A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,26
was to look wan and pathetic, leaning on his crutch. My job was to do the actual pleading.”
Rothhaven remained seated at the desk, tapping the note against the blotter in a slow, quiet rhythm.
“Your father sent his children out to beg?”
The note of horror was predictable, though disappointing nonetheless. “Quinn was older and usually away from home because he was large enough to take on serious manual labor. He also knew that as soon as he came back to the house, Papa would demand any money he earned. I learned from Quinn’s example.”
Tap…tap…tap…“What did you learn?”
“First, if I made any money begging, buy Papa some gin, or be prepared to dodge a very fast, mean set of fists. Buy food second and be sure we children had eaten most of it before arriving home. Give Papa the gin and the remaining food. Save a little coin to give Papa as well, and if the day was particularly lucky, save the last coin to hide somewhere outside the house. Rather than discuss this, might we resume arguing over the cheese?”
Over anything.
“So Phoebe Philpot extends you an invitation, and you are again that hungry girl, willing to brave the cold for hours in exchange for a morsel of acceptance.”
I will always be that hungry girl. “I cannot have what I want without learning to manage the Phoebe Philpots in this life. She’s nothing compared to the brood of vipers at Almack’s or the gantlet of Hyde Park’s carriage parade.” She should be nothing, rather.
Rothhaven broke the seal on the note, donned the spectacles in the pen tray, and read Althea’s polite regrets. “This will not do. Why aren’t you attending her infernal dinner?”
“Rothhaven, my own brothers do not open my correspondence. My sister at her most obnoxious—”
He crumpled up the note and glowered at Althea.
For the first time in her acquaintance with him, Rothhaven looked genuinely angry. Wearing her spectacles did not lessen his ferocity one bit, but rather, gilded his ire with a hint of scholarly scorn. Ye gods, he’d be a terror if he ever voted his seat in the Lords.
“My companion is in York visiting her sister,” Althea said. “If I admit I’m dwelling here alone, I’ll cause talk. When I show up at Lady Phoebe’s without Mrs. McCormack, Lady Phoebe will ensure the news is all over the county before my coach brings me home.”
He tossed the balled-up missive straight into the fire. “You’ve never mentioned having a companion.”
“Why would you assume I lack one? I’m an unmarried female living apart from my family. Of course I have a companion. Unlike you, when I ignore the rules, I do not endear myself to my neighbors. Drink your tea before it grows cold.”
“You’re not having any?”
Althea wanted a brandy, or several brandies, but drinking spirits to deal with frustration was a dangerous practice.
“Perhaps you’d be so good as to pour out for me, Your Grace?”
To her surprise, he prowled over to the low table, poured her a cup, added a dash of milk and a drizzle of honey, put a jam tart on the saucer, and brought it to her.
“My thanks. If you ever give up duking, you might do as a butler.”
He settled into the opposite wing chair. “Tell me about your companion.”
“Why?”
“Because when I ignore the rules, it’s endearing—according to you. When you ignore them, you are judged and ostracized.”
The tea was good. Hot and fortifying. “The last time I called on Lady Phoebe, she’d placed on the mantel in her formal parlor your refusal of her invitation to a musical soiree. At first, I thought she was making a point—she invited the local duke to her affairs, but did not invite me, a duke’s sister. I would be received if I called with Mrs. McCormack at my side, but my call would not be returned.”
“Be grateful. Lady Phoebe is insufferable.”
How did he know that? “She is an earl’s daughter, Your Grace. Insufferable or not, she is the hostess of highest rank in this area. I am unmarried, a relatively recent addition to local society, and without connections here. She is the citadel I must storm.”
Rothhaven aimed a look at Althea over the rims of the spectacles. “You are the hostess in this area of highest rank. Your younger sister is the second-highest-ranking hostess. Lady Phoebe has been doubly deposed from top-hostess honors.”
If Rothhaven had tossed his tea over Althea’s skirts she could not have been more dumbfounded. Firstly, because he’d stated the obvious, and secondly, because