Page 65 of The Truth About Dukes
“The benches, Rothhaven.” She lifted the opposite bench to withdraw a pair of blankets. “They fold out to make up a bed, and we will be stuck in this wretched coach for hours.”
“By rights, our families ought not have allowed us to share this coach.”
Constance kissed him. “You are my family now, and I hope Ivy is soon to become family in the meaningful sense. Get up so I can find us some pillows.”
He rose and switched seats while Constance retrieved pillows from under the forward-facing seat. The next few minutes were taken up with creating a bed from the folded-down benches.
“To gain legal authority over Ivy,” Rothhaven said, “would mean bringing a petition in court, and if Shaw objects, proving Shaw unfit.”
“Do you trust Cranmouth to undertake that assignment?”
“Not particularly.” He pulled off his boots and set them aside. “Cranmouth might have alerted Nathaniel to the single apparently charitable donation my father made—year after year. Might have stopped some of my father’s more dubious investments. Cranmouth chose not to. He is a cypher, loyal to Rothmere coin rather than to the Rothmere family. Now that I’ve concluded some real property transactions, I can look to replace him.”
Constance unlaced her boots and set them beside Rothhaven’s. “Quinn is similarly disdainful of toadies, as am I.”
“Lord Stephen designed this arrangement?” Rothhaven asked, when they were stretched out side by side under the blankets.
“Stephen should have been an artificer. He likes solving puzzles. We have food and drink in the panel on your side.”
“Good to know. Why, Lady Constance, how friendly you’ve become.”
She’d snuggled up to Rothhaven’s side, though with both of them fully clothed, snuggling was more a theory than a reality.
“Tell me about the legal process involved in prying Ivy away from Reverend Shaw,” she said. “What does it mean to have him declared unfit as a guardian?”
Rothhaven looped an arm around Constance’s shoulders. “It means scandal, of course.”
“And scandal is no sort of recompense for a man who has voluntarily provided for my daughter for the past seven years, even if Ivy isn’t particularly happy under his roof.” Compared to Jack Wentworth, Whitlock Shaw was probably a prince among uncles.
“You make a valid point,” Rothhaven replied, “and as to that, I am firmly opposed to any initiative that blights my family escutcheon. For good and sufficient reasons, the Rothmere family is already considered eccentric, and my objective over the next few decades is to rehabilitate that reputation. Dragging Shaw into court, when he might well be doing better than most bachelor uncles would do with a stubborn niece, is to be avoided.”
“You are thinking of our children. I love that about you.” Constance was growing fonder of rocking along in this marvelous coach too.
“I am thinking of my own peace of mind and yours as well. It’s one thing to bring a by-blow to dwell under the ducal roof—men are expected to support their offspring, regardless of legitimacy—but it’s quite another to bring a legal action in the courts against a family member who has been more generous than many would be.”
“You’re right.” Which meant attacking Shaw’s fitness would be a waste of time, and even if successful, such a suit could not put right all that Constance had put wrong. “What if she hates me?”
A masculine sigh redolent of resignation wafted through the darkness. “Ivy may know little of you other than that you gave birth to her. We must proceed delicately lest your daughter take you into needless dislike.”
“I know that, Rothhaven, but I am hopeful. For the first time in years, allow me to be a little hopeful.”
“Hope makes fools of us all.” He rearranged pillows so Constance’s neck was at a more comfortable angle. “I hoped for years that my family would retrieve me from Soames’s madhouse. I would have given anything for an uncle to take me in when I was Ivy’s age.”
“Even if that uncle was dragging you off to the Antipodes?”
Another sigh, softer, more tired. “The settlement colonies are thriving, from all reports. Many sensible, sane, fit men are emigrating and taking their families with them.”
Though Rothhaven would not be among them. Perhapsthatrealization had occasioned his initial sour mood. Shaw could take Ivy far, far away, and as long as Constance remained attached to Rothhaven, she could not follow her daughter to that distant, untamed land.
“We have Sorenson’s letter,” Constance said. “We have Ivy’s best interests at heart. Shaw will listen to reason if he has any sense at all.” That was a prayer, or as close to a prayer as Constance could fashion in her present state.
Rothhaven rolled to his side and spooned himself around her. “You want to be at your best if you are determined to meet your daughter. Try to get some sleep. The night will be long, and the ride bumpy.”
Another metaphor. Constance closed her eyes, and managed to not sleep at all.
Chapter Fifteen
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Robert said, sidling up to Lord Stephen in the innyard. “You even smell like a peddler.”
