Forever and a Duke by Burrowes Grace

Author:Burrowes, Grace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2019-11-25T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

“If you’re besotted with Elsmore, you should tell him,” Lord Stephen said, leaning against Ellie’s doorjamb, cane in hand. “He’ll go mad thinking you don’t care for him, and while I am ignorant of the particulars, I know a smitten man when I see one.”

“Please do come in,” Ellie snapped. “Or lounge there at your lordship’s leisure, letting out all the warm air while you expound on topics that are none of your concern.”

His lordship lurched into the room, closing the door behind himself by virtue of shoving it with his cane.

“You come to my apartment,” he said, “demanding that I find you a discreet messenger not in Wentworth livery. You confide the purpose of the errand only to Ned’s discretion—the most dubious variety of discretion known to the realm—and then you whirl off, clearly on the verge of strong hysterics. Have a nip.”

He held out a silver flask embossed with the Wentworth crest.

“No, thank you. Taking spirits will solve nothing.”

“Strong hysterics solve nothing, but I’ve been known to indulge on many an occasion.” He waggled the flask, and Ellie took it mostly to forestall further lecturing.

“What the hell is wrong, madam? If Ned can’t find your pet duke, I might be able to help.”

Ellie opened the flask and took a sniff. The brandy had an excellent nose, but it wasn’t the same as the spirits she’d taken with Elsmore. Even so, the scent brought back memories of snuggling before a wood fire, a country house gone quiet in evening darkness, and a contentment as precious as it was temporary.

“You cannot help, my lord. On second thought, you can, by taking yourself off and forgetting that I prevailed upon Ned to deliver a message. Forget that immediately and entirely.”

“Alas, dear lady, an excellent memory is among my greatest failings.” Lord Stephen propped himself against the arm of Ellie’s reading chair, his bad left leg on the side facing the fire. “I have made further inquiries of my sisters Althea and Constance in the north, for example, and what they had to say was most distressing.”

Ellie was desperate to see Elsmore, desperate to convey her suspicions to him. After that…France was looking better and better.

“You can talk to your sisters until the King stops overspending his funds, my lord. I’ve told you more of my situation than I should have, you are bluffing, and you are prying where—”

A hard rap on the door saved Ellie from hurling his lordship’s flask at his head.

“Mrs. Hatfield, it’s Ned.”

“And Elsmore.” This second voice was louder than the first.

“Come in.”

And there he was, Elsmore in the flesh, looking a bit tired, a bit worried, and perilously dear. He was still in morning attire, his boots were damp, and his greatcoat was only half-buttoned.

“Your Grace.” Ellie curtseyed, mindful of Lord Sticks-His-Nose-Everywhere Wentworth watching this exchange. “Thank you for coming.”

“What’s he doing here?” Elsmore asked, lifting his chin in Lord Stephen’s direction.

“I’m engaged in my usual occupation,” Lord Stephen said, shoving to his feet. “Trying to talk sense into a rock.

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