“And stay nearby,” Harlowe added.
“Of course, my lord.” Oswald backed out of the room.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed. She jumped to her feet and paced to the open windows. “My blasted mother sent him here. I just know it!”
“What makes you say that?” he drawled. Secretly, he was thrilled with her reaction.
“Her parting words to me last evening—”
The duke strolled in with all the hauteur his title lauded. “Ah, Lady Alymer.” His gaze was sharp and swept over Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer.
Harlowe sank back deeper in his chair and watched the unfolding scene with more than idle curiosity. A slight breeze stirred escaped ginger strands of her hair.
The duke’s gaze lifted to her face. “I see you are not dressed for our outing.”
She drew herself up and spun slowly, eyes glittering with fire—whether anger or pride, was debatable. “I fear you are mistaken, your grace. I told my mother I was unavailable for a drive this afternoon.” Her voice and stance, however, was resplendent.
“I see.” Oxford clasped his hands at his lower back. His gaze cut to Harlowe and back to her, frowning. “Where is your maid?”
“I’m a widow, your grace, not a debutante, despite my mother’s aspirations to portray me as such.” She threw her shoulders back and speared him with a direct and fiery gaze. “I am unavailable for a drive today or tomorrow. Oswald will be happy to show you out.”
A little of Oxford’s reserve seemed to give way. “I meant no disrespect, Lady Alymer. If you don’t mind my asking, however, why are you camped out at Kimptons rather than Ingleby House?”
Her gaze shot to Harlowe, touched with panic. She gathered herself quickly. “I’m assisting Lord Harlowe—”
“—in penning my memoirs,” Harlowe interrupted smoothly. He felt her smile but kept his focus on the duke. “I’m also assisting her with her late husband’s scripts. Having them published was his dying wish.”
“Ah, yes. Dorset mentioned as much,” his grace said. “How very admirable of you, my dear.”
Harlowe swallowed his groan. Things were taking an unexpected twist, one Harlowe was certain he would not be thrilled with.
The duke speared her with a sharp glint. “Forgive my bluntness, but you should do something about your mother.”
“Would that I could,” she muttered.
Oxford chuckled. “Yes, er, well, mothers will be mothers, I suppose.” His demeanor softened. “I just wish the same for my Felicity. An arrogant duke for a father can’t take the place of a loving mother.”
And just like that, Harlowe lost his edge for Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer’s attention as the scorching glint in her eye morphed to a gentle sweetness. “No, I suppose not.”
Excellent.If this went on much longer she was liable to ask him to—
“Would you care to stay for tea, your grace?”
The duke speared Harlowe with amusement. “Perhaps a drop of whiskey would not go amiss.”
Harlowe rose on surprisingly steady legs and pulled on the bell cord, demanded whiskey, and a tray of refreshed tea.
The duke settled into another chair. “Now, tell me about this text on ancient societies. I happen to have shared an interest in the subject as a boy. Alymer and I schooled together, you know.”
Blasted brilliant.Harlowe was certain the forced curve of his lips more resembled a sneer than a smile. Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer would make the man an excellent duchess.Just fucking… brilliant.
Maeve strolled into her chamber, smiling, still stunned by the turn of events. Oxford was a very nice man. He mightn’t be the man for her, but he would make someone a very good husband.
“Dare I say your visit with Oxford went well?” Parson said, stepping into the chamber via the attached sitting room. Her smile softened. “I’m glad. Your mother will be so pleased.”
Maeve’s smile faded into a tight line. If she didn’t nip this tidbit, an announcement in theLondon Timesand theGazettewould appear by dawn. Still, it would serve Lady Ingleby right if Maeve kept her mouth shut.
A tap at the door brought her out of her reverie. Parson opened it to Rory.
