Page 27 of His Ruined Duchess

Turning toward Lydia, the Duke frowned. “I do hope she will be all right.”

“Of course!” Lydia grinned, waving off the man’s concern. “She merely indulged in too much of the delicious, clotted cream at supper. It always does this to her.”

Selina bit back a snarky laugh at the thought of the clotted cream being her mother’s sole concern. She’d always been one for a port and had enjoyed several glasses last evening, an uncommon but not unheard of experience for the woman.

“I am happy to hear that.”

Breakfast continued with a surprising level of small talk from the Duke. Selina found herself utterly confused by his sudden change in demeanor. When Lydia and Myra had finished and asked to be excused, the approval didn’t come from him. He’d turned to Selina and cocked his head ever so slightly.

“Oh,” Selina quickly righted herself, “of course. You’re both dismissed. I shall be along shortly. Though I will remind both of you that the tutor comes today.”

Her sisters nodded at her, and while Myra smiled genuinely, Lydia had to force a grin at the thought of another tutoring session. It was required for all ladies looking to better themselves and uphold their family names, but Lydia was far from studious. Myra, of course, could already speak circles around their tutor.

He was not overly fond of the habit.

This left the Duke and Selina alone at the breakfast table. Silence crept in around them, but after only a short time, the man sighed, standing up from his seat and approaching her. Selina pulled her invisible armor up tightly around her, refusing to allow the man to slip into his consistently brusque conversation skills.

“Your Grace?” She peered up at him from her chair.

As he stood there, the man sucked in a shaky breath, his eyes closing briefly before he met her gaze once more and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Selina,” the Duke shook his head, “Your Grace, I would like to inquire about obtaining your assistance for a matter that has been brought to my attention.”

He had used her title. He had corrected his informal use of her name that she had not given him permission to use. What was going on? Had he slipped his own heavy dose of port into his teacup this morning?

“I… What is it that you require, Your Grace?”

The Duke flicked his stare down once more then eyed her, his expression a mixture of begrudging acceptance and persistent annoyance.

“I require your assistance with familiarizing myself with the ways of the ton, with the appropriate etiquette that is required from one of my standing.”

Her mouth dropped open. There was little in this world that could have shocked Selina more than the Duke, Hugh Bosley, asking for her help and about behaving himself in front of the other aristocrats of all things.

“I do not understand. You had indicated previously that you would not ‘bow’ to the ways of the ton and those of upper standing that do not speak their mind.”

He looked frustrated, and in truth, Selina could have simply said yes. She was enjoying the man’s turmoil, however. It felt quite good to watch him squirm just a bit. He had done it to her enough times. It felt right that she should be afforded the same opportunity.

“Yes, I did say that. However, I understand that I will require this skill if I am to help you all find matches.”

The front door sounded with a solid knock, and Selina knew that it was the tutor coming to teach the girls. Lydia and Myrahurried down the hall moments later, hesitating at the door to the breakfast room as she spoke with the Duke. He didn’t seem to notice them, or at the very least, he did not care.

“I am also not enough of an arse to not ask for assistance when I am in need of it.”

Tiny gasps echoed from the hall beyond them, and Selina stood up from her chair to shoo her sisters away. They giggled, commenting quietly about the inappropriate word, and Selina ensured they were off with their tutor before returning to the Duke.

“That might be a suitable place to begin, Your Grace.” Selina raised her brows at him, smiling slightly even as she looked at the man questionably. “It is inappropriate to use such language and particularly not in front of young people.”

The Duke cleared his throat, casting an unreadable glance at the door to the hall.

“I see. And that rule is…”

He let the question hang, and Selina gestured toward the door. This would be a conversation best suited to another location. The study would do nicely.

“Appropriate language in mixed company.” The man followed her, but Selina wasn’t so blind with shock and interest that shedidn’t notice the tension lingering in him. “And the appropriate locations for particular discussions.”

That evening, Selina found herself at the small desk in her bedroom once more, penning a letter that she hoped—unlike all the others—would be replied to.

Dearest Ethel,

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