When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,103

noble motives.

“Kristoff is below,” Ivor said, referring to one of the footmen who’d been tracking Parker’s coach. “If Your Grace wishes to speak with him—”

“Send him up,” Duncan said, “and we don’t care if he’s sporting a day’s growth of beard and has horse manure on both boots.”

“Spoken like a Wentworth,” Jane murmured. “Do as Mr. Wentworth says, Ivor.”

The footman bowed and withdrew, nearly running into Quinn at the door.

“You have news,” Duncan said, otherwise the duke would not have returned home.

“I have news,” Quinn said, kissing Jane’s cheek and taking the place beside her. “I’m not sure it’s good news.” He reached for a sandwich.

Duncan swatted his hand aside. “Report first, eat later.”

Quinn’s glare was frigid, also the same posturing Duncan had seen him turn on arrogant lordlings and other heedless puppies. Duncan’s return glower was a promise of lingering death for any man who put sustenance above Matilda’s welfare.

“Welcome to the family,” Quinn said, exchanging some sort of glance with Jane. “I had my doubts, but my duchess—as usual—had the right of it. I ran into Elsmore at the club.”

“The Duke of Elsmore,” Jane said. “Bachelor, on the sensible side of thirty. Said to be wealthy, Quinn considers him trustworthy.”

“He went to school with Lord Atticus,” Quinn went on. “Elsmore does not care for the man.”

How Quinn had wrested that confidence from His Grace was a mystery known only among dukes, and Duncan frankly did not care if thumbscrews had been involved.

“Does Elsmore envy the war hero a soldier’s glory?”

“His Grace has no patience with bullies, with courtesy lords who terrorize the younger lads, who charge usurious interest on schoolyard loans, who forge a letter that nearly got another boy from a lesser family expelled.”

And this wolf in war hero’s clothing had Matilda. “His Grace of Elsmore was a font of interesting information.”

“Elsmore is usually the soul of discretion,” Quinn said. “We’ve had to deal with each other regarding the occasional delicate financial matter, and I would trust Elsmore before I’d extend that honor to any other peer.”

“Elsmore was the first to call upon us when Quinn gained the title.” Jane opened the halves of a sandwich, then put it back together and passed it to Quinn.

“Jane is the Duchess of Mustard,” Quinn said. “Woe to any new kitchen maid who forgets to put mustard on my sandwiches.”

Even as one part of Duncan’s mind whirled with speculation regarding Parker’s motives, another part of his mind—or maybe his heart—watched the smiles Quinn and Jane exchanged, the way they sat so comfortably right next to each other. All of life for them had acquired a certain joyous intimacy from which others were excluded, and yet, the glow of that intimacy reflected onto any in their ambit, as a blazing hearth warms an entire room.

I want that. I want that with Matilda. “Did Elsmore have anything else to add?” Duncan asked.

“Eat your sandwich,” Jane said, lifting Duncan’s plate in his direction.

“The only other fact Elsmore added,” Quinn said, “was that the Marquess of Creswell and his younger brother do not get on well. No details. Younger sons in titled families can be discontent, and despite the lofty commission purchased for him, Parker fits that description.”

The tickle in the back of Duncan’s mind regarding younger sons grew to an itch. What was it…?

“As usual,” Stephen said, wheeling into the room in his Bath chair, “nobody sought to summon me when food was on hand.”

“You do not join us fresh from your slumbers, Stephen,” Duncan said. “Where have you been?”

Stephen drew up to the low table. “How can you tell?”

“You are in riding attire, and the mud on your boots would have been cleaned off by the boot boy last night. You’ve therefore already been abroad today and you went on horseback.”

Stephen helped himself to a sandwich. “Where did I go?”

Someplace that a man on horseback would be received more respectfully than a man in a fancy crested town coach. Someplace useful, where information could be gathered relevant to the current dilemma. Someplace where Stephen had connections of his own, connections not accessible to anybody else in the family.

“Horse Guards,” Duncan said. “Your military friends share your interest in modern weaponry, and soldiers love to gossip. What did you learn?”

Quinn had paused mid-reach toward the sandwich tray. “Never, in an eternity of trying, could I have come up with that guess.”

Was that respect in the duke’s eyes? Pride?

“A moment’s consideration of the facts,” Duncan said, “and you would have landed on the most