Page 61 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
“Do not trifle with me, sir. Briggs is a blithering fool and your association with the man does you no credit. But he did serve one useful purpose. If not for his idiotic chatter, I should never have known how close you came to fighting a duel with Lucien Fairhaven.”
Mandell tensed. So that was what had brought the duke descending upon him. Damn Briggs, he thought grimly.
“I await your explanation, sir,” the duke said.
Mandell gave him an icy smile. “You raised me to believe the marquis of Mandell is not required to give an accounting of his actions to anyone.”
“You are to me! I despise Fairhaven myself. He comes from a family of country upstarts. But I will not have my heir risking scandal and possibly death by challenging such an underbred boor.”
“Such considerations did not seem to trouble you when you thrust me into a duel when I was only sixteen,” Mandell reminded him coldly. “You did everything but load the pistol for me.”
“The dispute with Constable was an affair among gentlemen. You had been insulted. It was a matter of honor.”
“Or at least the appearance of honor.”
“Do not seek to change the subject, sir. You threatened Sir Lucien over a matter that was none of your concern. You forced him into turning the guardianship of his niece back to her mother, Anne Fairhaven.”
“Your Grace is remarkably well informed. So why come questioning me?”
“Because while I know what you did, I have no notion why you did it. I can only presume your extraordinary behavior has something to do with Lady Anne Fairhaven.”
Mandell gritted his teeth. If it had been anyone but his grandfather daring to question him about Anne, Mandell would have told them to go to the devil. But His Grace of Windermere possessed enough icy hauteur to freeze the depths of hell.
“Is she one of your light-o’-loves?” the duke asked.
“The virtuous Lady Anne?” Mandell arched one brow after his own haughty fashion. “That is hardly likely.”
It was illogical. He had done his best to seduce Anne and yet to hear his grandfather speak of her thus stirred an inexplicable anger in Mandell.
The duke regarded Mandell through narrowed eyes. “Then you must have a more serious motive for currying the lady’s favor. It is just as I feared.”
“Feared?”
“If you are thinking of marriage, she will not do, Mandell.”
No thought of marriage had ever entered Mandell’s head, but his grandfather’s words brought him up short.
“What does Your Grace find so objectionable about the lady?”
“Nothing personally. She is gently bred and from an old, respectable family. But she lowered herself by marrying with a Fairhaven, had a child by him. If you wed the lady Anne, this girl would become your stepdaughter, a child tainted with the Fairhaven blood.”
“Then little Eleanor Fairhaven and I would have something in common. My own blood is far from pure according to you.”
The duke flinched as though Mandell had struck a raw nerve. But he said levelly enough, “I trust a sound English education has cured any unfortunate traits you might have inherited from— And we decided long ago never to discuss that unfortunate part of your background, to simply forget.”
“You decided. I don’t recall ever being given a choice.” Mandell stared into the fire, carried back to that long ago night when he had watched his grandfather burn up the papers proclaiming his French heritage. “Perhaps the past cannot be so easily ignored, Your Grace. Nick has always thought I should seek to know more about those first years of my life.”
“What does Drummond know of anything?” the duke growled. “That young idiot, that wild-eyed radical, that Whig! Half the time I am ashamed to acknowledge him as my grandchild.”
“Nonetheless, Nick does have an uncanny habit of being right.” Some devil in Mandell prompted him to continue goading. “I have been feeling remarkably restless of late. Perhaps it is time I returned to France and sought some answers.”
The duke leaned on his cane, shoving himself to his feet. His face had gone ice white. “I absolutely forbid it!”
Mandell felt the color drain from his own face. It had been many years since the duke had presumed to say such a thing to him. Compressing his lips, he turned away. “I believe the storm is likely to break soon. I should summon Your Grace’s carriage.”
But the duke caught him by the arm. The old man’s grasp was surprisingly strong. “You will not go to France, Mandell. What possible reason could you have for doing so?”
“Is it so unnatural that I might wish to learn more of my French heritage, perhaps even my father?”
