Page 4 of The Jilted Duchess
She was a sight too good for him, Hector thought grimly. "Then he should have considered that before ruinin' her," he said out loud. "Enjoy yer day, stepmaither."
With a grin that was all teeth and threat, he turned on his heel and stormed from the house.
It was a long ride back to the Murray Estate. Miriam and Benedict moved to London with the entire household as soon as they were able. The air was better, Miriam had said, sneeringat him. Benedict hadn't bothered to make any sort of excuse or apology.
It was the way he preferred it, though. If they were any closer than at least a few hours' ride away, he might have to deal with them in his home more often.
"Your Grace," the driver said. "Can you at least sit inside until we leave the city?"
"It's stuffy in there," Hector said firmly, crossing his long legs and leaning back on the perch next to the driver. It was still drizzling, and the rain was now clearing his head and helping him to let go of at least a little of his burning anger. "I'll be fine out here."
"Your Grace, it's not -"
"It's nae done," he said, grinning. "I ken, laddie. I ken. Ye let me worry about that and ye focus on getting' these bonnie lasses to get us home in time for supper."
The man shook his head and continued with his work, letting Hector relax and enjoy the ride. Watching the horses race in front of the carriage and the scenery fly by on either side was meditative, enough that he was able to unclench his fists by the time they arrived back at the estate.
Mr. Laroux had clearly heard their approach. He was a slender man, all hair and style, and nothing like the butlers that anyof Hector's friends had, but he was very good at his job, even if he was always trying to make Hector into some sort of fashion plate. The only one remaining who had served under his father, Hector always felt as though Laroux was ever favorably comparing him to his father and being quietly pleased about it.
"I tried, Mr. Laroux," Ben, the driver, said glumly, jumping down from his seat. "I tried my best, sir, I promise."
"Stronger men than you have failed to impress upon His Grace what is the appropriate way to behave," Mr. Laroux said dryly, only a little of his natural Belgian accent still in his voice. "Please, Your Grace, let me take your coat. It's soaked through."
"Thank ye," Hector said simply, letting his man take his wet coat and bundle him inside. "If Mrs. Hopsted could warm a wee dram of whiskey with a little honey in it, I'll be mighty grateful to her."
"I am sure she can manage," Mr. Laroux said drolly. "Was your visit successful, Your Grace?"
"Maybe," Hector sat heavily in his favorite wingback armchair and spun it to face the fire, rubbing his hands together slowly. "I've said me piece. The weddin' will go ahead. What happens next is up to them."
“Do you expect trouble?”
Hector massaged his temples hard. He always expected trouble. That was part of being a successful businessman. Expect trouble,prepare for the worst, hope for the best, and hope that the good lord doesn’t see fit to kick your arse for being too big for your boots.
However, when it came to his family, he never knew what they were going to do next. Their way of thinking was so strange and unpredictable to him. He would never have expected anyone to act the way that they had consistently acted, and it made him feel as though he was unable to predict anything with any accuracy.
“I daenae ken,” he said slowly. “Ye’ve heard of me brother, what do ye think he’ll do? Do ye think he’ll follow orders?”
Mr. Laroux thought for a moment, his lips pinched into a tight line as he arranged everything Hector might need on the small table to his right. “I think that he will find some way to make it difficult, Your Grace. He is not the kind of man to look for marriage.”
“Then he shouldnae act as though he’s married to ladies,” Hector snarled, hand tightening on the armrest of his chair so that the wood creaked. “That’s nay way for a ‘gentleman’ to behave.”
“Indeed, it is not, Your Grace,” Mr. Laroux said firmly. “I quite agree with you. Let me get you that whiskey. As Mrs. Hopsted likes to say, you will catch a cold.”
“I’ve never had such a thing in my life,” he said with a reluctant laugh. “But I’ll take a whiskey and a hot meal.”
As Laroux left the room, Hector returned his gaze to the fire, deep in thought. When his father had left him the Dukedom years ago, he had never expected the worst part of the business to be gaining new family. Sure, he’d never felt any particular desire to meet the lady who had taken his mother’s place or the lad his father had deigned to raise, but he’d thought there would be civility—perhaps even cordiality, a word that Mr. Laroux adored.
His own cousins back in Scotland wrote him weekly and he missed the easy joy of family life, of striving to make something together and eating and drinking and laughing and fighting, but always having each other’s backs. The only thing that Benedict would have in his back was a dozen knives.
“Perhaps a wife will make a man of ye,” he muttered to himself, thinking again of the story he had been told of a girl who strode into a situation to save another from his brother’s advances. Surely if anyone could handle this situation and perhaps even make the most of it, it would be a girl with fire like that.
He hoped so.
Otherwise he might be damning her to a fate worse than being ruined.
CHAPTER THREE
The sun was shining. Birds chirped from the roof, the heady scent of roses and daisies filled the air, and the sun shone brighter than it had all year. And Alexandra was entirely sure it was doing this on purpose. In fact, as she sat in her carriage, staring despondently through the crack in the curtain, she just knew that some kind of fate or destiny was looking down on her.
