Duke of Disrepute (Dukes of Distinction #3) - Alexa Aston Page 0,19

she said softly.

The countess opened her eyes. A sour look crossed her face as her mouth turned down.

“Why are you here?” she asked and began wheezing. Her eyes were bright with fever and a sheen of sweat covered her face. Her hands, folded on her chest, displayed blue nails that matched the blue of her lips.

“I came home to see you and Papa,” Elise said.

“I don’t want you here,” Mama said testily. “I never wanted you.” She stopped speaking only because a dry, hacking cough began and lasted for several minutes.

When it stopped, her mother glared at her. “I never wanted girls. Girls are competition for their mother. I wanted boys. An heir for Shelby. That never happened.”

The coughing began again and her mother snatched a handkerchief lying on the bed and held it to her mouth. When she pulled it away, Elise could see the bloody mucus on it.

“You were always too pretty and too smart,” her mother complained.

The words shocked Elise. “You always said I was only tolerably pretty.”

“I lied.”

For a moment, she remembered a long-ago dance with the Duke of Disrepute. He had told her she was very pretty.

“Go away,” Mama said. “Go sit with your father.”

“Do . . . do you know Papa is very ill?” she asked.

“Yes,” her mother said, exasperation obvious in her tone. “We’ll both die soon. It’s a race to see which one of us will land in the grave first.”

Her mother would never change. Elise would not allow Claire to meet this querulous woman. She had never had a good thing to say about her own daughter and certainly wouldn’t about her granddaughter.

“Goodbye, Mama,” she said, leaving the room.

She intended never to return.

Chapter Seven

Weston had stayed two days longer, meeting first with a solicitor in Brixham and then having the two of them call on Sir Winston without an appointment. He wanted to keep the old codger off-balance, fearing he would lowball the price if he knew how eager the Digsbys were to leave the area. Using his ducal charm and insistence, despite his rough appearance, Weston negotiated the sale in a matter of minutes. Having already had the Brixham solicitor draw up papers with the specific price, Weston urged Sir Winston to sign on the spot—else he might lose this opportunity. Flustered, the baron did as asked.

It didn’t take long to pack up the Digsbys’ belongings. All their clothing went into their lone trunk. When Katie wanted to bring along chipped dishes and worn linens, he had discouraged her, telling her to leave everything behind since they’d have all the items they needed in the steward’s house. Reluctantly, she agreed and so they’d set out for Treadwell Manor. Weston rode on a horse he’d purchased in Brixham, using the last of the funds he’d set out with, while the Digsbys traveled in a wagon, drawn by their lone horse. Neal had seen that one of Sir Winston’s tenants would take on the few animals they left behind.

The group now left the highway and turned down the lane. After a few minutes, Treadwell Manor came into sight. His throat grew thick at the sight of his childhood home. This is where he would raise his own children, emulating his father as much as he could. The duke had taught his son many good lessons, ones which Weston had ignored for several years now. He wanted to close the door on that chapter in his life and look to the future.

As they drew closer to the house, he glanced to his friends and saw disbelief in their eyes. Yes, they knew he was a duke and had begun addressing him correctly but seeing his grand house now had most likely made the situation real to them.

“Are we going to live here, Papa?” asked Mark.

“No, Son, His Grace will provide a lovely cottage for us.”

“It’s actually more than a cottage, Neal,” he said. “It has seven rooms.”

“Seven?” cried Katie. “It will take me forever to clean it.” Then she grinned. “But I’ll be thankful for all the elbow room just the same, Your Grace.”

“Why do we call Mr. Wallace Your Grace now?” Maisy piped up.

“Because it’s a polite way to acknowledge my title,” Weston told the young girl. “I am a duke. Dukes are called Your Grace or His Grace. A duchess is called Your Grace or Her Grace.”

“Do you have a duchess?” Maisy asked.

He laughed. “Not yet. But I would very much like to have one. Then she could give me children