Page 40 of The Duke’s Hidden Runaway Bride

It was only an instant, but Adrian saw the fear.

Then the smile returned.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“You will.”

Adrian left him standing beside the fire.

He did not look back.

Daventry House was in splendid disorder.

The Twelfth Night party would be that very evening. Chandeliers had been lowered for cleaning, mirrors polished, furniture shifted, and fresh greenery brought in to replace what had browned. The scent of beeswax polish and hothouse hyacinths fought for dominance in the hall. The kitchens roared below stairs. His mother stood in the middle of the drawing room, directing footmen, florists, and musicians as though she commanded a small, mutinous army.

She saw Adrian and dismissed everyone within earshot. “Where have you been?”

“With Markham.”

“Then you know how shamefully he has been treated.”

“I know how shamefully he has behaved.”

The Marchioness stared at him.

Adrian had imagined this conversation through half the night. In none of those imaginings had his mother looked suddenly old. Firelight caught more grey in her hair than he remembered from Michaelmas.

“What has he told you?” she asked.

“Very little. Ophelia James told me what he said of her before the wedding. I believed her. I confronted him today and heard enough from his own mouth to end any doubt.”

“Ophelia James.”

“Yes.”

“So it is true. Elise has been hiding her.”

“With Miss James’s permission, I can tell you the whole of it.”

His mother sat.

Adrian remained standing until she gestured impatiently at the chair opposite.

He did not repeat every word Markham had used. He told her enough. He described the false promises made to creditors, the threats levelled at Josiah, and, worst of all, the contempt beneath Markham’s intention to marry a woman whose money he wanted and whose heritage he despised.

His mother resisted each point.

Crispin had been angry, and young men often spoke carelessly among friends. Ophelia must have misunderstood him. Josiah James had pursued the match as eagerly as anyone, a tradesman looking to marry his daughter to a peer. A frightened girl’s report could not outweigh years of knowing a man.

Adrian did not charm her away from anger when she turned it upon him. He answered each objection plainly.

At last she said, “You have known Crispin since Oxford.”

“Yes.”

“I have loved him like a second son.”

“I know.”