Page 10 of My Secret Duke
“Felicia,” the dowager said.
There was a hush as Olivia’s mother approached and sat down at the opposite end of the table from the dowager. Felicia’s fingers clenched about her spoon as the servant set a bowl of broth before her. Briefly, she glanced at the amazed expressions on the faces of her daughters.
“You allow the younger girls to dine with you?”
The dowager gave her a considering look. “I thought it was time they learned proper table manners, so yes, we dine as a family unless there are visitors.”
Felicia frowned and opened her mouth before changing her mind and focusing her attention on the meal.
Olivia’s sisters turned to her now. The weight of their regard reminded her that, as the eldest, she should know what to do with this new development, but Olivia was no wiser than them. She frowned and nodded at their bowls, and so the meal began. But she had only taken a couple of sips of the broth before she threw a surreptitious glance at her mother. How long had it been since Felicia had graced them with her presence at the table? How long since she had left the confines of her bedchamber? Olivia remembered telling Ivo about it. Her mother had always been distant and uninterested in her daughters, so it was no surprise her daughters did not spend a great deal of time thinking of her. But lately, she had been almost entirely forgotten as her husband’s disgrace unfolded and engulfed the Ashton family.
What would Ivo think of this latest development? But then Olivia reminded herself that whatever Ivo thought was no longer something she wanted to hear.
The broth was removed, and the next course served, and still no one said a word. Until…
“I received a message today from Gabriel.” The dowager’s voice broke the heavy silence. She looked about at them as if to assess the effect of her words. “He is returning to Grantham with his new bride.”
“They are married then,” Olivia said in delight.
“But I wanted to be flower girl!” Edwina burst out, disappointed, and then squeaked when Georgia pinched her.
Their grandmother ignored the interruption. “They married quietly in Cornwall. At least they had the sense to do that.” She folded her napkin precisely. “They will be residing here in Sussex for the foreseeable future.”
Olivia tried to read her grandmother’s thoughts, but apart from a gleam in her dark eyes, there wasn’t much to go on. Was she glad, was she angry, was she…? Whatwasshe thinking?
“I will ready the duke’s rooms at once.” Humber spoke with satisfaction from his place at the door, where he had been supervising the serving of the meal. Olivia suspected he had never liked the dowager’s husband and had liked her son even less. Perhaps he thought Gabriel a better duke than either of them.
The dowager spoke. “There will be much to do when he arrives. I have some thoughts on the matter.”
Felicia set down her knife with a genteel clink. Her face held an expression Olivia had not seen for a very long time. It was the same expression she saw every time Felicia bore another daughter, setting aside herdisappointment and preparing to try again for her dearly-longed-for son and heir.Resolve.
“I hope I can make my peace with the duke,” she said. “I think it is time to put the past behind us.”
The dowager looked surprised but also relieved. “I am glad to hear that, Felicia. Our family needs to work together through these difficult times.”
“Indeed.”
Felicia bowed her head over her meal once more, but Olivia caught the faint curve of her lips. Her mother was smiling, and there was something sly about it. Something shrewd and cunning.
Chapter Four
The Duke of Northam’s country estate, Whitmont, was in the county of Kent. The coastline was made up of sand and shingle beaches, and inland was a tidal marshland that strangers could wander for days and still not find their way out of. Not Ivo, he had grown up running free in the marsh, learning of its beauties and its dangers. The nearby village of Portside was ideal for receiving imported goods, and the villagers had been doing so for generations. With the high excise on French luxuries, and despite the government’s increasing watchfulness, the lucrative activity didn’t seem likely to cease anytime soon. Ivo liked to think smuggling was in his blood, just as Whitmont was in his blood. He could not imagine living anywhere else.
He missed his home—he always did when he was away from it for any length of time—but it was necessary to remain in London a little longer. There was a wager with one of the members of his club, but for some reason, the thought did not energize him as much as usual. He refused to believe his melancholy had anything to do with Olivia. Definitely not. Once he was back at Whitmont, he would feel more the thing, but before he could return home, he needed to pay a visit to Cadieux’s.
Bourne had sent him a note to say that his “invitations” had been sent. It was their code and meant all was in place for the next cargo of smuggled goods to cross the channel to Portside. This time, the cargo would be aboardThe Holly. Several of Ivo’s regular customers had been threatening to move their business elsewhere, and he needed to give the good news to Charles Wickley, in case he was also planning to jump ship to another supplier. He found Charles in the office above the gaming rooms. It was midmorning and the hell was yet to open, but from the shadows under his eyes, it looked as if he had been up for hours.
“So I should expect the delivery in the next few days?” Charles said.
“Yes, after nightfall. The club will be busy, and no one will notice a stray cart or two unloading their wares.”
Charles let out a sigh. “This was the last thing I needed.” The comment seemed to be aimed at himself rather than Ivo. He nodded at the chair in front of his desk, and Ivo lifted the tails of his elegant coat and seated himself. He couldn’t remember ever being invited to linger, and he could only think that Charles must indeed be beleaguered by his new responsibilities to have forgotten their usual formality.
“Gabriel is on his way back from Cornwall.” Charles broke the silence, fiddling with the papers on his desk. “Married.” He frowned. “You can imagine his grandmother’s reaction.”
“He pursued his own happiness. I can’t fault him for that,” Ivo said, pushing aside the thought that not every pursuit of love ended as happily. “I’m sure he was well aware of the consequences.” And perhaps his damned imprudence was catching.
Charles didn’t seem to hear him. “I am going to buy him out,” he said abruptly. “Cadieux’s will be mine. I need capital though. Gabriel won’t dun me, I know that, but I’d feel better if I could pay him the bulk of what Iowe. Or even if I take on a partner.” His frown deepened.
