A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,91
see me snubbing a ducal family. Mr. Weatherby would say they have a way of snubbing you back at the worst moments.”
“Elspeth, I applaud your pragmatism and know you to be the most charitable of women besides. An awkward fit with London society alone should not see a woman judged harshly here in the shires, but then I happened to glimpse Lady Althea on my way home from York the other morning.”
“Was she out riding with Lord Stephen? I’ve heard he manages quite well in the saddle despite his infirmity.”
“She was on foot, walking along the wall where her land marches with Rothhaven’s.” Phoebe waited until they were well past the smithy. “She was not alone, Elspeth, and the sun was barely up.”
“She has a companion, a perfectly agreeable woman. I’ve traded recipes with her. Millicent—”
“Lady Althea was with a man, and they exchanged a most shocking embrace.”
Elspeth came to a dead stop. “A man? There aren’t any men on that side of the village. There’s Rothhaven Hall and then the moors. I suppose Vicar’s hikes can take him out that direction, but he’s getting past the shocking-embrace years.”
“Does it matter who the fellow was? Lady Althea is an unmarried woman old enough to know better. She’s attempting to gain acceptance in local society, and she acts like that, in full view of the road. I can only imagine that such untoward behavior is why London society did not warm to her.”
“You didn’t get any sort of look at the fellow?”
“He was tall, attired all in black, and he strode away in the direction of Rothhaven Hall.” Phoebe gazed off across the green, doing her best to look puzzled beyond all vexation. “I haven’t any idea who he might be.”
Elspeth patted her arm. “Then you are a hopeless gudgeon, my friend. I know of one man who exclusively wears black, who’s abroad only at dawn and dusk, and who would dare cross Rothhaven land, and that is the duke himself.”
Dear Elspeth. Dear, reliable Elspeth. “Elspeth Weatherby, that is simply not possible.”
“Rothhaven threatens to bring trespassing charges against anybody who sets foot on his property, and he’s tall. He wears black, and you of all people know how little regard a randy duke has for propriety, particularly a randy Duke of Rothhaven. Like father, like son, don’t they say?”
Phoebe resumed walking, her pique genuine. “Mind your tongue, Elspeth.”
“I don’t mean to be unkind,” Elspeth said, falling in step beside her. “I’m simply presenting the relevant evidence. You saw His Grace of Rothhaven in a shocking embrace with Lady Althea Wentworth, and at a scandalously early hour. You must say nothing about this, of course, except perhaps to seek Vicar’s guidance on the matter after you’ve searched your conscience thoroughly. A young woman’s reputation hangs in the balance and her older brother isn’t on hand to curb her reckless impulses.”
What Elspeth meant was, Phoebe should keep this vignette to herself so Elspeth could spread the tale first.
“I hadn’t thought to bring the matter to Vicar’s attention.”
“I believe you must. Lady Althea has no one to counsel her, and she’s likely unaware of the example the late duke set for his son. Vicar can have a word with Lord Stephen if he’s not inclined to confront her ladyship directly.”
Their circuit of the green was nearly complete, and Phoebe’s objective all but accomplished. “You are so sensible, Elspeth, and I am so glad we ran into each other. You will invite Ellenbrook to dine, won’t you?”
“Of course. Friday suits. I’ll send over an invitation.”
“And do include Sybil. She would love to see your girls.”
“Yes, Sybil too. I must be off. No rest for the weary! Please give my regards to Vicar.”
“Certainly, my dear. Certainly.”
Elspeth bustled away to her pony cart, while Phoebe considered the relative merits of consulting with Vicar Sorenson sooner rather than later. If she didn’t apprise the vicar of what she’d seen, Elspeth would eventually mention it, and then Vicar’s reaction to the situation would be harder to gauge.
“No time like the present,” Phoebe muttered, turning her steps once again toward the church.
“You plan to eradicate poverty from Yorkshire with an army of piglets,” Vicar Sorenson said. “Now you make a foe of illiteracy as well. Might I have another cup?”
He’d asked Althea to pour out, though she suspected he was trying to distract her from the purpose for her call. Pietr Sorenson had a friendly gaze and quietly charming ways, but he was nonetheless shrewd. She obliged and topped up