A Duke in the Night(3)

Anne’s lips thinned even more. “They’re old.”

“Hardly. But they are titled and have the respect of the ton.”

“And do I get a say in whom you marry?” Anne snapped.

“I am well aware of my own responsibilities to the duchy, Anne. Responsibilities that I will meet at the appropriate time. You do not need to remind me.” He could see the stubborn tilt of her chin and tried to rein in his frustration. “It’s my job to take care of you.”

His sister looked away, her knuckles going white where they gripped her book. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I did it for years, if you recall.”

Old guilt needled, and August shoved it aside. He did not have the power to remedy the past, but he certainly had the power to dictate the future. “I know. But you don’t have to anymore. I’m here now.”

Anne’s eyes snapped back to him, sparking with irritation. Her cheeks reddened, and she opened her mouth to say something before seeming to reconsider. “I don’t wish to fight with you, August.”

“Nor do I wish to fight with you. But you have to trust that I know what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me?” she repeated softly, shaking her head. “Or best for you?”

“Anne—”

“I came to see you because I had some ideas for the Trenton,” she said abruptly, opening the book she carried to where a strip of satin ribbon had been laid to mark the page.

August blinked at the sudden change of topic. “The Trenton?”

“Yes. The hotel you own on Bond Street?”

“I am familiar with it,” August replied succinctly, trying to keep from frowning. What did Anne care about the hotel? “What sort of ideas?”

Anne looked down at the pages of her book. “Well, for one, our fresh fish supplier has increased his prices by almost fifty percent over the last ten months. Unless he is gifting us with the golden nets he must be using, I think we should look for a different vendor.” She flipped a page. “Also,” she continued, “there is a small laundry a street over from the hotel that has come for sale. It’s already proven itself extremely profitable. I think we should buy it, not only for its existing business, but we could add complimentary laundry to Trenton’s guest services. Most of our hotel’s patrons are officers and military sorts, and we are in direct competition with Stephen’s Hotel. I think this might give us an edge—”

“Anne,” August interrupted her, “where is all this coming from?”

She looked up at him earnestly. “Mr. Down had the books out yesterday, and I just took a small peek. I think that—”

“You don’t have to concern yourself with these things, Anne,” he said firmly. “I will take care of those sorts of details, or I will instruct my very capable man of business to do so.” And he would instruct Duncan Down to keep the books away from Anne in the future. She didn’t need to worry about money. She would never, ever need to worry about money again. August had made sure of that.

“But I just—”

“I want you to enjoy whatever it is that you wish to amuse yourself with. Music, reading, riding. Anything you like.”

“But—”

“I won’t argue about this with you, Anne.” His eyes fell on the book she still held and the loose piece of foolscap tucked into it. “Is that a sketch?”

Anne’s expression had become tight. “It’s nothing.”

“May I see it?” August ignored the harshness of her words.

Anne’s fingers tightened on the edges of the pages, and her forehead creased before she loosened her grasp and handed him the book. “If you must.”

August took the book from her hands and studied the drawing, realizing it wasn’t really a drawing at all but a mock-up of a tavern sign. He recognized the name and the graceful swan that dominated the center instantly, because he owned that tavern too. If a sign were to be crafted the way this one was drawn, he had to admit that it would be a vast improvement over the one that currently hung above the tavern’s entrance.

It had been a while since he had looked at Anne’s work, and the precision and detail of the drawing jumped off the page at him. Each line was deliberate and sure, perfectly executed perspective giving it a three-dimensional appearance that almost made him believe he could touch the object. He frowned slightly.

“You don’t like it?” Anne asked in a stilted voice.

August cursed his lack of attention to his expression and schooled his features back into neutrality. “On the contrary. The drawing and design are extraordinarily accomplished. You have a very keen eye.”

Anne’s lips pulled into a smile, and a faint blush touched her cheeks. “Thank you.”

August glanced up at her. That thank-you had been far more heartfelt than the one she had offered him for a silk gown and a string of pearls. He looked down at the pages again. “Yet why are you drawing tavern signs?”

“Because the one that exists right now is appalling. The swan looks like a bat that’s had its neck stretched. It gives an otherwise tidy establishment a shabby appearance, and it should be replaced.” The smile wavered, and a faintly defiant note had crept into her answer.

August looked down at the book again. On the page that had been hidden by the loose sketch was what resembled a blueprint. A careful schematic drawing of rooms in what looked like the layout of an inn. “What’s this?” he asked, tilting the book so she could see.