Indulgent? Was that the proper word to use?
He’d rescued her from the flood at Hammond Court, brought her to Grantham Lodge, and turned her over to the tender ministrations of Mrs. Watson. He’d permitted her to muck about in his kitchens, complimented her tea cakes, albeit begrudgingly, and had even taken her ice skating, though anyone could see he didn’t enjoy it.
“You were saying, Miss St. Claire?” Prue prompted.
“Please, you must call me Rose. I was about to say that it has been awkward, but while it is the case that the duke has never made any secret of his enmity for my father, and neither can he and I agree upon what’s to be done about Hammond Court—”
“Hammond Court!” Francesca glanced at Prue, her blue eyes wide. “Forgive me, Rose, but do you have a say in what happens to the house, then?”
“I do, yes. My father left Hammond Court to both the duke and me . . . together.” Now why should her voice have cracked on that last word?
“Together!” Francesca and Prue exclaimed, both of them at once.
Rose glanced around the drawing room, her cheeks going hot. If every eye in the room hadn’t already been upon them, they werenow.
“Forgive us, Rose,” Prue whispered. “That was expressed a bit too enthusiastically. But goodness, how strange, that Mr. St. Claire has left the property to you both! What do you suppose he was thinking, doing such a thing?”
That Maxwell Burke, the Duke of Grantham needed saving, and that she was the one to do it, that’s what.
A lostsoul . . .
She didn’t say so, however. Those few last precious moments she’d spent with Ambrose were between the two of them and no one else. So, she only shrugged. “I can’t be certain, but the duke wasn’t at all pleased.”
“No, I imagine not.” Francesca sat back against the settee, tapping her lips with a finger. “What had you been about to say, before we interrupted you? About it being awkward with the duke?”
“Oh, yes. Of course, it was awkward at first, but now the initial shock has passed, the duke has been rather good to me, all told.”
Francesca and Prue glanced at each other again, some sort of silent communication passing between them. “Has he? Well, Granthamisa gentleman, although a reluctant one at times.”
A reluctant gentleman. Yes, that was a good description of the Duke of Grantham. “He brought me here to Grantham Lodge after my bedchamber at Hammond Court flooded, and—”
“Flooded!” both ladies exclaimed, once again with perhaps a touch too much enthusiasm, but it hardly mattered now, as the other ladies in the room were already whispering among themselves, having given up pretending they weren’t eavesdropping.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. The house is in sad disrepair.” It would likely stay that way, too, unless she could somehow work a miracle on the Duke of Grantham. “But the duke was kind enough to invite me to his house party, and he took me ice skating when I asked.”
“Ice skating,” Francesca repeated as if she’d misheard. “The Duke of Grantham wentice skating?”
“Goodness, no! I did everything I could think of to coax him onto the ice, but he defied me at every turn. It’s rather a shame, really, because if ever there was a gentleman who needed a bit of fun, it’s the Duke of Grantham.”
This time, Francesca and Prue didn’t even attempt to hide the glance between them, or the wide smiles that rose to their lips. “I couldn’t agree more, Rose,” Prue said with a laugh. “Dear me, how I would have enjoyed seeing you attempt to lure him onto the ice.”
“Yes, well, I’m not very alluring, it seems, as he had no trouble at all resisting me.”
“Resistyou, Miss St. Claire? Nonsense.”
The teasing voice came from behind them, and all three of them turned to see that the gentlemen had finished their port and were wandering into the drawing room. Lord Dunwitty came straight toward them and swept into an elegant bow. “I daresay there isn’t a gentleman alive who could resistyou.”
“My goodness, Lord Dunwitty,” Francesca scolded, patting her chest. “What can you mean, sneaking up on us like that?”
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” Lord Dunwitty paused by the settee and offered Francesca a charming smile. “Have I interrupted you at your secrets?”
“There’s not a single secret to be had here, my lord.” Franny waved a dismissive hand at him, but her lips were twitching. “Go on about your business, you wicked man.”
“Of course, there are secrets. All ladies have secrets. Come now, you can tell me.” Lord Dunwitty pressed a finger to his lips. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise it.”
Prue snorted. “Not a single secret shall pass our lips. You’re an inveterate liar, my lord, and a shameless flirt.”
Lord Dunwitty pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me, Your Grace. As punishment for your cruelty, you must forfeit Miss St. Claire to me this instant.” He turned his attention to Rose. “Do you play chess, Miss St. Claire?”
