Page 63 of My One and Only Duke
Chapter Sixteen
“I give Quinn a head start,” Duncan said, shrugging into his greatcoat. “Then I go to the bank in his place. Most will assume Quinn is the fellow climbing into the town coach and trotting up the steps to the bank’s side entrance. He’s an exceptionally wealthy man and exceptionally attached to his privacy. This is simply how he leaves London if he must travel on business.”
Jane needed to get back to the breakfast parlor before Papa took to admiring the silver and forgetting that he’d slipped a place setting into his pocket. She also needed to take advantage of Duncan’s willingness to talk.
“Does Quinn travel often?”
“Yes, and then he bides here in London for months at a time. I expect the dukedom will mean considerably more racketing about.”
Duncan was nearly as tall as Quinn and equally broad-shouldered, but more civilized. Whereas Quinn’s hair was sable, Duncan’s was russet brown. Quinn’s gaze was fierce, Duncan’s watchful and intelligent. He tended more to leanness than muscle, but Jane suspected he’d be just as quick as Quinn with wits or fists.
She ought to like Duncan, for despite all the scrapping and bickering Quinn’s siblings did, she liked them. He was certainly attractive, though where Quinn and Stephen unapologetically attired themselves in Bond Street splendor, Duncan’s clothing was noteworthy for its plainness. No trio of gold watch chains, no elegant silver cravat pin or nacre buttons—nothing that called attention to him.
And yet, in his sober demeanor, in his understated dress, in his dedication to developing Stephen’s prodigious intellect, Duncan had a dignity all his own. The siblings teased each other, and they even occasionally twitted Quinn, but they did not make jests at Duncan’s expense—ever.
Someday, when Jane was feeling very brave, she’d ask him why his career with the church had been cut short, and if tutoring Stephen was a penance or a reward.
“Does Quinn take along any of his trusty running footmen when he travels?” She kept her voice down lest Papa eavesdrop while he pilfered the silver.
“Two, and they are both armed, as are his outriders and grooms. They know you expect His Grace to be guarded at all times. The traveling coach is a rolling arsenal and he changes teams frequently. He’ll come home, Jane, safe and whole. He always does.”
Jane refrained from pointing out the obvious: Quinn had nearly gone to his celestial reward a fortnight past.
“Shall I bid the reverend good day?” Duncan asked. “One doesn’t want to give offense, and he has become family of a sort.”
Was there no privacy in this house? “You’d best not. Papa exerts gravity in the form of other people’s good manners, and then you’ve spent half your morning listening to his well-rehearsed thoughts on woman’s responsibility for original sin. Can you have a copy made of this painting for me?”
She showed Duncan the miniature, though she resented that another’s gaze should fall on Mama’s countenance when Jane had been deprived of that pleasure for so long.
“How soon do you need it?” No comment on the resemblance to Jane, though Duncan flicked a speculative gaze over her features.
“The sooner the better, and let’s have two copies while we’re about it.” Because Papa lost what mattered to Jane most and took her treasures and memories ’round to the pawn shop when she was napping.
Jane told herself that Mama’s personal effects evoked painful memories for Papa, and that Mama would have wanted him to be happy. Those excuses had worn thin before Mama’s second-best shawl had disappeared.
Duncan pulled on his gloves, the briskness of the gesture reminiscent of Quinn departing for a day at the bank.
“Quinn has brought the reverend’s accounts up to date,” he said, “including his rent and his arrears at the chophouse. Your father is also to be paid a quarterly stipend. You must promise me you’ll act surprised if Quinn ever tells you that himself.”
Duncan’s tone was severe, though in his blue eyes Jane detected a hint of devilment. He was teasing her, as none of the other Wentworths had, taking her into his confidence and treating her as family. The tears that had started when she’d seen her mother’s portrait threatened again.
“I’m not surprised at Quinn’s generosity, though I’m very, very pleased.”
“Quinn’s generosity required a bit of prompting,” Duncan said, taking up a gold-tipped walking stick. “Though only a bit. You would never have asked Quinn to look after your father, which point was made to Quinn at a moment when he was receptive to suggestions.”
He tapped his hat onto his head, and that gesture too put Jane in mind of Quinn.
“You are a new recruit to the Wentworth ranks,” Duncan said. “They are my cousins and I love them dearly, but five years after joining this household, I still often feel as if we must be from different species, much less from different families.”
He surveyed himself in the mirror above the sideboard, and in the angle of his hat, in his posture, and in his grip on the walking stick, he was every inch a Wentworth male.
“I feel it only fair to warn you,” he went on, “Quinn cannot abide a sneak. The first time you pawned a bracelet, he’d notice, and there wouldn’t be a second time.”
Jane owned no bracelets, and Duncan’s gaze held no mischief now. He was warning Jane not to violate Quinn’s trust—and perhaps not to violate his own—though the warnings were unnecessary.
“Hold still,” she said, freeing a fold of Duncan’s cravat from the lapel of his coat. “You don’t want to arrive to the bank wrinkled.…” She gave his chest a pat. “Better.” For an instant Jane wondered if she’d given offense, so pure was the consternation in Duncan’s gaze.
“Thank you.” He tucked the miniature into his pocket. “Stephen is looking forward to your first lesson in the effective use of firearms later today.”
