A Duke by Any Other Name by Grace Burrowes Page 0,98
was also the owner of a burgeoning financial empire and father to three rambunctious little females.
His wealth and position earned more attention from the sovereign than he liked; his decency and honor made him the love of Jane’s life.
“I have a letter from a Lady Phoebe Philpot,” Jane said. “She’s a neighbor of Althea’s, or so she claims.”
“The gossip has started already. Is she complaining about Stephen?”
“She’s expressing her concern about Althea.”
Quinn nuzzled Jane’s temple, a thoughtful sort of nuzzle rather than a playful or amorous overture. “She’s spreading tales, then, under the guise of a charitable impulse.”
“Precisely. She couches her accusation in reluctance and uncertainty, but she claims to have seen Althea enjoying a romantic interlude nearly in the middle of the high street, and with a man of dubious reputation. Lady Phoebe dares—her word—to suggest we send a regiment of chaperones to bring Althea back to the family fold.”
“Those chaperones would need pistols, swords, and chains if Althea is disinclined to come south.”
Jane would have wagered on Althea’s stubbornness being equal to even those challenges.
From boyhood on, Quinn had been able to escape Jack Wentworth’s household to search for work. Althea, as a female, and one fiercely protective of her younger siblings, had remained under her father’s thumb. Having been burdened with an eccentric and self-absorbed father herself, Jane well knew the demands fortitude could make on a daughter.
“Althea has come south often enough to know what awaits her here,” Jane said. “She has not had an easy time of it. I did what I could, but had I taken more of a hand in her situation, she’d have been accused of hiding behind my skirts. That would very likely have made her situation worse. Now she’s in Yorkshire where I have no connections, and where the challenge is one of managing rural mores, about which I am entirely ignorant.”
Quinn scooped Jane up and settled her in his lap. He was approaching midlife, though he grew only more handsome and formidable with the passing years. In private, his humor was more apparent, and his already affectionate nature frequently turned doting.
“What situation did my duchess ever decline to take in hand?” He stroked Jane’s hair, gently urging her to snuggle against his shoulder.
“I suspect Althea is frequently bullied.”
His hand went still. “I beg your pardon?”
“I cannot believe she’s prone to spilling punch on half of her ballgowns or stepping on her own hems every other outing. I found her practicing with her fan once, but soon realized whoever had instructed her had given her incorrect meanings for the signals. She’d been told that ‘I value you as a friend’ meant ‘I miss your kisses’ and so forth.”
“That is cruel. Why wasn’t I told?”
Jane brushed his hair back. He needed a trim, but she preferred his hair long and a bit rakish. “Think, Quinn.”
“Because Althea is stubborn and proud, and never asked for quarter from anybody. Of all the reasons to wish Jack Wentworth were alive so I could put out his lights, the damage done to my siblings sits at the top of a long list.”
The damage to Quinn sat at the top of Jane’s list. Althea, Constance, and Stephen had had Quinn to occasionally take up for them and fend off starvation. Quinn had had nobody.
And now, Althea had nobody. “I cannot leave her to deal with this situation on her own, Quinn. She will soon be considered on the shelf, and the fellow taking liberties with her person is well placed.”
“Is he courting her?” Quinn asked, drawing a pin from Jane’s hair. “Courting couples delight in taking liberties with one another. So do married couples, I’m told.”
Three more pins went into Quinn’s pocket, and Jane’s braided coronet drifted down over her shoulder.
“He is not well liked in the neighborhood, according to Lady Phoebe. He’s an arrogant titled bounder from a family of arrogant, titled bounders.”
Quinn paused, two more pins in his hand. “She put that in writing?”
“She claims she has reason to know the family history, and it does not recommend the man involved. The Rothmeres have more wealth than decency, in her words.”
“So Althea has made the acquaintance of the neighborhood duke, though by reputation, I’d say Rothhaven is retiring rather than randy.” Quinn untied the ribbon at the bottom of Jane’s braid and trailed the scrap of silk across her décolletage. “People say I lack decency. They delight in saying it, always behind my back, of course.”
And it wasn’t true. Quinn was enormously wealthy, but