Page 105 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
And now this brother-in-law of hers had made a point of putting her past in as bad a light as possible. To what purpose?
To drive him away? If so, why? What did it matter to Charles?
An instinct he rarely ignored told himsomething was rotten in the State of Denmark.
He intended tofind out why it was.
Barbara stalked into the drawing room where she had been told she would find her aunt.
The dear lady was stretched out on the chaise longue, her embroidery in her lap and the pages of a newspaper over her face. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest indicated she had nodded off as she so often did after luncheon.
She still wasn’t sleeping well, not even at the back of the house. Not since the burglary.
Barbara huffed out a breath and sat down in the chair opposite. If she woke her, the poor dear would be out of sorts for the rest of the day and likely Barbara would not get the answer she wanted.
She rummaged through her workbag beside the chair and pulled out the fabric for a footstool she had been working on. It was something Aunt Lenore had started many years before, but had abandoned. Barbara had promised she would try to finish it.
She sorted through the wool threads and picked out a dark red for a rose. Red suited her mood. She was angry.
Angry at Father. As usual.
With an occasional glance at her aunt, she plied her needle in short, swift jabs. But as she settled into the rhythm, her stitches became longer and began to flow.
Her anger, while it did not disappear, seemed to ease to a manageable level. She had almost finished the inner petals of the rose when her aunt stirred. The newspaper fell to the floor and her eyes blinked a few times.
‘Shall I ring for tea?’ Barbara said quietly, putting her embroidery back in her workbag.
Aunt Lenore smiled. ‘Yes, dear. That would be lovely.’
Barbara got up and rang the bell. By the time she turned back, her aunt was upright and patting at her hair. ‘I must have dropped off,’ she said.
‘I think you must have.’
‘Dear me. Dear me.’ She looked down at the handkerchief she had been embroidering. ‘And not a stitch done. And I had hoped to have this ready for your father’s birthday.’
‘Speaking of Father, do you have any idea where he has gone or when he is likely to return?’
Aunt Lenore turned the embroidery hoop over and peered at the back of her work. ‘Gone? Has he gone?’
Barbara stifled her impatience. This was her aunt’s way of putting off unpleasant discussions. Answering a question with a question.
‘I walked over to his townhouse this morning. His butler said he has left for parts unknown. He took his valet and packed an overnight bag.’ And as usual had not left a single word of explanation for his daughter.
‘I hope you did not go without a footman?’
‘I did not. Do you know where he went?’
‘Do you need him for something, dear?’
Yet more questions. ‘I do.’ She was going to make it very clear to Father she did not intend to marry anyone. Not Derbridge. Not anyone. Crystal clear.
If he hadn’t alreadygrasped that fact.
All she had to do was remain single until she was twenty-five, in a month’s time, then she could live the rest of her life in relative comfort and on her own terms.
When she did not explain, her aunt sighed. ‘I have no idea where he went.’
‘But you did know he was leaving London.’ It wasn’t a question.
