Thank God she’d finally died. There, the answer to that question.
“Tell the footman that you’ll return with him to Chavensworth,” he said, glancing at Simons again.
“Your Grace?” Simons said, his eyebrows elevating once more. “Will you not be attending Her Grace’s funeral?”
He really should, shouldn’t he?
However, he’d always prided himself on the fact that he wasn’t an out-and-out hypocrite. He’d grown tired ofMorna, and bored with her as well. Why should he now play the part of grieving widower?
The tongues would wag if he didn’t attend Morna’s funeral.
Who the hell cared about society gossip? He was the Duke of Herridge. Let them talk. A little spice merely meant that his name was mentioned more, his company sought out, his presence requested more often.
His search for an heiress might even be made easier if people talked about him.
“I think not, Simons,” he said. “You’ll stand in my stead.”
He placed the note on the footstool in front of him, sat back in the high-backed chair, and savored first the color of the port, then its taste. Through it all, Simons stood tall as a tree and twice as proud. He’d often thought Simons had the demeanor to be a duke himself.
He waited a few moments before speaking again.
“While you’re about it,” he said, catching Simons in midbow, “bring back her jewel chest.”
“Your Grace?”
“She had some rubies left, I believe, in that ugly brooch her mother gave her. And a few sapphires here and there. Bring those to me.”
“Your Grace,” Simons said, completing his bow.
As Simons made his way from the room, Anthony called after him. “There’s no need actually toattendthe service, man. Just get the damn jewel chest.”
Simons halted but didn’t turn. He’d insulted the old boy, evidently. One of the few enjoyments he got from life.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Simons said, and closed the door firmly behind him.
Anthony smiled and reached for the note from Douglas Eston once more before taking another appreciative sip of his port.
“Tell the steward I’ll meet with him shortly,” Douglas said, consulting his small notebook.
The footman nodded.
“And tell Mrs. Williams that she’s to carry on as she always had. There are no new instructions at the moment.”
Once again, the footman nodded.
“We should have a large post going out this afternoon,” Douglas added, closing his notebook.
“What time would you like me to return for the post, sir?” the footman asked.
“At two,” Douglas said.
The footman clicked his heels together, turned, and walked down the corridor with the stiff bearing of a Chavensworth servant.
Douglas closed the door of the Duke’s Suite and turned to face Hester.
“It’s uncanny, isn’t it, sir? First the mother, now the daughter.” She looked at Sarah asleep in the middle of the bed on the dais.
He stared at the woman, wondering if he’d made a mistake soliciting her help. But he needed someone to watch over Sarah while he took care of a few details, and Hester had struck him as being exceedingly sensible as well as caring. But he’d banish her this moment if she coupled Sarah together in her mind with the duchess.
