Page 27

The truth about their relationship to each other wasn’t widely known.

In fact, Gage had been made aware of their kinship only last year.

Their father had concealed Henry’s existence from Gage, even threatening Henry and his mother, the Duchess of Bowmont, should they reveal the truth.

It had been a large source of tension between Gage and his father, which had come to a head in August. Fortunately, much of it had since been resolved, though there would undoubtedly always be some moments of contention between them.

Lord Gage was too critical and controlling, and prone to scorn when he didn’t get his way.

At least, with his sons and daughter-in-law.

Thus far, his granddaughter could do no wrong.

However, the truth of Henry’s real parentage was kept quiet.

For one, he’d already been claimed by the Duke of Bowmont and had grown up happily in the bosom of the duke’s large brood.

Not that the duke was unaware of his wife’s infidelity.

The duke and duchess had both been rather notoriously unfaithful to each other once their heir and a spare were born.

The duchess had given birth to three more sons and a daughter—all of whom had been sired by different men, though the duke had claimed them as his own.

And the duke had fathered numerous side slips with his mistresses, whom he took care of, though they could not be claimed as legitimate.

Given all of this, Henry was understandably loyal to the family he’d been raised with.

For all intents and purposes, the duke was his father, and he’d always shown him as much love and care as the rest of his children.

So it had been agreed that it would be best for all for the truth to remain hidden.

As such, publicly, Henry remained but a dear and trusted friend to us.

If I were honest, I was somewhat surprised more people had not already figured out their relation to each other.

It was true, Henry had inherited his auburn hair from his mother, but the rest of his traits, including his tall, muscular physique, seemed to have come from his father.

When Gage and Henry stood side by side, the similarities in their profiles—their strong jawlines, their high cheekbones, and the clefts in their chins—were even more pronounced.

They both even sported an unruly twist of curls, which fell over their foreheads, but of course, that had become a common affectation of the age.

“Staying at Bowmont House?” Gage inquired as we turned to observe the dancers twirling about the floor in clouds of colorful silks and dark evening wear.

“Yes. Ned is there, too.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed with pleasure. I hadn’t seen his brother, Lord Edward, since the previous January, when a number of rather unsavory secrets had been revealed, the least of them being Henry’s parentage. “Bring him along to dinner one evening later this week.”

“I will,” he promised with a smile.

Edward was rather incorrigible and enjoyed bedeviling his brothers, especially the youngest, Henry.

As Lord of Misrule at his parents’ annual Twelfth Night party the previous year, he’d had full opportunity to display his touch for the dramatic.

This could sometimes rub people the wrong way, but I rather liked him.

At least his jests were never deliberately cruel.

Something I couldn’t say about everyone in society.

“I heard about what happened at the auction of Lord Eldin’s art collection.” Henry scrutinized us each in turn. “I’m relieved to see you’re both unscathed.”

“Relatively,” I replied. “Gage has a few stitches in his arm.”

Henry turned to him with a start. “Then…you were one of the people who fell through the floor?”

From the frown etched across my husband’s brow, I could tell he wasn’t pleased I’d mentioned his injury. “Yes. We both were.”

Henry examined me in concern.

“I sent a letter to Sunlaws Castle, not wanting you to be worried if you received word of it. You must have departed before it arrived.”

“How terrifying! But are you truly both unharmed? Except for the stitches.”

“Only a few scrapes and bruises,” I confirmed.

My thoughts veered back to the moment the floor gave way and the cloud of choking dust that had enveloped me as I plunged downward.

I blinked, trying to dislodge the memory of the debris from my vision, the horrified screams from my ears.

I inhaled a tremulous breath. “But it’s not an experience I care to ever repeat. ”

Henry did not speak, but I felt his hand steal briefly into mine, squeezing it in sympathy.

We watched the dancers for a moment and the shuffle of people in and out of the ballroom. A number of gentlemen were making their escape, undoubtedly bound for the gaming tables set up in the parlor or to indulge in the food laid out in the dining room. The spread was always impressive.

I tilted my head toward my brother-in-law in query. “How did you know we were at the auction?”

“I didn’t. Not for certain. But it was an art auction, allegedly boasting a number of very fine paintings.” His lips curled into a gentle smile. “Given that, I gave it even odds you might have been there.”

I gave a breathless chuckle, liking that he knew me so well.

But as he turned back toward the assembly, his mood sobered, and he shook his head. “What a dreadful, dreadful accident.”

“Yes,” Gage murmured, but it was far from convincing, and I could only surmise that was on purpose. After all, Henry had helped us with several inquiries in the past.

In any case, he took the bait, eyeing his brother with dawning suspicion.

“Come see me tomorrow,” Gage said.

Henry nodded, knowing better than to say more about the matter until we were in private.

The latest set of dances had ended, and the next was about to begin.

“No doubt Sebastian intended to claim your first waltz, but on the chance he failed to ask…” His eyes flashed impishly as he held his hand out to me.

I laughed, giving him my hand. “I would be delighted.”

Gage rolled his eyes good-naturedly as Henry led me out onto the floor.

The strains of Schubert floated over the assembly, and we fell comfortably into step, swirling around the room.

I soon lost track of Gage along the periphery of the floor, enjoying the music and the colors and the floating sensation I always derived from such a dance.

As a younger woman, I’d always felt awkward and out of place at balls, not understanding the necessity for small talk or the boundaries which dictated it.

Had I merely been allowed to focus on the movement of the dance, I might have found them far more tolerable, but that was not truly their purpose.

Thankfully, now, as a more mature woman—a widow and bride again at just seven and twenty—I was allowed to do as I pleased.

Dance if I wished or not. Converse if I chose or not.

It was tremendously freeing. And altogether foolish that young, unwed ladies could not do the same.

“Tell me truly,” Henry suddenly urged. “These stitches of Sebastian’s. The laceration that required them. How bad is it?”

“Very minor,” I assured him. “Though I understand why you’re asking. I’m not sure he would have sent for a physician or a surgeon if it had not been for me. Even so, I had to insist upon him being examined as well.” For even the smallest cut could become infected if not properly tended to.

“Stubborn,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Yes. It runs in the family,” I replied drolly.

Henry didn’t even attempt to deny it.

“The duke has been keeping you busy,” I remarked, as we’d not seen him in some months. He often handled delicate business matters for the Kerrs, as he was diligent and detail oriented.

“Yes. As well as some family friends.”

He didn’t elaborate, and I sensed he didn’t wish me to pry. Which of course only made me want to do so more. But I obeyed his wishes, deciding this was neither the time nor place to probe anyway.

“Nell and Marsdale visited us in early March.”

I perked up at this news, as he must have known I would.

Each of his siblings, it seemed, had unique and scandalous tales or rumors attached to their name, and his sister Eleanor was no different.

The events that had led to her second marriage to her childhood sweetheart—Lord Marsdale, who had once been an inveterate rogue but now seemed entirely smitten and devoted to her—were a tale for another time.

“They were supposed to stay for the entire month,” he continued. “Even jested about surprising you by coming with me to Edinburgh. But Marsdale received word that his father had taken a turn for the worse.”

The Duke of Norwich had suffered from illness for some time.

“He’s outlasted the physician’s expectations,” I remarked, recalling that he had not been anticipated to live to see the year 1833.

“Yes.” His lips quirked wryly. “Something that runs in that family.”

I laughed, for I’d long observed that Marsdale enjoyed subverting others’ expectations. Though that had recently changed.

“?’Tis why they missed the Twelfth Night party this year,” he continued once my laughter died away.

“They didn’t want to be in Scotland when Norwich was breathing his last in East Anglia.

But when he lasted until March, they decided to risk it.

” His smile turned sad. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Marsdale more sober than the day they left. ”

“Because he might, as we speak, already be a duke. And no matter his irreverence and professed apathy, I think we both know that he acknowledges the gravity of the title and its responsibilities.”

We were silent for the remainder of our set, lost in our own thoughts.

When he escorted me back toward the periphery, Gage was nowhere to be seen, but the crowd had grown, making the space rather warm.

I began to ply my fan, exchanging greetings with friends and acquaintances as we circulated.

Michael and Caroline—Lord and Lady Dalmay—were also present, as well as her brother, Lord Damien, looking much less like the fop he’d affected to be the last time I’d seen him, and altogether happier for it.

Here and there, I heard rumbles of discussion about the floor collapse, and our hostess seemed to be making a point of informing everyone that it was fortunate their ballroom was located on the ground floor, or else they might have been forced to postpone the ball, as others had done while their home’s construction was inspected.

No doubt this was supposed to be reassuring, but it came across as almost gloating.

A few people asked about my and Gage’s brush with death.

I would have preferred not to put it in such terms, but society was rather fond of hyperbole.

However, most of the conversation was about far more mundane topics.

Except in the parlor where we found Gage.

He was playing cards at one of the round tables that had been brought into the room for just such a purpose.

Most of the men puffed at cigars and cheroots, filling the air with a light haze of smoke, while all of them nursed a glass of some sort of strong spirit. Gage’s appeared to be whisky.

Normally, my husband eschewed the gaming room, knowing full well the bluster that went on. Unless there was information to be gained. I suspected that was why he was here now. When his gaze lifted to meet mine before darting to the player across the table to his right, I became certain of it.