The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,5

all but monopolized the company of a man every matchmaker in England will be fascinated with. Why? Rothhaven is a dry stick who apparently suffers a serious unwillingness to leave his own property.”

And that version of events glossed over the more titillating facts. As best Stephen could pry the tale from Althea, the current duke—Robert—had been declared dead in his minority by his own father, who dreaded the notion of an heir with the falling sickness. The younger brother—Nathaniel—had taken up the title without realizing his older sibling was not only alive, but housed in some private madhouse out on the Yorkshire moors.

That Robert, as firstborn, was now willing to take on the title and the station of a duke would occasion attention from the sovereign himself—surely the king would have to formally reinstate the correct duke in place of the younger brother?—and talk at all levels of society.

“You fail to note,” Quinn said, “that a connection between Rothhaven’s house and ours has formed through Althea and Nathaniel. Constance’s cordiality toward Rothhaven makes sense. He has a retiring nature; she has learned to be unassuming. A crooked pot needs a crooked lid, if only to endure a long and difficult evening.”

Beowulf shied at nothing at all, a dodge sideways that might have unseated a lesser rider.

“Steady on.” Stephen gave the horse a nudge with his knees. I’m still here, lad. I’m not ignoring you.

“Steady on to the knacker’s yard,” Quinn muttered. “If that horse causes you further injury, I will shoot him myself.”

I love you too. “Rather how I felt about your duchess when it became apparent she had married you in earnest.”

“You felt murderous?”

“Protective, Quinn, not quite the same thing. Just as I am feeling protective where Constance is concerned. You talk about pots and lids while I am focused on Constance’s happiness. She has become all but invisible, a figure in a shadowed corner of her own paintings.” Damned skilled paintings they were too.

“What a pity we can’t all be like you, commanding attention for the sheer deviltry of it.”

“I am no longer seventeen and full of ill temper, Quinn. Please attend the topic at hand. Invisibility served Constance when Jack Wentworth was swinging his fists, but thank the infernal imp of hell, our father is dead and gone. Have you never wondered who or what Constance hides from now? Why a duke’s sister courts the next thing to anonymity?”

Mungo grabbed a mouthful of leaves from the low-hanging limb of a locust tree.

“Leave our sisters alone,” Quinn said, making no move to correct his mount’s rudeness. “If Constance wants polite society to view her as a boring cypher, she doubtless has her reasons. I’ll race you to the stile beyond the orchard.”

For Quinn that was an awkward change of topic, which only reinforced Stephen’s conviction that nothing good could come from this acquaintance between Constance and the reclusive duke next door. Constance apparently had reasons for remaining in the shadows, reasons Quinn knew or suspected, but had decided to keep to himself—for now.

Stephen nonetheless allowed the subject to drop, and instead focused on beating Quinn to the stile by a margin that allowed an older brother to call the defeat a very near thing indeed.

Chapter Two

“Althea and I will wed by special license, I think,” Nathaniel said, spearing a mushroom sautéed in brown sauce. “We’ll wait the usual interval and hold the ceremony in Rothhaven’s chapel. It’s about time the old place got a thorough airing.”

Robert did not care for food served with sauces. The sauce could hide an off flavor—or medication—and more bothersomely, sauces made separating the various types of food on one’s plate nearly impossible. He lacked the heart to complain about the kitchen’s efforts, though, when the Rothhaven staff had been so stoutly loyal for so many years.

“Aren’t the specifics of the wedding the province of your bride?” Robert asked, choosing the smallest mushroom first.

Nathaniel beamed at his mushroom. “What a lovely phrase—my bride. Of course I will discuss every detail with Althea, but as regards the special license, I am confident she won’t want a long engagement. More wine?”

“No, thank you. When do you intend to speak your vows?”

“Althea’s family is here now. We might as well hold the ceremony soon.”

Robert drove his fork into the next smallest mushroom. “A date, Nathaniel. I am asking for a date.”

Out of long custom Nathaniel sat at the head of the table, Robert at his right hand. The staff had spent years supporting the pretense that Nathaniel