“But not that much.”
“And besides,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken, “I have other duties that can’t so easily be handed off to a subordinate. I have clients—authors—who need me to do research for their books. What about them? Am I to turn them away?”
“Yes,” he answered uncompromisingly. “That’s why it’s called a holiday, Miss Harlow. It’s a time away from one’s work for the purpose of rest and relaxation. Believe it or not,” he added as she made a sound of impatience, “people do it all the time.”
Oddly, the more he refuted her arguments, the more arguments she felt inclined to make. “But what about my customers? What if someone is searching for a rare book? A temporary help hired from an agency wouldn’t know where to look for such things. And how could I trust a person I don’t know to run things in my stead? And what about Delia’s party? And what about my friend who holds his political meetings here?”
“Friend?” he echoed with obvious disdain. “You mean that scoundrel who was eating all your sandwiches and tea cakes the other day?” He glanced at the table, noting the plates and cups still there from last night. “Raided your larder again, I see. I hope he left you more than crumbs this time?”
Evie scowled at him. “That is a most obnoxious thing to say.”
“Is it? When it’s clear he takes blatant advantage of you?”
“Oh, he does not.”
He shrugged. “Well, you know him better than I.”
This sudden acquiescence only made him more irritating. “Are all peers as opinionated, interfering, and insulting as you?”
“Some are worse,” he answered with cheer.
“I can well believe it, if you and your fellow blue bloods from the other day are anything to go by.”
“Never fear. Delia and I will ensure that you meet many worthy young men of your own class.”
“My own class?” she echoed, bristling even though she was the one who’d underscored the class difference.
He didn’t seem to notice. “You’ll surely meet one or two that take your fancy, and who would suit you. You might even find one to marry.”
“But not a peer,” she reminded. “Why the distinction? Is it that I’m not good enough to marry a peer, in your view?”
“Do you want to marry a peer?” he countered, looking surprised.
“Of course not!” Evie was now angry enough to spit nails. Not that it would do any good. She doubted even the sharpest nails could penetrate his arrogant sense of superiority. “I wouldn’t have one of your lot on a plate.”
“Well, there we are, then. But don’t worry,” he added as she made a sound of utter exasperation. “Any men to whom you are introduced by Delia or me will be men of good family with excellent prospects, men far more deserving of your attentions than your so-called friend.”
“I doubt it.”
“I don’t. Hell, if I have my way, you’ll have suitors bringing you flowers, penning you sonnets, and giving you books you might actually want to read. You won’t miss that blackguard’s attentions in the least.”
“What I will miss is something you are not qualified to judge,” she shot back. “And I don’t need flowers or sonnets or suitors lined up at my door. One suitor is good enough for me.”
“Even if he is unworthy of you?”
“He’s as worthy as they come. There are many women,” she added as he gave a shout of laughter, “who would find Rory quite a catch, I’ll have you know. He’s very handsome.”
“Yes, he is,” the duke unexpectedly agreed. “And he knows it.”
“He and I have been friends since childhood.”
“One might just as well be friends with a pigeon.”
“What are you saying? That Rory is like a pigeon?”
“Isn’t he? He serves no useful purpose, gobbles up all the food in sight, makes messes everywhere, and struts about like he’s the cock of the walk.”
A brutal assessment. But one, she realized, her anger faltering, that had a ring of truth, confirming the secret suspicion hovering around in the back of her mind during the past several days, a suspicion she had refused to acknowledge.
