"I find the skills remarkably similar," Gregory said coolly. "Both require identifying one's enemies and determining the swiftest path to victory."
A ripple of uncomfortable laughter followed. Good. Let them understand he was not some fool to be mocked.
"I am certain His Grace shall adapt admirably," a woman's voice said smoothly. Gregory turned to find a handsome woman in her middle years regarding him with calculating eyes. Somethingabout her expression reminded him of officers he had known—the ones who smiled whilst planning your destruction. "After all, we must welcome our newest Duke with open arms. Must we not, Lady Thornbury?"
"But of course, Mrs. Croft," Lady Thornbury agreed, though her fan fluttered with evident skepticism.
Mrs. Croft moved closer, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "You must forgive us, Your Grace. We are simply concerned for your comfort. Society can be so overwhelming for those unaccustomed to its demands. The expectations, the protocols..." She shared a knowing look with Lady Thornbury. "So very different from the... simplicity of military life."
When Lady Thornbury made a particularly cutting remark about "provincial manners," Gregory noticed Mrs. Croft hide a slight smile behind her gloved hand, nodding in agreement even as she maintained her expression of concern.
"Though I am certain," Mrs. Croft continued sweetly, "that with proper guidance from those who understand these matters, Your Grace will eventually find his footing. One must have patience with those still learning."
Gregory's jaw tightened. The woman was ostensibly defending him whilst simultaneously confirming every insult the others had leveled.
"Tell me, Your Grace," Mrs. Croft said, her smile widening, "have you given any thought to securing the succession? A duke without an heir is in such a precarious position."
Several ladies exchanged meaningful glances. Gregory felt a familiar tension coil in his shoulders—the same tension that preceded battle.
"Mrs. Croft has two lovely daughters," Lord Pemberton offered. "Both of marriageable age."
"How fortunate for Mrs. Croft," Gregory said flatly. "Though I make my own decisions regarding marriage. I always have."
Mrs. Croft's smile thinned slightly, though she maintained her saccharine tone. "How very... independent of you, Your Grace. Though one does hope you will seek counsel from those more experienced in such delicate matters."
"Perhaps the Duke has arrived too recently to consider matrimony," a new voice interjected. Gregory turned to find a gentleman approximately his own age with an air of genuine amusement. "Give the man time to catch his breath before you marry him off, Pemberton."
"Lord Ashworth," Pemberton said with noticeably less warmth.
"Jonathan Fitzwilliam, Viscount Ashworth," the man said, bowing to Gregory. "I thought you might appreciate rescue from the matrimonial firing squad."
Gregory felt something in his chest ease slightly. "Your timing is impeccable, my lord."
"Military training," Ashworth said. "I served briefly with the 52nd before my father's death required my return."
A fellow soldier. Gregory reassessed the man before him, noting the straight bearing, the watchful eyes. "The 52nd Light Infantry. You saw action on the Peninsula?"
"Some," Ashworth admitted. "Nothing compared to your service, I'm certain. They say you earned your majority through merit rather than purchase."
"They say correctly."
Ashworth's smile widened. "Then you are precisely the sort of man these soft-handed fools cannot comprehend."
Before Gregory could respond, a nasal voice interrupted. "Your Grace, Lord Fenton at your service. I could not help but overhear your discussion."
Gregory turned to find a portly gentleman with thinning hair and an expression of barely concealed disdain.
"I must say, Your Grace, your enthusiasm for military matters is quite... refreshing." The wordrefreshingsomehow managed to sound like an insult. "Though I wonder if perhaps you might benefit from guidance. The Everleigh properties are vast andcomplex. Not the sort of thing a man of your... background... might easily comprehend."
Background.Another pretty word for common birth.
Gregory set down his glass with deliberate care. When he spoke, his voice carried the authority of a man who had commanded soldiers in battle.
"I comprehend quite well, Lord Fenton. I have read every ledger, surveyed every property, and spoken with every steward. I know precisely what state my uncle left things in."
"Yes, but knowing and understanding are quite different?—"
"I earned my rank through merit, Lord Fenton. Through strategy, discipline, and the willingness to make difficult decisions. I led men into combat and brought them home alive." He took a single step toward Fenton, who suddenly looked far less confident. "Do you truly believe that managing an estate is beyond my capabilities?"
