Page 58 of His Duchess' Mischief

Seth’s desk was a mass of papers and letters. Crumpled parchment littered the floor as he sat with his head in his hands, poring over what must have been the thirtieth letter from Gordon.

He had not anticipated how hard his task would be.

It was not only his quest to find evidence that had taken its toll, but simply reading Gordon’s words again felt like a knife in his heart.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the spiky hand, wishing that his friend was here now to explain himself.

He glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece.

It would not be long before they needed to leave for the ball, and he was dreading the event. Alicia had been avoiding him sincethat night in the attic, and it had been almost a week since he had last spoken to her.

Often, as he walked through the grounds or went about his day, he would hear or see her. She would either be talking to the kitten, which accompanied her everywhere, or speaking with the housekeeper.

Mrs. Timmons was rarely happy, and Seth could count on one hand the number of times she had smiled at him. Yet, with Alicia and that damned cat, his housekeeper appeared to have found two kindred spirits.

I have never seen her look so cheerful—it is infuriating!

Everyone in the household adored his Duchess. Not only had she befriended almost every footman and learned their names within two days, but she had also solved several problems he had been unable to fix for months.

One particularly tangled issue had been the poorly timed meals throughout the day.

Seth had come to terms with the fact that breakfast was often served late or cold when he was at home. It had annoyed him, to begin with, but he had not had enough time to resolve the issue.

Since Alicia’s arrival, he could set his watch by the time the meals were served.

Noting the change, he had enquired with the butler as to how it had come about.

It seemed that Alicia’s maid had befriended the cook and found out that her arthritic hands were slowing her down in the kitchen.

Without any hesitation, Alicia had hired another cook to assist her, and all the delays had been resolved overnight.

Seth wanted to be annoyed that he had not considered the solution himself, but, in truth, it was a weight off his mind.

The food had improved, he was always fed when he was hungry, and it had given him longer evenings to sift through the letters from his friend.

He smoothed a hand down the brocade waistcoat he had put on for the ball, checking the time again and wondering when Alicia would come down.

She might have been militant about mealtimes, but he was sure she deliberately made herself late these days to irritate him.

Rising, he buttoned his jacket, smoothed a hand through his hair, and walked to the door, hoping his appearance might hurry her along.

Before leaving the room, he glanced back at the chaos he had created. His desk was a disaster—quills, ink, and parchment scattered across the surface—and he still had found nothing.

I want to tell her about Gordon.

His lips thinned at the unwelcome thought, but he could not deny that it was true.

In thirteen years, he had avoided the topic at all costs, barely allowing himself to think of it let alone tell the tale to another. But with Alicia, somehow he knew she would understand.

She was kind, generous, and sensible, and had experienced her fair share of sadness.

He left the study, frowning as he checked his fob watch and glancing up the long staircase.

She may be all those things, but she is also very late.

If they did not leave within the next ten minutes, they would be on the other side of fashionably late, and Lady Gould would be most displeased.

He snapped his watch shut and jolted back as something brushed his leg.

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