A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,120
best families having a few reasons to blush, would douse the flames of Lady Phoebe’s righteousness.
And douse any chance Sybil had of making the match she so clearly desired with Lord Ellenbrook.
Worse, that tactic would reduce Althea to the same petty, vindictive plain on which Lady Phoebe dwelled and from which there was no return. Althea grasped the dilemma Nathaniel faced: two choices, equally wrong. For him the options were a life of deception or unacceptable risks to the people he loved. For Althea, the choices were to bully or be bullied.
And she rejected both of those options, in favor of the simple truth.
“What you saw, Lady Phoebe, was a parting kiss on the cheek between neighbors who’d shared a sickroom vigil, a vigil that ended in answered prayers, I might add. A friendly hug, nothing more. If the gentleman were here, he’d verify my version of events.”
Steps sounded on the stairs behind Althea. Quinn, no doubt, coming to make Lady Phoebe regret her folly, though Althea’s neighbors didn’t know Quinn. He’d turned his back on his Yorkshire upbringing to bide in the south, and the best he could do was to end this skirmish before Lady Phoebe had the last word.
“But that gentleman is not here, is he?” Lady Phoebe retorted. “He doesn’t bother to show his face in public for the likes of you, a common, disgraceful—”
“Excuse me.”
A hint of sandalwood gave Althea a moment’s warning that the tread behind her did not belong to Quinn. Nathaniel took the place at her side. His height gave him presence, and in evening attire, his impact was magnificent. When he treated Lady Phoebe to an indifferent passing gaze, Elspeth Weatherby gasped.
Althea gestured to the herald gawking from the top of the steps. “Announce my latest guest, please.” Her voice had been steady, for which there was no accounting. Her heart was thumping against her ribs, and a flock of butterflies had taken wing in her belly.
Two more latecomers appeared next to the herald, an older woman and…Robbie? What on earth could Nathaniel be about?
The lady passed a card to the herald, and Robbie murmured something inaudible to the woman, who conferred again with the herald.
“Do announce us, please,” Nathaniel called. “Her ladyship’s guests are doubtless awaiting their supper.”
The herald cleared his throat and thumped his staff three times. “The Duke of Rothhaven, the Duchess of Rothhaven, and Lord Nathaniel Rothmere.”
“Apologies for our tardiness,” Nathaniel said, bowing over Althea’s hand. “As a friend and neighbor, I hope you will overlook the fault, just as I expect Lady Phoebe to apologize for her harsh, inaccurate, and immensely regrettable words. If neighbors cannot hold in affection those who aid them in a time of need, then Yorkshire has become as backward as the capital, which I refuse to believe.”
Somebody sighed. Lady Phoebe looked like she’d swallowed a large bug. The whispering started before Nathaniel had finished speaking.
“One expects a duke and his family to be fashionably late,” Althea said. “I must welcome Their Graces to the gathering. I am so very glad you all came.”
Also so very surprised. Amazed, really.
“A token of apology for our tardiness.” Nathaniel held out a little spray of violets, arranged in a wrist corsage. “I picked them myself. If I may?”
“Please.” Althea held out her hand. “My gardenias have lost their fragrance.” And she had lost her heart.
Nathaniel substituted the violets for the gardenias she’d been wearing and slipped the paler flowers into his pocket. Althea tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, in part to complete the display of cordial acquaintance he’d begun, and in part to ensure she remained upright. The crowd shifted to reveal Quinn and Stephen at the foot of the steps, chatting amiably with…
“The Duke and Duchess of Rothhaven,” Althea murmured. “I can hardly credit it. At my ball.”
“And Lord Nathaniel Rothmere,” Nathaniel replied, bending close and covering Althea’s hand with his own. “Did you know Socrates had the falling sickness? And Caesar?”
He smiled at her, the way a doting swain smiles at his lady love, and though Althea suspected the smile was half for show, she smiled back at him like a thoroughly smitten lady love.
“I was vaguely aware of those facts, my lord. Your brother cuts quite a figure, as do you.”
“Robert is determined that he will not live down to our father’s example, as am I.”
Lady Phoebe remained in the middle of the dance floor, the other guests drifting away from her, doubtless the better to gawk as