A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,113

to the current dilemma,” Sorenson retorted. “Lady Althea’s ball is tomorrow, and she has sent you an invitation.”

Nathaniel slept with that invitation on his bedside table. He was so far gone with lovesickness that he wanted the comfort and torment of Althea’s handwriting within sight as he fell asleep and as he awakened. Her little riding hat sat beside the invitation, all bright feathers and jaunty fashion.

“So she sent me an invitation. I have been rejecting courtesy invitations for years.”

“Her Grace of Walden bid me to acquaint you with the particulars of the problem, Rothhaven, and she also asked me to convey a message.”

Nathaniel mentally braced himself for a tongue-lashing, for the well-deserved setdown and sermon he was due.

“And?”

“The duchess told me to relay the following: If you give Lady Althea cause for tears, Phoebe Philpot’s gossip will be the least of your worries. Guilt and shame will create more forbidding walls than you could ever erect on Rothhaven land, and you will be trapped behind them.”

“A vicar bearing threats. What has the clergy come to?” Nathaniel managed the indifferent tone, the hint of amusement that his own father had so often claimed, and yet the duchess’s message struck a severe blow to his resolve.

He had been seen kissing Althea—no matter that she’d kissed him too on occasion—and he was not an ogre. Not yet. If the lady was judged harshly because of his actions, he was honor-bound to make the situation right.

He was also honor-bound to keep his distance from her.

“I will consider the duchess’s kind warning,” Nathaniel said, “but now, if you’ll excuse me, I feel the urge to do a spot of gardening with my family.”

Sorenson stalked across the room and paused by the door. “I can call you out—you are as common as I am—except Lord Stephen deserves that privilege more than I do.”

“Sorenson—Pietr—I would gladly call myself out, except that would also redound to her ladyship’s discredit. I’ve already done far more damage to her reputation than any decent woman deserves, so we will have no calling anybody out.”

Sorenson whipped open the estate office door, surprising Thatcher, who held a tea tray.

“Please take the tray to the garden, Thatcher,” Nathaniel said. “I will see our guest out.”

“Guest.” Thatcher harrumphed. “We’re not to have company here at the Hall, but it’s good day Vicar, and here’s the duchess, and how-do-you-do Lord Quarrymaster, and a tea tray for that Lady Althea with the splendid hogs. A body does wonder. That he does.”

“The garden,” Nathaniel said, sidling past the butler, “and then it’s time you had a cup of tea yourself.”

Nathaniel saw Sorenson on his way, changed into a pair of old riding breeches, and joined his mother and brother in the garden.

“Thatcher says the vicar came to call. What did Sorenson want?” Robbie asked, passing over a slice of lemon cake that looked to have been baked sometime before Yuletide.

“He wants me to go to Lady Althea’s ball.”

Mama glanced up from her battle with a bed of weeds. “What ball?”

“Jane tells me the local leading lights have taken you into dislike.” Quinn passed Althea a glass of brandy, though the sun had not yet set and the ball was still hours away.

“One local leading light,” Althea said, taking the reading chair by the fire, “and Lady Phoebe is within her rights. I have threatened her niece’s prospects.” Though Lady Phoebe’s campaign had begun before Lord Ellenbrook had graced the shire with his presence.

“You? Threatening a local beauty?” Quinn settled into the seat opposite, though he looked out of place in Althea’s private parlor in a way Nathaniel had not. “I mean you no insult, Althea, but I thought the finishing governesses had polished all threats right out of you.”

Quinn made the years spent with all those tutors and finishing governesses sound like a lark. Fat lot the great and powerful duke knew. He’d been so busy building his financial empire at the time, he might as well have still been a footman in service on a distant estate.

“I have invited Lady Phoebe to tonight’s gathering,” Althea said, swirling the glass gently and holding it up to admire its garnet color. “She can do her worst for all I care.”

“Then why have the ball, Althea?” Quinn sampled his brandy without any preliminaries. “Why lure your enemy into the open if you intend to cede the duel to her?”

“There will be no duel. We will reach a dignified understanding, and she will leave me in peace. That’s why you