Cavendish Brothers 01 - An Unintended Journey by Catherine Gayle Page A

monstrosity of a desk, the old duke held a quill to parchment and was scribbling away. He barely lifted his head to notice them, simply waving his free hand in an impatient gesture. Wesley stood by the empty hearth with his hands folded together behind his back. He caught Abby’s eye as she entered, his midnight eyes following her every movement.
    Once they had all passed through the doors, the butler gave a brief bow and backed out of the room. A hollow sound echoed as the doors closed.
    “ Well?” the duke barked, still not deigning to spare them a glance. “Sit!”
    A grouping of chairs and a settee had been arranged close to his desk. Abby moved forwards with the rest of her family. Mother, Father, and her brothers took up the chairs, leaving her the settee. She smoothed her skirts in the same motion as she sat, then finally looked up to find His Grace glowering at her.
    Blast him.
    Abby met his stare, refusing to cower beneath the ducal weight of it. After a few moments, he moved his gaze to her two brothers, then to Father. With each passing moment, the expression on his face became more curious and less agitated. By the time he turned towards Mother, at the opposite end of the family line, Abby could see it, too.
    Danby had the same bump in the middle of his nose. She inhaled audibly at the realization. Wesley came up behind her. He didn’t touch her—just stood behind her, close enough she could feel his presence. It was oddly soothing, like he belonged there. Abby closed her eyes at her errant thoughts, trying to banish them from her mind. He did not belong anywhere near her. Not now. Not ever.
    Other than her gasp, there’d hardly been a sound since the door closed. Finally, the duke faced her father and narrowed his eyes. “Young Cavendish, here, tells me some fanciful story about you being my by-blow. I’ll have you know I was faithful to my Mary right up until the day she died.” He took up his quill again, dipped it in the ink pot, and scratched against another sheet of parchment.
    “ I don’t doubt it, Your Grace,” Father replied calmly. He even managed to smile. “Indeed, I’ve heard much of your progeny. It seems there are a great many of them.”
    “ Seven. And eighteen grandchildren.” He never removed his gaze from his writing.
    “ I’m sure you’re very proud of them all, Your Grace,” Mother said quietly.
    The duke glared over at her, likely for having the audacity to speak before he’d spoken to her, but she didn’t shrink beneath the heat of his scowl. “I’ll be far better pleased with them when they provide me with great-grandchildren, madam.” He faced Father again. “Your mother. What was her name?”
    Father smiled, even though the hint of a tear formed in his eye. “Pauline Goddard.” He reached over and squeezed Mother’s hand. “She was the youngest daughter of Lord Standish.”
    The duke’s eyes took on a faraway look. His lips formed the name, “Pauline,” though no sound came forth. He nodded, seeming to mull some things over in his head. Then he pinched his lips together and turned to Abby, his eyes boring through her. “Tell me, Abigail—that’s your name, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he pressed on. “Do you intend to provide your parents with grandchildren?”
    “ P—pardon?” Abby stammered. The sudden change in subjects was more than just a little disconcerting.
    “ Grandchildren,” he barked, eyeing her up and down. “You’ve an abundance of childbearing years ahead of you. How do you intend to use them?”
    She blinked and glanced over to her parents. Mother nodded, and Father rolled his hand in a go-ahead gesture. She faced the duke again. “I am not married, Your Grace—”
    “ I didn’t ask if you were married, I asked if you would give your parents grandchildren.” A tick formed in his jaw.
    Abby bit her tongue to keep from delivering a thoroughly inappropriate retort. She took a moment to recollect herself, and then she met his