When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,117
duchess like for me to join her when she confronts her father?”
Was the question as neutral as it seemed? Matilda was angry too, ready to curse and pitch fine art in all directions.
She stared at her gloves, which had been sewn with pearls in honor of the wedding that had not—thank God and Duncan Wentworth—taken place. “Please come with me, Duncan. I can’t do this alone.”
Something soft and warm grazed her cheek. “If you are as upset as I believe you to be, then you must speak up, Matilda. I am also furious on your behalf, but he is your father.”
Matilda straightened. “Meaning I’m supposed to honor him, that my days might be long upon the earth?”
“Meaning that if you want me to thrash Thomas Wakefield within an inch of his cowardly, conniving life, I will cheerfully do so. Quinn will take up when I leave off, Jane will want a turn, and Stephen will finish the old schemer off, but we do so only if we have your permission.”
Matilda was still anxious, still angry, but she had a reason to smile too. “Thank you for that. When we’re through with Papa, I want an interview with you.”
Duncan opened the coach door and kicked down the steps. “You shall have it.”
* * *
Carlu opened the door before Matilda had knocked upon it.
“Your Grace.” He swept a bow with a Continental flourish. “On behalf of the entire staff, welcome home. Shall I announce you? Mr. Wakefield is taking breakfast before a planned call on Colonel Lord Atticus Parker.”
Throughout that little speech, Carlu had alternately beamed at Matilda and cast Duncan curious glances. Duncan pointedly ignored him, except to pass over his hat, gloves, and walking stick.
“No need to announce us,” Matilda said, tucking her gloves into the pocket of her cape. The words It’s good to be home refused to pass her lips. “It’s good to see you, Carlu. I have missed the staff.” She had not missed her father.
Had Papa missed her? Worried for her?
Now, when the moment of reunion with Papa was upon her, Matilda was particularly glad for Duncan’s steadfast presence. He seemed utterly composed, possibly even bored, as she led him past a fortune in tastefully displayed art.
“Don’t let me say anything I’ll regret,” she muttered, pausing outside the door of the breakfast parlor.
“In this life, I think it a greater regret to have left words unspoken than to have aimed them at those who’ve earned our ire. The more pertinent question is, will you accept his apology?”
“You are certain he’ll offer one?”
Duncan’s gaze flicked over Renaissance saints in gilded frames, antique porcelain, and an original King James Bible displayed at the end of the corridor.
“Your father will apologize, or I’ll make him wish he had.”
Matilda leaned in, resting her forehead against Duncan’s chest. She did not want to open the door, did not want to confront the author of her troubles.
“You are my duchess,” Duncan said, taking her in his arms. “You have been wronged by the one man who was honor bound to value your well-being above his own. You are entitled to justice, and I would dearly like to see that you have it.”
She nodded, sheltering in his embrace and gathering her resolve before she stepped back.
Duncan opened the door for her, as if he were her footman, then followed her into the parlor and closed the door behind her.
“Papa,” Matilda said. “You’re looking well.”
She’d caught him with a silver forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. He set the fork down, and to his credit, he half rose, smiling hugely.
Her mood must have communicated itself to him, because he finished getting to his feet more slowly.
“Matilda, good morning. Welcome home. I am very pleased to see you in good health, and to see that Colonel Lord Parker has not accompanied you.”
Papa sent an inquiring glance in Duncan’s direction, but Matilda was not inclined to offer introductions.
“I do not care that”—she snapped her fingers—“for what pleases you. I was very nearly married to Colonel Lord Parker this morning, or should we call him Colonel Lord Traitor? He chased me from the wilds of Berkshire, where I might have frozen to death or starved, and told me that I was two steps from a noose myself. My crime, of course, was attempting to protect you. This has apparently become a hanging felony.”
Papa’s faltering smile disappeared altogether. “You seem none the worse for your ordeal, daughter.”
“You will address the duchess as Your Grace until she has