Page 6 of Tamed By her Duke

“He wishes to see me tonight?” she asked.

Her father was no stranger to late nights, though Grace had long since learned not to comment on it. Doing so would spark lengthy speeches about how laziness led to poverty, and thus to degradation, which was why he, as the Duke of Graham, remained committed to ensuring that England never lost its prosperity as the leader of the world.

Grace, who preferred to enjoy a cup of tea and a spot of toast before being drawn into unwinnable political debates with her tireless father, had learned that, when it came to speaking up about her father’s schedule, discretion was the better part of valor.

“Yes, my lady,” the footman confirmed. “He was very clear that he wished to see you the moment you came home.”

Grace sighed. She’d have much preferred to speak to her father in the morning—or, at the very least, to get out of her constricting ballgown before being drawn in to whatever her father had in mind. But she knew that if she didn’t follow his commandments to the letter,shewould deal with lectures and snide comments about dutiful daughters for the remainder of the week, while the staff would be forced to contend with theduke giving irritable orders at all hours as his foul mood would keep him awake and working late into the night.

“Of course,” she assured Percy, who visibly deflated in relief at her words. “I shall go to him at once. I gather he’s in his study?”

She scarcely needed the confirmation; the Duke of Graham was nearly always in his study. He treated his desk chair, a grand, oak thing, like a king might his throne—it was from there that the duke moved the complicated chess pieces of his political career. He was, even Grace would admit, very good at it. There was no Parliamentarian in England who didn’t hope to get the Duke of Graham to support his bill.

Heading upstairs, she knocked at her father’s study door, then waited upwards of a minute for his permission to enter. She struggled not to grow impatient while she waited. Her father’s work was important, to be certain, but it galled when he demanded an immediate response from her and then forced her to wait.

Despite her efforts, her toes were starting to tap their own irritated beat in her dancing slippers when her father’s imperious voice rang out. “Come in!”

She entered the study, then was forced to stand waiting for another twenty seconds or so while the duke finished scratching out a comment on whichever document currently held his attention. When he finally glanced in her direction, he gave her a smart nod of satisfaction.

“Ah, Grace. Good. Please take a seat.”

She obeyed, though the tight stays of her ballgown were not particularly made for sitting. She thought longingly of her comfortable nightgown, so close, and yet so far out of her reach.

“Are you working on anything interesting this evening, Father?” she asked politely—though it was a distraction so she could shift surreptitiously in her seat until she found an easier position. If he saw her squirming, her father would frown over this “unladylike” behavior.

He glanced down at the paper in front of him, then folded it away and slid it into the top drawer of his desk, the one he always kept locked. Privacy, he’d always insisted, was the undisputable privilege of a gentleman.

“Not terribly interesting, no,” he said offhandedly. “Trying to sell a property that has been irksome. No, what I’ve called you for tonight is much more important. First, where were you tonight?”

Ooh, Gracehatedwhen he did this. He would say he had something to discuss, then quickly divert to a different topic. If she pressed him, he would feign confusion—after all, he was just asking about his only daughter! She knew this was a diversion, however; even when not actively engaged in political matters, her father could not turn off his politician’s mind. There was something he wanted from her answer, she just didn’t know what thatsomethingwas.

“The Tuwey ball,” she said mildly. “I think I mentioned I planned to attend earlier this week, but perhaps I didn’t.”

There. That protected her, at least somewhat, from accusations that she was negligent in not informing her family of her plans, whilealsodid not sound like she was accusing her father of having forgotten something.

It was a delicate balance, she thought wryly, living with a proud man.

“Hm,” the duke said unhelpfully. “And how was the gossip?”

His tone was deceptively light in the way it got when he was building up to something. She refused to let her face move even an iota.

“Comparatively mild.” This was honest, she supposed, if only just. “There was some new gentleman in town that had everyone all tied up in knots. I have become old news, thankfully. I think they shall all forget about me soon.”

This part was not even a truth on a technicality. She did not think she’d be forgotten. Nor, she suspected, did her father.

He surprised her, however, by not calling her out on this fib.

“Ah yes, the Duke of Montgomery.” One of these days, Grace told herself, she was going to stop being surprised that her father seemed all-knowing. Not today, alas, but surelysomeday.

“Just so.”

“Did you meet him?” the duke asked his daughter.

“We were not introduced.” Again, Grace was back in the realm of technical truths. When, she wondered, had she become so stealthy?

Well, that was a stupid question. She’d become stealthy when she’d been abducted and essentially shoved into a cupboard for three years. Amongst the Packards, the trio of nuisances who had detained her all those years, being stealthy was the difference between scant mouthfuls of bread and a full stomach. Once, Grace had managed to filch three whole baked potatoes without getting caught. It had been a marvelous week, as far as such things went in that hovel.

What was the real question, she supposed, was why she couldn’t seem to shake the habit. Maybe it was her father’s political acumen finally coming home to roost in his offspring. Lord knows how the duke despaired of Grace’s brother Evan ever following in his Parliamentary footsteps.

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