“With all those staring eyes, and busy gossips, yes I am certain London is the perfect place for my vulnerable little sister.”
“I did not mean to cause offence, but more than that, she would be able to access the most skilled physicians money can buy.” For a moment, Miss Keating looked as if she meant to add more, and Kit wondered if perhaps she wished to add that removing Flora from the mausoleum of the manor might be beneficial.
“Indeed,” Kit finally said, his response dry. He didn’t move away from Miss Keating and nor did she step back and resume her seat.
“It is not merely for your sister’s health,” Miss Keating continued.
“No, of course, as I would imagine you had no idea of her existence until now.”
“I did not. But very little was told to me of you either,” Miss Keating replied. “After all, I thought I was here to retrieve your father. I quite believed from what Mr. Holt had told me, that the duke would be in his dotage.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“No, you do not. That is…” Miss Keating looked befuddled and slightly embarrassed. “I was sent down here, as the current occupant of your uncle’s house is in need of support.”
To his surprise, Miss Keating fixed him with a stare and then said, “I have come on my older sister’s behalf. She has been left in charge at your uncle’s townhouse—managing it all. I should say it is your townhouse now of course. As the late duke’s goddaughter, my sister needs you to be in Town to help her… There are a great many affairs, matters I should say that require your presence.”
It sounded too strange to Kit’s cynical mind. Too many dotsthat did not join up to his head. Immediately his thoughts turned to everything his father had always told him—that Kit’s uncles were of a highly libertine persuasion, and that their numerous bastards cluttered various parishes. Perhaps the Misses Keatings were in fact, relations of his. Still if that was the case, why did the younger Miss Keating not simply say so?
“Are you related to the late duke?” For some reason, it suddenly mattered a great deal to Kit that he would know for sure whether the younger Miss Keating had any biological connection to his uncle. He told himself it was merely to ensure she was not in fact his cousin or his uncle’s mistress—either position would need a change in his behaviour.
He needed to know she was not related to him.
Miss Keating looked a little surprised at his question. “No, there is nothing untoward in my relationship with the late duke. I hope you are not implying anything improper in either of our behaviours. I can assure you I am an honourable spinster.” As she spoke her voice gained strength, and Kit was pleased to see the earlier spark colour her cheeks. “I am here for my sister’s sake. You may rest assured that His Grace was no relation to me.”
Perhaps it should have sparked some kind of shared familiarity in Kit—Miss Keating loved her sister, the same way as he did Flora. But he was too deep into his own embittered emotions to wish to hold on to this bond.
With a small curl of his lip, he drew away from her and from the table. His entire body ached from the storm, from the added complication and, he supposed, from the expectation that he must be the one to solve it.
It was important, he reasoned, to clear his head and to set out what he meant to do next. Ignoring Town for a long period was not a possibility, and yet venturing out tomorrow was also unlikely given tonight’s storm—he had only briefly seen the devastation. As someone accustomed to the Cornish environment, Kit knew that many of the roads would be flooded and unpassable given thestrength of the storm. But that meant he would have to make Miss Keating welcome in the manor for a considerable amount of time. This realisation was a rather confusing one for him—most men would have felt pleasure, no doubt, at having a young, pretty female who was to all extents and purposes trapped with him. This turned Kit’s stomach. Better to be dead than like his late uncles with their rakish ways.
Looking around at her, Kit gave her a brutal appraisal, hoping to fully establish his own distaste with her presence and person. “If you are done with the food, I will bid you goodnight.”
“My Lord—Your Grace!” She made to follow after him. “You have not given me an answer on when we will travel to London.”
“You can leave as soon as you are able.” With that Kit left her alone, pleased to have rendered her speechless with his curtness.
CHAPTER 5
Outside her chamber, Elsie could have sworn the world was being flooded. Overwhelmed and seized. Perhaps even the entire manor house was simply engulfed. It probably was not best practice, but when the little spaniel climbed up onto the bed with her, she wrapped her arms around him, and held on to him tight. He made a soft whining sound and licked her nose, and relief bounded through Elsie’s chest.
How was she to explain any of this to her sensible sister Margot? It would sound utterly macabre if she tried to put the series of events to pen and paper. But how could she convince the rudest and most obstinate man she had ever encountered to come to London? She doubted anyone would ever be able to convince the new duke of anything he did not wish to do. To her mind, it was madness to stay in such a windswept and dangerous location, and as for poor Lady Flora, she needed all the help she could get.
Curling up closer to the spaniel, she pulled the rough blanket over the pair of them, trying her best to shield them both from the sound of the windows rattling and whatever else was echoing around the house. As for poor Samson, hopefully, Elsie’s littlemaid had found somewhere to bed down as she doubted the girl would wish to be inside the actual manor.
Elsie stroked her hand over the dog’s coat. She wanted a distraction. Why not name the pup? But every time she let her mind quiet it turned back to the inevitable presence of the duke.
The heir who she’d been sure she could sweet talk and convince to come with her up to Town. She had assumed he would be of an age with the previous duke, but no this person was younger, more energetic, more… well, something. She could not put her finger on precisely what the new duke of Ashmore was, but whatever it might be, Elsie was not comfortable about it. Compelling, she thought for a moment before dismissing this idea as too much of a compliment.
There was something about this man which made her extremely aware of the breath within her chest, the hair on her arms, and how she was standing. She had never considered herself to be self-conscious before, but around His Grace, Elsie wanted nothing more than to shrink away from him, and that was before he fixed her with his unnaturally pale-blue eyes. It wasn’t right for someone with dark hair to have such light-coloured eyes.
“What shall I call you?” she whispered to her rescued pet. She needed something appropriate, a name which would somehow purge the memory of being fixed with those perceptive, all-knowing eyes and drive the memory out of her. “Lancelot?” It was humorous she reasoned to call the dog this name, given she had been the one to rescue the hound. But somehow it seemed to suit the little pet. And to this suggestion the spaniel nestled in closer, and Elsie let out a sigh.
Rolling over, telling herself to sleep, although as she tossed and turned, she came to a disturbing realisation that even with her lids sealed shut the duke’s domineering stare, continued to chase after her. Even when she finally fell into a restless slumber, the blasted man followed her through her dreams.
There camea knock at her door, and Elsie forced her face out of the pillow, hair sticking to her mouth. From a partly open curtain, faint light poured in, and sadly, even from here came the definite sound of rain. Presumably, the blasted duke would therefore think it wasn’t worth them leaving the manor, and the idea of having to stay another night in this strange, lonely place?—
The knock sounded again, and this time there was the sound of Samson’s voice. “Miss… Miss Elsie, are you awake?”
