Page 22 of A Stroke of Luck
He gave an inward sigh, tempted to point out to her that as the manor house in which she now sat had never been hers in the first place, she could hardly complain of being in danger of losing hearth and home. However, after a moment’s consideration, he discarded the notion as a waste of breath.Reason was a foreign concept to his late mother’s aunt by marriage—as was the idea that her ducal relative was not personally responsible for any inconvenience that popped up in her life. Between the brisk efficiency of his man of affairs and the occasional draft from his bankers, he usually managed to deflect her more outrageous demands with a minimum of disruption to his own life.
Unfortunately, in this particular case, the involvement had been unavoidable.
This time, the sigh was an audible one. Much as the duke had been fond of his feckless Uncle Aubrey, he rued the day he had agreed to become involved in his convoluted personal affairs. Indeed, he did not even recall having done so! No doubt he had been preoccupied with his music, and had simply signed whatever paper had been waved under his nose.
That should teach him to pay more attention to practical matters, he thought wryly. Beginning with wills and travel plans.
“Prestwick!” Another loud greeting, this one a good deal more jovial than the first, interrupted the duke’s reverie. “Knew you would turn up to put an end to this unpleasantness!”
As he had done on more than several occasions in Town when his cousin, the honorable Harold Greeley had gotten himself into some tawdry scrape. The young man fancied himself quite a dashing young blade, with a flair for style and wit. He was sadly mistaken on both counts, thought Prestwick with a twinge of annoyance. Indeed, the duke went out of his way to see that their paths rarely crossed in Town.
“You see, Grandmama, I told you there was nothing to worry about,” continued the baronet, giving another hearty pump of Prestwick’s hand. “I say, Twick, is that a new variation of the Mathematical that you have devised?” He leaned in closer to inspect the snowy twist of linen. “Do promise me you’ll teach methe knack of it, eh? My friends will be green with envy if I show up sporting the latest style devised by the Distinguished Duke.”
Finding his cousin’s compliments as oily as the Macassar dressing that anointed his carefully combed curls, the duke recoiled slightly and disengaged his fingers from the young man’s grasp. “Harold,” he murmured in curt greeting. “I am here, but I really have no idea what I am expected to do regarding the problem. I could make little sense of the letter from Uncle Aubrey’s lawyer, other than to understand there is some question as to the inheritance.”
“Fool!”
Prestwick wondered whether the epithet was meant as much for him as his uncle’s longtime advisor.
“There should be no question at all,” went on Lady Farrington. “Harold is quite clearly the next in line, while this other … person is nothing but an adventurer, come out of nowhere to present a patently false set of marriage lines in hopes of stealing away what is rightfully ours.”
“Well, then, it sounds very forthright,” replied the duke. “Things should be resolved in a trice.”
As he turned to pour himself a glass of sherry, he noted that Lady Farrington shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Hmmph!You know the dratted legal profession. Those odious men are always wont to make things a good deal more complicated than they should be. You must do something, Prestwick.”
His brow shot up. “And what is it I am supposed to do, Aunt Hermione, that a phalanx of trained legal experts cannot be counted on to accomplish?
She gave an impatient wave of her hand. “Use your influence.”
By that, he assumed she meant money.
“After all, a duke wields a great deal of power.”
“Not the power to change the laws of the land,” he said quietly. “If there is a legitimate challenge, it will have to be settled in the courts.”
“But that is just it! The scoundrel is not legitimate! He is naught else but the by-blow of Henry’s younger son.”
“That should be easy enough to prove,” replied the duke. He took a sip of the sherry, savoring both the nuttiness of the amber spirits and his great aunt’s growing discomfiture. Although the names and nuances of her branch of the family tree were unfamiliar to him, he knew enough of her meddling ways to sense there was something havey-cavey at the root of this discussion. “Shouldn’t it?”
Her cheeks turned a mottled red, but at a warning cough from her grandson, she fell silent with a moue of displeasure.
“Actually, Prestwick, what Grandmama means is, we were hoping you might help settle this private family matter quietly, without going through a long ordeal in the courts.” He smiled. “I’m sure neither of us wants to get his hands dirty with the sordid details.”
“Yes,” snapped Lady Farrington. “We were counting on you to make them go away.”
“Go away?” murmured the duke, feeling a trifle confused.
She held up the piece of paper that had been resting in her lap and shook it in the air. “That is what I have been trying to tell you, Prestwick! They are coming here!”
What the devil was she talking about? he wondered.
Or, more precisely, whom?
Harold must have caught the crease of the duke’s expression, for he hastened to explain. “Our lawyers had naturally advised the firm handling Uncle Aubrey’s affairs to reject the other, er, claim out of hand. However, the upstart has apparently refused to take no for an answer. Grandmama just received a letter from our lawyers in London informing us that he is planning onarriving at Highwood Manor any day now, in order to present the so-called proof of his being next in line for the title and lands.”
“You cannot imagine how extremely vexing it is!” sniffed Lady Farrington. “And extremely awkward. Especially at this particular time.”
“And why is that?” inquired the duke, though he had a sneaking suspicion he was going to be sorry he asked.
