Page 2 of When her Duke Returns
“And you are?” the Duke asked the man with no great gentleness, stealing glances between his gatekeeper and the house beyond.
“You have taken the words from my mouth, sir,” the butler replied.
“Well,” Alexander began, knowing fully well his vexation was palpable, “I am Alexander Rowe, the Duke of Redgrave, and I am most certain this is my seat.”
The look the squat, balding man gave him—one of total disregard and suspicion upon his hearing his name and title—made the Duke question his own existence.
“Most certain?” the butler asked, clearly trying to stall the affair. “So, not entirely certain, then?”
Alexander chewed at the inside of his mouth to stop from pushing the man out of the way. He was, it must be said, the most insufferable butler Alexander had ever met… And this meant without a doubt his equally difficult grandmother had hired the Butler and was sitting within the house.
“Look here, my good man! If it does transpire that I am Redgrave, and you have forbidden me entry from my own estate, how kindly do you believe I shall react when I reseize control over the house and its staff?”
“I would imagine one would most certainly be quite discontented with me.”
“Most certainly? So notentirelycertain then?” Alexander repeated in jest, and the butler moved aside slightly. The Duke pressed forward and entered Rowe Manor.
The house was familiar though perhaps less lavish in décor than he remembered it. He was led to the drawing room in total silence, nearly crashing into the presumably new housekeeper as she rushed up the stairs.
The butler, who introduced himself as Garvy, walked ahead of him, stealing glances at the Duke whenever the butler thought the Duke was not looking. The butler had told the Duke that his grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, had taken up residency at Rowe House in recent times, and that she would be the first toassesshim.
The tall, gilded door to the drawing room opened, and the butler announced with no great confidence, “the Duke of Redgrave, Your Grace.”
His grandmother was sitting at the back of the room next to a stately piano in an oppressive, plush armchair that seemed to swallow her small frame. She had been tall and wiry in her youth, he had been told, but time had withered her significantly. Her countenance was no less lovely for her age, her hair pinned around her head in delicate silver curls. Her eyes were a steely grey, and they looked upon him now with all the shock in the world.
“Alexander?” she asked. The name seemed to knock the air from her lungs.
He took a hesitant step forward, placing his travel trunk upon the Brussels carpet. “It is I, Granny. And by God am I relieved to see you!”
She shifted in her chair. “You shall come no further forward until we have put all suspicion to rest.”
“Suspicion, Granny?” Alexander could not contain his surprise. “What on earth do you mean?”
Before he could press the issue further, two sets of hurried footsteps floated in from the waiting room. He turned and caught sight of the housekeeper and his mother. She looked exactly as he had remembered her: graceful and fair with hair as dark as night. Her eyes went wide as she looked him over.
“What is the meaning of this, Garvy? What sort of madness have you brought upon us?”
Garvy shook his head, flustered. “Your Grace, I—”
“Oh, stop tittering, the both of you,” the elder Dowager Duchess commanded. Her cane tapped loudly onto the floor as she rose. “We must let the young man speak before we will him away.”
“I should think not, Elara. I would have him removed from this house at once!”
“Lest you forget this ismyhouse, Rosamund, and I say he will stay until this business is resolved.”
Alexander could not stand any more bickering. “I think you are both mistaken!” he bellowed in disbelief. “First, I am refused at the door, and now, I am treated as a stranger by my own family. I know not what has overcome both of you in my time away, but I will not stand for such quarreling inmyhouse!”
The room fell silent, and Alexander reeled his anger back in. He looked to his mother, who held a hand to the doorframe to keep herself grounded. “Perhaps we might try again, Mama. It is I, Alexander. I have returned to you.”
His mother refused to meet his gaze, her chest heaving in her purple gown as she struggled for breath. “I will not believe it until I see your face, scoundrel!”
Alexander hesitated for a moment and then with a groan began untying his bandages. His wounds had largely healed since his injury, but he had thought it best to conceal his appearance until he had arrived in London. He had dared to look at himself only once since it had happened, and the large scar that had been drawn from his left temple to his mouth had made him feel sick to his stomach.
The white dressing hit the ground with a light thud, and he raised his mangled face to look at his mother. Her face twisted in recognition then disgust and pity. Her brows knitted together, and with one, breathy call of his name, she fell to the floor.
* * *
"Tighter, Honora!”
