Page 95 of About a Rogue
Mr. Edwards coughed delicately. “Dowe know that, sir?”
“Yes,” said Max slowly, staring at him. “I understand the current duke is in declining health, but Captain St. James is hale and vigorous.”
Mr. Edwards folded his hands on his desk. “Yes. You are correct about His Grace’s health, lamentably. However... I would not brush off all expectation, sir.”
“Why?”
“We’ve not heard from Captain St. James since he went north,” said the solicitor. “He intended to visit Scotland to inform his mother and sisters of his good fortune, and then return. We expected him weeks ago. Unfortunately, he has not returned, nor has he sent word.”
Max’s brain froze. The St. James family tree rose in his memory, stark and spare with all those stunted branches, bare of heirs. “I see,” he murmured.
Mr. Edwards smiled. “I am relieved to hear it. Her Grace was very pleasantly surprised by your visit. Managing a factory, while hardly comparable to a dukedom, is at least a step in the right direction.”
“You’ll let me know, won’t you?” Max demanded, ignoring the slight to his new profession. “If you hear from the captain?”
Edwards bowed his head. “Of course, sir. And I shall continue paying your income.”
In a daze Max walked back out to his wife. In the sunlight, in this magnificent garden, she was unbearably beautiful, her hair shining like honey under her straw hat, her gloved hands trailing through the last of the summer roses.
At his approach, she smiled. “What news? Have they decided to banish us back to Staffordshire?”
He didn’t smile back. “They’ve not heard from Captain St. James in weeks. He returned to Scotland and hasn’t come back as planned.”
Her eyes grew wide. “But then... that means...”
Grimly he nodded. “This could be ours.”
“No,” she said, stricken. “What about the showroom in London, and the Cheapside shop? What about Fortuna?”
“I’m afraid,” he said, “if they cannot locate my cousin the captain, and the duke departs this mortal vale, there may be no choice.”
Together, silently, they surveyed the castle. From outside the main walls, it rose forbidding and impregnable, ancient and commanding. Max had never wanted it, although he had once thought the power and wealth that came with the castle wouldn’t be unwelcome.
Now, though... Now he alreadyhadeverything he wanted—his aunt, restored mostly to herself. A home of his own, not nearly so grand as this one but happy and comfortable. A purpose to his days, with people who respected him and depended on him. And Bianca, who surpassed everything he’d ever thought a wife could be, at his side and in his heart.
What the bloody hell would he do with Carlyle, if the captain had met an unfortunate end and ceded his place in the succession?
“Well,” Bianca said after a long pause. “It looks like a prison to me. You’re very fortunate I love you so much.”
Max laughed, his somber mood breaking. “That is in fact the most fortunate thing about me, my love. And if I must inherit this monstrous pile of stones and become as stuffy and priggish as Wimbourne, I shall only bear it because of you.”
She laughed, and he kissed her. “I think we had better run for it while we can,” she confided.
Max glanced again at the imposing stone walls as they turned toward the carriage. A prison, indeed. “And pray very earnestly for Captain St. James’s health and safety.”
