A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,58

the desk, rubbing his hands in anticipation. Without a word she passed him a plate of biscuits.

“How does the estate look?” Louisa asked.

He polished off his first macaroon with a happy sigh. “Excellent, as far as I can tell.”

“It’s remarkably lovely. I cannot imagine why the duke never visits.”

Drew had told his family the duke was not well, but not much more. “I doubt he can travel. I understand he was kicked by a horse some thirty years ago.” He tapped his temple, right where the Carlyle groom had reported the hooves had struck the duke. “Here, in the head. They said he did not wake for almost a week, and was despaired of ever waking again, but when he did, his mind was not whole.”

No one at Carlyle would speak freely about it. Miss Kirkpatrick, the duchess’s companion, said His Grace was kind and gentle, but tired very easily. The duchess said he was unwell and not to be disturbed. Edwards had been the most forthcoming, admitting that all estate decisions had to be made by the duchess because the duke was unable.

If any ill were to befall the duchess, the estate would be rudderless. Edwards had used that as a cudgel to persuade Drew to accelerate his separation from the army and his move to England, even though it might be years before he inherited.

“I don’t think the duke has done much of anything since then,” he went on, picking over the biscuits. The Stormont cook made the most delicious macaroons. “In all the weeks I spent at the castle I never even saw him.”

“Goodness.” Louisa paused in her sewing. “No wonder the duchess . . .”

“The duchess?” Drew repeated when his mother fell silent. “That woman could confront a full regiment charging at her and send them all fleeing for the hills.”

“No doubt.” She smiled wryly. “What I thought was, no wonder the duchess wishes to have you close at hand. She’s lost all of her children, in truth if not in deed, and now has no one to whom to pass the estate.”

That was true. Sobered, Drew nodded. The duchess was more fearsome than any general, but she had suffered terrible loss.

“The poor woman,” added his mother softly. “I know you are more than worthy of the title, but I hope you will always remember the debt you owe Her Grace.”

Drew looked up from the macaroons in surprise. “Debt?”

Louisa resumed stitching. “She could have done nothing, and simply waited until the duke dies. No one but God knows when that might be, and you are no near relation of hers. Instead she troubled herself to send for you, offering you an income and assistance preparing you for the inheritance. I gather she is not the sweetest of ladies, but in her position . . .” She clucked in sympathy. “I regret my earlier feelings against her.”

Drew cleared his throat. “I have no hard feelings against the duchess. I’m deeply grateful to her. But I cannot overlook how very intimidating she is.”

His mother gave him a stern look but ruined it by smiling a moment later. “Nor should you! It keeps a man on his toes, that!”

He laughed and took a sandwich, having finished the macaroons.

“I heard something very intriguing,” remarked his mother, drawing her needle and silk through the cloth. “About you.”

“Good or bad?” he asked lightly.

She smiled. “I don’t know yet. I heard that you kissed Mrs. Ramsay in the maze.”

He froze.

“And that she kissed you back, with evident pleasure.” She snipped her thread and looked at him. “Was I told truly?”

He tried not to squirm in his chair, feeling like a boy again. “Yes.”

“Do you like this woman, Andrew?”

Beyond reason. “She’s charming,” he muttered, not facing her.

His mother nodded. “I have no doubt the subject of a bride was discussed at Carlyle Castle.”

Here Drew went quiet and still. Of course it had been—more than once. It was an important matter.

When he tried to imagine the wife Her Grace would prefer for him, his brain conjured a pale, dignified lady with a cool smile, who would send baskets to the poor and help set the fashions in London and sleep in her own bedchamber, the door between them respectably closed.

Perhaps that’s who he needed as his wife—a woman who would set a good example and restrain his wilder impulses. It would be his duty to be respectable and responsible, sober and serious. Every glimpse he’d got of the ducal life showed little of fun or