A Stroke of Luck (22 page)

The approach of Lady Catherine forestalled any further comment on his part. Zara, in turn, slipped deeper into the shadows and returned to a protracted study of the portrait by Reynolds.

"Prestwick?" The soft trill of his hostess's tone, which he had always found charming, now grated on his ear. "Papa wonders whether you will do him the honor of partnering him at the card table."

"Yes. Of course," he gritted out, allowing himself to be led away.

Honor. Duty. Manners.

The Devil take it.
He never thought the day might come when he would say it, but the truth of the matter was, he was heartily sick of being a proper gentleman.

Chapter 12

"Yes, I am quite sure." The duke's man of affairs lay down a sheaf of papers. "The documentation is all there." A folded piece of foolscap was added to the top. "Including an affidavit from the vicar who officiated at the ceremony. Despite his advanced age, he is quite sound of mind, as the two witnesses will attest."

"Excellent work," murmured Prestwick, after a quick examination of the paper. He then passed it on to the two legal men.

"Hmmph." The beefier of the two took a moment to adjust his spectacles. "We, shall, of course, wish to read through everything very carefully before coming to a final decision."

"Of course," agreed the duke. "By all means take your time."

"But if it is as your man has said," added the second man. "Then there seems to be no question as to whether Master Greeley is to be the next Baron Kenworth."

Prestwick rose, as did Zara and Nonny.

Lady Farrington, her face white save for two mottled spots of color upon her cheeks, took a moment longer to push up from her chair, assisted in sulky silence by her grandson. Once in the hallway, however, she recovered enough from the initial shock to jab at the air with her lorgnette.

"Unnatural man!" she choked. Though her glare encompassed all three of them, it was clear that the worst of her ire was clearly reserved for Prestwick. "Sending your own secretary to ferret out hearsay, and to what end? To ensure that dear Harold, who is a true gentleman, is shunted aside from the title on a... technicality."

Her sputter grew more pronounced. "I would have thought that blood would run thicker than the seawater that brought these interlopers to this door."

"Did you, Aunt Hermione?" replied the duke. "Well, it appears you were mistaken."

"Indeed I was! In the past, you have always been most accommodating to your family, as you should be. But of late you have changed."

"Yes, I must say, Twick, we expected... rather more of you," whined Harold. "Surely there is still time—"

"Do not call me 'Twick,' you obsequious little mawworm." The duke's thunderous order sent his cousin slithering back a step to take refuge behind his grandmother's ample bulk. "It is a familiarity that is used by only my closest friends. Among which you are most definitely not numbered."

Lady Farrington did not resemble a mawworm so much as a fish out of water, her mouth hanging agape and working in the most unflattering manner as it struggled for air.

"That you would think I would ignore the truth is an insult to my integrity. And as for being interlopers, it is you two who appear to be here under false pretenses. I would suggest, as a matter of courtesy, that you pack your bags and take your leave by this afternoon. The new Lord Kenworth is no doubt too well-bred to toss you out on your ear, but I am not."

Watching indignation fade to apprehension as they slowly comprehended the consequences of incurring the duke's wrath, Zara almost felt sorry for them. Most people in their position would have behaved with the same greed and selfishness, she imagined, fighting tooth and nail for what they believed was rightfully theirs. Indeed, the one truly surprising show of character had come from the duke.

She ventured a quick peek at his rigid profile. She had, from the first, suspected that there was more to the man than his stiff bearing and starchy manners had indicated. That he was no shallow, supercilious aristocrat had become apparent over the course of their acquaintance, but no matter how closely she had studied his subtle shifts of expression of late, she was not at all sure she could see beneath the layers of self-imposed duty and obligation to gauge the true state of his feelings.

"And if you don't move a little faster, you will find my boot on your arse," muttered Prestwick at Harold's slowly retreating backside. "Indeed, I would be doing the world of fashion a great favor by splitting the seams of those detestable yellow pantaloons."

Nonny grinned. "I would give a monkey to see the pompous peacock with his drawers exposed, sir."

"Hardly a noble sentiment, Lord Kenworth," replied Prestwick, though his lips were twitching as well.

"Hardly a noble action, Your Grace," murmured Zara dryly. "Actually, it was quite an ungentlemanly display of temper."

"Should have done it long ago," he said under his breath. "Indeed, I should have done a great many things long ago."

Not quite sure what to read into his enigmatic words, she left them unanswered. "You seem awfully sure that our claim will be validated," she said after a fraction of a pause.

"I am. Symonds is quite a thorough and capable fellow. Once you gave us the details pertaining to the marriage of your parents, he was able to track down the surviving vicar, as well as enough other proof that no further doubt can be cast on the matter."

"I—we—owe you a great debt of thanks."

"On the contrary, I owe the three of you an abject apology for the behavior of my family."

Zara drew in a deep breath as she regarded the tips of her slippers. "Then let us consider the slate wiped clean."

His eyes narrowed and seemed to take on a rather strange hue. "You wish to expunge the past?"

"It makes sense, does it not?" There was a flicker of puce at the end of the hallway as the last ruffle of Lady Farrington's gown disappeared around the corner. "I—I suppose that will mean you, too, will soon be leaving for London."

"Er, well, as to that..." His brow crinkled. "Perhaps, for Nonny's sake, I ought to remain for a bit longer. There are still a great many things that he needs to know in order to feel comfortable in Polite Society." He cleared his throat. "And you needn't worry about the propriety of it. I have already sent word to my Aunt Alice, asking if she would come for a short visit. You will like her. She is both intelligent and amusing, as well as being a highly respectable spinster who presence as a chaperone will satisfy even the highest of sticklers. Her note indicated she is expected to arrive by nightfall."

"Why, that would be wonderful, sir!" exclaimed her brother with unfeigned enthusiasm.

Zara, too, felt a strange lurch of her insides in learning he did not mean to rush off. However, she had no real illusions about why he wished to remain at Highwood. And it was not on account of two adolescent boys and their spinsterish sister.

"Could we take a gallop in the south meadow before nuncheon?" went on Nonny. "You said I was showing a firm enough seat to attempt the fences."

"So I did." He touched the lad's shoulder. "Very well. Go ahead and have Givens saddle our mounts." As Nonny hurried off, Prestwick hung back. "You need not have any fears, Miss Greeley," he said softly, his gaze lingering on her pinched expression. "Your brother is quite safe with me..."

Ha
. If only the same could be said for herself.

"I will see he does not attempt anything foolish."

Zara gave an inward grimace, feeling that of the Greeley family, it was she who was in danger of acting the fool.

* * *

A shriek reverberated through the hallway, followed by a series of jolting thuds. Jumping up from the letter she had been penning, Zara rushed into the foyer, just in time to catch sight of a large leather valise bouncing down the last few steps of the staircase.

"Odious creature!"

The butler struggled to maintain an impassive countenance as Harold came skittering down right behind it, his face the same flushed hue as the crimson stripes of his waistcoat. "Rusher, take that out to the carriage." The bag gave a little lurch, causing the duke's cousin to jump back a step. "A-And remove whatever is wriggling around inside it before placing it in the boot."

"Begging your pardon sir, but as His Lordship has issued no orders to me concerning the handling of luggage, I shall have to await his request."

Zara didn't blame the fellow for allowing a hint of smugness to creep into his voice. No doubt Harold and his grandmother had been insufferably overbearing in lording it over the servants of their late relative.

"He is out riding with the duke," continued Rusher. "And I don't know when they plan to return."

"B-but..." wailed Harold.

Much as she was amused by the rather greenish cast that had come over his face, she had no wish to regard it any longer than necessary. "You might as well carry it out, Rusher," she murmured. "Otherwise we may have to endure his caterwauling all afternoon."

"Yes, Miss Greeley." As he passed, she thought she detected a wink.

Taking hold of the handle, the butler gave the valise a sideways shake. Out popped a large frog, who, after a loud croak, made a flying leap toward the open door. It made it onto the marble landing, then quickly disappeared into the shrubbery.

Harold, his own legs pumping nearly as hard, was not far behind, his mad dash sending up a spray of gravel as he hastened to gain the relative safety of his grandmother's ancient barouche.

"Hah! I guess that sent him hopping." Perry peeked down from between the varnished balustrades.

"Perseus Greeley, that was not well done of you," she said, trying to sound stern. "A gentleman should not indulge in such childish behavior."

"Sorry." He looked anything but contrite. "But nor should a gentleman indulge in such smarmy behavior as spreading innuendos and falsehoods. Nor should he act like a preening coxcomb."

"Nor should he be so lily-livered as to take fright over a mere frog among his linen." After a cursory glance at the carriage door being yanked shut, the duke stepped into the foyer and lay his crop and curly brimmed beaver upon the sidetable. "I do trust the poor creature's lungs were not permanently damaged by the scent of that cloying cologne."

Perry grinned. "No, sir, I believe no lasting harm was done. To the frog, that is."

"Don't worry about Harold. Probably did him some good to get a bit of vigorous exercise." Stump's face appeared next to the lad's, an expression of mirth stretched upon his leathery features. "Ain't never seen him move with such speed and agility."

Prestwick chuckled. "I doubt Harold will ever be mistaken for a true Corinthian."

"Really, sir, the two of you should not be encouraging Perry to make mischief." Zara tried to ignore how boyishly handsome the duke looked with his wind-tousled hair and eyes alight with laughter. "It is..."

He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for her to finish.

"It is..."

"If you wish to ring a peal over someone's head, by all rights it ought to be mine," said Stump. "I showed Master Perry the pool in the gardens."

"But it was I who brought up the subject of frogs." Prestwick looked to be trying to maintain a straight face. "A pity I did not think to mention snakes. That might have been a more appropriate parting gift."

"Can you imagine how fast your cousin would have slithered out of here," laughed Stump. "He might have been halfway to London by now."

"And good riddance," replied the duke. "However, if Miss Greeley feels a punishment is in order, I shall have the two of us write out in our copybooks 'I shall not indulge in boyish pranks' one thousand times. In Greek."

She schooled her voice to remain stern. "I cannot imagine you indulging in many boyish pranks, Your Grace."

"Not many," admitted Stump as he came down the stairs. "He was wont to spend more time in the library with his books and music than mucking about in the mud. But I do seem to recall an incident where india ink was added to a pot of gunpowder tea and your Aunt Griselda and her card party sported black teeth for a week."