The Duke Read Free Page A

“But first, my friend, does all go well at Carmichael Hall? Is Danvers still his same stiff, arthritic self?”
    Without a trace of envy Edward pictured the duke’s Suffolk estate, Carmichael Hall, and its many inhabitants. “Danvers is just as you describe him. I swear, Ian, your butler frequently makes me feel as though he’s the master. His dignity tends to be overwhelming.”
    â€œIan keeps him on to bolster his importance.”
    â€œUntrue, Giles, you’re the one who likes bolstering.”
    â€œYou do too, Ian. You’re just used to it, thus you don’t ever remark upon it.”
    Could that possibly be true? the duke wondered. Conversation continued in this vein for some minutes before Edward cocked his head to one side and said, “Enough of Carmichael Hall, London, the king, and everyone’s importance. What is all of this about a Scottish earldom, Ian?”
    â€œOh,” Giles moaned, “and here I’d thought we’d distracted him.”
    â€œNot a chance, Giles. I’m just sorry that I have so few facts, for I would like to string out the telling for your benefit.”
    Giles rolled his eyes heavenward, but the duke ignored him, and for a moment he appeared lost in his thoughts, his long fingers stroking the firm line of his jaw.
    â€œIt’s curious, really,” he said finally. “I come to the estate and title through my great aunt, my grandmother’s only sister, who, as I understand it, married Angus Robertson soon after Bonnie Prince Charlie’s final bid for the throne. There was some sort of legal debacle, God knows what, but the courts ruled that the title and estate would come to me. There are no other male relatives.” He paused a moment and cast a twinkling eye toward his cousin. “The lowland Robertsons are not, of course, to be confused with the highland Robertsons.”
    â€œIndeed not,” Giles said, nodding and looking as wise as the Bishop of York. “Never would I have put the two together. At least not in this lifetime or the next, for that matter.”
    â€œAll that I know from my English solicitor is that there are no Scottish male relatives to inherit, the onlyson remaining to the earl having died in seventeen ninety-five, leaving three daughters.”
    Mr. Braidston yawned delicately behind his very white hand. “Ancient history is such a bore, don’t you agree, Edward?” At his grin, Giles added, “Thank God, Ian, that you have brought us quickly to the present. I don’t suppose you told Felicity about this multitude of females? Three of them? That would bring a wrinkle to her brow sure to displease her mama.”
    â€œAs to Felicity’s displeasure, Giles, from my understanding, all the females in question are children. At least that is what I inferred from my great aunt’s letter.”
    Edward Mulhouse looked startled. “The old woman is still alive? Good God, she must be a relic, someone old enough to have seen the flood in the Bible.”
    â€œVery much alive. She must be at least seventy years old now, or eighty or one hundred. Who knows?”
    Mr. Braidston rose, allowing a look of commiseration to darken his face. “Poor Ian, playing a nursemaid to an old harridan and guardian to a gaggle of brats. Well, I must be off, old fellow. I’ll leave poor Edward here as you contemplate your fate.”
    â€œA new waistcoat awaits your inspection, Giles?”
    â€œIndeed it does. I must decide if the puce stripes will be best contemplated by gold or silver buttons. Naturally the shape of the buttons and the size are also prime considerations. This sort of thing takes time.”
    Giles turned to Edward. “Do call on me in Brook Street. Ian, here, is journeying to Scotland before the end of the week. Ian, I’ll see you before you leave. I hope your reception in Scotland won’t be unpleasant.”
    After Giles had been shown from