“Having a duke in the family might not be so bad,” Les chimed in. “Is he wealthy?”
“I don’t know,” Lena admitted.
“If he is rich, we wouldn’t need to perform any more,”Mona said slowly. “I’m not sure how I feel about that, though—I love performing. I sure wouldn’t mind living in a grand mansion.”
“What do you think, Theo?” Lena turned to him.
Theo stroked his chin. “I say…we test him.”
“Test him?” Lena raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Theo nodded. “Why are we acting as if being a duke makes him the centre of the universe? He should be the one proving himself worthy of us.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“So, what do you suggest?” Lena asked.
A mischievous smile spread across Theo’s face. “He should live with us—just like a regular person. No dukely privileges. Let’s see how he handles that.”
“You mean, he should live as one of us? A commoner?” Mona asked.
“Exactly. It’s the only way to see if we’re compatible.”
“Famos,” Les said.
“I’m not sure he’ll agree to that,” Lena said slowly. “He’s a busy man. He might not be able to do it.”
“That’s our condition,” Theo insisted.
Hector folded his arms, mirroring Theo. “Yes, it’s our condition.”
Chapter Twelve
It wasn’t oftenthat Julius, Duke of Aldingbourne, received a curtly written summons to appear before people of lesser status than himself. One did not summon the Duke of Aldingbourne. It simply was not done.
Which was why he stared at the missive his butler had just delivered with a haughtily raised eyebrow and a steep frown on his forehead. To his servants and those who knew him, this was a well-known sign that the Duke was irritated and that it was better to slink away quietly and without comment. However, Herz, his butler, was Viennese. He hadn’t been in the service long and lacked the quick wit to disappear when he should, and instead remained hovering over the Duke in a most irritating manner.
“Who delivered this?” Julius asked as he stared at the illegible signature at the bottom of the letter. It looked like the scratch of a crow’s claw.
“A messenger boy, it seems, Your Grace,” Herz replied.
“Was he dark-haired with a cheeky disposition, about eight years of age?”
“No sir. He was tall, thin, red hair sticking out like a crow’s nest, about twenty-one. Cheeky disposition,” Herz added as an afterthought.
Theseus Arenheim.
The boy needed lessons in penmanship.
And etiquette.
It was not yet ten in the morning, and the missive summoned him to an immediate morning call. The writer of the missive was obviously unaware that morning calls were traditionally held in the afternoon.
The Duke had a routine: rising at dawn, sitting down at his desk in his morning gown to answer letters and attend to the most urgent tasks, then dressing, having a quick nuncheon at noon, followed by morning calls. Lately, these calls had been long meetings with Castlereagh taking up the entire afternoon. The evenings were filled with tedious soirees and other entertainments whose primary purpose was not entertainment, but diplomacy.
Yet, here was a summons demanding his immediate presence at a house in the Spitalgasse, threatening to disrupt his entire day's schedule.
Normally he would have ignored such an impertinent summons, but for the woman who lived there, a woman he was certain was his wife. It was interesting, he thought, how his entire body tensed and his heartbeat quickened at the mere thought of her.
