The Duke Read Free

mouth shut, obviously. He had the wit to change the subject.
    â€œYou must know, Giles, that poor old Mabley hasn’t stopped his predictions of doom and gloom. I told him that if he didn’t wish to accompany me, being an older man and perhaps not quite up to it, I would take Japper. That shut him up fast enough. Told me, he did in that hang-jaw way of his, that I’d like as not forget my waistcoat and cravat if he wasn’t there to remind me. He still can’t think of me as a man grown despite my twenty-eight years.”
    Mr. Braidston unconsciously fingered his own flawlessly tied cravat. Although nature had not seen fit to endow him with his cousin’s grand height or broad shoulders or athletic build, he believed that he presented a far more elegant picture. He was civilized. He was a hostess’s dream. He always knew exactlywhat to say, what to do. In his view, Ian was a dull dog, much too serious and set in his ways, and his clothes proved his point.
    â€œMabley is an old man, Ian. Valet to your father, wasn’t he? Time to put him out to pasture, pension him off.” Giles yawned.
    How very like Giles, the duke thought, to think only of the benefits of a title and wealth without any concern for the responsibilities.
    He said only, “No, I think not, Giles. I daresay that I should be as lost without him as he would be without a dozen pair of hessians to polish. But enough of my time-honored valet. Did Felicity tell you of the roundabout manner in which I have succeeded the Earl of Penderleigh?”
    â€œShe said something about a great aunt, an Englishwoman and the absurd Scottish courts. I’m loath to say that she quite lost interest in the subject when a new ball gown arrived from Madame Flauquet. She wanted my opinion of the gown, of course.”
    â€œOf course. Well, I have no waistcoats that cry out for your opinion, so you have no choice but to listen to me.”
    Mr. Braidston waved his monocle and settled back against the settee, a look of gentle suffering setting comically on his face. “My heart is a-pounding, my soul awaits your poetry.”
    Ian didn’t have time to get beyond the name of Robertson before his butler gently opened the double library doors. “Your pardon, your grace. A Dr. Edward Mulhouse is here to see you.”
    â€œEdward! Good God, it’s been months. Show him in, James. You remember Edward Mulhouse, don’t you, Giles? You met him on your last visit to Carmichael Hall. I fancy that with him I’ll have a more attentive audience.”
    Edward Mulhouse strode into the duke’s darklyelegant library, his tanned, lean face alight with pleasure. He was a huge bear of a man with large hands and large feet. But he was nattily dressed, though not as elegantly turned out as Mr. Braidston, a fact that Giles quickly noted. He and the duke had become fast friends as boys.
    The two gentlemen shook hands, and Ian clapped his friend’s shoulders. “However did all your patients allow you to escape from Suffolk?”
    â€œThere was only one lame horse when I left, Ian. Not even a single boil. I couldn’t even scare up a sprained ankle. I was unneeded and unwanted. I was downcast. What could I do but come to the fleshpots of London and visit my father? I thought I would give you a marvelous treat and visit you. So here I am.”
    â€œExcellent. Edward, you remember, of course, my cousin, Giles Braidston?”
    â€œIndeed, I do. A pleasure to see you again.”
    Giles suffered having his hand gripped by a man built like an oak tree, who could likely take a broken leg and pull it back into place without even a huff.
    He said with a sigh, “Do sit down, Edward. There are now two of us that Ian can bore to the devil.”
    â€œIf you must know, Edward, I have just come into an earldom in Scotland and was in the process of telling Giles here how it all came about.” He handed Edward a glass of sherry.