The Duke Dilemma Read Free

chatter at the Rutherford dining room table was a reminder of what his life had been only five or so years before. His eldest and youngest daughters, Augusta and Muriel, were at constant odds with each other. Their aunt Penny played mediator, and his good-natured middle daughter, Charlotte, could not side with either sister lest she offend the other. To his ears the quartet’s melodious disagreements were an expression of the domestic harmony that provided the musical accompaniment in the background of life at Faraday Hall.
    “Ladies, I beg of you!” Lord Rutherford called out to his female relatives. “If you will do His Grace the honor of ceasing your incessant tittle-tattle and trespassing upon his nerves, I am certain he will thank you very much.”
    “It is your nerves, Papa, not the Duke’s, which protest against our conversation,” Mrs. Jeffries replied in a sympathetic and understanding manner.
    “Why is it Grandpapa always complains when we have things we wish to discuss?” the young Miss Jeffries inquired of her mother and grandmother.
    “Because, my dear gel,” Rutherford replied, in that tone of ultimate tolerance Edward knew so well, “it consists less of substance and more of giggling nonsense. How, I ask you, can you discuss any topic with silly-sounding rubbish?”
    Lady Rutherford stifled her laughter then shushed her daughter and granddaughter. “Very well, my lord, we shall remove to the small parlor and leave you gentlemen to your leisure.” She raised her imperious hand, motioning to the footman behind her, who stepped forward to draw back her chair upon her rising. Two other footmen followed, one behind each of the ladies.
    Edward placed his napkin on the table and stood when the three females rose to leave.
    The Viscountess smiled at the Duke, and she nodded her head, acknowledging his gesture. Mrs. Jeffries and Miss Jeffries followed their elder relative’s example, bestowing upon him smiles with slight inclines of their heads, displaying a remarkable restoration of decorum. The audible soft rustle of their skirts at their exit was a sound Edward had not heard in a very long time, and the memory caused him to smile.
    “You need not hold on such formal behavior here,” Rutherford blustered. “Let us take our port in the library, shall we? I fear that they shall change their minds, find some nonsensical excuse to return, and intrude upon us again.”
    “I hardly think that likely.” Edward moved away from the table and waited for his host to stand. “I don’t find their presence at all disturbing. However, if you insist, I await you to lead the way, sir.”
    It took Rutherford some moments to get to his feet, groaning all the way. He was at least ten years above Edward’s age but had never seemed perceivably older. Walter Rutherford’s hair, what little he had left of it, was gray. He’d grown rounder around the middle, and his added plumpness smoothed out his once-wrinkled face. How time had passed so quickly.
    Edward trailed behind the Viscount out the dining room, down the corridor, until they passed through the open heavy-paneled double-door archway to the library. Two adjacent wallsheld books from floor to ceiling. A large window, presently behind heavy, dark-colored drapes, occupied the third side. On the remaining wall was a blazing fireplace, surrounded by a carved marble chimneypiece and prepared for the Viscount’s comfort, where he would spend the remainder of the evening.
    Rutherford motioned to the closer of the two leather chairs facing the hearth and prepared to ease into the far one, partially facing the door. His hands gripped the large, rolled arms, and a subsequent groan followed him during his descent into the seat.
    “What a day we’ve had, eh?” Rutherford leaned his head back, resting it on the high back of the chair.
    Edward occupied his chair with far less fanfare. This was the place where he usually sat when they removed to this room. He found no