Page 45 of A Stroke of Luck
“Zara …”
His low whisper of her given name caused her head to jerk around.
“You are mistaken to think we have nothing in common,” he began. But before he could say more, he caught sight of Lady Catherine relinquishing her seat at the pianoforte to Miss Featherstone and turning his way.
With a silent curse of frustration at the young lady’s sense of timing, the duke was forced to cut short his words. “However, it appears we shall have to postpone a discussion of the matter until a later time.”
“I fear that you are mistaken to think that because we both like music and art, there might be anything else we share,” replied Zara in a shaky whisper. “So I don’t see that there is any need to continue the discussion.”
The approach of Lady Catherine forestalled any further comment on his part. Zara, in turn, slipped deeper into the shadows and returned to a protracted study of the portrait by Reynolds.
“Prestwick?” The soft trill of his hostess’s tone, which he had always found charming, now grated on his ear. “Papa wonders whether you will do him the honor of partnering him at the card table.”
“Yes. Of course,” he gritted out, allowing himself to be led away.
Honor. Duty. Manners.
The devil take it.He never thought the day might come when he would say it, but the truth of the matter was, he was heartily sick of being a proper gentleman.
Twelve
“Yes, I am quite sure.” The duke’s man of affairs lay down a sheaf of papers. “The documentation is all there.” A folded piece of foolscap was added to the top. “Including an affidavit from the vicar who officiated at the ceremony. Despite his advanced age, he is quite sound of mind, as the two witnesses will attest.”
“Excellent work, “ murmured Prestwick, after a quick examination of the paper. He then passed it on to the two legal men.
“Hmmph.” The beefier of the two took a moment to adjust his spectacles. “We, shall, of course, wish to read through everything very carefully before coming to a final decision.”
“Of course,” agreed the duke. “By all means take your time.”
“But if it is as your man has said,” added the second man. ”Then there seems to be no question as to whether Master Greeley is to be the next Baron Kenworth ”
Prestwick rose, as did Zara and Nonny.
Lady Farrington, her face white save for two mottled spots of color upon her cheeks, took a moment longer to push up from her chair, assisted in sulky silence by her grandson. Once in thehallway, however, she recovered enough from the initial shock to jab at the air with her lorgnette.
“Unnatural man!” she choked. Though her glare encompassed all three of them, it was clear that the worst of her ire was clearly reserved for Prestwick. “Sending your own secretary to ferret out hearsay, and to what end? To ensure that dear Harold, who is a true gentleman, is shunted aside from the title on a … technicality.”
Her sputter grew more pronounced. “I would have thought that blood would run thicker than the seawater that brought these interlopers to this door.”
“Did you, Aunt Hermione?” replied the duke. “Well, it appears you were mistaken.”
”Indeed I was! In the past, you have always been most accommodating to your family, as you should be. But of late you have changed.”
“Yes, I must say, Twick, we expected … rather more of you,” whined Harold. “Surely there is still time?—”
“Donotcall me ‘Twick,’ you obsequious little mawworm.” The duke’s thunderous order sent his cousin slithering back a step to take refuge behind his grandmother’s ample bulk. “It is a familiarity that is used by only my closest friends. Among which you are most definitely not numbered.”
Lady Farrington did not resemble a mawworm so much as a fish out of water, her mouth hanging agape and working in the most unflattering manner as it struggled for air.
“That you would think I would ignore the truth is an insult to my integrity. And as for being interlopers, it is you two who appear to be here under false pretenses. I would suggest, as a matter of courtesy, that you pack your bags and take your leave by this afternoon. The new Lord Kenworth is no doubt too well-bred to toss you out on your ear, but I am not.”
Watching indignation fade to apprehension as they slowly comprehended the consequences of incurring the duke’s wrath, Zara almost felt sorry for them. Most people in their position would have behaved with the same greed and selfishness, she imagined, fighting tooth and nail for what they believed was rightfully theirs. Indeed, the one truly surprising show of character had come from the duke.
She ventured a quick peek at his rigid profile. She had, from the first, suspected that there was more to the man than his stiff bearing and starchy manners had indicated. That he was no shallow, supercilious aristocrat had become apparent over the course of their acquaintance, but no matter how closely she had studied his subtle shifts of expression of late, she was not at all sure she could see beneath the layers of self-imposed duty and obligation to gauge the true state of his feelings.
“And if you don’t move a little faster, you will find my boot on your arse,” muttered Prestwick at Harold’s slowly retreating backside. “Indeed, I would be doing the world of fashion a great favor by splitting the seams of those detestable yellow pantaloons.”
Nonny grinned. “I would give a monkey to see the pompous peacock with his drawers exposed, sir.”
