Page 65 of Plucked By the Orc

“How could you tell as much if she was behind her fan?” Duncan snapped.

“It’s obvious she must be upset, isn’t it? Naturally, I respected the young lady’s wishes. But surely you can reveal something of it, your grace?”

“Now, vicar,” Albion said, back to the merry presence he typically cultivated in company. “You can’t mean for my brother to betray a confidence, can you? You being a man of God, and what have you?”

No one else would have caught on to the sarcasm in Albion’s voice, but it made Duncan smirk. While orc and human society shared some similar notions of God, he and his brother had found that among the humans, those who spoke most vociferously of their religion and connection to their Lord were often the same ones who acted in ways counter-intuitive to the wishes of a peaceful deity.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. I didn’t mean to suggest such. It’s only that Felton Maberly has taken an interest, as well as Lady Bellingham. They are all friends, and I believe the marchioness asked for further information because poor Felton is so smitten he has told his mother he plans to propose.”

The crystal flute shattered in Duncan’s hand.“That damnable pepper!”

“Oh, dear!” the vicar declared. But Lady Bellingham’s staff, familiar with humans imbibing alcohol past their limits and the messes that occurred as a result, knew what to do. A footman rushed to his side. With a duster and bin, the boy quickly sweptthe fragments of glass from the floor while Duncan mumbled his thanks.

“What my brother meant to say,” Albion said smoothly. “Is when does young Master Felton intend to do so?”

“Why, within the next few days, I should imagine,” the vicar said. “But I would not think he should do so without learning more about the young lady’s provenance. His mother wouldn’t permit it.”

“And the scoundrel does not dare to go against his mother’s wishes,” Duncan growled.

“I’m sorry?” the vicar said, flustered.

“What my brothermeansto say,” Albion cut in, “is that he’s sure Felton Maberly sets a store by his mother’s opinion. As he should.”

“There are limits to that,” Duncan said under his breath. “As there bloody well should be.”

“Precisely,” Vicar Swinton said, with a nod of approval in Albion’s direction. “This is the problem, though. I cannot tell either Lady Bellingham or Lady Maberly anything more about the countess Certainly not why she withheld her title when they met. And for whatever reasons there may be behind that, it would certainly not do for Felton Maberly to enter a marriage contract without an explanation. No matter how graceful the lady is, I must strongly advise against it.”

Duncan drew a swift breath. He could no longer tolerate the situation. Ultimately, it was Miss Gabbert’s choice to marry, and if so, to whom. Even if it meant she would accept Felton Maberly or some other young gentleman entirely. Her decision. No one else’s. Not Duncan’s, not the vicar’s, and certainly not the likes of Lady Maberly.

“Blast it all, man,” he boomed. “Have you no honor in your heart?”

The vicar startled. A few ladies near them turned, eyes wide.

“If Felton Maberly wishes to propose,” Duncan said. “He should be free to do so as the woman should be free to entertain his proposal. I cannot betray her secrets, but I will vouch for her. You may tell both Lady Bellingham and Lady Maberly as much.”

He should never have presumed to bring her here as a countess. Not because she was unequal to the challenge. Only because Iris never needed to be anyone other than her own glorious self.

“Any gentleman should be honored to call such a lady his wife.” Duncan tried to suppress a growl, but based on the vicar’s expression, he didn’t quite succeed. “She is the epitome of intellect, elegance, and beauty. Whether in this world or any other. If any man should dare to say differently, I shall gladly call him out on the field of honor and settle the matter with pistols. Tell me I’m wrong. Let anyone present tell me I’m wrong.”

The silence was stunning. He espied a trio of women staring at him and whispering behind their fans. Well, let them whisper. What did it matter? What did anything matter but for the opinion of Iris Gabbert?

Duncan cleared his throat, finding it now difficult to remain steady on his feet.

“Forgive me, vicar,” he said weakly. “I did not intend to raise my voice. I apologize for not retaining command of my temper. Albion, please see that our companion gets home safely.”

With that, Duncan left before anyone could tell him anything else that would cause him to lose his composure. But for all that he had spent years building an unimpeachable reputation among theton, he would sacrifice it gladly in the name of defending Iris Gabbert. Countess or not.

Iris would always be the woman he loved.

Chapter Twenty-One

Restless and unable to stop ruminating over what had happened, Duncan decided to take a walk behind the grounds of his townhouse. Light sprays of snow fell from the sky, catching light from the full moon and illuminating his steps well enough. Apple in hand, he followed the narrow, cobblestone pathway to the stone-cut mews house where he and his neighbors’ horses were stabled.

At least he had Wintermist. He had won the wager fair and square. Albion would host Mother’s 60th. Duncan had turned Iris Gabbert into a lady. A countess, even. Albion wouldn’t contest the result. For all his brother wanted Wintermist, Duncan doubted Albion ever wanted to win the bet. That would have meant humiliation for Iris, and Albie wasn’t one to revel in another’s pain.

Albie.Dear God. Next thing he knew, he would introduce himself as Dunc.

And yet he understood that Iris had never needed to change. Not in any way that mattered. As far as Duncan was concerned, the woman was an angel from heaven. An angel he likely didn’t deserve. An angel who wouldn’t want him.

---