A Duke in the Night(13)

August swung back to the man standing in front of his desk. “Did you know anything about this?”

Duncan bristled. “Of course not.”

“Get the carriage,” August snarled. “We’re going to Haverhall.”

Please give my regards to Lady Anne. That was what Clara Hayward had said yesterday, and August had thought her statement just a continuation of her seamless politesse. Instead, it seemed, Clara Hayward and his sister had been in collusion from the very beginning. August wasn’t sure whom his anger was best aimed at. Anne, for her duplicity? Miss Hayward, for her silence? Himself, for his utter and complete obliviousness to the entire affair?

“Lady Anne is not at Haverhall, Your Grace.”

It took a moment for Duncan’s words to sink past the dark cloud that had wrapped itself around him.

May I be so bold as to ask where you are spending the summer?

“She’s in Dover.”

“Yes.” Duncan sounded surprised. “How did you know?”

“Doesn’t matter.” August became aware that his teeth were grinding, and he tried to relax his jaw before they shattered. “Where in Dover?”

Duncan set the note on the desk. “Avondale. Just north of the town.”

“The Earl of Rivers’s estate?”

“The very same. It would seem that Haverhall has let it for years. For their summer students. Of which your sister is now one.”

August braced his hands on the edge of his desk, the wood biting into his fingers. “Can you explain, Mr. Down, just what the hell my sister needs a finishing school for? A finishing school that extorts a criminal tuition from its students and then drags them seventy miles from London, at that? When I have made sure she has had the best instruction, the best governesses, the best, period? Anne speaks three languages fluently. She can dance, paint, play the pianoforte, make intelligent conversation with impeccable manners. She’s smart and capable and accomplished.” And August wanted to give her the world, even if she didn’t seem to believe it. He pushed himself away from his desk. “What more does she damn well need?”

Duncan merely looked at him. “I can see the appeal.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Hayward’s appeal. An individual who seems to have chosen her own path. Defied society to chase her own ambitions.” Duncan raised a brow. “Sounds a little like a man I know, now that I think about it.”

“I didn’t choose a path; I was forced upon it,” August growled. “And I didn’t defy anything except death to become a duke. Further, I have no intentions of letting my sister defy society. Ever. Society can be horrifically cruel, and I’m sure Miss Hayward will be the first to attest to that.”

Duncan sighed. “With all due respect, Your Grace, Lady Anne comes from a very different place than the young ladies of the ton. Her past—her experiences—have shaped her view, and given her an outlook on life that will not be found among her contemporaries. Her ambitions and desires will not be what others may want—”

“Anne is not old enough to know what she wants.”

Duncan frowned. “If I may be so bold, I should point out that she is the same age you were when—”

“You may not be so bold, Mr. Down. This discussion is at an end.” Duncan might have good intentions, but the welfare of Anne was not his business. Nor would it ever be.

“Right.” Duncan looked as if he wanted to argue.

August glared at him, and he seemed to reconsider. Wise man.

“May we get back to the matter at hand?” August asked testily.

Duncan gave him a long look. “In that case, Your Grace, if you want answers, I expect that your questions are best put to Lady Anne.”

Or Clara Hayward.

August’s mind was slowly starting to work again. He forced himself to take a deep, steadying breath. Forced himself to think past the betrayal and the fury and the shock because emotion muddled reason and made smart men make stupid choices. His immediate impulse to haul Anne back to London was not in his best interests. She hadn’t run away with a band of traveling gypsies. She hadn’t run off with a man or, God forbid, eloped to Gretna Green. She had fled London to attend a bloody finishing school. Something could be salvaged out of his sister’s impetuous, absurd actions.

Because those actions had sent her to Dover. Even if he hadn’t been planning on going to Dover before, he certainly was now. He had all the justification he would ever need to go to Avondale.

First and foremost, August had every right to ascertain that his sister was safe—he needed to see with his own eyes that she was all right. Second, he had every right to demand that Anne explain herself—though he didn’t delude himself into thinking that she would be very forthcoming, given that she had chosen to slink away like a damn thief in the night.

But he recognized that he would need to proceed with caution if he was to stay. Upon his arrival at Avondale, August would need to be firm but not belligerent. Insistent but not boorish. Assertive but not arrogant. Once he’d established his presence, then he’d need to be charming and clever and convincing. No different from many times before.

He just needed a reason to stay.

“Mr. Down, please invite the Earl of Rivers to attend me at his earliest convenience,” August instructed in a tone that was downright civilized.