Page 9 of Never Beguile a Duke
“No one forced this event upon you.” Lennox reached around Silas and depressed the handle. “You volunteered for the madness.”
He didn’t correct Lennox, preferring the misconception over the realization that, in the past few weeks, Silas’ interest in Miss Fernsby-Webb had shifted from platonic to possessive.
“Your Grace?” Paling, Mr. Venning froze in a half-bow as the door swung open to expose Lennox’s discolored face. “I thought you’d recovered from the encounter with my nephew.”
Touching his fingers to the edge of the bruise, Lennox winced. “A different man caused this injury. However, the incident did concern the same woman.”
Leaning forward, Mr. Venning’s daughter combed a lock of thinning white hair behind her father’s ear and murmured, “The Duke of Lennox is referring to his fiancée, Miss Braddock. You met her at our ball.”
“I may not be as clever as I once was, Arabella,” Mr. Venning said, turning toward her, “but I can still retain memories from the past fortnight.”
She flushed bright red and dropped her gaze. “Of course, Papa.”
Silas gestured toward the parlor. “Mr. Aylett will retrieve your trunks and escort you to your chambers in a few moments. I’ve had some libations prepared, if you’d like a cup of punch while you attend him.”
Mr. Venning removed his greatcoat and hung the snow-saturated article on one of four hand-carved wooden coatracks stationed near the entrance. “Do you have anything stronger than punch?”
“I can provide you with anything you desire.” Silas grinned, closing the door.
“A husband for my daughter?” Mr. Venning raised two bushy eyebrows.
“Papa!” Miss Venning hissed, the blush returning to her face.
Three sharp raps sounded, and Miss Venning, standing the closest to the entrance, turned and opened the door.
“Your Grace?” The clipped words zipped into the foyer.
“No.” Miss Venning shook her head and stepped backward. “I’m not married.”
A woman, garbed head to toe in black, entered. “I’m seeking the Duke of Beaufort.”
“I am he.” Silas moved around Miss Venning. “What business do you have with me…”
“Mrs. Upton.” She offered a brief curtsy. “And I’m delivering something that belongs to you.”
“Are you certain it’s mine?” he asked, a faint wrinkle carving its way across his forehead.
“Quite.” Mrs. Upton stuck her arm out to the side, then jerked, yanking a small girl with mousy brown hair into the house. “I’d like to present Miss Juliette Ridlington… your daughter.”
A chill slithered down Silas’ spine, the name jarring faded memories. Had he sired a child without his knowledge?
“I think,” Lennox said, placing a hand on Mr. Venning’s shoulder, “that we should leave Beaufort to deal with this issue. Can I tempt you with a whiskey?”
“You most certainly could,” Mr. Venning offered his elbow to his daughter and followed Lennox. “Arabella can treat your eye while we wait for Mr. Aylett.”
The Duke of Warwick’s amused voice flowed out of the parlor when the trio entered the room. “Who struck you this time?”
“Come with me.” Silas crooked his finger and led Mrs. Upton and the waif-like child down the corridor to his office.
Once they’d entered, he closed the door behind them and gestured to two extra-large plush chairs near the fireplace. Mrs. Upton took the seat to the left, but the girl hovered beside the armrest, hiding herself between Mrs. Upton and the fireplace.
“Thank you for seeing us, Your Grace,” Mrs. Upton said, pulling her gloves from her fingers, “I know you’re a busy man.”
He inclined his head, indicating she should continue.
“I’m currently employed by Mr. Spencer Hill and have been with the family for nearly two decades.” Her gaze on Silas, she pulled open the top of her reticule. “Ten years ago, a young lady took the position of governess; we didn’t know at the time we hired her that she was with child.”
Mrs. Upton stuck her hand into the purse, rummaged around, and withdrew a crumpled letter.
