Page 48 of Five Nights to Claim His Duchess

“Uncle.” Diana shook her head, and meant it.

Because it was not true, and she would not have it said. When her mother died and her father went to pieces, it was Uncle Edmund who had sent Henrietta around with a basket twice a week for a year. It was Uncle Edmund who had put money in her hand every time her father went away. He pressed it on her in the hall, for the little one, mind, not for the household — and never once asked what became of it or told anyone he had done it. He had not saved her. But he had been the only person in the whole of London who had noticed she needed saving.

“You are the last man alive who owes me an apology,” she said. “And you know it perfectly well.”

Her uncle blew his nose.

“Well,” he said. “Well. I owe this ball to you, my dearest girl, and that I will say.” He turned and seized the Duke’s hand and shook it far longer than was proper. “And to you, Your Grace. To you. I shall not forget it.”

“We are family,” said Valentine.

“So we are. So we are.” Her uncle looked at Diana, and his eyes were wet again. He patted her cheek. “You have got yourself a good man, my dear. My heart may rest now.”

Indeed I have, thought Diana.

He promised to come back to his particular guests directly, and went off to be merry at somebody else.

Before Diana could begin her queries. A man detached himself from the crowd and came toward them, and their eyes met.

“Well,” he said. “Greetings, Duchess.” And he bowed.

She looked to her husband.

“Kingsell,” said Valentine. “My wife. Duchess — Phillip, Duke of Kingsell.”

Ah. The friend.

She saw at once why they were friends. He had the same manner exactly. The same flat unhurried gaze, the same stillness, the same face build. Two great cold blocks of men standing in a lit ballroom, and heaven help whoever had to negotiate with either of them.

“I have heard a great deal about you, Your Grace.”

“Good things, I hope.”

The Duke of Kingsell looked at the Duke of Rosewood for slightly longer than the question required.

“Good things always,” he said.

“Then I shall leave you both to it.” Diana inclined her head, and could not tell in the least whether she had just been mocked.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“Come, Hen.”

Diana and Henrietta went off arm in arm along the edge of the room.

“You did not know,” stated Henrietta.

“Know what?”

“About the Duke helping Papa. You had no notion he had done it.”

Diana shook her head.

Henrietta giggled.

“What?” said Diana. “What is the matter with you?”

“Nothing.” Her cousin’s face was pure mischief. “Only that you have no idea, my dearest darling idiot. Your husband dotes upon you. Deeply.”