The Dark Duke. Margaret Moore
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didn’t answer.
Mapleton frowned and went back to his task. “Elliot’s, then. I should have known. The young fool ran off to hide in Europe and you took the blame. Again.”
“All has been taken care of, so I would prefer to let the matter drop.” Adrian winced as he stood and tried to put some weight on his leg.
“I would rest some more, Your Grace, if I were you. Tell me, did it never occur to you to take a coach here?”
“Drake needed the exercise, and after London, I wanted the air.”
The deep, measured tones of Dr. Woadly were heard as he passed Adrian’s door. “I fear my presence has sickened my stepmother,” he noted sardonically.
“You could send her to the Dower House.”
Adrian slowly resumed his seat. “And have her tell everyone I turned her out?”
“She has no right to Barroughby Hall,” Mapleton said. “Your father left everything to you.”
“So he did.” Adrian reached into his vest for a cheroot. “I suppose, given my reputation, one more blemish shouldn’t matter.” He struck a match. “Don’t imagine I haven’t given it some thought. Still, my father wanted her to remain here. Along with Jenkins.”
“Your father has been dead these ten years.”
Adrian raised one dark eyebrow, well aware that Mapleton would never see eye-to-eye with him on certain things. “I was not aware there was a time limit on promises made to a dying parent.”
“There should be!” Mapleton said forcefully.
“This is such an unpleasant topic, John,” Adrian said as the smoke from his cheroot curled toward the high ceiling. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”
Mapleton thought a moment, then nodded his head. “If you let me get it.”
“Only too happy not to have to stir a hair,” Adrian replied lightly.
Mapleton went to another small table that held a decanter and some crystal glasses. He poured two drinks and handed one to Adrian before sitting beside him. “I really think you should consider retiring Jenkins. Give him a cottage and a pension. He’s getting too old for his duties, and his hearing…” Mapleton left off suggestively.
“I know. He’s worse every time I come. I’ve made certain he has only the basics to attend to, for the one time I said something about his age, I thought he was going to cry.” Adrian drew on his cheroot and let the smoke out gradually. “You can’t imagine a more worrisome sight than old Jenkins with a tear in his eye.”
“Must you joke about everything, my lord?”
Adrian gazed at the surgeon with a thoughtful expression. “It helps,” he said truthfully.
“I’m surprised the duchess hasn’t insisted he go,” Mapleton said after a short silence. “She doesn’t strike me as having the patience to put up with his mistakes.”
“Ah, now there I can offer an explanation,” Adrian replied, happy to be diverted from a serious subject like promises made on his father’s deathbed. “Jenkins was in his middle years when the duchess married my father. Now, if Jenkins is getting too old to do his job, well, how old is the duchess, then?”
Mapleton frowned. “You mean, if she admits that Jenkins has to stop working, she’s admitting she’s getting old herself.”
“Exactly!”
“And I suppose I could extrapolate that she also feels by having a young woman who is not noticeably attractive for a companion, she maintains her position as the most beautiful woman in the household.”
“One could say that,” Adrian agreed, for such an explanation might also illustrate why the duchess didn’t get angry over Lady Hester’s slight defiance. “How long has Lady Hester been here?”
“About four months.”
“Helpful, I take it?”
“I believe Dr. Woadly would say so.”
“Ah. Fewer summonses from Barroughby Hall?”
“So I understand.”
“We’ve made a very good guess as to why she might suit my stepmother, but why do you think Lady Hester would stay here?”
“I’m sure I have no idea,” Mapleton answered. “No alternatives, perhaps.”
“What of her parents? Have they died?”
“Oh, they’re alive. I understand they’ve gone to Europe for an extended period. Lord Pimblett apparently feels it would be better for his gout, or so Lady Hester said. She asked me some questions about the complaint. A most intelligent, compassionate young woman.”
“Which again begs the question, why would she shut herself up here with my esteemed stepmother?”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“Perhaps I will.”
Mapleton’s brow furrowed and Adrian sighed with genuine dismay. “Oh, not you, too. I assure you, she will be quite safe from the clutches of the Dark Duke.”
Mapleton chuckled, then finished his drink and rose. “I know it. Now I really must be on my way. Take care of that leg. No riding for the next few days.”
Adrian nodded absently. “I wonder how long she’ll stay,” he mused aloud.
“Lady Hester?”
The duke nodded.
“Why should she leave, after putting up with the duchess for so long already?” Mapleton asked.
“Because while you and I both know she has nothing to fear from me, Lady Hester may feel otherwise.”
Later that evening Hester tried to pay attention to the card game she was playing with the duchess and not to let her eyes stray toward the drawing room door.
Indeed, there was no reason she should keep doing so. She couldn’t expect anyone to walk into the room, except a servant, for the Duke of Barroughby had not come down to dinner. It was because of his injury, so Jenkins said, after also informing them that Mr. Ma-pleton did not think it a particularly serious one.
She also suspected, however, that the duke was reluctant to listen to his stepmother continue to denounce him to his face, a quite understandable reason.
“So, Lady Hester, you have never seen my stepson before?” the duchess asked. She was currently winning the game of piquet, which Hester thought explained her somewhat mollified tone, and the duchess’s good humor was ample recompense for playing less than honestly.
“No, Your Grace.”
“I daresay you moved in better circles in London society.”
“I did not move much in any circle, Your Grace,” Hester replied.
“Why not?” the duchess demanded. “Surely your father’s rank made your welcome assured.”
Hester tried not to squirm with discomfort, because the duchess would surely chastise her for wiggling. “I preferred to remain at home.”
“With your mama? How sweet,” the duchess murmured as she checked the number of tricks she had taken.
If that was what the duchess preferred to believe, Hester did not correct her. It was better than admitting she found it difficult to watch as her lovely sisters received all the attention, while she was treated as little more than a piece of furniture.
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