With that thought, after rattling the handle to give fair warning, Henry pushed the door open and stepped into a mudroom. Still, no one was visible. He set down his dripping brolly on the flagstones and his hat on a bench along with his overcoat. There was nothing he could do about his muddy boots except wipe them on the braided straw rug, which suited the purpose tremendously. In fact, other pairs of boots and shoes were lined up by the side of the door.
After a minute or two of trying to make them presentable, however, mud stubbornly continued to coat the soles and toes of his boots. Giving up, he sat on the bench beside his hat and removed his favorite Hessians.
Sufficiently presentable, Henry removed his gloves and jammed them in his overcoat pocket before heading farther into the house in his stockinged feet. He encountered the kitchen first where a cook shrieked slightly at his unexpected appearance.
“Is there a groom or stable boy?” he asked her. “My horses need tending, and perhaps my driver could come in for a cup of tea and a biscuit if such are on hand.”
With large eyes, the cook nodded, dropped the spoon she was holding and dashed out of the room. Hopefully, she was going to relay his message and not go for a rifle to shoot him as an intruder.
He followed her down the hall, past an empty study on one side and a dining room on the other, until he heard the sound of people talking. Sure enough, from the drawing room, out rushed the Rare-Foures with the cook in their midst.
“Your Grace!” exclaimed Mrs. Rare-Foure, dropping into a curtsey.
“I am sorry to intrude,” Henry told her. “I knocked, but no one heard me.”
A man whom Henry had never met stepped forward with an outstretched hand, not the least perturbed at having a surprise visitor enter through the back of his house.
“By my wife’s address, you must be the Duke of Pelham. I am Armand Foure. We tend to be rather a loud bunch, all talking over one another. I have no idea where our man is,” he added, ostensibly referring to their butler, unbothered by his servant’s dereliction of duty.
Henry shook Mr. Foure’s hand but was already looking past him for his chocolatier.
Amity stood with her sisters, staring at him with wonder butnotwith anger as he’d feared after her treatment at his own home. She looked the same — except for wearing a surprised expression on her lovely face — and his heart started to thump with gladness to be near her again.
“I came,” he said suddenly, looking directly at her, “to apologize to Miss Rare-Foure.”
Her eyes widened, and in truth, he had amazed even himself. He hadn’t realized he intended to say that, at least, not publicly. It wasn’t something a duke normally had to do. Regardless, it had come forth naturally from him, as he had hated how hurt she’d seemed when last he’d seen her.
Her family parted and she stepped forward, curtsied, and looked up at him with her unwavering, deep-brown eyes. He loved those eyes. He loved the woman who looked out of them.
“You had no need to come all the way from Town, Your Grace.”
Henry couldn’t help wincing at her particular use of his title.
“But I greatly appreciate your apology, however unnecessary,” Amity continued. “Will you come into our parlor and take tea?”
The small smile she offered might have been because of their shared dislike of tea.
“I will. Thank you.” He looked at her father. “My driver is awaiting assistance. A groom or a stable boy, perhaps?”
“Oh, yes, yes,” Mr. Foure said.
“I’ll handle it,” said another male voice, and for the first time, Henry realized the lawyer — Amity’sfriend— was present. He’d been lurking in the parlor doorway, just out of sight.
Christ!The man was there, in the bosom of the family’s country seat. This might be a little trickier than Henry had anticipated. It was entirely possible Mr. Cole and Amity now had an understanding which she had previously denied.
The man bowed to Henry. “Good day, Your Grace,” the lawyer said, his gaze lingering on Henry’s stockinged feet, making him feel all but naked. Then Mr. Cole accompanied the cook toward the back of the house.
Henry’s glance shot to Amity again. Her cheeks had pinkened, and he feared he was too late. Furthermore, the man had also called him “Your Grace.” Thus, the lawyer, too, had been told of Amity’s shameful treatment at the hands of Lady Madeleine. He was half-surprised the man hadn’t called him out.
Henry followed Amity and her still-silent sisters into the parlor.Did he have the right to march in there and offer for the chocolatier’s hand?
Her parents came in behind them. Someone had sent for tea — and slippers — because by the time they all settled into their seats on the two sofas and the winged chairs, a maid came in with the tea tray, and Mr. Cole returned a moment later, carrying a pair of tartan-covered, wool-lined slippers. He dropped these at Henry’s feet.
“Your driver is in the kitchen having a little sustenance, Your Grace, and your horses are being cared for.”
“Thank you.” Thanking this man made him feel even guiltier for wanting to snatch Amity away from him.What hope did Mr. Cole have of keeping hold of her when a duke wanted the same woman?Henry knew the answer was no hope at all.
On the other hand, the lawyer was probably considered a handsome chap. He was tall, had a full head of hair, and no pox on his cheeks. It wouldn’t be hard for Mr. Cole as a professional to find another woman to be his wife. Maybe even one of Amity’s sisters would do.
