Page 97 of My One and Only Duke
Althea became fascinated with a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips on the sideboard. “He asked us to set the invitations aside and said he’d deal with them later.”
Oh, Quinn. “And the pair of you said not a word to me. When did Elsmore’s invitation arrive?”
They exchanged a guilty glance.
“Two weeks ago,” Constance said. “Give or take.”
Jane rose, because for some situations counting to three was a complete waste of breath.
“My mother was a lady. She married down, as many ladies do, but she made sure I knew how to comport myself in all company. Do you know how inconsiderate it is to ignore an invitation? These matters are bounded by protocol, etiquette, an agreed-upon—” Why weren’t they arguing with her? Why weren’t they dismissing her concerns? “You have reminded Quinn about these invitations, haven’t you?”
“We nag him,” Constance said. “He puts us off, says we’ll have time for all of that later. That marchionesses and countesses can wait to be acknowledged by a duchess.”
Marchionesses and countesses? Countesses?
“That man,” Jane muttered. “That stubborn, misguided, foolish…Quinn is trying to keep me from crossing paths with one countess in particular, a lady who will doubtless be in attendance at some of the functions I’ll be invited to. This is why we don’t go to the theater, why we don’t drive out at the Fashionable Hour.”
Constance looked confused. “What countess?”
“Her,” Althea said. “The Countess of Tipton.”
Constance, for once, had no terse retort.
“I’ve started reading the society pages,” Jane said. “She’s here in London with her husband.” And Quinn’s letters from her were missing. No thief could breach the Wentworth citadel, and the staff would not dare move letters without permission, which meant Quinn himself had those letters.
“You should sit down,” Althea said. “You look pale.”
Jane’s mind was leaping from fact to conjecture to fear. “Quinn came home at midday for no reason. He didn’t take his nooning here, didn’t come home to retrieve a forgotten document. It’s half day, so we have little staff about, and I would bet your oldest harp, Althea, that Quinn gave his running footmen the afternoon off too.”
Constance sat up very straight. “What are you saying?”
The intimacies, the tender confidences, the oh-so-considerate lover leaving his wife to nap away her afternoon…
“He has gone to her,” Jane said. “He’s either attempting to placate her with offers of money or favors, or he’s planning to do her an injury, which she well deserves.”
In either case, Quinn hadn’t confided in his wife. Worse than that, he’d pretended to confide in Jane, pretended he was considering leaving the bank, pretended he’d missed her so badly, he’d been truant from his ledgers.…
Not you too, Quinn. Please don’t let my husband be among those to ignore the sensible course and march off to certain doom in the name of his blasted principles.
The fear of that certain doom nearly paralyzed her, for a woman scorned who had a title, money, and a long, bitter memory wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of Quinn’s honorable nature. Though Jane was furious with Quinn too. Gordie’s true colors had always been evident; Jane had simply been too inexperienced and desperate to spot a handsome rascal wearing the king’s colors.
Quinn, though, had deliberately set out to deceive her.
“What will you do?” Althea asked.
“What I should do is leave,” Jane said. “I should do as many fashionable wives do and establish my own household, free from meddling papas, dissembling husbands, quarrelsome family, and unreturned calling cards. Quinn has gone daft if he thinks gratifying that woman with a pitched battle will work to his advantage.”
Constance was on her feet. “You aren’t making sense. Quinn hates the countess, as do I. You don’t know what he was like before. He never rode in the park, never took us shopping, never read the paper at the breakfast table because we might see his lips moving when he came to long words. He’s doing the best he can, and you can’t leave.”
Yes, I can. “How many times am I expected to forgive and forget willful dishonesty? What Quinn is doing—deliberately provoking a woman whose schemes have failed—is wrong, stupid, and dangerous. I’ve told him as much over and over, and rather than cede to my wishes or offer me any sound rebuttal, he lies to me, over and over.”
Gordie had lied, saying he was off to the Horse Guards when in fact he’d been swilling gin at the pub and ogling tavern maids.
Papa had lied, whisking Mama’s treasures off to the pawnshop, and then pretending they’d been misplaced.
Mama had lied, claiming she was on the mend, only to make her illness worse through overexertion.
That Quinn would lie as well…
