Page 37 of Duke in Darkness

The clerk actually whimpered, then fled.

“Your Grace, please accept my sincerest apologies,” said Mr. Rundell, looking absolutely woebegone. “We failed badly in our duty of care.”

Lilian clasped her hands and met the jeweler’s gaze. “I daresay some training wouldn’t go amiss. A scar, limp, or speech impediment makes no less a person. And our returning soldiers deserve every courtesy. Heaven knows they have earned it.”

“Hear, hear,” said Xavier, his smile more a baring of teeth.

Mr. Rundell bowed low. “I can only hope His Grace will forgive such an appalling incident. Should he choose to return, he will enjoy a markedly different experience.”

She inclined her head. “I appreciate the sentiment. We shall see. Good day, sir, come along Northam.”

With a smooth twist of her skirts, Lilian left the shop on Xavier’s arm, her chin high. Her bravado lasted until she resettled herself on the carriage seat, then she slumped back against the soft leather. “Oh my.”

He applauded. “I thought that clerk might faint. Or piss his trousers.”

“Xavier,” she scolded, but her lips twitched. “I did have my hartshorn at the ready.”

“I think you just might master this duchess malarkey.”

A genuine smile broke out. “I hope so. I truly do. But please do not mention this to anyone. Ever.”

HE DESPERATELY NEEDED some fresh air.

Closing the estate ledger he’d been perusing with a thump, Gabriel shoved it to one side of his library desk. It was no bloody good. Without Fairlie to translate, and Lilian to ask questions, the columns and calculations all seemed to blend into each other. He’d wanted to be able to make some intelligent contribution to this afternoon’s meeting, but apparently that would be another too-lofty dream. Instead, he hauled himself to his feet, and made his way toward the back of the townhouse. The outdoor walled garden and fountain would offer some peaceful respite, even in cool and overcast weather.

“Excuse me, Exton?”

Surprised, Gabriel turned at his aunt’s soft, hesitant voice and smiled at her. “Back already from the museum? I thought you and Clarissa…had statues to inspect.”

“We did go, but it was very crowded. Too crowded to get close. So we returned. I wondered if, ah, you could spare me a few moments of your time? We have refreshments in my private parlor.”

“Of course,” he replied, baffled at her nervousness. “Lead on.”

Following the petite, brunette dowager duchess along the hallway, they then turned into a small but well-furnished parlor on the east side of the townhouse. Clarissa, his aunt’s longtime redheaded companion, already sat on a chaise with an embroidery frame beside her, and a full tea tray on the low table in the middle of the room.

“Tea, Your Grace?” she asked timidly.

Gabriel frowned. What on earth was the matter with the pair of them? “Please,” he replied politely, taking a seat in a high-backed chair beside the fireplace, while his aunt perched next to Clarissa on the chaise. They were both immaculately gowned and coiffed, but right now they looked more like two badly-behaved ensigns awaiting trial and punishment than a dowager duchess and a wellborn spinster.

Clarissa poured, but her hands were unsteady, and the sound of crockery bumping and teaspoons clattering was overloud in the heavy silence.

He took a sip of tea only to give them a moment to compose themselves, then he set the cup down and lounged back in the chair, as unthreatening as he could make himself considering he was twice as large. “How may I assist?”

Imogen took a deep breath and clasped her hands, much like Lilian did when anxious about something. “I have a, er, delicate subject I wish to broach with you, Exton.”

“Indeed?” Gabriel replied, trying not to tense. No good conversations started this way, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood for a maternal-type lecture on his quirks or habits, or marital advice.

“I…that is, we were wondering, er, if you might consider, ah, if you might permit…Clarissa and I to retire to the country.”

Stunned at the thoroughly unexpected direction the conversation had turned, he absently rubbed his jaw. While they weren’t blood-related, he had no other family than Imogen left, and the request stung. Surely she didn’t feel out of place here? He hadn’t witnessed any friction between her and Lilian as there could sometimes be between ladies when a title changed hands, in fact they’d appeared from the start to regard each other warmly. “You are unhappy?”

His aunt started to answer, halted and exchanged a long glance with Clarissa, then finally met his gaze once again. “Please understand, what I am about to say has nothing to do with you. Or dear Lilian. I know despite your, ah, inexperience, the dukedom is in good hands, and that she will be a most admirable duchess.”

Gabriel inclined his head, his stomach sinking further. “But…?” he prompted softly.

“I cannot remain in this house. It is far too painful. My boys…” she trailed off and paused to dab her eyes with a lace handkerchief handed to her by Clarissa, “…my boys loved it here. I did not. And now the memories, the shadows of the past are suffocating me. Sometimes I swear I hear them laughing. Clinking their brandy bottles. Smell the scent of their perfume and cheroots. And it is tearing me apart. Every day.”

He froze. “I understand what you are saying. Memories can be…unpleasant.”