A Duke in the Night(59)
“You have no idea,” Clara murmured. “Do you wish an introduction?” she asked Anne.
“By all means,” Anne replied. “I do not want to appear rude.”
Clara pasted a wide, welcoming smile on her face. “Mr. Stilton, how lovely to see you,” she said as he approached. Good God, but it almost hurt to look at the chartreuse-and-burgundy-striped coat he wore.
“What a glorious day, is it not?” he asked.
“It is,” Clara agreed. “Lady Anne, may I present Mr. Mathias Stilton. He’s the gentleman who oft accompanies Rose and me to the British Museum while we’re in London. Mr. Stilton, this is Lady Anne, the Duke of Holloway’s sister.”
Stilton stared at Anne almost a second too long before he bowed low. “A great pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“And you as well,” Anne replied.
“I do hope I am not interrupting,” Stilton went on. “Lady Theodosia was kind enough to tell me that you could be found out here enjoying the splendid gardens. I almost think that perhaps we should simply tour the grounds of Avondale together as opposed to driving.”
Clara kept her smile firmly in place, all the while envisioning Stilton and herself running into August somewhere along the way. No, it would be much more prudent simply to leave. “I’d prefer to drive, if it’s all the same to you,” she said politely. “The wildflowers at this time of year are truly a sight to be seen. I thought we might head up towards the castle where the views of the sea are best.”
“Of course, of course, Miss Hayward.” He smiled broadly at her. “Your wish is my command.”
“Shall we?” Clara rose and Anne with her.
“Good day, Mr. Stilton, Miss Hayward,” Anne said. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
“Thank you.” Clara watched Anne wander back in the direction of the house.
“I didn’t realize that the duke’s sister was also in Dover,” Stilton said.
“Yes. Lady Anne is one of my students.”
“Of course. How delightful.”
They made their way around the side of the house, Clara’s eyes sweeping the rolling fields one last time for a dark-haired rider but finding the horizon empty. They reached the front drive of Avondale, where a hired carriage sat, the team waiting patiently. Clara allowed herself to be handed up and settled back, determined to enjoy the outing and put all thoughts of a sulking, brooding, and provoking duke out of her mind.
*
August drew the winded mare to a stop, nearly as out of breath as the horse.
It would seem that no amount of galloping or trekking did anything to improve his mind-set. He was well aware he was acting irrationally and discourteously, but dammit, nothing had gone as he had planned since the day he had arrived in Dover.
To start with, he hadn’t had a decent sleep in four nights. He was tormented by dreams of Clara Hayward and his distracting, all-consuming need to have her. Teased by images of everything that he had planned to do—with her, and to her, and for her—until that damn conversation in that damn hallway had suddenly gotten away from him. He had not appreciated her words, nor her pointed questions.
You’re making me wonder why you think Lady Anne should apologize for who she is.
He’d never asked his sister to apologize for who she was. He loved her too much for that. But it wasn’t unreasonable to ask that she alter her behavior and her expectations, was it? Which wasn’t the same thing at all, was it?
Whenever it is that you find answers to those questions, you may take me out to dinner and share them with me.
He did not appreciate her ultimatum either.
Clara hadn’t apologized. In fact, he had seen neither hide nor hair of her since that afternoon, though it might have something to do with the fact that he’d avoided Avondale completely. Which, after his ill-advised entrance into the painting studio, made him wonder whom he was trying to avoid more—a coolly critical Clara, a hopefully clothed Lady Theodosia, or his undoubtedly furious sister. Regardless, this…cowering avoidance was very, very un-duke-like behavior. Hell, it was very un-August-like behavior, and it made him want to cringe as much as it made him want to curse.
And to top it all off, there had been no word yet from Duncan about any of the matters he had brought to the man’s attention in the missive he’d sent to London. August was frustrated, impatient, and completely out of ideas.
He cursed under his breath and dismounted, then led his horse toward the back of the house. A stable lad appeared with the seamless, brisk efficiency that he was beginning to associate with this place. August handed over his horse and stalked toward the dower house, yanking his coat off along the way. Clean clothes, a decent meal, and something fortifying to drink were in order. He banged into the hall, narrowly missing a footman who caught his coat without even blinking. A pile of objects in the center of the small, gleaming hall caught his eye and stopped him short.
A large, flat, square item wrapped in coarse burlap and rope was propped up against a portmanteau. A smaller case, one that might be used to hold documents, had been placed beside these. August spun to find Duncan Down coming across the hall, a biscuit in one hand and another stuffed in his mouth. The man’s clothes and boots were covered in dust and grime, and his hair and face hadn’t fared much better.
Hallelujah. Finally. He nearly gave in to the urge to hug the man.