A Duke in the Night(20)

She ignored an unacceptable and perilous twinge of disappointment.

“While the Earl of Rivers has insisted that I stay at Avondale, he has also asked for my assessment on the current condition of the estate’s crops and livestock,” Holloway said.

“I see.” This was not good. Not good at all. She did not want a duke, specifically this one, on the property, prowling about indefinitely. “You should know that the dower house isn’t entirely vacant,” she said, aware that she was grasping at straws now. “My brother stays at the dower house when we are here.”

Holloway nodded, and instead of inconvenienced, he seemed almost pleased. “Yes, Rivers mentioned as much. But that dower house is as palatial as Avondale itself. I have been told that it has eight bedrooms, two drawing rooms, a music room, and even its own small ballroom. I don’t think we’ll be tripping over each other, but as I’m sure Lord Strathmore is also a busy man, I will endeavor to stay out of his way.”

Clara grimaced. Clearly there was nothing she could say that was going to deter him. “What do you know of crops and livestock?” A last effort, and one that might be interpreted as rude or insolent, but she no longer cared.

“I’ve educated myself on the basics,” he replied.

“Why?”

“You ask that a lot.”

“Yes,” she replied unapologetically. “You are, of course, under no obligation to answer.”

He considered her for a moment. “Because I own a great deal of land. And crops. And livestock. And I like to understand what I possess.” The glibness had gone out of his voice, replaced with a cool bluntness that rang of truth.

Clara felt a shiver race down her spine. The Duke of Holloway was a man who needed to be kept at a safe, proper distance. And the dower house was definitely not far enough.

“Is Lord Strathmore here?” Holloway asked. “I should like to inform him of my presence so he isn’t unduly surprised to find himself with a tenant.”

“He is here, in Dover, but not at Avondale at the moment.” He was, in fact, with three of her students, somewhere in the parish, seeing to the community’s medical needs.

“I understand that your brother is an accomplished physician,” the duke remarked, as if reading her mind.

“He is.” Clara had no idea how much Holloway knew about her brother. Of course he would be aware of Harland’s training—that wasn’t a secret. Certainly not after Harland’s wife had complained loudly about it to anyone who would listen for the duration of their miserable marriage.

“An admirable profession,” he offered into the silence.

“Not everyone would agree with you. Most would tell you gentlemen are not meant for such common…foolishness.” Clara tried to keep the derision out of her voice, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.

“Only a true fool would believe that a man who has the knowledge and skills to help a soul cheat death could ever be considered foolish.” August’s eyes were shuttered, and in that moment Clara knew he was thinking about the circumstances that had made him the Duke of Holloway. Spotted fever, she had heard, which had completely wiped out two entire generations of Faulkners summering near Bath. August and his sister, who had been in London at the time, had been the only two survivors.

“I’m sorry. About your family.” Her words seemed inadequate.

He started, as if surprised that his comments had been so transparent. “Thank you.” He shifted. “And my condolences on the loss of your parents.”

Clara nodded and looked away. “It was unexpected.” They had been aboard a packet destined for Boston that had been caught in an Atlantic squall. All crew and passengers had been lost.

“It always is,” the duke mumbled, almost inaudibly.

“Yes,” she agreed sadly, wondering how this conversation had become so melancholy.

“You are fortunate that your brother has so ably taken the reins of the barony’s business. He must be an incredibly busy man.”

“He is busy,” she replied, happy to let Holloway direct the conversation away from death. “But he manages.”

“A tough enterprise, shipping,” he mused. “One fraught with risks and unpredictability.”

He had no idea. “You own ships as well, Your Grace?”

Holloway shrugged. “I dabble. I have a fondness for Virginian tobacco. As does half of London. Owning the occasional shipload of it makes me a popular man.”

Clara almost rolled her eyes. “Then I must assume you’ve educated yourself on the basics of that as well?”

He shrugged again. “Of course. As I said, I like to understand what I possess.”

“Well, then. You and my brother will have much to discuss.”

“I’m counting on it, Miss Hayward. I’m also counting on his ability to play a decent hand of whist or loo if he has the time,” he continued. “Dover can be quite dull—”

“August?” The demand came from just behind Clara. She turned to find blue eyes a shade softer than Holloway’s flashing with poorly concealed ire and not a little apprehension. “What are you doing here?”





Chapter 6



August felt every muscle in his body stiffen, but he forcibly reminded himself what was really at stake here. He bit back his instant acerbic accusations and fought the urge to stuff his impetuous, wayward sister in a burlap sack, fling her over the back of a horse, and take her back to the safety of their London home. Instead he arranged his features into what he hoped was a mask of cool detachment.