Page 76 of The Truth About Dukes
“I have both. Did Rothhaven abandon you at your request, or must I have a chat with him about unmarried ladies and the behavior of a proper escort?”
“We are inFendle Bridge, Stephen, not Mayfair. Any number of unmarried ladies are strolling the green without causing talk.”
“And to think I have no use for life in the country with all these fair damsels wandering at large. Where is Rothhaven?”
“Asleep, I hope.” He’d been so apologetic, and yet his staring spell could not have come at a worse time. She’d been furious with him, and that was shameful, so she’d admitted what anger she could—anger at herself. She was still angry at herself.
“Your gallant duke isasleep?” Stephen took another sip of his ale, perhaps to buy time to marshal his own temper. “You lose the opening skirmish with Ivy’s uncle, and Rothhaven puts his feet up, catches forty winks, and leaves you to wander brokenhearted among the yeomanry?”
“He had a staring spell as the discussion grew heated,” Constance replied. “Reverend Shaw expected the gallant duke to curry the favor of a mere country parson. Shaw was instead treated to a cold, awkward silence. Rothhaven is unhappy with himself.”
“Iam unhappy with him. What manner of staring spell?”
“For a short time, he neither moves nor speaks. He appears to be asleep with his eyes open. I gather he could hear what was said around him, but he could not reply. Shaw took it as something like the cut direct, and I didn’t help matters.”
Stephen shifted his weight and set the tankard on the bench, so he could brace himself on both the back of the bench and his cane.
“You were in a towering fit of pique, and I wasn’t there to see it. Have you considered next steps?”
“No.”
Stephen waited with damnable fraternal patience.
“I can write to Ivy through the housekeeper, Mrs. Hodges. She appears to care for Ivy and she’s patient with the reverend.”
“A saint among women. I need to sit in the next two minutes or I will fall upon my arse, causing both talk and unnecessary humiliation. Go put Rothhaven out of his misery. He’s doubtless castigating himself without limit for what was probably a doomed mission to begin with. I will nose around and see what I can learn about the larger picture.”
For form’s sake, Constance wanted to argue. To be ordered about by a younger brother who sounded unnervingly like their ducal sibling was annoying. Merely annoying, though, not enraging.
“Take the bench,” Constance said, rising. “Can you transform yourself back into a prancing dandy and join us for dinner tonight?”
“Prancing, Con?” He slid onto the bench with a sigh. “I should live so long as to ever in my life prance.”
“One can prance figuratively. Rothhaven asked me about emigrating to Australia.” She made a production out of opening her parasol and adjusting it over her shoulder.
“You are tempted.”
“His Grace cannot go with me, Stephen. He can barely tolerate coach travel at night, he regulates what he eats ruthlessly, and he must have rest and quiet, which are nearly impossible to assure on board a ship. I cannot ask him to travel that far away from his brother and familiar surroundings. Not yet.”
“And you won’t abandon him, though Ivy cannot stay here. I’m sorry, Con.”
“I accepted his marriage proposal, Stephen. I knew what I was getting into.”
“No,” Stephen said, examining the handle of his cane, “you did not. Neither did Rothhaven. That is the nature of marriage—a vast and perilous unknown temptingly draped in promises of romance and erotic pleasure—and why you will not find me sticking my toe or any other part of me in parson’s mousetrap. Away with you, or Rothhaven will fret himself into a twitteration thinking he’s disappointed you.”
Hehaddisappointed Constance, and she had disappointed Ivy, and the reverend was a disappointment all around. “We’ll hire a private dining room for supper and keep country hours—and Stephen?”
He looked up and for a moment, Constance recalled the vulnerable, furious boy he’d been, and how fiercely he’d fought for a scrap of dignity.
I am not the only one in the habit of keeping myself to myself.“Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
He touched his fingers to the brim of his top hat, a jaunty tinker flirting with a lady far above his station, as jaunty tinkers were wont to do.
Constance crossed the street to the inn and climbed the steps to the inn’s best rooms. She and Rothhaven were Mr. and Mrs. Rothmere here, only a slight distortion of the truth. She used her key to let herself into the sitting room and came upon her duke asleep on the sofa, boots off, shirt open at the neck, a pillow behind his head.
Constance refastened the lock, and when she turned away from the door, Rothhaven was regarding her.
“Don’t get up,” she said, taking the chair at an angle to the sofa. “I gave Stephen the bare outline of our call on Reverend Shaw. Stephen—properly attired—will meet us for a private dinner. He asked me what my next steps will be, and I hadn’t an answer for him.”
