When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,120
you properly,” she said. “He’s cousin to the Duke of Walden, and on particularly good terms with Lord Stephen Wentworth.”
Papa rubbed his forehead as if weary. “I will sign the house over to you legally, with all of its contents, as is. When I have established a household on the Continent, I’ll write to you here.”
Matilda rose. “I won’t be here, and neither will all of this expensive, beautiful art. Safe journey, Papa. You may write to me care of the Duke and Duchess of Walden on Birdsong Lane. Mr. Wentworth, if you’d see me back to the carriage?”
Duncan sketched a bow in Papa’s direction, then held the door for Matilda. He assisted her with her cloak at the door rather than allow Carlu to perform that courtesy, and ushered her out the front door and into the waiting carriage.
This time he took the place beside her on the forward-facing bench. “Well done, Your Grace. You served him a very tidy checkmate.”
Matilda took Duncan’s arm and arranged it around her shoulders. “I never have felt like a duchess nor cared to be addressed as such.” The coach moved off, and a simmering relief gathered momentum in Matilda’s heart.
“How shall I address you?” Duncan asked.
My dear. She’d loved it when he’d called her that, but today was a day for besting foes, confronting traitors, and putting the past to rest.
“I’d like it very much if you’d call me Mrs. Wentworth.”
“I’d like it very much if the whole world called you Mrs. Wentworth, but first, we have a few matters to discuss.”
The last, lingering shadow on Matilda’s mood dissipated. She knew exactly what to do with all of Papa’s precious clutter, she’d never have to deal with Atticus Parker again, and she’d soon become Mrs. Duncan Wentworth. She fell asleep in Duncan’s embrace and dreamed of baby bunnies.
* * *
Jane had taken one look at Matilda and enveloped Duncan’s beloved in a silent hug. The ladies had disappeared abovestairs, arm in arm, heads close together.
“Parker will resign his commission,” Quinn said, prowling around the Walden estate office. “Though the generals might mutter about treason and making an example of him, he’ll likely subsist in foreign parts on a remittance from his brother, possibly for the rest of his life.”
“Please see to it that the colonel’s fate remains uncertain for at least a short time,” Duncan said. “Matilda wandered in the wilderness for weeks when her only crime was trying to protect her idiot father. Let the great war hero face the thought of ignominious death, let it wrap around his awareness until all of his arrogance is effectively strangled and some humility has room to grow.”
“Are you handing out penances now?” Stephen asked, taking the couch along the estate office’s inside wall.
“Not penance,” Duncan said. “Detention for a student with more pride than brains. The colonel was a greedy fool. But then, a system that confers vast wealth on one brother and leaves the other with little isn’t exactly brilliant.”
“Our Duncan is a flaming radical,” Stephen marveled, polishing the gold handle of his walking stick on his coat sleeve. “My staid, reliable cousin now spouts revolutionary notions. Years in low company on the Continent have clearly had an effect.”
Duncan took the seat behind the desk, his knees suffering a curious weakness after the interview with Wakefield. Wakefield had let his generals continue their dangerous game rather than risk their displeasure. Duncan had held out hope that Thomas Wakefield had been unable to help his daughter, not merely unwilling.
Wakefield had simply chosen thirty pieces of silver over his own honor. Perhaps Matilda’s father should have studied for the church.
“You sent Wakefield packing?” Quinn asked.
“Matilda gave her papa a week to pension the staff, choose a few mementos, and quit the realm. He betrayed her trust, exploited her, failed her when she needed him.…She’s being more lenient than I would be.”
“No she isn’t,” Stephen said. “You are the forgiving sort, else you’d have tossed me from the deck of a few ships. I’ve never thanked you for your forbearance.”
Quinn pretended to dab at a smudge on the silver wax jack gleaming in the midday sunshine.
“Don’t be maudlin,” Duncan retorted. “You are an antidote to boredom, and those are ever in short supply onboard a ship.”
Where was Matilda? Would she sleep the day away? What were her plans for Wakefield’s house, and when could Duncan be alone with her again? He had told the truth earlier in the day when he’d informed the marquess’s butler