The Truth About Dukes (Rogues to Riches #5) - Grace Burrowes Page 0,99

long at our meal, and his fretting is not to be borne.”

Rothhaven sat at the head of the table. “At least write Ivy a letter. Tell her you’ve returned to York the better to consider options, tell her where to write to you.”

“Now that is a sensible suggestion. Would you care for bread?”

“No, thank you.” He put a bite of beef in his mouth, chewed, then set down his fork. “Constance, are you sure you shouldn’t remain here? Lord Stephen would bide with you, and his charm might be able to do with Shaw what my consequence could not.”

“Stephen has guile, a very different article from charm. I am coming back with you to Lynley Vale, and there’s an end to it. I will write to Ivy, you will have the horses put to, and by the time we’re ready to go, it will be dark enough to travel.”

Rothhaven pushed his potatoes around. “I hate this. I hate that I am a burden to you.”

“The man who made it possible for me to find my daughter before she sailed from England will never be a burden to me.” Those words weren’t helpful, but Constance was at a loss for what reassurances might serve. Rothhaven picked at his food, and the moment became unbearable.

“Rothhaven, I’m sorry, but I cannot retrieve the last part of your soul from the moors. Some corner of you still believes that you deserved to be shut away for all those years. You suspect you might have earned Soames’s torments. You wonder in the privacy of your thoughts if perhaps a guardian isn’t the penance you’ve incurred for longing to be happy.”

He frankly stared at her, his green eyes unreadable. That wary, guarded expression put her in mind of the much younger man she’d met all those years ago in Soames’s private madhouse.

Constance ploughed on, before she lost her courage. “I did not realize I had choices where Ivy was concerned. I won’t make that mistake again. If I am to be your duchess, then I have choices and I am choosing to return to Lynley Vale with you. You have choices too, but please, please, never doubt that you are as entitled to happiness as any other man. More so, in fact.”

“And if I consent to have a guardian appointed?”

Good God, she’d never considered he might simply cede the field. “You think Philpot will be easier to deal with if you yield the battle without drawing your sword?”

“Possibly.” Rothhaven poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. “When the lawyers are involved, negotiation is always an option.”

Constance rose, the food having lost anything approaching appeal. “Philpot is a solicitor, true, but he’s also a scoundrel, and his wife a greater scoundrel than he. I would not trust them to exhibit decency to an old stray dog.”

Rothhaven took a sip of water. The wine was good quality and there was plenty of it, but he chose water and probably always would.

“I’ll order the coach brought around,” he said, “but you must feel free to change your mind at any time, Constance. Ivy is your daughter, and if she were my daughter, I would want her mother to think of her first.”

“Which is why I love you, and why I’m off to write her a brief letter.” Constance left the room while she could still resist the temptation to throw plates at the wall.

Rothhaven remained alone at the table, sipping his water.

Neville Philpot typically spent the week in York, returning to his country estate on Friday afternoon and spending the next two days enjoying the pleasures of rural life. The schedule deviated if Phoebe required him to serve as host at one of her gatherings, but she was quite capable of holding entertainments without him as well.

The day’s developments were simply too promising for him to keep to himself, and thus Wednesday evening found him enjoying a glass of brandy while Phoebe presided over the after-dinner teapot and worked at her embroidery.

“And how has your friend dear Elspeth been keeping?” he asked. “Weatherby is forever going on about his girls, but he never mentions his wife.”

Phoebe threaded a needle with gold silk. “If she can help it, Elspeth Weatherby makes little mention of her spouse. I believe their arrangement more cordial than devoted. What of matters in town? Any interesting news?”

Neville took a sip of his brandy, savoring the moment, for he so seldom felt of use to his wife. Of