On the Duke's Authority (Ducal Encounters series 4 Book 3)

by Wendy Soliman

  He was healing day by day and hour by hour, but a very large part of him still belonged to Crista. He didn’t ever want to forget her courage and determination, her ability to make him smile at life’s absurdities, her pride in their growing family. He wondered whether the child that had died inside her when she herself forfeited her life had been a boy or a girl. It had become customary for Amos to torture himself with such unhealthy speculations. He looked upon it as a penance.

  But he also discovered to his infinite surprise that he actually wanted to live again.

  Chapter Five

  Doran went down to find only Vince in the drawing room ahead of him.

  ‘And there was I thinking I was late,’ he said as he strolled across the room to join his friend.

  ‘We’re quite relaxed about that sort of thing here at the Park.’ Vince poured each of them a whisky from the decanter on the sideboard and raised his glass to Doran’s. ‘Glad to see you here, although I am less sure about Lady Marlowe’s appearance. Don’t get me wrong,’ Vince said, waving the hand that wasn’t holding his glass in the air. ‘I know nothing to the lady’s detriment and don’t imagine for a moment that she’s responsible for your travails. Even so, you have to admit, her arriving at the same time as you is one hell of a coincidence.’

  ‘I know better than to doubt the power of coincidence.’ Doran grinned to take the sting out of his words. ‘Everything in this world happens for a reason. If you believe that, it’s then just a question of establishing what that reason might be.’

  Vince groaned. ‘I should have known better than to expect a rational response. I’m married to an Irishwoman myself.’

  ‘Sure, you’ll be believing in the power of the folklore,’ Doran said in an exaggerated accent that made them both laugh.

  ‘I wouldn’t dare to do anything else.’

  ‘Your family have made me very welcome. It’s most generous of them.’

  Doran changed the subject. He preferred to withhold his opinion of Lady Marlowe, mainly because he had yet to formulate one. He’d been surprised by her disclosures and distracted by the indefinable something about her that muddled his thinking.

  ‘Frankie is very charming, but don’t let Zach’s hospitality fool you. Not much gets past him. If anyone attempts to dupe him, they seldom get away with it and aren’t given a second opportunity. In other words, if Lady Marlowe has ulterior motives, even her connection to his duchess will not save her. In fact, manipulating Frankie—if that’s what she is doing—will make matters ten times worse. Zach is very protective, especially after what happened to Crista. He’s well aware that there but for the grace of God…’

  ‘Quite.’ Doran knew what had happened to Lord Amos’s wife. ‘I imagine that for a man in your brother’s position, the demands upon his time must be brutal. That’s why I hesitated when you said he might be interested in getting involved with my timber.’

  ‘Zach is always looking for opportunities to diversify and keep the coffers topped up. The upkeep of this estate is considerable but it generates the necessary income, thanks to our father’s foresight and Zach’s management. The pater believed in innovation rather than relying upon the tried and tested, and Zach takes the same path.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope the duke sees the merit in my oak.’ Doran rolled his eyes. ‘If I can get it off the damned estate.’

  ‘Ah, speak of the devil.’

  Doran turned towards the door as the duke and duchess walked through it, closely followed by Nia.

  ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long,’ the duchess said, as though she were a guest in this house rather than its mistress. She was a woman who set trends and had no need to apologise, and Doran was struck by her graciousness.

  ‘Vince and I only just got here ourselves,’ he replied.

  ‘The snow isn’t letting up,’ Nia said, glancing out of the window and accepting a glass of peach ratafia from Faraday’s tray with a nod of thanks. The duchess took one too. ‘We will be here for a week at this rate.’

  ‘Stop worrying about the children,’ Vince chided gently.

  ‘I cannot help it—and if you were any sort of a father, you would be worried too.’

  ‘Certainly I would, if I thought for one moment there was anything to worry about.’ Vince sent Nia a gentle smile. ‘However, we both know that they will be snug and warm next door, with no thought at all for us.’

  ‘That is what concerns me.’

  ‘Then to please you, my love, I shall fight my way through the drifts on foot in the morning and check on their welfare.’

  ‘And get yourself buried in snow.’ Nia smiled. ‘I am not ready to part with you quite yet.’

  ‘Part with whom?’ Lord Amos asked, strolling into the room.

  ‘Vince is offering to trek through the snow in some heroic effort to appease my concerns about the children,’ Nia replied, standing on her toes and kissing Lord Amos’s cheek. ‘Much as I admire his gallantry, I fear I will finish up with reassured children and no husband.’

  ‘We never used to allow a little inclement weather to deter us when we were children,’ the duke remarked.

  ‘The boys are thinking along the same lines,’ Lord Amos replied. ‘Ariana tells me they are planning a snowball fight.’

  ‘We’re duty bound to show them how it’s done, aren’t we, Zach?’ Vince asked, grinning like a boy himself.

  ‘Thank you, Lord Vince, but that won’t be necessary,’ Ariana said, stepping into the room. Doran was surprised to see her there, dressed as well as all the other ladies. He had assumed she was the children’s governess and that she would dine in the nursery. Clearly her position here was not that of a lowly servant if she dined with the family and felt comfortable contradicting Vince. ‘They are already quite overexcited enough and don’t need any encouragement.’

  ‘Well, Vince, that’s you told,’ Lord Amos said, laughing as he handed a glass from Faraday’s tray to Ariana. The duke meanwhile topped up Doran and Vince’s glasses and poured fresh ones for himself and Lord Amos.

  ‘Ah, here are Max and Sara,’ Frankie said. ‘Right on time.’

  ‘I fell asleep,’ Sara admitted sheepishly, ‘and almost made us late.’

  ‘She does too much,’ Max said, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

  ‘No matter, you are here now and so is Leona,’ the duchess said, turning to smile at Lady Marlowe as she entered the room, looking enchanting in a sapphire gown, the colour of which perfectly matched her eyes. It was trimmed with some sort of fur that teased her décolletage, drawing Doran’s eyes to her figure. She looked up at him and offered him a tentative smile, something she had not done when they first met. In fact, she had not looked directly at him at all. ‘That gown is divine. I am so envious. You must tell me who made it for you.’

  ‘No one in the slightest bit fashionable, I’m afraid,’ Lady Marlowe replied. ‘You will not have heard of this particular modiste, Frankie. She works from a back street in the East End of London. Someone I know was wearing one of her designs. I remarked upon it, and she told me where to find Mrs Jordan. I believe in encouraging talent. Mrs Jordan has suffered her share of misfortunes.’ Her expression clouded over. ‘Disinherited of her rightful fortune, I am given to understand, which perhaps explains why I am so keen to support her.’ She cast a hesitant yet defiant glance in Doran’s direction. ‘Well, that and her skill with a needle.’

  Everyone smiled, Lady Marlowe was supplied with a glass and the conversation became more general. When dinner was announced it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for Doran to offer her his arm.

  ‘Since we are the only infiltrators in this family gathering,’ he said in an intimate whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, ‘perhaps we should show a united front.’

  ‘A charming suggestion, but I am not deceived.’ Her smile did not reach her eyes and she seemed highly suspicious of his motives as she placed her hand on his sleeve after a prolonged delay. ‘You are terrifie
d to find yourself in such opulent surroundings and I’m sure you imagine that I am similarly discomposed.’

  He cocked a brow in a challenging manner. ‘Well, aren’t you?’

  ‘Petrified,’ she agreed, and he sensed a little of the tension drain from her.

  ‘Well then, we shall protect one another.’

  ‘I find it difficult to imagine you requiring any sort of protection. You seem quite disgustingly sure of yourself.’

  ‘Ah well now,’ he replied in a strong Irish brogue, ‘that would be the silver tongue you’ll be mistaking for courage.’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea what you mean, but it sounds like a poor excuse.’

  She smiled as she took the chair that he held out for her, but Doran sensed her continued preoccupation. He took the chair beside hers as he set himself the challenge of winning her approval. Why her good opinion should be so important to him when he was still not entirely convinced that she was trustworthy he could not have said. He knew from bitter experience that his instincts were not to be relied upon in his dealings with the fairer sex. Even so, they were here together in this magnificent house and would likely be constantly thrown together for the next few days—at least until the weather improved. If she was somehow responsible for the problems he faced at home, drawing her out could encourage her to lower her guard, and she might let something slip.

  ‘Heartless female! You are supposed to be impressed by my deep cultural roots and natural affability that makes us Irish welcome everywhere.’

  ‘Don’t be taken in,’ Nia advised from across the table, smiling and wagging a finger at Doran. ‘While the Irish are known for their hospitality, they are also known for spinning the most outrageous tales.’

  ‘Ah, Nia, my love.’ Doran clutched dramatically at his heart. ‘You do me a disservice. Have I ever been known to exaggerate?’

  ‘All the time,’ Nia replied without hesitation, making everyone laugh.

  As the meal progressed, Doran was struck by the informality. The normal rules were abandoned as the duke called questions down the table to various members of his family. His duchess behaved in a similarly unceremonious manner. Doran had dined in the houses of far less important aristocrats where the formalities had been strictly observed. Those meals invariably became torturous affairs if one was unfortunate enough to be seated between dull people who had nothing interesting to talk about. But the Duke of Winchester, one of the most influential men in the country, didn’t feel the need to put on airs, and dining at his table was a far more enjoyable experience as a consequence.

  ‘An unceremonious evening,’ he said to Lady Marlowe in a quiet aside when the others were engaged in a lively dispute which saw Nia and the duchess teaming up to tease the three brothers. ‘Knowing Vince as well as I do, I can vouch for his preference for informality. He told me to expect the same thing from his brother the duke, but I honestly didn’t believe him. In my experience, dukes tend to be very full of themselves and enjoy keeping us lesser mortals firmly in our place.’

  She turned to look at him, candlelight reflected in vibrant blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. ‘You dine with dukes on a regular basis?’ she asked.

  ‘Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘Oh, stop it.’ She flapped a hand at him. ‘We are infiltrators, you and I, put at our ease and made to feel welcome by people who have sufficient confidence in themselves and their place in the world not to feel the need to lord it over the rest of us.’

  ‘What do you think of the engaging Spanish girl?’ Doran asked, keeping his voice low. ‘I cannot make out her position in this household.’

  ‘You have adopted more than a passing interest in her, one imagines, which is perfectly understandable. She is exquisite—and yet there is an air of sadness about her, a reserve that makes her seem detached, as though she is holding a part of herself back. I imagine that makes her seem as though she’s shrouded in mystery, which would excite most gentlemen’s protective instincts. I can quite see why she would attract your interest.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that,’ he replied in a soft and intimate drawl. ‘I am curious, not infatuated. There is only one lady at this table who interests me.’

  She turned to give him her full attention, colour invading her high cheekbones. ‘If you are attempting to flatter me, Mr Conroy, then you are wasting your time. I think it only fair to warn you that I am impervious to your Gaelic charm.’

  He laughed. ‘If you mean to put me off, you will have to do a great deal better than that. The surest way to procure my interest is to pretend…well, disinterest.’

  She gasped. ‘Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?’ She tossed her head, not quite convincing in her justifiable ire. ‘Save your compliments for a more appreciative recipient. I refuse to play your games.’

  ‘Perhaps you should reconsider.’ His tone turned serious. ‘A little amusement is just what you need to lift your spirits.’

  She ignored the suggestion and returned her attention to Ariana, who was engaged in animated conversation with Lord Amos. ‘Do you suppose they are discussing his children?’ she asked. ‘I read about his wife being murdered. The bullet that killed her was intended for Frankie. Only imagine how she must feel, surviving the attack that killed Lord Amos’s wife.’

  ‘I barely can,’ Doran replied, serious too for once. ‘But I have seen more than my fair share of premature deaths in my time, and if it teaches nothing else, it at least reminds us that life is fleeting and often unfair, but always to be cherished.’

  ‘I rather think that is what Lord Amos is doing.’ Lady Marlowe cast that gentleman a speculative glance which he failed to notice since his entire attention was focused upon Ariana as he smiled at something she said to him. ‘He’s slowly healing, and Ariana, unless I mistake matters, is playing a vital role in bringing him back to life.’

  ‘What of you? You have suffered a loss as well. Are you yet ready to rejoin the world of the living?’ he asked, fixing her with a probing look.

  *

  Leona felt a little out of her depth in the company of this engaging Irishman, and was unsure how to respond to such a personal question posed so directly by a virtual stranger. Some might consider it impertinent, but Leona didn’t take offence. Since telling Ethel that she intended to become more intimately acquainted with him in an effort to decide whether he was somehow involved in Yaris’s machinations, she had changed her mind several times. Mr Conroy was charming and silver-tongued, sophisticated and entertaining—all the things that he himself claimed to be, somehow without sounding arrogant. It didn’t hurt his cause or the task that Leona had set herself that he was also disarmingly attractive. With a thick, unruly sweep of reddish-brown hair, his chiselled features lent him a roguish air, as did his moss green eyes that danced with perpetual amusement but also, she suspected, concealed a sharp mind that missed very little. She would do well to remember that and not let her guard down.

  ‘I am coming to terms with my situation,’ she said, looking away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said, smiling. ‘Let me guess. Being Irish, you were born with an inquisitive nature that makes you think you can ask personal questions of strangers and right all the world’s wrongs.’

  ‘I can’t even right my own,’ he said, looking momentarily dejected, causing Leona to wonder whether she had unintentionally ventured into contentious territory.

  ‘It was not my intention to pry.’

  ‘You didn’t, but…’ His words trailed off when they heard loud voices coming from the vestibule.

  ‘Good heavens,’ the duke said, glancing at his wife. ‘Whatever’s all that racket? We are not expecting visitors, are we?’

  ‘No, we are not.’ Frankie lifted one shoulder. ‘And even if we were, they wouldn’t have been able to get here in these conditions.’

  ‘Then who the devil…’

  Faraday entered the room
and everyone looked up at him expectantly. ‘Pardon the intrusion, your grace.’ He turned hesitantly towards Lord Amos. ‘Mrs Brooke and Mr and Mrs Devonshire are here, my lord,’ he said, looking rather flustered which, Leona suspected, was a rare occurrence for a butler of Faraday’s ilk.

  The ensuing silence was deafening. Leona glanced at Mr Conroy but he seemed as bemused as everyone else. Lord Amos’s face blanched.

  ‘How the devil did they get here, Faraday?’ he asked in a tone of barely controlled fury. ‘And more to the point, why have they come?’

  ‘As to how, I understand their carriage broke an axle close to Shawford. Help was summoned from the Crown but the weather means they are full to capacity and had no rooms available. So Jeggins had someone drive them here in a wagon at Mrs Brooke’s insistence.’

  ‘I see,’ Lord Amos said through gritted teeth, putting his napkin aside. ‘Excuse me, Frankie. I will deal with them. Arrange rooms for them in the east wing, Faraday,’ he added, glancing at Frankie who nodded her agreement. ‘And have supper sent up to them there.’

  ‘Amos.’ Frankie touched his hand. ‘We can have places set for them. We have only just started.’ She glanced at the angry set to Amos’s features and sighed, looking deeply disturbed. ‘Do whatever you think is best.’

  ‘Mrs Brooke is Amos’s mother-in-law,’ Frankie explained when the door closed behind him. ‘They have never seen eye to eye but she is his children’s grandmother, so he cannot ignore her completely. The Devonshires are his sister-in-law and her husband.’ She glanced down the table at the duke, who sent her a reassuring smile. ‘I do hope they don’t upset Amos. He is only just getting back to being himself again.’

  ‘He was right to suggest the east wing,’ the duke said reassuringly. ‘It’s the least used part of this house and they will not feel especially welcome in it. Let Amos deal with them. We cannot interfere. I’m sure he will insist upon sending them on their way the moment the roads are clear enough for them to travel.’