Page 34 of Duke of Emeralds
Organizing his thoughts about her had, perversely, organized him. He hadn’t mentioned his own confounding state once. A minor victory. He sanded the letter, folded it precisely, and reached for the bell pull to summon Slater.
The door opened before his fingers touched the cord.
“Your Grace,” Slater intoned, bowing. “The Duke of Craton and the Duke of Copperton await you in the blue drawing room.”
Thomas’s brows lifted. Isaac wasn’t expected for another week to inspect those promising fields near Alton. And Colin accompanying him? Highly irregular. He tucked Elspet’s letter into his coat pocket, the momentary peace evaporating. “Show them in here, Slater. And bring whisky.”
Moments later, the two Dukes filled the doorway, their town attire slightly travel-dusted but radiating good humor. Isaac, dark-haired and perpetually serious except around close friends, offered a brief nod. Colin, fairer and always ready with a quip, grinned broadly.
“Gentlemen,” Thomas greeted, rising. He gestured to the decanter Slater had swiftly deposited. “Help yourselves. To what do I owe the unexpected honor? Sick of the country air already, Isaac? It’s barely been a fortnight.”
Isaac accepted a glass, his expression wry. “Hardly. The Marquess of Alderton has seen fit to commence his house party near Sevenoaks a week early. We thought to adjust our plans accordingly.”
“For the house party,” Thomas nodded, pouring his own drink. Colin’s arrival made more sense now; Alderton’s gatherings were legendary for their excess.
Colin raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes sparkling. “Nonsense, Thomas. We’re only here for the grand ball. Alderton’s cook, you understand. Unparalleled.”
Thomas raised his glass, amber liquid glinting. “Only here for the booze, then? Alderton’s cellar must be exceptional.” The whisky’s burn failed to soothe the restlessness.
Isaac stretched, leather creaking beneath him. “Suffice to say I kill two birds with one stone. The Marquess’ diversion and the Alton fields. Practicality, Thomas.”
Thomas’s eyebrow arched. “Practicality, indeed. But Isaac, wheredidye leave yer Duchess? Did Fiona brave London’s soot alone?” Isaac flushed, clearing his throat. “Right. An omission. Fiona’s with me. As is Anna, Colin.” He avoided their stares. “The London air wearied them. Headaches, fatigue… the usual toll of a prolonged Season.” He spread his hands. “Country air before the final balls seemed prudent.”
“Precisely,” Colin swirled his drink. “A restorative interlude.”
“Ah.” Thomas nodded. “Three birds with one stone, then? The party, the fields, and the ladies’ recovery?”
“The flock grows,” Colin grinned.
Thomas’ chuckle tightened in his chest. The whisky turned chalky on his tongue.
Colin leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Speaking of ladies… how fares thee, Thomas, in thine matrimonial glory? Does wedded bliss suit ye?”
Whisky seized Thomas’s throat. He choked, doubling over as liquid scorched his windpipe. Fist pressed to his mouth, he coughed until tears blurred his vision. Heat flooded his face.
Isaac’s lips quirked. “There,” he told Colin, quiet triumph in his voice. “Your answer arrived… emphatically.”
Colin beamed. “Splendid! He’s reached that stage, has he not? Already?”
Thomas wiped his stinging eyes, cheeks aflame. “What stage?” The words scraped raw. He felt flayed open.
The dukes exchanged a glance and burst into laughter. “Suffice to call it,” Isaac wheezed, “the haunting stage.”
The word punched Thomas’s gut.Haunted.By lavender in sunlit halls. By a smile half-hidden behind a book. By her low murmur in the garden. How could they know? Had servants whispered? He schooled his face to stone, knuckles pale on his glass. “Do ye hear yerselves? Ye sound like fishwives tallying scandal.”
“Loud and clear!” they chorused, laughter erupting anew.
A reluctant grin cracked Thomas’s composure. The madness of it loosened his shoulders. He shook his head, joining their mirth—easier than truth.
Colin dabbed his eyes. Isaac smirked, winking at Colin. “Never fret, Thomas.” Isaac’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “What comes after the haunting?” He paused. “That, my friend, is the finest part.”
Laughter shook the room again.
Thomas leveled a flat stare at his chuckling friends. “I’m not married to a ghost,” he stated, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling as if seeking divine patience. The denial felt hollow even to his own ears.
Colin and Isaac, thoroughly enjoying his discomfort, launched into another volley of jests about spectral brides and midnight hauntings. Thomas endured it, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair, his jaw set just a fraction too tight. Finally, Colin wiped a stray tear of mirth away and leaned forward, his expression shifting to business.
“Enough tormenting the afflicted,” Colin declared though his eyes still sparkled. “These fields near Alton, Thomas. Isaac mentioned the venture. I find myself intrigued. Would there be room for another investor? I’d like to ride out with ye both, see the lay of the land.”
