Page 25 of My One and Only Duke
“Yes, Mr. Penrose,” the footman replied. “At once, sir.”
The footman—Ivor or Kristoff, Joshua could never tell them apart—sprinted for the steps that led belowstairs, though the closest decanter was two doors away in the library.
“Not the morning room,” Althea said, drawing her fingers from Joshua’s grasp. “I’ll be in Quinn’s study. Fetch Constance and Stephen.”
She swished away, then stopped ten yards down the corridor, her hand on the door latch. “He’s truly alive?”
Joshua closed the distance between them, because an uncertain Althea was painful to behold. “Quinn’s alive, giving orders to the warden and guards, taking half a dozen common prisoners out with him, and threatening riot.”
Althea rested her forehead against the door, more weakness than Joshua had ever known her to show. “He likely beggared himself for his freedom. Money well spent, I say.”
“There’s more,” Joshua said, “and it’s not bad news.”
Constance came up the corridor. “He who shouts in a house of mourning had better have a good explanation.”
“Quinn’s alive,” Althea said. “He’s coming home.”
Constance studied the parquet floor, a complex mosaic of oak. “He outbribed somebody. Thank God and the greed of the average Englishman.”
Stephen wheeled himself down the corridor, Duncan trailing behind. “Quinn’s alive? He’s cheated even the hangman?”
“Barely,” Joshua said, “but one of the guards had a very sharp knife when a knife was much needed, and Quinn’s only slightly the worse for his ordeal.”
“Let’s discuss this in the study,” Althea said.
They filed in, a radiant footman bringing up the rear with a tray bearing a decanter and five glasses.
“Half holiday belowstairs, Ivor,” Althea said. “A double round for everybody in honor of the glad tidings, senior staff outside the kitchen may have the evening free. A cold collation for lunch will do.”
Ivor set the tray on the low table and bowed. “Very good, ma’am. Felicitations on the wonderful news.”
His accent was so thick—vonderful nuis—as to make the words nigh unintelligible, but his smile needed no translation. The servants’ hall would host a near-orgy, though somebody would remain sober enough to answer the bellpull.
“Burn the crepe,” Constance added, “or donate it to the poor, but get it out of the house before Quinn comes home.”
“And the armbands,” Stephen added. “Go naked from the waist up if you must, but get rid of the armbands.”
Duncan, ever a practical fellow, busied himself pouring the brandy. He was a cousin at some remove, recruited to manage Stephen, but he had the Wentworth dark hair, blue eyes, and height. He’d come when needed and Quinn considered him family, so family he was.
While Joshua remained a business partner.
“A toast,” Althea said, “to Wentworth resilience.”
To Wentworth money, which was a result of that resilience. Joshua had no doubt that Quinn’s fortune had come between him and death—this time.
“To Wentworth resilience,” Joshua murmured. “Or should I say, to the Duke of Walden’s resilience?”
Stephen set his glass on the tray. “He got the title too? I told you lot it was real, and you wouldn’t believe me. If Quinn’s a duke, then I’m a courtesy lord, and you have to listen to me now.”
“If you’re a lord,” Constance retorted, “I’m a lady, and so is Althea. You’ll have to learn a whole new set of manners.”
Stephen doubtless already knew all the protocol, all the forms of address. As fast as Duncan threw subjects at him, Stephen gobbled down the knowledge. The boy was what Quinn could have become, had Quinn been allowed to think about anything but survival.
“Speaking of ladies,” Joshua said, “we’d all best have a seat.”
Duncan brushed a glance at Stephen, who lived half his life seated. The women arranged themselves on the sofa, leaving the wing chairs for Joshua and Duncan. They might have been any well-to-do family enjoying a glass of cordial on somebody’s birthday.
“You’ve said there’s more,” Althea prompted. “What could be more than a reprieve from death and a lofty title to go with it? Doubtless Quinn will have to take some neglected estate and put it to rights, probably a half dozen of them, but that’s a stroll down the lane for him.”
