Page 7 of The Truth About Dukes
Even saying the words held no appeal. Good God, going to divine services loomed as an ordeal though the church was not two miles away.
“You needn’t, you know.” Nathaniel tore off a bite of bread and sopped it in his sauce. “Simply put it about that the Hall is still not receiving guests. I eschewed the tea-and-crumpets drill when I was presumed to be the duke, and a lack of social obligations allowed me to accomplish much in the course of a day.”
I haven’t the luxury of following that example.“A little socializing will be necessary to appease the curious.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Nathaniel said, finishing his wine. “I’ve accepted an invitation for us to enjoy luncheon at Lynley Vale tomorrow. His Grace of Walden, ably assisted by his duchess, will want to interrogate me and start the settlement negotiations.”
“They can interrogate you all they please, provided they do so politely, but when it comes to the settlements, Walden will address himself to me.”
Nathaniel looked up from his wineglass as if a loud crash had come from the direction of the warming pantry. “I beg your pardon?”
“I am the nominal head of this family now, and even in my infirmity, I have managed our investments. If we assume I am sane and sound enough to uphold the duties of the title, one of those duties is negotiating marriage settlements.”
“So…it…is.” Nathaniel spoke slowly, like a man blinded by the approaching glories of holy matrimony to the true ramifications of setting aside the ducal role. He put his empty glass to his lips, then set it down. “You haven’t touched your wine.”
“I don’t care for that vintage with this dish. This sauce wants a good claret.”
“You never notice the wine pairings. You never even seem to notice what’s on your plate.”
Robert held the largest mushroom up on his fork. “I am a duke now. I must notice many things that I paid no heed to before.”
Whether I want to or not.
“The courtship dance has moved on to the second phase,” Rothhaven said, offering Constance his arm. “The engagement is afait accompli, and now Nathaniel must pass muster with the lady’s family. I do believe he relishes the challenge.”
They strolled the Lynley Vale portrait gallery, a long, narrow room along the back of the manor. The gallery faced west and enjoyed abundant afternoon light. Constance pretended to study a portrait of some old fellow in a ruffed collar and sagging hose, but she’d seen this painting a dozen times before. The Elizabethan gent wanted restoration, though even if he were brightened up, he’d be an unremarkable specimen as both a subject and a painting.
“Does Althea face a similar challenge where you’re concerned?” she asked. “Must she meet with your approval?”
“She meets with Nathaniel’s approval. Who am I to question my brother’s choice?”
“You are the Duke of Rothhaven.” But who was he really? Rothhaven looked more at ease than he had the night of Althea’s ball, though he’d said little at lunch. Jane had begun probing around the edges of Nathaniel’s plans for married life, and Constance had been taken aback to learn that Althea happily anticipated moving to some property twenty miles distant.
“And if I disapproved of Nathaniel’s choice of wife,” Rothhaven said, “do you think he’d reconsider marrying your sister?”
“Not for an instant.” Nor would Althea reconsider her choice of husband. “One feels a bit dismayed by such confidence. Althea is no Puritan, but her experience of men has been limited mostly to ballroom flirtations, fortune hunters, and idle speculations. Now she is engaged to a fellow I hardly know, and soon they’ll take up residence someplace I’ve never been. I had thought they’d bide here at Lynley Vale or with you at Rothhaven Hall.”
Rothhaven stopped before the next picture, an informal rendering of the previous Duke of Walden in his youth. His Grace had apparently been an approachable sort, for the artist had captured him leaning on a fence, his hand outstretched toward a leggy bay colt. The Dales in all their green glory undulated to the horizon, and a sky worthy of the Low Country masters billowed with fluffy clouds.
The image should have been one of bucolic joy, but Constance saw menace in the dark tree line bounding the pasture, and loneliness in the young duke’s hand, outstretched to a wary beast.
“Might we continue this conversation someplace less…empty?” Rothhaven asked.
“Empty?” The gallery was full of light and quiet as well as of pictures and elegant conversational groupings.
“Your ancestors stare from their gilt frames,” he said, gaze on Constance’s hand resting on his arm. “A different pair of eyes regards us every few feet, and yet the room echoes. The windows let in abundant light, but they also allow anybody with a spyglass and access to the fishing cottage to peer in. I would rather be someplace else.”
“You were serious when you said being out-of-doors makes you uncomfortable.”
“And I assure you, my lady, I am serious now.”
He was also avoiding looking at any of the paintings. “You were watched, at the hospital.” Constance turned toward the door, her arm still linked with Rothhaven’s.
“I was observed. I wasn’t supposed to find the spy-holes the good doctor had bored all over the walls of my chamber. When I did find them, I could not cover them up or he’d simply drill new ones and chide me for being ungrateful. I learned to tarry behind my privacy screen and drape towels in unusual locations.”
“You were ungrateful, to want the smallest measure of privacy?” Constance forgot to allow her escort to hold the door for her.
And Rothhaven apparently forgot to hold it for her. They left the gallery nonetheless, Constance scooting through the door ahead of him.
