A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,10
you were made of sterner stuff.”
Had Althea been at table with her siblings, she would have pitched her napkin at him. “I don’t want to look silly.”
His Grace munched the first sandwich into oblivion. “I will kidnap your cook on the next stormy, moonless night. This is quite good. As for looking silly, when you ignore an obvious slight, that is when you look silly. And don’t tell yourself that some slights are too small to notice. When you deliver a setdown to even the pettiest malefactor, the real bullies leave you alone. Come, my lady. Pretend I’m the last bounder to speak ill of you. Put me in my place.”
Althea mentally chose a bounder among bounders, the Honorable Pettibone Framley. “He said, ‘I feel sorry for it.’ He smirked at me as if I were a beast in the menagerie, too stupid to comprehend the taunt.”
“A truly vile excuse for a man. Summon his memory and deliver him the cut direct. Chin up, gaze bold. Acknowledge, disdain, dismiss. Don’t sneer. Let your eyes speak for you.”
Glaring at Rothhaven was difficult, and dismissing him was impossible, but Althea gave it her best effort.
“That was quite good,” he said, popping a square of tablet into his mouth. “When you are truly offended, the effect will be magnificent. Be offended easily and often, and the fools will soon learn not to trifle with you. What is this?”
“A Scottish sweet. Monsieur Henri adds a dash of vanilla, and the effect is quite rich.”
Althea had ingested a sweet of a sort too, the delicious treat of learning how to respond to an insult. Turning the head slowly was an important part of the impact, both before and after that bit with the eyes. Acknowledge, disdain, dismiss.
“I must have the recipe,” Rothhaven said. “And I must be going. Is there a reason you do not commend the idiots and gossips to your brother and sister-in-law’s devices? A duke of indifferent origins doubtless has vast experience putting the gossips in their places.”
“Several reasons, my pride first among them. I must learn to make my own way. If I can wedge past all the whispers and jests, I might find a local gentleman whom I can esteem. I cannot rely on Quinn and Jane to search out such a fellow for me when they have little familiarity with Yorkshire society, and their efforts on my behalf in London were disastrously unavailing. Then too, Quinn won’t merely issue a setdown, he’ll ruin anybody who insults his family.”
“I might like this Quinn person. I adore this sweet.”
Althea didn’t always like her older brother, but she respected him immensely. “His Grace of Walden won’t merely start talk in the clubs, he will destroy, unto the nineteenth generation, any who offend him. He’s obnoxiously wealthy, he cuts a wide swath in the Lords, and he all but owns two banks. He can make his competitors tremble before he pours his morning tea.”
Rothhaven dusted his hands over an empty plate. “Some people need ruining, but I take your point. If you are already seen as having the mannerisms of the back alleys, then returning annihilation for a slight only confirms the impression.”
A duke expressed himself in those succinct, sophisticated terms. Althea could only nod. “I must find my own way to manage polite society, particularly here at Lynley Vale. Jane was raised in and around London. She has no connections this far north, and no idea how things are done in the country, while I haven’t anywhere else to go. In this neighborhood, no one’s standing exceeds your own. Will you help me?”
He already had. Althea would practice the cut direct before her cheval mirror, and to perdition with dignity.
Rothhaven rose, looking much less severe than when he’d stalked into the parlor. “Alas, my lady, I cannot. Spring planting is around the corner, and my estate would fall to pieces if I took my hand from the reins for even a figurative instant. My thanks for a pleasant hour, but please promise me that you and your staff will put it about that I am thoroughly disagreeable—if you must mention that my path has crossed yours at all.”
His eyes were crinkled at the corners again. Why did he have to have such lovely eyes?
“You cannot plough and plant every hour of the day, Your Grace.”
He took her hand and bowed. “You would be surprised. Please do retrieve your errant swine, and I’ll look forward to that wheel of cheese.”