Page 113 of Desires of a Duke Collection

Tap, tap, tap…

Scratching on the bedroom door startled grace out of her silent reverie. She had been staring out her window, at nothing really, ever since she had entered her room after fleeing the duke’s library over an hour ago.

“Come in,” she answered, confident it was Bessie.

“Och, there now, lass. I’ve come with a spot of tea and some cakes.” Bessie nudged her way in the room—arms laden with a large tray of tea and scones.

“Oh, Bessie. Thank you. I’m sure I’ve asked you before, but really, how is it you always seem to know just what I need?” said Grace with a grin.

“Well, dearest, normally, I would say that it’s just me job to know, but honestly, today, I must admit I had a wee bit of help. That nice young lad, the Marquess of Dansbury, suggested it. Mind you, I don’t know how he knew, but he has such a sincerity about him, I didn’t think to question him.”

Already, the smell of tea and warm raspberry scones spiced the air in the room. The aroma and the sight of her maid’s friendly countenance helped Grace relax a notch.

“Well, in this instance, he was certainly correct. Thank you. Honestly, I’ve been sat here for the last hour thinking about my father.”

“Och, aye, and such a fortunate man he was, to have such a good family and a comfortable life…not too excessive, mind, but just right.”

“Bessie, do you know whether or not Papa knew the late Duke of Stonebridge…the current duke’s father?” She stirred the sugar in her tea.

“Och, now why would I know a thing like that?” asked Bessie with a bit of cheek. “I’m sorry dearie, but no, I do not know. Perhaps they knew each other whilst attending Oxford, or maybe he was one of your father’s clients? Certainly, I don’t recall ever serving him in your parents’ home. I guess you could check your father’s personal papers to be sure.”

“Papers?”

“Well, I donna know much about what’s up there, but I know your father kept papers in the loft at the house in Oxford, as sometimes I would see him up there when I cleaned, or when I was coming or going from my room…”

“Oh, of course. Gracious, why didn’t I think about that?”

“Well, dearest, your family, bless them, kept you pretty sheltered from the mundane, and with the whirlwind of your father’s death and near immediate removal to your uncle’s house, you probably never gave it another thought. Why would you?”

“You’re right, as usual. Hmmm. What we need is a way to get to Oxford and find out for sure.”

“Oxford? Isn’t that quite a ways from here? If you don’t mind my asking, why is it so imperative to know for sure? It seems the point is moot seeing as how both men have passed, forgive me.”

“I can’t say for certain, Bessie, but I just think it is important. So important, that I think I need to prevail upon our friend, the marquess, and find out for certain.”

The next morning…

The pool room…

Crack…

The six ball rattled the corner pocket before it sunk convincingly; the sound echoed throughout the room. The room was designed for the sole purpose of playing pool; its only furnishings were the racks built specifically for storing cue sticks and balls and a ledge for holding drinks. The walls were paneled mahogany and a fireplace and large window overlooking a private side garden added warmth, atmosphere, and light. With only a few paintings and one rug, the sound of the balls, colliding and rounding the pockets, reverberated satisfyingly about the room.

“Careful, Ambrose, or you may end up needing the felt refitted before the end of our match.”

Ambrose tossed Cliff a brief glare before lining up his cue for another shot. Playing pool was an excellent way to relieve tension. Specifically, slamming a ball hard enough into a pocket such that it rattled around the sides before it sunk was satisfying in a definite way. They all knew it. Needless to say, this room was used quite frequently. “I take it your conversation with Miss Radclyffe didn’t go as well as you’d like?” “Four ball, side pocket.” Ambrose called out his next shot.

Crack…

“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear every word of that conversation. I know you, remember?” Ambrose chalked up for this third shot.

Cliff chuckled. Ambrose knew him better than anyone. And his eavesdropping wasn’t really an invasion of privacy; he was well aware Ambrose had wanted him to hear the conversation firsthand so they could discuss it later. At least, that’s what he told himself, anyway.

“So do you really suspect her father of…Well, hello, Miss Radclyffe. What a pleasant surprise?”

Thunk…

Dansbury chuckled at the sound of Ambrose’s miscue.

“Good afternoon, Lord Dansbury,” replied Grace. She didn’t even acknowledge Ambrose.

Ambrose slammed his stick down onto the table. “We can talk in the library.”

“Oh, but I’m not here to speak to you, Your Grace. I would like to speak with Lord Dansbury. In private, if possible.”

It was difficult for Cliff to keep a straight face. Miss Radclyffe, putting Ambrose squarely in his place; what a sight. She must be truly angry, even though she appeared composed and serene.

“Why, absolutely, Miss Radclyffe. It would be my pleasure. How about a stroll about the garden? The weather appears ideal for it.”

“That sounds marvelous, thank you.”

As he put away his cue on the nearby rack, Cliff tried to remain serious despite the shock on his friend’s face. But as he walked by his speechless friend, he couldn’t resist taunting, “I presume we’ll finish our game later, Your Grace.”

Cliff escorted Grace down the back patio steps. He got his first good look at her in the bright afternoon sunlight. It was immediately apparent that her serene expression was just a fa?ade. She hid it well, but Cliff’s powers of observation were such that he could see the tell-tale signs of strain around her eyes. She was worried. He decided to get right to the point:

“Darling, what is the matter?”

She didn’t waste time, either. “Last night I spent over an hour being interrogated by the duke over something I know absolutely nothing about.”

“I see.”

“Let me finish, please. I am well aware that you probably already know about this, so please do not insult my intelligence by placating me.” She held up her hand to forestall any further interruptions.

Aaah. Welcome back my little spitfire, welcome back.

“You played an awful trick on me—bringing me here without telling me the truth about where we were going. And your aunt, was she in on it too? Never mind. Don’t answer that as it is entirely irrelevant. The point is, the way I see it—you owe me.” He was stunned and said nothing.

She took a deep breath before dropping her bomb. “I want you to take me to Oxford.”