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“The sapphire will do, I think,” he murmured. “Thank you, Wilkins.”
As the man nodded, turning away to place the tray down, Daniel took the chance to move out of view of his image in the glass. Further perusal of himself would only hinder his ability to calm his nerves. Yet his leg didn’t appreciate the sudden movement; it gave another protesting twinge of pain. Quite without meaning to, Daniel grunted.
Wilkins, having turned back to Daniel with pin in hand in precisely that moment, caught sight of his employer’s unguarded reaction. He paused, holding the jewel to his narrow chest, emotions at war in his angular face. And then, the words bursting from him in a jumble, he said, “Are you certain you don’t wish me to massage the muscle, Your Grace? It may help—”
“No.” Mortification boiled up, making the word come out more sharply than he’d intended. Silently cursing himself as Wilkins drew back, Daniel gentled his tone. “That is, it isn’t that bad, truly. I merely stepped on it wrong.”
“If you’re certain.”
“I am,” Daniel replied with a firm smile, hoping the man didn’t hear the lie in the words.
The valet, however, didn’t look as if he believed Daniel one bit. If anything, it seemed that hurt was now mixed liberally with the nervous worry that strained Wilkins’s features. But he merely nodded and quickly went back to work.
Daniel, for his part, wanted to feel relief that their relationship, beginning to tilt dangerously into a more personal one, had been quickly righted. But only a regretful ache rose up in him. He knew Nathaniel and Wilkins had shared a close bond, and Daniel had seen signs the man would be only too happy to be a friend to Daniel. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Letting someone in was just too damn hard.
Just as Wilkins was putting the finishing touches to Daniel’s ensemble there was a quiet knock on the door. The valet once more answered it with alacrity. A young maid stood in the hallway.
“I’ve been sent to guide His Grace to the drawing room,” she said, scanning the room with an air of anticipation. Her gaze widened when she saw Daniel, her jaw dropping open as she took stock of him, from carefully brushed hair to highly polished shoes.
Gritting his teeth, Daniel accepted his cane from Wilkins. Still refusing to look at his reflection—the young maid was gaping at his scars enough for the both of them—he set his shoulders and made for the door. “I thank you for your escort,” he murmured.
Face flaming, no doubt at being caught staring, she dipped into a deep curtsy and spun about. Instead of walking at a normal pace, however, she moved almost comically slow, like some demented bride, shuffling one foot forward, then bringing the other up to meet it before moving that one on. Daniel tortured himself for a moment, wondering what stories the servants had passed among them to prompt such a reaction. Had they talked of him in pitying tones, the lamed duke who so ill fit his new position? The Ugly Dukeling.
He frowned. Such musings weren’t doing him a bit of good and would make the coming evening, not to mention the impending months of torture as he attempted to secure a duchess, much worse than they had to be. Heaving an imperceptible sigh, Daniel attempted to focus on the positive aspect of the situation; the girl was giving him extra time to traverse the long halls, after all, and he should be grateful he didn’t have to push his leg. But frustration had already laid claim to him, made even worse when he considered just who would eventually take over the dukedom should he fail to find a wife and produce an heir.
His cousin’s face flashed through his thoughts, souring his stomach. Gregory had always been a wastrel and a bounder. Taken in by Daniel’s parents when his own had created a scandal so horrendous it had resulted in the death of one and a flight to the Continent of the other, he had grown up alongside Daniel and Nathaniel, raised as if he were the duke’s own son.
But that had not stopped Gregory’s bitterness at his lot in life from poisoning his heart with anger, no matter that he was loved by his extended family. As he’d grown, that anger had manifested itself in cruelty toward Daniel, fights with the duke and duchess, and a bitter rivalry with Nathaniel that had lasted well into adulthood, resulting in Gregory returning to Brackley Court only when he needed something of the dukedom. Like a vulture looking for scraps. If their father had not forced a promise from them to watch out for Gregory, Daniel rather thought he and Nathaniel would have been all too happy to never have to deal with their cousin again.
Since Nathaniel’s death, however, Gregory had begun to tighten his circle on Daniel, visiting their country seat in Cheshire County much more often, eroding what little remaining confidence Daniel had with well-placed comments aimed to do the maximum amount of damage. It was a painful reiteration of the abuse he’d heaped on Daniel when they were children, before Daniel had finally escaped by going off to war. Ironically, the effects of that decision were what now fueled his cousin’s increased, though much more slyly executed, maltreatment.
Gregory’s last visit, however, had completely undermined Daniel’s brittle self-worth, and in the worst possible way.
“I saw Erica recently. She’s fairly glowing these days. But then, that’s no surprise, seeing as she’s expecting Thrushton’s heir.”
Daniel had frozen, pain slamming into him, nearly as potent as the bullet that had ripped into his leg. Erica was expecting?
It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it had. But he had still been able to recall the time not so very long past when he’d dreamt of Erica expecting a child—his child.
“Oh! But do forgive me,” Gregory had said with a horrified look that did nothing to hide the slyness behind it. “Of course you wouldn’t know of it. I hope I haven’t given you too much grief. I know how difficult it was when she broke things off with you upon your return from the Continent.”
It had been glaringly obvious what his cousin had been about, of course. But that did not ease the sting of it, nor quiet the voices in Daniel’s head that said if a woman who had claimed to love him could not stand the sight of him, then surely no one would.
But no, she had never loved him, he reminded himself brutally. She’d made certain he was aware of that fact upon his return home, that her father had forced her into pursuing him. And that she could no longer pretend even for his sake now that Daniel had returned as less of a man.
But he would not think of her now. For, quite the opposite of what his cousin had no doubt intended, his gleeful flaunting of Erica’s impending motherhood had only fueled Daniel’s determination to finally cede to his mother’s increasingly anxious entreaties that he find a wife. He could not see a man such as Gregory, someone who so clearly reveled in the pain and discomfort of others, become duke.
He and the maid had just reached the bottom of the grand staircase—at this pace they would be lucky to reach the drawing room by Christmas—when he spied a woman heading toward them at a swift pace. And not just any woman, but Mrs. Kitteridge. He fought back a groan. Of all the people in this house, he was looking forward to dealing with her the least. An inconvenience, for certain, as Lady Tesh—and his mother, too, as he’d learned from the quiet conversation he’d had with her on the way to their rooms—had decreed they were to spend a good portion of their time together.
Instead of her wide-eyed gaping upon meeting him, however, she wore a bright, if slightly strained, smile now.
“Lillian, thank you so much for guiding His Grace down. I’m afraid, though, that Mrs. Hortenson needs you quite urgently in the kitchen. I shall show His Grace to the drawing room.”
The girl dipped into a deep curtsy, with a long look at him no doubt meant to catalogue every awkward inch to regale the servants below stairs with, before she scampered off.
And Daniel and Mrs. Kitteridge were left quite thoroughly alone. Or as alone as any two people could be in a house with so many servants about.
He cleared his throat, turning to face the woman, half-prepared for the same shock in her eyes as before. But though there was a decided strain in her round face, her eyes were somber with regret. “I must apologize, Your Grace, for the way I treated you upon our initial meeting.”
