Page 18 of The Madame Catches Her Duke

“It most certainly is, and just six months ago, you traveled with me to Scotland,” Rowan said with a chuckle. Blast it all, but the man knew how to banish his dour moods. “And next month, we travel to Liverpool to meet with the Marquess of Huntly.”

Tobias was incorrigible but worth the hassle on every level. A good friend and business companion whose trustworthy nature was never called into question was certainly a rare commodity—especially among the ton.

There were more words to describe his friend, as well: loyal, understanding, and steadfast.

And so, Rowan overlooked the frequent melodramatic tendencies that afflicted Tobias.

“I would be honored to accompany you, my dear Rowan, but whatever shall we tell the duchess?” He pressed his hand to his chest and widened his eyes—even his chin trembled slightly. Perhaps it was past time to stop overlooking Tobias’ quirks and demanded his friend act the part of a gentleman and not a court jester. “You do not think people will gossip overmuch about all the time we spend together?”

Tobias’ dramatics had never rankled Rowan’s nerves in such a manner before.

“My mother never asks after my business affairs, as you well know.”

“And what of your other duchess?”

“There is no reason for her to inquire as it does not pertain to her,” Rowan huffed. “And she is not—”

“Your duchess, I know.” Tobias sobered, all jesting and joking fleeing as his lips pulled into a firm line. “What of the woman? You cannot think to keep at this ruse forever. Your mother spoke of grandchildren last month. Grandchildren, born of Harwich blood.”

The truth of the matter was that the duchess had been speaking of grandchildren for many years. First in whispers to only Miss Pearl, but recently, openly asking Rowan of his future plans for the dukedom. He’d never dared ask Marce if his mother had questioned her on the topic, as well.

It was a discussion that would be uncomfortable for both of them.

It would be ludicrous to think Marce would go so far as to birth Rowan’s child, or any child, to keep up with the pretense of their sham of a marriage. But thinking on the subject brought to mind the wayward longing that invaded him when he allowed his guard to slip.

There was little doubt that Marce would one day have children; however, they would not be his or of Harwich blood.

“So…”

“So, what?” Rowan asked, wishing he hadn’t pushed the stacks of papers from his desk. He needed something to look at besides Tobias. And something to think about other than Marce as the mother of his children. The man was incredibly shrewd at the most inopportune moments. Rowan would not admit that the duchess had written him about just that subject the previous month after Tobias, the lout, had brought his sister and her children to visit Hadlow.

“Children…you and Marce…don’t play me for a fool and act as if you’ve never considered it.”

“I most certainly have not,” Rowan refuted. “We have a business arrangement, that is all. There is no romantic entanglement between us. Not now, and not in the future.”

“Interesting.” Tobias had the gall to stroke his chin as if he thought of all the implications of Rowan’s proclamation. “Very interesting, indeed.”

“How so?” Rowan asked.

“Well, you see…” A huge smile pulled at Tobias’ mouth, revealing his pearly white teeth. “When all this crumbles around you, I will be there to console those left in the wake of your destruction.”

“I enjoyed your company more when you respected which topics were not up for discussion.”

“And I’ve never truly enjoyed your company. However, your mother and Marce are delightful conversationalists, though their association with you is—”

The clock chimed seven times.

The dinner hour at Hadlow Estate.

“Ah, yes, our meal awaits.” Tobias pushed from his chair, not pausing to wait for Rowan to join him. “Hurry along, old chap.”

Rowan pushed from his chair, his arms and legs heavy with unease as he hurried after Tobias. There was no denying that Rowan was happy to follow someone’s lead, at least for this one night. He would gladly play second fiddle to Tobias if it meant dinner progressed smoothly, and he escaped unscathed.

Entering the dining hall, Rowan was first taken aback by the exorbitant amount of food spread out on the long table—from great pots of soup to roasted pheasant to steaming mounds of vegetables, and even three different sweets for after their meal. When in residence, Rowan favored a less formal meal, served buffet style. It lessened the chores for his servants and gave him the illusion of privacy in a brimming house. Tonight, the individual aromas mingled, causing Rowan’s mouth to water with anticipation of the fare to come. Every candle in the room was lit, and the chandelier overhead made every wine goblet shimmer. There were candelabras up and down the length of the table with strands of ivy woven between them. Bolts of silken fabric hung from every wall in varying shades of silver and plum, superbly complementing the green of the garlands.

Rowan shook his head to clear the nonsense from his mind.

The extravagance of the room irritated him. Theirs was to be a simple dinner for four, not a party of twenty celebrating some important holiday or tradition. His mother, Marce, Tobias, and him—with no need to mask their meal with societal niceties. The sheer extravagance of the uneaten food and burning candle wax would be enough to sustain one of his struggling businesses for days while feeding and providing light for the workers.