Chapter Eleven
‘Another game?’ Percy shuffled the cards again and smiled at his friend over the pile of mother-of-pearl chits accumulating on his side of the table.
‘Of course,’ Thomas said, wishing he’d suggested they bring the brandy decanter to the table, so it would be in easy reach as they played.
‘Since it is just the two of us, I should have suggested chess. You are not on your game this evening, and I might have beaten you for a change.’
It took a moment for the words to filter through the fog of distraction in his head, and for the appropriate answer to coalesce and escape. ‘You are right. I must be more tired than I thought.’
Percy laughed. ‘I shall take advantage of you for one more hand before we go to bed.’
Thomas watched numbly as his friend counted out the cards. Then, he tried to make sense of the hand dealt over the thought that seemed to fill every corner of his brain.
Louisa Skeffington is not your sister.
What had ever given him the stupid idea that she was?
She was not his blood and never had been.
Though he could not remember his friend saying so, he had always assumed that Percy would disapprove of Thomas courting her.
If he had shown her favour only to then lose interest, it might have broken her heart.
And if she had rejected him?
‘Your turn.’ Percy tapped the table between them.
‘Oh.’ He stared at his hand, arranging the cards, discarding and drawing, relieved when the play turned back to his friend.
Would she have rejected him, though? She’d seemed willing enough tonight.
Until she’d fallen off the bench trying to get away from him.
If he hadn’t been thinking about Tom Smith and his happy life, he might never have discovered the truth.
The close family connection he had created for them had not been an act of inclusion.
It was an uncrossable boundary that had kept him from seeing the obvious—she would make a perfectly acceptable duchess.
More than that, she might be the wife he’d been looking for.
He had often used her as a ruler against which he measured other women.
Were they as amiable as Louisa? As pretty?
Did they laugh at his jokes and listen patiently on nights he rambled only to tell him, in a quiet and polite whisper, that he’d been talking nonsense?
But the moon had been high. He’d been thinking of Smith and his farm.
He’d forgotten himself long enough to steal a kiss.
Not a peck or a salute. A full-blooded, first step on the road to seduction kiss.
Sisters and brothers definitely did not kiss like that.
Casual friends who were better off apart did not feel a perfect rush of excitement when in each other’s arms.
But sometimes, people who thought they knew each other discovered that there was a whole world they had not imagined. An undiscovered country just around the corner from the place where they’d lived a lifetime.
Percy picked up the queen he’d just discarded, laughed and laid down the tricks in his hand. ‘This is not your lucky night, my friend.’
‘Not at cards, anyway,’ he said. He hoped that Percy did not remember the rest of the saying.
Fortunately, his friend was occupied with collecting the cards and pouring the gaming tokens into the drawer of the table.
‘Get a good night’s rest. You will need to be sharp tomorrow if you mean to get around my grandfather,’ said Percy.
‘I will, indeed,’ Thomas said. He rose from his chair and followed Percy out of the room and up the stairs to their rooms.
It was a relief to close the bedroom door, drop the facade of confidence and give up any hope for the peaceful rest Percy had wished for him.
If sleep happened, it would be filled with dreams of the fellow’s sister.
If he remained awake, he would be thinking of what he must say to Louisa tomorrow to explain his actions in the garden and how he would help her as he had promised.
Either way, the path ahead was difficult and he had no idea how to proceed.
The next morning, Louisa considered feigning illness and spending the day in bed.
Her usual desire to see the duke at any opportunity was at war with the urge to avoid him at all costs.
How could she look him in the eye after the interlude in the garden and its embarrassing ending?
When she saw Percy, would the whole story be written plainly on her face?
And what of her grandfather, who suspected the worst from her even when she’d done nothing wrong? Surely, he would look at her and know immediately that she was fundamentally changed?
It might be easier if she refused to go downstairs.
The servants could deliver her meals to her room, just as they did for Grandfather.
She imagined herself, like a maiden in a tower, gazing mournfully out the window.
She would watch the seasons pass. Her clothing would fall out of fashion.
Her hair would grow long and, eventually, grey.
Unless, she simply languished and died, leaving a tragically beautiful corpse surrounded by flowers cut from her own rose bushes…
She remembered that she’d promised to meet with the gardener about the wall. And, since she’d not brought a book to bed with her, it would be quite dull in her room. If she meant to hole herself up here, it would have been better to lay in some provisions before doing so.
In the end, she sighed and dressed, ordering a light breakfast to be sent to the morning room.
She could accomplish her business and put off seeing the others for a few hours.
No one would think it unusual. She managed to do the same at lunch after discovering mistakes in the household accounts that required discussion with both the housekeeper and the cook.
In the afternoon, there was the unavoidable daily interview with her grandfather, where he harangued her about the household problems she’d dealt with earlier.
Yesterday’s visit had been made less painful by the addition of brandy. Today, she found herself wondering what would happen if she simply refused to answer his call. She had to force herself not to smile at the idea as he shouted.
Perhaps it had not been the liquor making her rebellious, after all.
It might be the continued exposure to the duke that was changing her.
Kind words and kisses were working wonders on her downtrodden spirit.
Before they’d come home, she’d been afraid there was no fight left in her.
But today, she felt more alive than she’d felt in years.
She reminded herself as she dressed for dinner that the kiss might be a singular occurrence.
The duke could not stay forever. When he finally surrendered and abandoned her to the inevitable, she must not fall back into passivity.
If he thought her future was worth fighting for, she must believe it as well.
He had promised yesterday that she need not fear and that he’d come up with a new plan to save her that was better than the first. But there’d been no changes today that she’d noticed. If he had nothing to suggest over dinner, she should think of something herself.
When she was ready, she squared her shoulders and walked down the hall to the main stairs, pausing only briefly in the open doorway of her grandfather’s room to assure him that his tray was on the way.
As she came down the stairs, she was surprised to find Percy and the duke waiting in the foyer for her.
She forced herself not to slow as she looked at them, nor pay any attention to the duke’s smile as he looked up at her. He often smiled. She had liked that about him from the first. There was no significance to it.
There was definitely no reason to believe it had anything to do with their kiss. Looking back on that, she was not even sure if it was Thomas Carew or Tom Smith who had been doing the kissing. That was the trouble with fantasy. Too much of it muddled reality for everyone involved.
As she reached them on the ground floor, it was not the duke, but her brother who reached out to her, taking her by the shoulders and setting her to the side before turning back to his friend. Then, he tapped his foot as if setting a beat and they began to sing.
To Anacreon, in Heav’n, where he sat in full glee,
A few sons of harmony sent a petition,
That he their inspirer and patron would be;
When this answer arrived from the jolly old Grecian—
Percy had a fair tenor voice. The duke was a baritone and, if she was honest, he had more enthusiasm than ability. One thing was definite. They were both very loud.
It only took a moment before the pounding on the floor began. A startled maid hurried towards the stairs with the dinner tray, assuming that the commotion was her fault, but Percy paused his song long enough to send her and the tray back to the kitchen.
As the pounding turned to shouting, the singers reached a high note that was both ear-splitting and flat, then began a second verse.
Louisa paced behind them and frowned at Percy. They had to stop. If they did not, Grandfather would come down and then, who knew what would happen?
Just as she feared, he appeared at the top of the stairs, his dressing gown flapping around his legs and his cane raised as he charged down towards them.
He reached them just as they hit another excruciating high note.
Then, they ended the second verse and applauded each other as they stepped clear of his slashing cane.
‘Grandfather,’ Percy said with a smile. ‘It is so good to see you up and around. And you hardly need your stick to stand. You managed those stairs like a grenadier. I had no idea you were doing so well.’
‘I came down to put a stop to that infernal racket,’ he snarled, glaring at the two men.
‘Well, you are just in time for supper,’ Percy said, with a welcoming gesture to the dining room.
‘I am not dressed,’ he snapped, tugging the belt of his robe to tighten it.