“Good morning to you too, Caleb,” Griffin muttered while chewing his food. He took a quick sip of coffee to wash it down before saying, “You’re looking very crisp today.”
“And so he should,” the duchess said. “If he is to win Miss Clemens, effort must be made.” She caught Caleb’s eye. “Have you decided where to take her for your outing?”
Caleb poured himself a hot cup of tea and reached for the toast. “I’ve a few places in mind.” For some odd reason, he didn’t want to share the specifics, except when it came to his choice of restaurant. “I’m thinking of The Grotto for luncheon.”
“Oh, she will love that, I’m sure,” the duchess exclaimed. “It’s so romantic.”
“As I recall,” Griffin drawled, “there’s a private corner behind the stairs. I took a young widow there years ago. It was very secluded and perfect for—”
Caleb cleared his throat and gave his brother a pointed look, reminding him that their mother was present and might not want to hear of her son’s liaisons. He knew the spot he referred to and had already booked a table there.
“That list I prepared for you, Caleb,” the duchess began while drumming her fingers lightly next to her plate. “Perhaps I can use it after all, for Griffin’s benefit.”
“What an excellent idea, Mama.” Caleb grinned. It was high time his brother got a feel for some of the pressure he’d been forced to endure since becoming a duke. “I’m sure there’s a lady on it who will suit him perfectly.”
“What list?” Griffin asked with undeniable alarm. “A lady suited for what, exactly?”
“Marriage, dear brother,” Caleb said without bothering to hide his amusement. “Mama has made a painstaking selection of the best potential brides in the land.”
“Then you should pick one,” Griffin croaked. He looked as though his cravat was cutting off blood to his head.
“But I am to marry Miss Clemens,” Caleb explained. He was enjoying this. It reminded him of when they were lads and they used to prank each other. Before they’d fallen out with their father and gone off in separate directions.
“That has yet to be determined,” Griffin said. He’d bolstered himself and was now firing back. At the head of the table, their mother hid a mischievous smile behind her teacup. “She might refuse you, so you may want to wait on handing that list to someone else.”
Caleb’s smile faded. “If I cannot have Miss Clemens, I will not marry at all.” He looked up with a sudden spark of inspiration. “So there will be all the more reason for you to do so, Griffin, since your son could be my heir.”
“My son?” Griffin sputtered.
“Stop it,” the duchess demanded, though she did so with laughter in her voice. “You will both marry in due course, of that I can assure you.”
Caleb noted that he wasn’t the only one glowering at her. “Being married is the unhappiest state a person can be in, Mama,” Griffin said. “Just consider yourself and Papa.”
The words were out before Caleb could manage to kick his brother or toss a napkin at him or do something to halt the hurtful words. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he looked at the duchess, whose humorous expression had faded into shadowy lines. “You are right. We were miserable with each other. Your father kept countless mistresses over the years while I…” She pressed her lips together and gave both her sons a devastated look. “I was gifted with four wonderful boys and for that reason alone, I do not regret marrying him for a second. We might not have understood each other very well, but becoming a parent was worth every sacrifice.
“What I want for you most of all is for you to know the joy of holding your own child in your arms and marveling over the miracle of life. It is the most remarkable thing in the world, and if you are fortunate enough to experience it with someone you care for, then you will have gained more wealth in this lifetime than would ever fit in the Camberly coffers.”
The duchess had clearly changed her opinion on marriage in recent weeks. It occurred to Caleb that her love for him and desire to see him happy had a lot to do with this, so he reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze in a silent conveyance of affection.
A moment of comfortable silence passed between them, until Griffin spoke. “You do realize a man can father a child without having to get himself leg-shackled, do you not?”
“Griffin Nathaniel Finnegan Crawford,” the duchess said in the most authoritative tone Caleb had heard her use since his childhood. A shudder went through him, and when he glanced at his brother, it appeared as though he was shrinking. “You will not suggest such things while under this roof, nor will you think it. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Griffin said with a downcast gaze. “I beg your forgiveness, Mama.”
The duchess heaved in a lungful of air which had the effect of increasing her height by at least one inch. “It is almost nine.” She looked at Caleb. “I suggest you finish eating so you can be on your way.”
Caleb downed the remainder of his tea and stood. Griffin apparently intended to follow, but the duchess reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stay,” she said, forcing Griffin back into his chair.
He gave Caleb a helpless look of desperation that begged for his interference. Instead, Caleb went to the door, wished them both a wonderful day, and left the pair to discuss whatever it was they would be discussing. Caleb no longer cared. He was far more interested in courting Miss Clemens.
After a quick stopat a nearby hothouse, Caleb arrived at Clemens House exactly five minutes before ten o’clock and was granted entry by the butler.
“Look who it is,” Peter called, spotting him from the top of the stairs and storming down them to fling his arms tight around Caleb’s waist. Thankfully, Caleb had the foresight to raise the bouquet of flowers he’d brought above his head so they wouldn’t be crushed.
“Mr. Crawford!” Another pair of arms wrapped around one of his legs, and although he could not see the imp, he recognized the voice as Daphne’s. The rest of the children were soon upon him as well, hugging him from all sides while the butler made a hopeless attempt at reinstating order.
“Good heavens,” the older and far more mature voice belonging to Mrs. Clemens exclaimed. “Leave His Grace alone. The poor man can barely move!”
