Page 5 of The Truth About Dukes
“I will never understand why you prefer ill-mannered youngsters to settled mounts,” Quinn said as the horses resumed walking side by side. “You, of all people, know what an injury can mean.”
“I, of all people, know what a severe blow to one’s pride and confidence can mean, and when I see a young horse condemned to a life of misery by poor training, I intervene where I can.”
“And then a year later, you sell them for less than they’re worth.”
Quinn understood money the way Constance understood portraiture and King George understood lavish self-indulgence. Money was to Quinn what grass was to a horse. Thesine qua nonof all noteworthy endeavors, the intuitive metaphor for any undertaking.
Though sometimes, Quinn’s grasp of finances made him blind to other truths.
“I find my horses suitable homes,” Stephen said, “and price them according to the owner’s means. I am compensated, the horse is well situated, and the new owner is thrilled with his or her purchase. I am not thrilled with the acquaintance forming between Constance and the neighborhood duke.”
Quinn glanced back in the direction they’d come, though Stephen had raised this topic early in the ride, before Quinn could challenge him to a homeward gallop.
“Constance and Rothhaven shared supper, Stephen. They appeared to chat amiably. Given that Rothhaven has all but hidden from polite society for who knows how long, I don’t see how he and Constance could be acquainted. She was merely being sociable.”
“Constance is never sociable, Quinn. She is polite, she is agreeable, she is so unrelentingly well mannered she could be wallpaper in some vicar’s guest parlor.”
Quinn glanced over at Stephen. His Grace was the taller sibling by at least two inches, but Stephen had the taller mount and the better seat, thus putting him at eye level with his brother.
“That is an unkind thing to say about your own sister, Stephen.”
“Bugger kindness, I speak the truth. Althea tried very hard to gain society’s approval and got a lot of gossip and spite for her efforts. Constance has perfected the art of being ignorable. Two nights ago, she all but monopolized the company of a man every matchmaker in England will be fascinated with. Why? Rothhaven is a dry stick who apparently suffers a serious unwillingness to leave his own property.”
And that version of events glossed over the more titillating facts. As best Stephen could pry the tale from Althea, the current duke—Robert—had been declared dead in his minority by his own father, who dreaded the notion of an heir with the falling sickness. The younger brother—Nathaniel—had taken up the title without realizing his older sibling was not only alive, but housed in some private madhouse out on the Yorkshire moors.
That Robert, as firstborn, was now willing to take on the title and the station of a duke would occasion attention from the sovereign himself—surely the king would have to formally reinstate the correct duke in place of the younger brother?—and talk at all levels of society.
“You fail to note,” Quinn said, “that a connection between Rothhaven’s house and ours has formed through Althea and Nathaniel. Constance’s cordiality toward Rothhaven makes sense. He has a retiring nature; she has learned to be unassuming. A crooked pot needs a crooked lid, if only to endure a long and difficult evening.”
Beowulf shied at nothing at all, a dodge sideways that might have unseated a lesser rider.
“Steady on.” Stephen gave the horse a nudge with his knees.I’m still here, lad. I’m not ignoring you.
“Steady on to the knacker’s yard,” Quinn muttered. “If that horse causes you further injury, I will shoot him myself.”
I love you too.“Rather how I felt about your duchess when it became apparent she had married you in earnest.”
“You felt murderous?”
“Protective, Quinn, notquitethe same thing. Just as I am feeling protective where Constance is concerned. You talk about pots and lids while I am focused on Constance’s happiness. She has become all but invisible, a figure in a shadowed corner of her own paintings.” Damned skilled paintings they were too.
“What a pity we can’t all be like you, commanding attention for the sheer deviltry of it.”
“I am no longer seventeen and full of ill temper, Quinn. Please attend the topic at hand. Invisibility served Constance when Jack Wentworth was swinging his fists, but thank the infernal imp of hell, our father is dead and gone. Have you never wondered who or what Constance hides from now? Why a duke’s sister courts the next thing to anonymity?”
Mungo grabbed a mouthful of leaves from the low-hanging limb of a locust tree.
“Leave our sisters alone,” Quinn said, making no move to correct his mount’s rudeness. “If Constance wants polite society to view her as a boring cypher, she doubtless has her reasons. I’ll race you to the stile beyond the orchard.”
For Quinn that was an awkward change of topic, which only reinforced Stephen’s conviction that nothing good could come from this acquaintance between Constance and the reclusive duke next door. Constance apparently had reasons for remaining in the shadows, reasons Quinn knew or suspected, but had decided to keep to himself—for now.
Stephen nonetheless allowed the subject to drop, and instead focused on beating Quinn to the stile by a margin that allowed an older brother to call the defeat a very near thing indeed.
Chapter Two
“Althea and I will wed by special license, I think,” Nathaniel said, spearing a mushroom sautéed in brown sauce. “We’ll wait the usual interval and hold the ceremony in Rothhaven’s chapel. It’s about time the old place got a thorough airing.”
Robert did not care for food served with sauces. The sauce could hide an off flavor—or medication—and more bothersomely, sauces made separating the various types of food on one’s plate nearly impossible. He lacked the heart to complain about the kitchen’s efforts, though, when the Rothhaven staff had been so stoutly loyal for so many years.
