Page 66 of The Truth About Dukes
“I smell like my stout four-footed companion of the road, George the Fifth,” Lord Stephen replied, leaning heavily on a plain walking stick. “How is Constance?”
“Anxious, hopeful, determined, braced for heartache.” As was Robert. “The facts in evidence regarding Miss Ivy and Reverend Shaw are discouraging. Have you learned anything?”
Stephen wore blue-tinted spectacles, just the sort of odd touch that made him blend in more effectively than if he’d worn no spectacles at all. Otherwise, his attire was that of a man recently down on his luck. His clothing was worn and wrinkled but fairly clean and well made. His boots matched, and his neckcloth was neatly tied though devoid of starch.
“The market opens at nine,” Stephen said, gaze on the green across the road where vendors were setting up booths and unloading wagons. “The housekeepers descend early in hopes of finding the best produce. Shaw’s housekeeper is a formidable female by the name of Mrs. Hodges. She does not suffer fools.”
“Then you stand no chance with her.”
Stephen tipped his hat to an older woman hustling past with a basket over her arm. “Why don’tyoutry to charm her, Rothhaven?”
Robert had forgotten to tip his hat to the lady. Remiss of him, and one of a thousand mistakes he regularly made because in a madhouse, nobody wore a hat, much less used it for polite gestures toward passing women.
“All of my charm,” Robert retorted, “is reserved for your sister. She’s waited years for this day.”
“So she has. What’s your plan?” Stephen asked, casually propping himself against a hitching rack. “How do you see the morning unfolding?”
Robert had spent much of the jostling, bouncing night considering that question. “Constance wants to introduce herself to Ivy before any other steps are taken.”
“Con is afraid the girl will be snatched away,” Stephen said. “Afraid this will be their only chance to meet. What do you think?”
“That a mother’s instincts are to be respected, though Constance is taking a great gamble. She doesn’t mean to present herself to Ivy as her mother, though Constance and her daughter bear a close resemblance.”
“The risk being,” Stephen said, shading his eyes against the morning sun, “that if Shaw gets wind of today’s doings, he could be a proper arse about the whole business. Trying to buy him off or flatter him then will only make the situation worse.”
Constance emerged from the inn. She wore a modest walking dress of brown velvet, no piping, no lace, no ornamentation, and yet, the quality of the fabric and the workmanship proclaimed it to be a costly garment. Her beaded reticule caught the morning light, offering another advertisement of her social standing.
“Constance would be better off attempting to win Shaw’s approval without a duke on her arm,” Robert said.
“If you were not on her arm, Quinn would be,” Stephen replied, a kindly observation, however grudging it sounded. “If Quinn weren’t a duke, he’d still be a banker awash in wealth or a man who escaped the gallows. When people are determined to be hateful, they can find any number of excuses for their meanness.”
“True enough.”
“I happened to overhear the blacksmith’s apprentice and his older brother enjoying their ale last evening.”
The weight on Robert’s heart became heavier. “And?”
“Shaw has put his house up for sale. He’s booked passage to the Antipodes for himself and his niece in about one month’s time. Nobody will miss him, but the whole village feels sorry for the girl.”
“As do I, and I haven’t even met her.” Constance waved and stepped off the inn’s front porch, her stride confident, her expression cheerful. Robert fell in love with her all over, for the thousandth time. “She smiles when a lesser woman would be cowering in her room, clutching her handkerchief, and praying for a miracle.”
“A lesser woman would never have thrown in her lot with you, Rothhaven.” Stephen took off his glasses and polished them on the sleeve of his coat. “Have I mentioned that breaking my sister’s heart will considerably shorten your life expectancy?”
Despite all inclination to the contrary, Robert found himself taking a liking to Constance’s younger brother.
“Nathaniel warned me that yours is a violent version of fraternal devotion. If you can tell me the name of the ship the reverend is traveling on, I can possibly buy it, and at least delay his departure.”
“Impressive,” Stephen said, putting his glasses back on. “I hadn’t thought of that tactic, though if you delay Shaw’s passage, you will infuriate a man already predisposed to righteous ire.”
“Nothing will part him from his anger, if he’s true to his type. By buying the ship, I might be able to give Constance a few more weeks with her daughter, particularly if Shaw’s house doesn’t sell and he grows short of funds.”
“True,” Stephen said as Constance drew nearer. “I can buy the house and be slow to finalize the sale.”
“That would save me the trouble. Let’s hope none of these machinations will be needed.” Robert tipped his hat to his beloved, and this close, he could see the anxiety clouding her gaze. “Good morning, my dear.”
Stephen pushed away from the hitching rack to tip his hat and bow. “I’m off to befriend a lonely alewife, or at least sample her wares.” He paused, both hands resting on his walking stick. “You will have to fight for the girl, Rothhaven. I don’t know how to advise you regarding tactics. Charm won’t work, money won’t work. In court Shaw will be the poor, sincere preacher whose true vocation is thwarted by a bellicose duke.”
“Then what will work?” Constance asked, threading her arm through Robert’s.
