Page 96 of My One and Only Duke
“If Lady Althea is home, please let her know that I’d like a word with her.”
“She and Lady Constance are having tea in the studio.”
They weren’t having tea. They had chocolate, cordial, good old English ale, and the occasional medicinal tot, but never tea.
“My request is not urgent. Lady Constance is welcome to join us. If Lord Stephen isn’t otherwise occupied, he’s welcome as well.”
Quinn was a duke, and the time had come for polite society to acknowledge him as such.
Susan withdrew, and Jane opened the desk drawer to retrieve paper and pencil. A duchess was expected to entertain and to be entertained. She had the next eight weeks—the remainder of the season—to begin the arduous task of establishing her husband among his peers and neighbors.
The paper and pencils were in their usual places, but the letters Quinn had been personally safeguarding were missing.
“Cash, coins, and his letters patent can sit in a safe, but the letters from That Woman…”
Jane gave the rest of the desk a hurried inspection, then looked over the desk in the bedroom. No letters. Quinn had kept those letters for years. Why would he…?
Althea called to Jane from the sitting room. “You asked to see us?”
“I did.” Jane joined them in the sitting room and closed the bedroom door behind her. “I wanted to discuss our social calendar.”
Constance took the seat at the desk. “I don’t socialize. There, we’ve discussed my calendar.”
Althea remained standing. “Should a woman in your condition be socializing?”
“My condition is barely evident,” Jane said, “at least when I’m wearing higher-waisted dresses. The baby isn’t due for another several months, and I do not intend to spend that entire time as a recluse sitting on a velvet pillow sewing baby clothes. The Wentworths are now a ducal family, and the title brings certain obligations.”
Constance drummed her fingers on the blotter. “You could do charitable work.”
Charitable work had killed Mama, though for a duchess, charitable work was probably a version of sitting on a velvet pillow.
“Your brother is more than generous to the charities of his choice.”
“You’re a clergyman’s daughter,” Althea said. “You should have causes of your own.”
This family was Jane’s cause. “What aren’t you two telling me? I expect grousing from you at every turn, but not dissembling.”
Althea shot a glance at the door, confirming Jane’s sense of something amiss.
“We should let her know,” Constance said. “She’ll find out soon enough, and not responding to invitations is rude. Even I know that.”
Althea crossed her arms. “You tell her.”
“Somebody tell me,” Jane said, settling into a wing chair. “And do not think to mention my condition in your own defense.”
“The invitations have started,” Constance said. “The Duke of Elsmore was the first. We thought it was a fluke, a jest in poor taste, but the cards kept coming. Then the Duchess of Moreland sent a footman around with her card. That means we can call on her.”
“The Duchess of Moreland?” Jane did not consider herself a duchess. She was a woman married to a man who’d happened into a title through a series of unfortunate events. Her Grace of Moreland was a duchess from her tiara to her embroidered satin slippers, and the power she wielded was legendary.
“We met her at the glovemaker’s,” Jane said, upset rising in her belly that had nothing to do with the baby. “She was so kind, and we’ve failed to acknowledge her card?”
“Stephen says there’s honor among dukes,” Althea replied, inching toward the door. “They take an interest in one another because there are so few of them.”
“Devonshire sent a card,” Constance said. “We’re welcome to call on him too.” She sounded bewildered rather than pugnacious. “There are others, any number of courtesy titles.”
This was good news masquerading as a disaster, proof that polite society could forgive and forget, and Quinn would be so pleased.…
“Does Quinn know about this?”
