Page 104
Story: Duke of Gluttony
“Allow me,” Marjory said, plucking the comb from his hand. With a considerably more gentle touch, she went to work.
Graham submitted to her ministrations with grim resignation. His hand found Abigail's, interlacing their fingers with quiet desperation. The warmth of his palm against hers steadied her racing heart.
Ms. Norwood knelt at Abigail's feet, nimble fingers working at the mud-caked hem of her dress. "This gown is beyond saving, but we can at least make it presentable from a distance."
"Six minutes!" Elias barked from the door.
"Your boots, if you please," Richard said, extending his hand to Graham.
Graham blinked. "My boots?"
"They're hardly fit for a pig farmer, let alone a duke appearing before the Lord Chancellor." Richard gestured impatiently.
Graham hesitated only a moment before toeing off his boots, revealing socks that had once been white. Richard wrinkled his nose but accepted the offending footwear, passing them through the door to his waiting footman with hushed instructions.
"The man deserves hazard pay," the Admiral said.
"While we address the cosmetic disaster," Mr. Nedley tugged at his cravat, "allow me to update you on some recent developments, Your Grace. I’ve taken the liberty of engaging Mr. Jonathan Bellamy to present our case before the court.”
“Bellamy?” Anthony whistled. “Isn’t he the one who made mincemeat of the Duke of Lichfield’s solicitor last year?”
“The same,” Nedley said. “I assumed, given the public scrutiny and the nature of the charges, you wouldn’t mind if I called in the heavy artillery.”
“Well done, Mr. Nedley,” Graham said with a nod.
"Hold still," Marjory admonished. "Unless you wish to appear before the court with half your ear missing."
"I've prepared for every contingency. The witness statements are in order, character testimonials ready. Should things not proceed favorably, I've drafted a countersuit alleging malicious prosecution and defamation."
"A countersuit?" Abigail's grip tightened on Graham's hand. "You expect we might lose?"
"We will not lose," Graham said, his voice low but resonating with iron certainty. "One way or another, the girls will remain with us."
The fierceness in his tone created a momentary silence. Abigail studied his profile—the rigid jaw, the shadows beneath his eyes, the barely restrained fury simmering beneath his composed exterior.
"Of course we won't lose," Nedley hastened to add, "but a good solicitor prepares for all outcomes.”
Abigail closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself against the surge of fear. She would not lose her family. Graham traced soothing circles on the back of her hand. She took a deep breath and leaned into him before forcing her mind back to Nedley’s words.
“We found evidence that another of Hollan’s properties, insured well above its value, suffered a suspicious fire three years ago in Birmingham," he was saying. "And the gambling debts, Your Grace—far worse than we imagined. He owes money to some particularly unsavory individuals."
"The kind who don't accept late payments," Richard added grimly.
"Which explains his desperation," Graham said, wincing as Marjory worked through a tangle.
"Indeed," Nedley said, suppressing a yawn. "He needs the girls' inheritance to save his skin."
"You look like death warmed over, Nedley," Graham observed.
"Thank you for noticing, Your Grace." The solicitor's voice dripped with exhaustion and sarcasm in equal measure. "I've spent the night calling in every favor accumulated in thirty years of legal practice. You owe me a month's leave on a quiet beach. With an abundance of brandy.”
“Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get,” Marjory said, giving Graham a light pat on the shoulder. “Now, the rest of it,” she said, eyeing his stained shirt and breeches.
His waistcoat, belt, and coat had been surrendered at Hallowcross and some lucky orderly was likely celebrating his good fortune to inherit such fine garments.
“You’re too broad in the shoulders, my love,” she said to her husband before sliding her gaze over to the Duke of Wilds, “but you’ll do. Waistcoat and jacket please.”
Anthony didn’t hesitate to stand and shrug out of the requested garments. Graham squeezed Abigail’s hand before letting it go to don the clothes. Marjory fussed and tucked, hiding the worst of the stains on his shirt as Bridget tugged the last of Abigail's coiffure into place.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104 (Reading here)
- Page 105
- Page 106
- Page 107
- Page 108
- Page 109
- Page 110
- Page 111
- Page 112
- Page 113
- Page 114