Page 8 of Who Wants to Marry a Duke
“Nothing that would concern you,Liebchen.”
She laughed. “How disappointing. I love being part of your schemes. Or I used to at home, at any rate.”
Home. Prussia was still home forhim, too. “Do you miss Berlin?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Sometimes.” A faraway look crossed her face. “I’d sell my soul for someEisbein mit Sauerkraut.”
“You should have said so before. My new cook makes it.”
She gaped at him. “And it’s good? As good as in Berlin?”
“Since my new cook is German, it’s every bit as good.”
“How on earth did you find a German cook?”
“ThereareGermans in London, if you look for them, sis.” He grinned. “I’ll send someEisbein mit Sauerkrautover tomorrow.”
“You are a dear man.” She grabbed his head and kissed both his cheeks. “I shall hold you to that.”
He chuckled. “I’d expect nothing less of you.”
“Anyway, I’m glad I caught you before you fled.” She adjusted her gloves. “You’re always terribly elusive at affairs like this.”
“What sort of affairs do you mean?”
“Marriage marts. You know.”
“It’s October. Too late in the year for marriage marts. Besides, I thought this was just to celebrate your move into your new home. I see plenty of guests who would never be invited to a marriage mart. Like William Bonham.”
“Stop that,” Gwyn said with a nudge of her arm. “I know you don’t approve of his interest in Mama, but he’s been a perfect gentleman to her.”
“He’s a man of affairs.”
“He’sPapa’sman of affairs. I swear, you’ve become dreadfully high-in-the-instep now that you’ve been in England nearly a decade. And Mama says she’s not interested in him romantically, anyway.”
“She said the same thing about our stepfather, but that didn’t stop her from marrying him.”
“Surely you aren’t complaining about that. Without Papa, we wouldn’t have Sheridan and Heywood as brothers. And we would never have had the experience of traveling across Europe and growing up in Prussia.”
“True.” Without their stepfather, he wouldn’t have had to choose between his twin and his dukedom either.
No, that wasn’t fair. He’d mucked that up himself by not being more honest with Gwyn before he’d left Prussia. He should have told her from the start that he’d paid off her favorite suitor, that the arse had taken the money and run. He and Gwyn were slowly growing close again, though he feared there would always be a bit of a rift between them. They had once been of the same mind always, but years apart had made him more cautious and her more . . . self-sufficient.
Nothing showed that like the fact that he’d never told her of his playwriting. Of the painful secret about their father. Of the one woman Thorn had offered marriage to.
What the hell? What had made him think ofher?
Remembering Father’s secret, no doubt, the one Thorn had continued to keep through the years because he’d begun to fear it might be true.
After the Devonshire ball, Thorn had written his mother to see what she’d answer if he mentioned running into her supposed “friend,” Lady Norley. To his surprise, Mother had told him, “give my good friend Lady Norley my regards.” Apparently the baroness hadn’t lied about their friendship, which was enough to make him cautious about mentioning anything else to Mother.
“So if Mama likes Mr. Bonham and he’s good to her,” Gwyn was saying, “what’s the problem? It’s not as if they’ll have more children.”
“Thank God.”
“And speaking of marriage and children—”
“You’re enceinte.”
