Page 6 of Never Second Guess a Lord
“Wecanagree on Lord Barrington.” Blake met his frown. “But perhaps Lady Barrington is best left to find her own way? To spend time with her sister, sister, rather than a duke with good intentions?”
He could tell by the look on Blake’s face that he meant to say more but held back.
“What is it, old friend?” he prompted. “If we cannot be honest with each other, who can we be honest with?”
Blake hesitated a moment before he nodded. “You are right.” He shook his head and eyed the door Prudence had so recently left through, concerned regardless of what he had said. “Once again, I cannot help but wonder. If she is as lost as you think, should you pursue her, after all?” His gaze returned to Jacob. The corners of his mouth tugged down. “Or would she be better off left to her own devices?” He shrugged. “Perhaps given time and space to find her own way as she seems so determined to do?”
“Does she, then?” Now, this was the sort of information that interested him. “Do tell.”
“Well, according to her correspondences with Maude, she seeks to start anew on her own,” Blake said. “While Lady Barrington did not say it in so many words, my wife is convinced she never wants to see her home in Mayfair again. That she will never remarry and intends to live out her days alone in her own estate.”
It was common enough knowledge that Prudence had borne Barrington no heirs, nor did he have any kin to whom his estate might revert. So this was one of those rare, almost unheard-of cases where everything went solely to his wife.
“Surely she does not mean to live out her days without a husband by her side.” He downed his whisky and set the glass down a little harder than intended. “Surely, Barrington did not turn her into…that.”
“That?” Blake perked a brow at him. “If you mean a lass who is determined to do things on her own terms without a lad telling her how things should be, then, aye,thatindeed.” He shook his head. “Which means a lad, or in this case, a duke, with good intentions who’s determined to make her whole again then send her on her way to a bright new marriage might not be best for her.”
He arched a brow right back. “Yet you invited me here.”
“Yet I did,” Blake echoed, blunt. “Because my Maude thinks that, despite what either of you might want, you and Lady Barrington are the perfect match, and true love awaits you.”
He chuckled. “Does she think all that?”
“She does.”
“Whatever for?” Because he would never love nor marry another after Elizabeth, and he thought he had made that rather plain.
“I wish I knew.” Blake polished off his whisky as well. “All I know is she tends to be right about these things.”
“Except in this case,” he reminded. “Otherwise, you would not have cautioned me against hurting Prudence before throwing her to the wolves.”
Blake poured them another. “Well, when you put it like that.”
“So I should leave straight away before I break an already-broken heart? One I am utterly certain is firmly encased in ice?”
“As if you could ever escape Maude.” Blake chuckled, handed him his glass, and winked. “Though I dare you to give it your best shot.”
“So you say.” He narrowed his eyes at a friend who knew him all too well. “Yet I sense, despite your denial, that you trulydosee something in this. Some sort of lasting connection where rest assured, I do not.”
“I see no such thing,” Blake reiterated. “In truth, I see nothing but broken hearts, in the wake of bringing you and Lady Barrington together.” He sipped his whisky and sighed again. “Broken hearts neither of you needs.”
What was his friend about? Was he for or against him being here?
“I have been more than clear that I will never love again.” He sipped his own whisky, defiant despite himself. “Yet I will linger for a time. See the St. Cecilia’s Day festivities through, then be on my way.”
The corner of Blake’s mouth inched up a mere fraction. “If you wish, Your Grace.”
He did. More than ever, now.
“Somehow, you have baited me once more, my friend,” he conceded. As it were, his interest was piqued by Blake and Maude’s outlook on all this. Why would they ever see him and Prudence as a pair well-matched?
Especially when the troublesome Englishwoman continued being every bit as challenging as he’d imagined she would.
Chapter Three
“Lord MacLauchlinbaitedthe Duke of Argyll?” Prudence grimaced and shivered at the sinister feel of it. She frowned at her maid. “Whatever does that mean, Miss Agnus?”
“Mind you, that was a word coined by someone who overheard such, but I would hazard to say it means nothing good at all, my lady.” Agnus’ mouth pinched so tightly that a faint sunburst of wrinkles blossomed around it. “From what I was able to ascertain from below stairs, Lord and Lady MacLauchlin fancy themselves matchmakers, and you are their latest victim.” She pulled Prudence’s hair a little too tightly while fashioning it and sniffed in derision. “While yes, a duke is fine and all, let us not forget that he is aScot.”
