A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,63
hostess to Miss Price, who really was on the timid side, and Stephen was outrageous as usual. Ellenbrook, though, created a sense of sharing with Althea the status of adults-in-the-room, the tolerant wiser heads called upon to chaperone a tea dance or some other harmless pastime.
When the time came to see the guests to the door, Stephen surprised Althea by offering Miss Price his arm.
Leaving Althea to escort Ellenbrook.
“I suspected you of having a kind nature when we met,” he said. “Despite Lady Phoebe’s provocation, you have been all that is gracious.”
What an unexpected compliment. “One tries to be hospitable, my lord. The challenge sometimes defeats me.”
“Lady Phoebe would have defeated the Armada and Napoleon, given half a chance. She would have snacked on the bones of the Americans too. Heaven defend us all from embittered women.”
Stephen was bending close to Miss Price, whispering some inanity.
“Do you speak from experience, my lord? Has an embittered woman visited her ire upon you?” Althea asked.
“My dear mama,” he replied, no hint of teasing in his voice. “I am honestly taking inventory of my northern properties in hopes of finding a situation that might suit her as a dower home. The stew of scandal and gossip in London makes her only more unhappy. That you have no use for the capital delights me.”
Good gracious. The man himself was, well, lovely. “I will likely return to Town from time to time—I have family there—but the stew of gossip all too often stirred around my latest wrong word, mis-step on the dance floor, or ghastly choice of bonnet trimmings. I did not take.”
Ellenbrook paused in the foyer and possessed himself of her hand. “London’s loss is Yorkshire’s gain, then, and I think it more accurate to say London failed to impress you.”
“Who is demonstrating a kind nature now, my lord?” A kind nature, sleepy blue eyes, a friendly countenance.
“I merely state facts. Thank you for your hospitality, my lady. You must feel free to call upon us in return.”
Miss Price bobbed a hasty curtsy not at her hostess, but at Lord Stephen. “You too, my lord. We would be ever so pleased to receive you.”
“Allow me to first recover from my travels,” Stephen said, both hands braced on his cane, “and from this initial encounter with your bedazzling presence, Miss Price.”
“I think you’d better go,” Althea said, motioning for Strensall to get the door. “I am about to be quite severe with my brother, though it will do little good, I’m sure.”
This occasioned smiles all around, even from the butler. When the door was closed, and the gig was wheeling down the drive, Stephen slumped against the wall.
“Is that why you’ve abandoned me in London?” he asked, as Strensall slipped off toward the semi-formal parlor.
“You will have to be more specific,” Althea said. “I have yet to develop the ability to divine your thoughts at sight. Greetings, by the way, and so good of you to send warning that you’d be visiting me.”
“I left London in rather a hurry.” Stephen set a course down the corridor, the cat trailing after him. “If that damned feline tangles with my feet I won’t answer for the consequences.”
Truly, Althea had missed her brother. “If you fall on my cat and do him an injury, I won’t answer for the consequences.”
Stephen paused outside the door of Althea’s private sitting room. “Did you tarry here in the arctic north to further your acquaintance with Ellenbrook?”
“I met him less than a week ago.” She opened the door and allowed Stephen to precede her through. For him to have to manage both his cane and the door latches was an unnecessary risk. “I do like him, though.”
And he likes me. He likes that I abhor London. He thinks I’m kind. All very…very what? Charming? Althea could muster no more enthusiastic term, not when she longed to take herself back across the fields to lurk in a certain walled garden, not when she would gladly give up all social aspirations forever if it meant Rothhaven could be free of his obligations.
She missed him already, and more significantly, she worried for him.
Stephen took the reading chair by the hearth, though the fire hadn’t been lit. He pulled a hassock closer and propped his foot upon it.
“You also made the acquaintance of the resident recluse,” Stephen said. “Tell me about him.”
Althea took the other wing chair. The cat jumped into Stephen’s lap and commenced purring—the traitor.
“There isn’t much to say,” she replied. “Rothhaven prefers to