Page 59 of The Truth About Dukes
“My family would be listening at the keyhole to this discussion,” Constance said, “except that Her Grace of Walden won’t allow it.”
Robert rose to join his beloved at the window. “They are concerned for you, as I am.”
Constance’s gaze went to the moors stretching endlessly to the west. “I am concerned for my daughter, Your Grace. I have ever been concerned for her, and now it appears she’s to be dragged off to some colonial wilderness by a scripture-spouting martinet. Ships sink, foreign climes are full of diseases, and she does not want to go. I felt the same way every time Quinn dragged us south to London.”
Robert took Constance’s hand when he wanted to enfold her in his arms. “Miss Abbott, our thanks for all you’ve done. You will please accept Lynley Vale’s hospitality for the night, and I’m sure Lady Constance will have more questions for you later.”
Miss Abbott gathered up her walking stick and satchel. “I need not stay the night, Your Grace, but thank you.”
“Stay anyway,” Constance said, “please. I’d like an opportunity to discuss the matter with you further.”
“Of course, my lady.” Miss Abbott rose, curtsied to Constance, and withdrew.
“She’s being diplomatic,” Constance said, wandering back to the sofa and picking up the sketch. “Miss Abbott is not usually so delicate. Maybe you intimidated her. You did get a bit ducal. I was impressed.”
“Maybe she’s castigating herself for failing to make the familial connections sooner. Come here.”
Constance stared at the sketch a moment longer. “Do you give orders when you’re upset?”
He gave orders when he was determined. “I need to hold you when I’m upset.” The notion of a young girl, forced to remain where she was unhappy, a loving mother unable to help, family nearby but of no use to her…Of course he was upset.
Constance put the sketch aside and came to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “How soon can we be married?”
“I have the special license, but I thought you wanted to wait until your sister had spoken her vows. Are you fond of shortbread?” The plate was half empty, though Robert could not recall anybody consuming so much as a single bite.
Constance eased away. “Miss Abbott pinched it. She has a sweet tooth. I suppose we’d best get on with the family conference.”
“In a moment.” Robert caught her by the wrist and stepped closer. “Do you know, I have yet to kiss you today?”
Her smile was wan, but it was a smile. “You should remedy that oversight immediately, Your Grace, for I grow difficult when deprived of your kisses.”
“Make haste, you two,” Stephen said, stopping just inside the door to the duchess’s sitting room, “we must interrogate Miss Abbott while we have the opportunity. Constance and her duke won’t be gone long.”
Quinn and Jane exchanged a glance, which from long practice Stephen could decode easily enough: Do we ambush Miss Abbott without our brother’s meddling assistance and attempt to intimidate her with ducal consequence, or do we allow Stephen to be the disagreeable meddler—a role he playsso very well—while we personify gracious, concerned reason?
All of that passed between them in the time it took Jane to rise and smooth her skirts. “Why exactly are Constance and Rothhaven calling on Vicar Sorenson now?”
“Because they need a letter of introduction from him, apparently,” Stephen said. “Some of the girl’s connections are clergy, and Sorenson is likely to be at least indirectly acquainted with them. Where has Lord Nathaniel disappeared to?”
“Wherever Althea has disappeared to,” Jane replied. The look she sent Quinn this time was a bit harder to read. Had Stephen been forced to translate, the script might have read: Just as I could once be found wherever you were, before children, duchessing, and family became such a burden on my time.
Quinn offered Jane his arm, which was purely ridiculous when the distance to be traveled was down one sunny, carpeted corridor.
“Tell me, baby brother, how it is you know why our sister and her intended are calling at the vicarage? Have you taken to listening at keyholes?”
Stephen’s leg was paining him only moderately today, but the situation with Miss Ivy Wentworth—to hell with those other names—grieved him sorely. He therefore opted for more honesty than he might have chosen in other circumstances.
“I am constitutionally incapable of listening at keyholes, but I am well aware of how chimneys connect from floor to floor in a well-built house. An unused guest room sits above the parlor where Constance and Rothhaven interviewed Miss Abbott, and when our little card game broke up, I happened to find myself near its hearth when they spoke to her.”
He hadn’t caught every word—Constance had likely got up to pace—but he’d heard plenty.
“Tell us what you learned before Miss Abbott joins us,” Quinn said.
“And don’t leave anything out,” Jane added with a pleasant touch of dire duchess-threat.
Stephen first tended to the business of situating himself in one of the library’s reading chairs. Fortunately, he didn’t ache quite badly enough to prop his foot on a hassock. For Miss Abbott to see him impersonating a gouty bachelor uncle—which he nearly was, come to think of it—would not do.
Althea and Nathaniel arrived, and a footman was dispatched to summon Miss Abbott. Before her arrival, Stephen summarized the relevant facts for his family—uncle planning to emigrate, Ivy comporting herself like a headstrong Wentworth, dire measures under consideration.
