Page 9 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
“And if he falls in love with another unsuitable young lady while we’re away from the capital?” Sebastian demanded. Truly, so much could go wrong here, it was frightening.
But the baron merely waved a hand in dismissal. “That will be dealt with should the time come. The main objective now is to remove Miss Hutton from his mind.”
He speared Sebastian with a hard glare. “This is my one condition to you marrying my daughter. You need to prove that you can be loyal to this family.”
When Sebastian continued to gape at him, the baron narrowed his eyes. “You either do this for our family, Ramsleigh, or you can see yourself out the door. What shall it be?”
Dear God, the man was serious. Effectively backed into the proverbial corner, Sebastian saw no way out of it. He would have to see this done.
“Very well, my lord,” he replied through stiff lips. “Is there any place in particular you wish for me to take your son?”
“I have already sent word to an old family friend, Lady Tesh, that you shall both be arriving posthaste, and so you may set off first thing tomorrow, the better to get the boy out of London before he does something rash. The Isle of Synne is secluded enough that Harlow shall be quite effectively stuck there, and it is not yet their summer season, so I can be assured that any fortune hunters will be few and far between. I’ve a mind to match the boy with an heiress while he’s out of the city, to recoup the coffers I shall be depleting on you should you manage to succeed in this endeavor.”
He sat forward, his expression giving no quarter. “Provide him with the time and distance necessary to break his infatuation and you shall have my Diane and her generous dowry.”
Once again that nausea rose up in Sebastian, nearly choking him. But what could he do? He stood, placing his drink on a small side table, the sound of it like a shot in the tense stillness of the room. “I shall begin preparations at once,” he managed, turning and striding from the room. Feeling as if he had signed a deal with the devil himself.
Chapter 3
Amonth. It had been a month since Lord Landon’s death. Every day of that month, without fail—more often than not, several times a day, much to Lady Tesh’s annoyance—Katrina had checked the post with equal parts hope and dread, certain her brother would insist she return home at once.
And every day she was met with increasing unease as the silence from Francis continued. Until today.
Katrina bit her lip as she glanced down at her brother’s bold, sharp handwriting. The butler had brought the missive to her just as she was about to depart for her weekly meeting with the Oddments. It should have been the ideal time to read it; she was essentially alone in the carriage save for Mouse, with no demands from Lady Tesh to take her away from giving her full attention to her brother’s words.
But once she and her pet were safely ensconced within the plush interior, and they were on their way to Seraphina’s circulating library, Katrina found she couldn’t bring herself to open the letter. Once she read its contents, no matter what it said, it would bring her grief. If her brother wished for her to return home, she would gain her only relation back, but she would be leaving everything she knew and loved here. And if Francis did not want her to return, she would stay with Lady Tesh and her friends and this place she had come to adore, but she would also know for certain that any hope that she and Francis could fully reconcile was over.
And, the irony was, she didn’t want either of them. Or, rather, she wanted the best of both.
So overwhelmed was she, however, by what the letter might contain, she remained frozen on her seat, unable to lift so much as a finger to break the seal. Before she quite knew what was happening, the coach slowed to a stop before the Quayside Circulating Library and the door opened to reveal Lady Tesh’s driver.
“Miss Denby, we’ve arrived,” he said when Katrina just stared at him in incomprehension.
“Oh! Yes, thank you, Henry,” she mumbled. Then, stuffing the missive into her reticule and grabbing Mouse’s lead, she descended to the pavement with as much poise as she was able. Which, regrettably, was not much, considering the disordered state of her mind, as well as Mouse’s excitement over seeing some of his very favorite people in the world. But eventually she managed to tug her dog into the Quayside, stood by while he gave enthusiastic greetings to Seraphina’s two younger sisters, Elspeth and Millicent, then left the girls to their duties behind the counter while she made her way to the rich blue brocade curtain at the back of the shop and the small office that doubled as a parlor beyond.
But no matter how she attempted to school her features into pleasant unconcern—something she had never been much good at—it did not take her friends long to realize that something was wrong.
Honoria, in the process of rubbing the ears of a very grateful Mouse, froze when she spotted Katrina’s face. “Who died?” she demanded.
“No one died,” Katrina insisted as every eye sharpened in alarm on her. But no matter that she raised her chin and forced a smile to her lips, there was no hiding the tremble in said lips as she took a seat in one of the room’s comfortably overstuffed chairs. Nor could she stop her hands from nervously clutching her reticule to her chest, as if to hide what lay within.
“Of course no one has died,” Adelaide soothed, leaning across the space between their chairs and laying a hand on her arm. “But it is quite obvious something is wrong. What is it, my dear?”
But no matter that Katrina opened her mouth to answer her friend, nothing emerged. What could she say? That she had finally received a letter from her brother, something she had been openly anxious about for a month? That though she had desperately wanted to hear from him, she was now too frightened to read his missive? It sounded ridiculous even to her.
Bronwyn, as sharp as ever, adjusted her spectacles and narrowed her eyes, taking in Katrina’s appearance as if she were studying her precious insects. “What is in your reticule, Katrina?” she asked quietly.
In answer, Katrina loosened her grip on the bag just enough to extract the now crumpled letter. Instant understanding saturated every face in the room.
“Your brother has written,” Seraphina said. Her face was, as ever, stern. But there was something troubled in her eyes.
“Yes,” Katrina rasped, looking down to the letter in her hand, then just as quickly looking away, as if she might discern what it contained simply by observing her brother’s sharp scrawl.
Adelaide’s hand on her arm tightened in comfort. “What does he say?” she asked quietly, her sweet voice threaded through with tension.
“I—I don’t know,” Katrina whispered. “I haven’t read it yet.”
There was a beat of silence. And then, Honoria’s voice filling the small room, “What the blazes do you mean you haven’t read it?”
