The Duke Goes Down (The Duke Hunt #1) - Sophie Jordan Page 0,38

at birth, but now that was gone and he had to decide where he fit.

He glanced down the lane in the direction of the vicarage. “Are you heading home, sir?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I’m just returning from a delightful visit with Mr. Gupta.” He pulled out a leather-bound book that he had tucked inside his wide jacket pocket and brandished it in the air. “The man is in possession of an enviable, ever-growing library and always so kind to loan to me from it.”

“Mr. Gupta is indeed a well-read man.” Perry nodded. Looking ahead, he gestured down the lane. “Shall I accompany you home?”

The man straightened his hunched shoulders with a touch of righteousness. “I don’t need an escort, young man. I am quite able to stand on my own two legs. They are not yet completely useless.”

“Of course. I simply always enjoy your company. I intended to ride past the vicarage on my way home at any rate. It’s lovely at dusk, the light gilds the ivy covering the stone of your cottage.”

The vicar’s expression softened. “Ah. You’ve noticed that, too? It is lovely. You know, that was exactly how the house looked when I first clapped eyes on the place all those years ago. We’d arrived just as dusk settled. My dear wife was beside me. Of course Imogen, too. She was such a precocious child. She took one look at the house and declared it home.” The vicar sighed and paused for a long thoughtful moment, shaking his head as though clearing it of that tender reverie. “Very well then. Thank you, lad. Let us walk together. You remind me of your father. He always did enjoy a lively discussion.”

Together they walked on, moving at the vicar’s crawling pace. Perry’s horse nickered impatiently and tossed his head as they strolled.

Perry and the vicar kept up a steady conversation. The man mostly talked about Roman history, the topic of the borrowed book currently in his possession. Perry noticed he did tend to jump from topic to topic a little erratically, without much transition. Perry had never noticed this about the man before, so he could only surmise it was a development of age and his recent health woes.

The combination of walking and talking seemed to labor his breathing. Perry frowned in concern at the man and slowed their pace further.

What was his daughter thinking letting him wander so far from home? Anyone could see he was not up to the task. They reached the cozy vicarage in twice the amount of time it would have taken Perry were he walking alone.

The housekeeper greeted them both at the door and he suspected the lady had been looking out the window, hoping to spot her employer returning home in the waning day.

She tsked as she helped him out of his coat. “You should have been home an hour ago. You promised to be back in time for dinner and the hour is nearly upon us.”

The vicar inhaled deeply. “Oh, my. That does smell heavenly, Mrs. Garry. I am famished.” His gaze shot to Perry. “You must stay and join us.”

“Oh, I have no wish to intrude.”

“I insist.”

The housekeeper looked at him expectantly, smiling in welcome. He was certain Imogen Bates, wherever she lurked, would not smile so welcomingly when confronted with him. No doubt she would have words to say that did not echo her father’s kind invitation.

Perry’s lips twitched as he imagined that. His last glimpse of her had been across the Blankenship ballroom. Her eyes had glinted at him in challenge.

“Yes, thank you,” he heard himself saying. “I think I should enjoy that. I should enjoy staying for dinner very much indeed.”

Imogen placed her last beetroot in her overflowing basket and pressed a hand at the small of her back, rubbing the tight area as she stretched. She had tended the garden well into the afternoon, pulling it free of weeds before gathering two baskets of vegetables.

Mrs. Garry had arrived earlier to collect the first basket so she might reap its rewards and get Cook started on the vegetables for their dinner.

Hefting the last basket indoors, Imogen left it in the kitchen for Cook, and then took herself upstairs to wash and change her clothes for dinner.

Papa, she assumed, was having his afternoon nap. She knew his walk must have tired him, although he would never dare to admit it.

When she emerged from her chamber to check on him it was to find his room empty. He must