Page 19 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Then Christian sobered. “Althea told us you wish to hire the agency. You don’t mind that Eleanora and I will be at the meeting?”

“Whether I mind or not is of no consequence. Althea set the terms. I will see you at three.”

Christian shrugged and returned to his wife. Damon tossed the half-eaten biscuit on the table, and one of his footmen swooped in to gather it up for disposal.

Damn his degenerate father for leaving him in this position. The next several days were filled with various meetings and conferences with solicitors and stewards, let alone preparing for the autumn session of Parliament. He had received the Writ from the Queen to take his place in the House of Lords on the first day of that session, Monday, October the third.

That carefree, devil-may-care life he led since reaching the age of majority was at an end. Nothing to be done about it. Not that he had been with a woman lately. While in Spain, he remained celibate. Hardly proper to be haunting Cádiz’s nightlife while visiting his mother. But he had not gone out to seek female company since returning, either.

Eleanora, Christian, and Althea headed toward the exit. Damon’s intense gaze followed them.

Turn around. Look at me.

But the headstrong Althea continued out the door. Perhaps he was deluded in thinking she was interested in him, even a little.

And it made her all the more incredibly appealing.

Chapter 6

When Althea returned home, she changed from the black gown into a more serviceable navy wool skirt and white blouse with a matching short jacket. Eleanora had changed as well. They waited in the study office with Christian.

Already the duke was late. How typical.

“What is going on between you and Chellenham?” Eleanora demanded.

“El,” Christian laughed.

“Well? He held her hand throughout the service. Althea walked down the aisle with him, and they were seen conversing confidentially at the reception. You know this will make the society columns,” Eleanora replied pointedly.

Althea groaned, covering her face with her hands. Her sister was correct; this could make the papers. And she should have thought of that before agreeing to attend the funeral. But she felt sorry for Damon and wished to support him. What a quandary.

“I have known Damon since we were boys at school,” Christian interjected. “Our friendship has ebbed and flowed over the years—not on my end, but on his. If he feels too much, he pushes people away, literally or by saying something insulting to make the other person retreat. Why put up with such a capricious person? Most don’t. It is why Damon has never had a serious relationship with anyone, including women. It is why he seeks his pleasures with strangers. No attachments of any kind.”

“Then why be friends with him at all?” Eleanora asked, clearly puzzled. “He is not worthy of your friendship and compassion and is thoroughly unlikeable.”

“It is a legitimate question. I can only speak for myself, but since I’ve known Damon for so long, I know there is goodness in him, although it is well hidden. He does not show that part to just anybody. Why be friends? Because I value our relationship and accept him, flaws and all. And because of those sporadic moments when Damon does show emotion,” Christian replied. “That brief glimpse is so radiating you want to bask in it. Because you know there is much more beneath the surface.”

What her brother-in-law disclosed about Damon was how she felt when with him. Althea knew that more was secreted away, and she wanted to be the one to—what, precisely? Tear off those masks? Peel back those onion-type layers? Or whatever metaphor fits. The new duke possessed a fair number of protective coverings.

“Damon is complex, to be certain, but he has changed in the past year,” Christian continued. “Don’t get me wrong, he can still make cutting remarks to anger the most serene of personalities, but he has made more of an effort within our circle of friends. A small beginning but a good one. In fact, that variation began when he met you, Althea.”

Her eyes widened. But before she could even contemplate that remark, let alone form a response, Mrs. Bartle entered the room.

“The Duke of Chellenham,” she announced.

Damon strode into the room with two footmen following behind, carrying a large hamper. “Set it up there, on that table,” he ordered.

Christian rose and waved his arm at the footmen busily laying out the food. “What is this?”

“I thought we might be a bit peckish after those dreadful proceedings, so I brought along some of our favorites.” He handed his coat to Mrs. Bartle. “My good lady, if you could bring tea, it would be greatly appreciated.”

The housekeeper blushed. “Right away, Your Grace.” She hurried out the door.

When the footmen concluded setting out the repast, Damon said, “Return to Clarendon Place and have the driver come here in an hour.”

Once the servants departed, Althea made her way to the table. There were platters of sandwiches and sweets. Along with the food were matching plates and cups and saucers. There was also grapes, sliced apple, and assorted cheeses. In truth, she was rather famished and—

Sitting on one of the platters were toasted bacon and cheese, her favorite. Her heart beat a little faster at the discovery. As Christian related, Damon said or did something thoughtful—now and then.