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This was the mysterious Bruno? The “lad”, the “boy” Mrs. Kettel was always speaking of? He looked as if one not-so-strong breeze might blow him over!

But to her surprise, the man grinned, revealing perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. And when he spoke, his voice was that of a much younger man. “Nay master, still enjoying the duck! But we had a messenger from Banchot, so we poured the man a glass and served him some of Euphemia’s dangerous Christmas pudding, and the lad said he wouldnae mind if I brought ye the letter!”

Euphemia? Oh yes, Mrs. Kettel’s given name. Georgia watched Demon gesture for the silver platter. As he took the letter, he gave a short bark of laughter.

“It’s from Mother—she must’ve forgotten to send her Christmas greeting on time, made some puir bastard ride out on a special day.” He waved the thing through the air. “My thanks, Bruno. Feed the lad well and tip him, aye?”

The footman—although really, Georgia couldn’t imagine him doing anything involving feet—gave a jaunty salute and spun about, each movement precise and sure. Then he hunched over and shuffled out once more.

“That was Bruno?” she managed, once the door was shut.

“What? Hmm,” he agreed, flipping the large, bulky envelope in his hands. “Ye’ve never met him?”

“I did not believe he existed.” Was it so unusual, to receive a letter from his mother this way? Why was he so focused on it?

“Well then, it’s a Christmas miracle. We dinnae talk about him, ye ken. Why do ye think she bothered to send this today?”

Since he clearly wanted to speak about the letter, Georgia shrugged and began to fold her serviette. “If she is in London, she likely sent it yesterday, correct?”

He hummed again and tore open the seal.

She watched as he pulled out a folded sheet of newspaper, frowned at it, then tossed it to the table as he flipped open the letter.

“Dearest Demon,” he read in a bored tone, “Do ye read the papers? I have to assume no’. I suppose it’s my duty to inform ye…”

His voice trailed off.

His eyes widened.

And all the blood drained from his face as he slowly stood up, his gaze darting across the words on the page. In one angry motion, he threw down the letter, scooped up the newspaper clipping from the table, and flipped it back and forth, looking for something.

When he found it he stilled, frozen, as he read the article at the bottom of the page.

He looked so horror stricken, Georgia rose. “Demon?”

He ignored her, muttering curses under his breath as he snatched up the letter with his other hand, holding both papers up in front of him at arm’s length, re-reading.

Then, slowly, his arms dropped. The papers fluttered to the table. And he stood, staring at absolutely nothing.

“Demon?” she urged, pushing back her chair and moving around the table toward him. He looked so lost, so shocked, she had to help—

And then, without looking at her, he turned on his heel and strode from the room.

Georgia gaped after him, then whirled back to the table. The letter from his mother was still lying where he’d left it, and if she stood like this and cocked her head like this, she could fool herself into thinking she wasn’t violating his privacy by reading it…

Dearest Demon,

Do you read the papers? I have to assume not. I suppose it is my duty to inform you of something I really should have mentioned earlier. I wanted to, dear boy, especially when you were showing some interest in your causes in the House of Lords. But things got away from me—I know you call me flighty, but I am just easily distracted.

So I suppose I ought to just come out and say it.

You are a duke now.

I never liked speaking of or to my family. You know that. Well, my mother’s uncle was the Duke of Lickwick. No lands, no money, the dukedom was in name only, so he traveled to India many years ago and married a local girl—such a delicious scandal! His only child was a son whom I have never met, who never married. I believe he worked as a common clerk somewhere in Australia. No, Austria? Albania? Never mind. Never married. No legitimate children of his own, is my point.

I do not think I had even learned his name until I read of his death in the papers.

So that duke was my cousin once removed, I believe. And now he’s dead, poor man. I suppose I was not really paying much attention to things—I can imagine you shaking your head right now, calling me silly. But the point is, you are the Duke’s closest male relative, whether or not I want anything to do with my horrid family.