Page 23 of What's a Duke Got to Do With It
“They would not dare,” Peter replied with a chuckle.
“I am sure you have realized, Ramsleigh,” Ash, Duke of Buckley, said to the other man, “that Lady Tesh is quite the formidable woman. As a matter of fact, it seems most of the women on Synne have that particular trait in some degree or another, my own dear bride included.” He tucked an arm about Bronwyn’s waist and smiled down at her.
“Perhaps it is something in the water,” Peter mumbled, smirking as his wife playfully elbowed him in the side.
“I have the utmost respect for Lady Tesh, I assure you,” the duke—the Duke of Ramsleigh, that is; goodness, there were so many dukes—said, bowing in that woman’s direction. “I daresay if the world was run by strong, formidable women instead of men, we would be in a sight better shape than we are.”
“Oh, you’ll do just fine here,” Ash murmured approvingly.
All the while, as they talked and laughed, Katrina busied herself with adjusting Lady Tesh’s shawl and seeing to Freya. As she smoothed the wisp of unruly fur atop the dog’s head, however, she noticed her fingers were trembling. And not just a small bit, but quite violently. It would be easy enough, of course, to attribute her spate of nerves to Honoria’s revelation of the vicar and his cruel message. Such a thing was powerful enough to affect her for some time.
But Katrina knew there was more to it. And as she glanced up and caught Lenora gazing at her in worry, she knew what it was. Having been with Lady Tesh for more than two years now, she had learned how to blend into the background easily enough. While everyone was typically kind to her, she was never at the center of the discourse. It was not her place, after all.
But tonight she felt inexplicably as if she were standing center stage at Drury Lane, with the lights bright and burning on her. And she hated it, so much she thought she would be ill.
Maybe she should have listened to Bronwyn and returned to Seacliff. There was still time to depart, wasn’t there? She could leave, and have the carriage sent back for the rest of the party, and spend the rest of the evening curled in bed with Mouse. Or she could sit at her small desk and write out that list of men she might be able to marry, thereby setting in motion the events needed to finally claim some respectability.
Before she could inform Lady Tesh of her wishes, however, the butler arrived and announced dinner. And then there was no time to slink away like a dog with its tail between its legs. Lady Tesh needed her assistance, and Freya required attention, and she did not want to cause a fuss. Or, at least, no more a fuss than she already had.
Dinner was a torturous affair. Lenora had, of course, made certain to have the seat and place setting the vicar would have used removed before the guests arrived in the dining room, so there was no empty seat screaming at Katrina that she was a scandalous female. But it did not go without her noticing that the young man on her other side pointedly ignored her. Nor did she fail to notice the Duke of Ramsleigh looking at her with a troubled frown throughout the evening. Was even he aware of the slight that had been made against her? Dear God, how he must pity her. Which was somehow worse than the vicar’s cruel opinion.
By the time the meal was over, Katrina’s nerves were about to shatter. She assisted Lady Tesh back to the drawing room and saw she was settled comfortably. But when she would have sat beside that woman, she froze, her stomach lurching. She couldn’t do it. She could not sit and smile and pretend everything was well when her life was in shambles. If she did not get some air this very moment, she knew without a doubt she would scream. Or cast up her accounts. And truly, in that moment she didn’t know which would be worse.
Turning to Bronwyn, who sat near Lady Tesh, she passed Freya to her. “I think I need to use the retiring room,” she said.
Bronwyn, of course, saw through her brittle unconcern. “Take all the time you need,” she whispered. “I’ll distract Lady Tesh.”
Katrina wanted to throw her arms about her friend’s neck in thanks. Instead she gave her a trembling smile and bolted from the room. But she did not go to the retiring room. Instead she made for the closest outside door, rushing through it into the cool evening air. Only then, with the clear inky sky and multitude of stars above her head, could she breathe. But it was not a normal, calming inhale. Rather, it was a shuddering gulp of breath, the air hitting her lungs seeming to awaken all her frustration and fear and anguish. Soon sobs were ripping from her chest.This is ridiculous, her mind scolded as she hugged her arms about her middle, as if to hold herself together.You are weak. You are pathetic. It’s only what you deserve.
But the more her mind scolded her—the echo of what she had heard throughout her childhood, a cruel drum in her head—the harder she cried. She was barely aware of the door opening behind her, or the voice calling her name. It was only when a hand gently gripped her arm that she realized she was no longer alone. Before she could think to react, however, she was pulled into a strong embrace, and a familiar scent of pine assailed her senses.The duke.
She should pull away. He was not for her, after all. And if they were ever found here, it would ruin his chances with Miss Bridling. She could not allow that. But when his strong hands rubbed over her back, soothing her in ways she had not thought possible, she could no more pull away than she could fly to the moon above their heads. Letting loose a weary sigh, she melted into him, her arms stealing about his waist. And one small corner of her brain thought that she would be quite content to never let him go.
Chapter 8
Sebastian had sensed something was wrong with Miss Denby the moment they arrived at Danesford. Her friend had whisked her away and whispered something to her, and the blood had quite literally drained from her face. He had ached to go to her and ask her what had happened.
But no, it was not his place. She had her friends surrounding her, and he had his duty to Lady Tesh and their hosts. There were people to meet—or, on occasion, reacquaint himself with, as he had known the Duchess of Dane, then Miss Lenora Hartley, and the Duke of Buckley, then the co-owner of London’s premiere gaming hell, during his time in London before his father’s death. And Miss Denby was in a safe, familiar place. Nothing untoward could happen to her here.
Or so he had thought. It was not until they were seated at the long mahogany table for dinner that he realized maybe Miss Denby was not in a safe place after all.
The woman seated beside him, Mrs. Pickering, mother to the Duchess of Buckley he had been informed—on multiple occasions—leaned in close as they began their soup. “It is shameful Lady Tesh has keptheron after such a sordid scandal,” she murmured in outraged tones, motioning with her spoon toward Miss Denby.
He stared at her, certain he had not heard her right. He should ignore her, of course. If there was anything he had learned over the past years, it was that giving such gossips the attention they craved, even if that was to squash rumors, only succeeded in adding kindling to the fire.
Yet he found that though he knew better, he could not help responding.
“That was four years ago,” he gritted. “One would think that people would have moved on from it by now.”
As expected, the woman’s eyes fairly glowed with her success at capturing his attention. She tittered. “Ah, my dear duke, but this latest scandal was a mere month ago. Though I suppose you wouldn’t have heard just yet, being so new to Synne, as well as residing under Lady Tesh’s roof. The dowager viscountess has been working quite hard at keeping the whole thing bottled up tight.”
A month? What the devil was she talking about? But though he schooled his features into disinterest, it was much too late. Mrs. Pickering had already got a whiff of his blood and was not about to release her jaws from about his neck.
“That poor Lord Landon fellow must have been utterly bewitched by her to have attempted to climb into her bedroom window again upon his return to England. Though this time he fell to his death, didn’t he? How Lady Tesh can hope to keep this from getting out, I’ll never know.” She smiled, an almost feral thing. “But now that the vicar himself has refused to be in the same room as her, there will be no stopping the good people of Synne from shunning Miss Denby as they ought. I only wish my darling daughter would follow suit. I have told her on more than one occasion that it does not look well for a duchess to befriend such a person. But she will not listen to me, no matter that I am her mother.” She sniffed in offense.
Fury had boiled up in Sebastian at the woman’s ramblings. But putting her in her place would do no one any good, most of all Miss Denby. And so he had pointedly turned his back on Mrs. Pickering and her cruelties, letting his silence do what his words could not in such a setting—all the while doing his best to ignore the effect the woman’s words had on his curiosity.
Lord Landon had returned, and tried once more to climb into Miss Denby’s window a mere month ago? And he haddied? What the devil? He had known Landon during his time in London, of course, though not well. The man had been boring, and serious, not at all the kind of person Sebastian had been in the habit of running wild with. He could not imagine him becoming so passionate about anything that he would have not only got himself embroiled in a duel and sent into exile, but also lost him his life.
