Nothing like falling in love to set a person on the correct path,” Gideon teased.

If only such would occur. For Olivia wanted nothing more than for Damon to find love, peace, and happiness.

* * *

The message arrived two days later, stating the date and time of the Duke of Chellenham’s funeral. Since Christian and Eleanora were attending, Althea would travel with them. She wore the same black gown she had worn to her father’s funeral nearly four years ago, and Althea did not care a whit if it was considered out of style.

As they entered the Southwark St. Saviour church, Althea marveled at the gothic arches and spires, for its medieval roots were clearly visible.

A man stepped forward. “Your Graces, Miss Galway, if you would follow me.”

They were escorted to the front of the church, where Damon stood in the first pew. He stepped forward and held his hand to Althea, and Christian and Eleanora followed. Once seated, Althea was astonished to see that he still held her gloved hand.

“Thank you for coming,” he whispered in her ear.

It was challenging to be heard over the organ as the sound reverberated off the stone walls.

“As you see, I am the only one to represent the Cranston family,” Damon continued in a low voice. “My aunt, my father’s older sister, married an American decades ago and hasn’t returned to these shores since. I do not know her or her children. My grandparents on my father’s side long passed, and no one from my mother’s side is attending, obviously.”

“I don’t mind,” she whispered in reply.

As Althea started to move away, he briefly nuzzled her neck, sending fissions of awareness all through her. His enticing scent enveloped her senses, a mixture of his soap, cologne, and his own earthy essence. How tempting it would be to crawl into his lap and bury her face into the curve of his neck. It was inappropriate to experience such a wanton sensation while at a funeral. Reluctantly, Althea shook such feelings away and turned her attention to the front of the church.

The fancy oak coffin was carried in by appropriately somber pallbearers. How strange Damon was not one of them. Wasn’t the son expected to act as such? What did Althea know of peerage funerals?

The rest of the service passed in a blur. The church was barely half full, and no one spoke except the Anglican priest, although Althea wasn’t sure what went on in church services since, while growing up, her family hardly ever attended except at Easter and Christmas and not every year.

As they stood for the final prayer, Damon finally released her hand. Everyone stood silent as the coffin was carried out, and the pews started to empty, beginning with theirs. Damon took her arm and slipped it through his.

Walking behind the coffin with the new duke, wouldn’t that stir speculation? She could hardly decline, for it would draw even more unwanted attention, so Althea allowed herself to be led down the long aisle.

“The graveyard on these grounds has been closed since ‘53, but they are making an exception for my father. He will be buried next to his parents in the Cranston crypt,” Damon murmured close to her ear. “Because of it, there is no need for an elaborate procession with hired mourners, horses, and a fancy hearse. Saved a few pounds there.”

Althea glanced at Damon, but his expression showed no emotion at all.

After the priest gave the final blessing at the crypt, a man stepped forward and said, “There will be a brief reception in the church library. Tea and biscuits are available.”

“Good Lord,” Damon muttered, “I just want this over. Will you stay for the reception?”

“Yes, of course.”

Some mourners departed, but the rest headed toward the upstairs library. It was a serene spot, with walls covered with books and sunlight pouring in through the stained-glass windows.

Damon gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I must greet the mourners; you will stay with Christian and Eleanora?”

“Yes, of course.”

Asher Colborne, Baron Wenlock, and his wife, Lady Chastity, came toward Damon just as she walked away.

Damon seemed oddly detached. As if he was not really here. But what did she know of him? Althea knew enough that he wore multifarious masks to hide how he truly felt, and the newly minted duke wore one now.

Their first consultation occurred this past autumn at The Rakes of St. Regent’s Park’s meeting place on Albany Street, where she and Eleanora took on Christian’s case. Damon had been the Marquess of Brookton, then. Althea had been struck by Damon’s handsomeness, but as soon as he opened his mouth to speak, it ruined the illusion, and her dislike germinated. He had acted boorish, dismissing the usefulness of women running an investigative agency.

That should have ended any interest right there. The next time Damon and Althea met was shortly thereafter at Cleveland Street. Before Damon had arrived for the meeting, she said to Eleanora: “Outwardly, the man is too perfectly gorgeous. Inside? I will lay coin there is an empty pit, with an unquestionable rot of what is probably left of his soul.”

Once he had entered the room, Althea interviewed him rather pointedly about his personal life because it had a bearing on the case. And, truth be told, she was curious. He acted detached and dismissive. Until she began probing him deeper. Damon became agitated. One could even say emotional.

“As far as my preferences, there were sexual activities in my past where men were participants. If that makes me this bi-sexual that you described, so be it. If you must know, I prefer women, but I also do not deny myself any pleasure.”