but the duke gave a grudging nod. “I suppose that makes sense. Though I have no great faith in Sir Reginald to see that justice is done in this case.”
“It seemed obvious to me that there is no love lost between the two of you,” said Charlotte. “Normally, one would expect a baronet to show some deference to a duke. Is there a reason for the animosity?”
“Yes, I’m afraid there is,” admitted Cluyne. “A year ago, Sir Reginald asked me to appoint his nephew to the living of a lucrative parish on my lands in Derbyshire. However, after meeting with the young man, and making inquiries about his character, I had enough reservations that I could not agree to the appointment. Sir Reginald has been bitterly resentful ever since, and I daresay he will use this opportunity to punish me and my family.”
The duke passed a hand over his face and heaved a mournful sigh. “It is yet another way that my imperious actions have come back to hurt you, Kate.”
“You did what you thought was best,” she replied. “That is all any of us can do.”
“Let us leave regrets and recriminations in the past, along with the old mistakes,” added her friend. “We must concentrate our attention on the present. And the future.”
“A wise suggestion, Lady Fenimore,” said Cluyne. “Shall we move on to the library? If we are to sit back and wait for now, we might as well put the time to good use. I’ve found several books on Far Eastern medicinal herbs among the manuscript collection that I think both of you would find very interesting.”
“Very well,” agreed Kate, though she had no intention of abiding by the rules she had spelled out for the others. One of the first lessons she had learned after embarking on a life of seafaring adventure was that she had to look out for herself.
“You go on,” said Charlotte. “I’ll join you shortly.”
Kate narrowed her eyes.
“No need to give me that basilisk look. I’m not up to any mischief. I’m just going to put my tools away and then fetch my sketchbook. I left it yesterday on the potting bench by the Brassavola nodosa specimens.”
“Don’t dally,” admonished Cluyne. “If you don’t come soon, I shall return and carry you bodily from this place.”
Giving a huff of indignation, Charlotte shook her trowel at him. “Hmmph. I should like to see you try.”
The exchange brought a ghost of a smile to Kate’s lips. Cluyne and Charlotte? It seemed an odd mix. But as Ciara—her fellow “Sinner” and chemistry expert—had once said, when one combined volatile ingredients and then added a spark of heat, the results were often unpredictable.
“Come, Cluyne.” Touching his sleeve, she urged him forward. “I am sure Charlotte will be quick about it.”
“Hmmph,” he echoed, but allowed himself to be led away.
Curious, Kate could not help remarking, “I hope you are not offended by Charlotte. She does not hesitate to speak her mind.”
“So I have noticed.”
“I know you do not approve of independent females, but she had to be strong. Her late husband ran through her money and his, leaving Charlotte with naught but a mountain of debts. It was only her own resourcefulness and refusal to be bullied by creditors that allowed her to keep her home.”
His brows twitched together. “I don’t disapprove of Lady Fenimore. She has a tart tongue, to be sure, but it is hard to find fault with her intelligence.”
“Very hard,” murmured Kate. “She is one of the smartest, most sensible people I know.”
Perhaps it was merely the muted light in the corridor, but it seemed that a tinge of color had crept to the duke’s cheeks. “Well, let us hope she is sensible enough not to linger in the conservatory for any length of time. I do not like it above half that we are leaving her alone in such a deserted place.”
A finger of fear tickled at the back of Kate’s neck. Perhaps he was right. She slowed her steps and looked back over her shoulder at the glass doors. In the deepening shadows, they appeared as opaque as polished obsidian. “Shall we wait for her here?”
The duke did not have a chance to reply before the brass-framed glass flew open and Charlotte hurried out, her work boots drumming a brusque tattoo on the polished parquet.
“Is something amiss?” demanded Cluyne.
“To be truthful, I am not entirely sure.” Her friend’s voice was a bit breathless and she was wearing a very strange expression. “It