A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,106

arms stole around her, as if he’d physically shelter her from the prying eyes of the world.

“Lady Phoebe doesn’t know exactly who or what she saw,” Althea said, snuggling close, “and I for one no longer care for her good opinion.”

“You must care. The life you deserve, of contentment and tranquility with children to love, cannot be yours unless you do care.”

Not a single sconce had been lit in the house, and thus as the sun set, the shadows in the library lengthened and deepened.

“I thought I wanted that, Nathaniel, an obscure little slice of peace and joy. I was raised to want that, to crave it and long for it, but safety and domesticity are not enough. You and Robbie have both, and both of you are unhappy. Striving for happiness takes courage. If I’m to be brave—and I am brave—I will no longer waste my time dodging Lady Phoebe’s poison darts. I have better uses for my determination and valor.”

Valor was not a word women typically used, but why not? Why not refer to childbed as a place of valor when a woman was as likely to die there as a soldier in Wellington’s army was likely to die in battle? Why not refer to taking marriage vows, which robbed a woman of her legal personhood, as an act of valor?

“Althea…” Nathaniel stepped back. “You must be careful. Promise me.”

“I have been careful. I have been careful, and wary, and timid. What has it earned me but ruined dresses, torn hems, gossip, and loneliness?”

Nathaniel took her hand, enfolding it in both of his. “I know how tempting it is to gallop headlong across the moors, Althea, but even I, on my worst days, know to ride the beaten paths. The bogs are treacherous and they have claimed many a precious life. Promise me you will observe at least that much caution.”

“Come to my ball, Nathaniel. I want to waltz with you before all the goggling squires and gossiping tabbies. I want to introduce you to my older brother and his duchess. I want to meet your mother and watch as Stephen and Robbie befriend each other.”

A low blow to point out that Robbie had no friends, also an obvious truth.

“Don’t do this,” Nathaniel said. “Please, please, don’t be rash and foolish and make a mistake from which there is no recovering. The rest of your life—”

Althea kissed him, which was neither rash nor foolish, though neither was it wise.

“Don’t beg, Nathaniel—never beg, you said—for my mind is made up. Come to the ball. Come by yourself or bring your mother, but know that I will save my supper waltz for you and you alone.”

She eased away from him and strode out through the front door, not even pausing to collect her hat.

“How comes the dower house?” Robbie asked, sprinkling salt on his roast beef.

“The maids have waged war on the dust,” Nathaniel said, sawing away at his steak. “The footmen have aired every room and beaten every carpet. It’s clean enough.” But not welcoming, not cozy. Althea had seen that in the first instant, recognized it for a strategy, and known what to do about it.

“You are worried about Mama’s visit.”

Nathaniel gave up on the overcooked insult to cuisine lying on his plate and put down his fork and knife. “Change should worry us both.”

“The staff will be discreet.” Robbie never drank more than the single glass of claret necessary to wash down Cook’s roasts, but his wine was nearly gone while his plate remained full.

Robbie was worried too.

Nathaniel filled his brother’s glass halfway. “The staff at the dower house has been augmented by a pair of village women suggested by Vicar Sorenson. That in itself is a risk. Cousin Sarah might not be content to bide over the rise. She’ll want to see the Hall, and God help us if Thatcher should cross paths with her or the new maids. If Mama goes to services, that will cause talk, and if she does not go to services, that will cause more talk.”

Robbie sat back, clearly defeated by the steak. “You are brooding about Lady Althea, aren’t you? That’s what this mood is about.”

Everything was about Lady Althea. The sunset, the scent of cherry blossoms, the aching loneliness that welled from places inside Nathaniel he’d sealed up years ago. She’d stirred in him a longing for the impossible: babies, contented evenings reading with his wife by the fire, calls upon the neighbors, and an occasional pint at the