probably wouldn’t want me talking to you but—Mr. Smythe—was busy and I couldn’t just leave you waiting.” He glanced about the yard. “This is not a good place for a woman at night.”
It almost sounded a veiled threat, but somehow she knew his words were just what he said. The tension in her shoulders eased. She would be safe while he was with her. It was not the same as it was with Mr. Smythe, but it was something. “Do you work for the duke like Mr. Smythe?”
He opened his mouth, looked at her, and then closed it. She didn’t understand why it should be a difficult question.
“I am employed by the duke, yes,” he answered after a moment.
That should not have been so hard to answer. What about the duke had his employees grasping for words? “And the duke required Mr. Smythe’s presence this evening?”
The man suddenly smiled, his scar creasing his cheek. “Yes, Strattington required Mr. Smythe’s presence. He most often does.”
“Oh.” There was not much else to say. “I guess I should go in, then.” She hoped her fears did not sound in her voice.
The man nodded. Isabella began to head up the stairs back into the inn when he spoke again. “Let me walk you up.” He stood and held out his arm. “You make him happy, you know. You probably shouldn’t, but you do. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but he is different. He needs more happiness. He has a difficult time with—the duke. They are too closely related.”
She paused, then with only the slightest worry took his arm and let him lead her to the door. Nobody would come close to her if she was with him. “If you are to walk me up you must tell me your name. I feel at quite the disadvantage.” She moved close to him, hoping he would not see anything odd as she hid behind him, trying to avoid being seen. Her fingers tightened about his arm. She could not help wishing it was Mr. Smythe’s.
He looked down at her, his eyes kind, but questioning. “Just call me Douglas. It’s what His Grace does.”
H ad three hours really passed? Mark wished he’d simply ignored duty and ignored Hargrove’s invitation. Hargrove was not an uninteresting man, but he was a long-winded one. Mark cared about Parliament and fully intended to take his seat, but Hargrove’s endless discussion of petty minutiae was wearing him down. He smiled and tried to ask an intelligent question about the agricultural horse tax. Hargrove grabbed on to it and began to expound again.
Miss Smith would be gone by now. She never stayed long and he doubted she’d waited more than fifteen minutes when he had not appeared. The brightest spot in his day, the only moments when he felt himself, and they were past before they could begin.
Hargrove was still answering his question and Mark could no longer even remember what it was. Had he actually asked about timber duties? What else could he say? Something about the coronation, perhaps? He noticed that any mention of it brought out opinion. Was the king spending too much? Would Queen Caroline dare to come? What would be served for dinner that night?
The last question brought as much discussion as any other.
“You seem to have drifted off. Strattington? Am I going on a little long? My mother always said I could talk from now until Judgment Day and not grow tired,” Hargrove said with surprising perception, wiping his mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“No, of course not. I am merely trying to consider what you have said in light of my new responsibilities.” He rested his head upon his hand.
“Is that your father’s ring?” Hargrove stared at the large ruby upon his finger. “It’s rumored to be one of the clearest rubies ever mined.”
“Yes.”
“I remember when your father brought it back from India. I think the king offered him a title in return for it, but he would not sell.”
“I’ve always believed that to be only rumor. My father loved the king, as did my uncle. If the king had asked for the
It almost sounded a veiled threat, but somehow she knew his words were just what he said. The tension in her shoulders eased. She would be safe while he was with her. It was not the same as it was with Mr. Smythe, but it was something. “Do you work for the duke like Mr. Smythe?”
He opened his mouth, looked at her, and then closed it. She didn’t understand why it should be a difficult question.
“I am employed by the duke, yes,” he answered after a moment.
That should not have been so hard to answer. What about the duke had his employees grasping for words? “And the duke required Mr. Smythe’s presence this evening?”
The man suddenly smiled, his scar creasing his cheek. “Yes, Strattington required Mr. Smythe’s presence. He most often does.”
“Oh.” There was not much else to say. “I guess I should go in, then.” She hoped her fears did not sound in her voice.
The man nodded. Isabella began to head up the stairs back into the inn when he spoke again. “Let me walk you up.” He stood and held out his arm. “You make him happy, you know. You probably shouldn’t, but you do. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but he is different. He needs more happiness. He has a difficult time with—the duke. They are too closely related.”
She paused, then with only the slightest worry took his arm and let him lead her to the door. Nobody would come close to her if she was with him. “If you are to walk me up you must tell me your name. I feel at quite the disadvantage.” She moved close to him, hoping he would not see anything odd as she hid behind him, trying to avoid being seen. Her fingers tightened about his arm. She could not help wishing it was Mr. Smythe’s.
He looked down at her, his eyes kind, but questioning. “Just call me Douglas. It’s what His Grace does.”
H ad three hours really passed? Mark wished he’d simply ignored duty and ignored Hargrove’s invitation. Hargrove was not an uninteresting man, but he was a long-winded one. Mark cared about Parliament and fully intended to take his seat, but Hargrove’s endless discussion of petty minutiae was wearing him down. He smiled and tried to ask an intelligent question about the agricultural horse tax. Hargrove grabbed on to it and began to expound again.
Miss Smith would be gone by now. She never stayed long and he doubted she’d waited more than fifteen minutes when he had not appeared. The brightest spot in his day, the only moments when he felt himself, and they were past before they could begin.
Hargrove was still answering his question and Mark could no longer even remember what it was. Had he actually asked about timber duties? What else could he say? Something about the coronation, perhaps? He noticed that any mention of it brought out opinion. Was the king spending too much? Would Queen Caroline dare to come? What would be served for dinner that night?
The last question brought as much discussion as any other.
“You seem to have drifted off. Strattington? Am I going on a little long? My mother always said I could talk from now until Judgment Day and not grow tired,” Hargrove said with surprising perception, wiping his mouth with a lace-edged handkerchief.
“No, of course not. I am merely trying to consider what you have said in light of my new responsibilities.” He rested his head upon his hand.
“Is that your father’s ring?” Hargrove stared at the large ruby upon his finger. “It’s rumored to be one of the clearest rubies ever mined.”
“Yes.”
“I remember when your father brought it back from India. I think the king offered him a title in return for it, but he would not sell.”
“I’ve always believed that to be only rumor. My father loved the king, as did my uncle. If the king had asked for the
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