“Feel free to explore. You are welcome to use the library whenever you wish,” said Kate.
“I would imagine that the duke does not allow just anyone into his bailiwick—”
“You are correct, Lady Fenimore,” said a gruff voice from behind the half-open paneled door. “My ancestors spent a great deal of time and blunt assembling this collection. It is my duty to preserve it and pass it on, undiminished, to future generations.”
Kate watched Cluyne enter the room, his movements as stiff and precise as the starched folds of his cravat. His name ought to be the Duke of Duty, she thought rather sardonically. Did he never unbend? Like the Prince Regent, he always seemed to be wearing a corset—with stays made of steel instead of whalebone.
“As I said before, Your Grace, I am perfectly willing to submit to a search of my person, should you fear I am purloining your property,” Charlotte didn’t hesitate to answer with a tart retort. “That is, assuming I am granted the privilege of looking at your books.”
The duke’s nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply and then let out the air in an audible hmmph. “You are, as my guest, welcome to enjoy any of the amenities that Cluyne Close has to offer. Unlike many people who come here, you at least appear to appreciate books.”
Kate caught her friend’s eye and lifted a brow in apology. She wasn’t quite sure why the duke seemed to be in an ill temper. But then, she didn’t pretend to understand his moods or his motivations.
“The same cannot be said for your late husband,” added Cluyne abruptly, “who sold several lovely volumes of rare French engravings to a print shop in the Pantheon Bazaar, so they could be cut up and sold as single pages. If you ask me, the fellow was a deuced loose screw.”
“Yes, he was,” said Charlotte, her voice remaining calm, though a flush of color ridged her cheekbones. “But if you are implying that I had any choice in the matter, that is grossly unfair. I didn’t. As you know, well-bred females have no say in picking a husband. Fenimore was willing to accept my dowry, and as my family was anxious to fire me off, they didn’t bother to ask themselves why.”
Charlotte paused and lifted her chin. Despite her height, the duke’s imposing bulk seemed to dwarf her presence. Unintimidated, she met his gaze. Kate could almost hear the clash of steel striking steel. “I should have told them to go to hell, but that is from an older, wiser perspective. As a green girl, with no experience, no idea of the harsh realities of what life would be like with a drunkard and gambler, I was too naïve to know any better.”
The duke opened his mouth as if to reply and then shut it.
Kate blinked in surprise. She had never seen her grandfather rendered speechless.
“Live and learn,” finished Charlotte. “And by the by, the books were mine, and I was devastated to lose them. But Fenimore needed money to pay a gambling debt, so artistic integrity wasn’t overly important to him. He was, however, extremely stricken when I explained how much more he could have gotten from an antiquarian book dealer.”
Cluyne coughed, and then, for a long moment, there was only an uneasy silence.
“Oh, look, the sun has broken through the clouds,” said Kate brightly. “The light should be perfect for looking at the newly arrived Heliconia rostrada from the Antipodes. If you will excuse us, sir, we’ve plans to spend the rest of the afternoon in the conservatory.”
Inclining a curt nod, the duke turned and walked off toward the far end of the room, his gleaming boots clicking loudly on the polished parquet.
“Men.” Kate fixed her friend with a baleful glance. “Sorry. That was unspeakably rude of Cluyne. For all his faults, he is usually scrupulously polite. Good manners is yet another ducal duty.”
“Don’t fret about me, my dear,” said Charlotte, the color still high on her face. “I can take care of myself.”
“Ghiradelli.”
Marco crossed through the open French doors and joined the trio of men out on the terrace.
“So, you finally got here. I was beginning to think you had found more convivial company in Town,” went on Lord Tappan with a grin. Turning to the two others, he explained, “The conte has no lack of invitations for intimate entertainment.”
“So I have heard,” said Von Seilig. “It seems you haven’t changed much since your time in Berlin. Still the same ramshackle rake.”