Page 31 of Dare to Love a Duke
“We’re not accepting visitors for weeks.” Surprising that Norley, who knew quite well the rules for mourning, would suggest a caller during this time. “Is it a business matter?”
“In a manner of speaking, Your Grace. Forgive my importunity, Your Grace, but may I discuss this with you in the corridor?”
Maeve answered Tom’s questioning look with a shrug. Baffled, Tom followed the butler from the room. He couldn’t fathom what visitor was so pressing that Norley would break from custom and permit entrance to anyone. The mystery urged Tom into motion.
Norley moved down the corridor, until they were some distance from the parlor.
“If it is business,” Tom said brusquely as he planted his hands on his hips, “have Mr. Ludlow take his particulars and make an appointment.”
His secretary could make the necessary arrangements with his schedule.
“Forgive my insistence, Your Grace,” the butler said, “but this visitor is quite important. And, might I add, your father always kept this appointment.”
Tom frowned. “My father?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Today is the allotted day that your father met this person. The twenty-first of each month.”
“This is the only time I’ve heard of it.”
During the final weeks of the old duke’s illness, Tom had been thoroughly briefed in all the responsibilities he would soon shoulder. The attorneys and men of business had been quite exhaustive as they enumerated his future duties, down to the semiannual meetings with his private tobacconist.
No one had mentioned an important visitor who arrived on the twenty-first of every month.
“Fine. Show him up.”
There was a brief pause before Norley spoke. “Your father always met this person in the larder.”
The larder?
“And,” the butler continued, “I strongly urge you to do the same. If I may be so bold, Your Grace.”
Curiosity jabbed at him, urging him to investigate this mysterious appointment that his father kept every month in the larder.
“Very well.”
“Do you need directions to the larder, Your Grace?”
“I should say not.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “No crock of jam or loaf of bread was safe from my midnight raids.”
“Cook always baked extra bread just for you, Your Grace.”
“Did he?” Gratified, Tom lifted his brows. “Be sure to increase his wages.”
“Very good, Your Grace.” The butler bowed and backed away, but Tom was already in motion.
Servants bowed and scurried out of his way as he strode belowstairs, his feet quick from curiosity. The lower part of the house was less known to him—it had always caused a stir whenever he’d been down here during regular hours. But Northfield House was still his home, and he found the larder quickly.
Wary and slightly annoyed at the visitor’s intrusion, Tom used his knuckles to push the door to the larder open before stepping inside.
He started in astonishment when he found not a man, but a woman. She wore a crimson redingote and matching bonnet, and her slim back was turned to him.
In response to this unexpected surprise, his heart sped. Instinctively, Tom shut the door. If there was some kind of trouble, he needed to protect his family from it.
“Madam,” he said sternly, “explain yourself.”
The woman turned around, revealing a face of bold beauty. Her gaze met his, and they both jolted.
He rasped, “Lucia?”
