A Season of Hope (Danby #2)(6)

Olivia knew enough to remain silent.

“It’s Alexandra,” he barked.

She clenched her lips so tight her teeth snapped.

He snorted. “Get over here, Olivia.”

Olivia chuckled and crossed around the desk to greet the duke. It seemed as the years slipped by, the old duke let his guard dip a bit more. She reached up and placed a kiss on his wizened cheek.

“None o’ that, now,” he said, his voice gruff from discomfort at her display of emotion.

All the nervousness at his ducal summons dissipated. Danby may scare most of his off-spring, but when Olivia was around him, she was reminded that he was as gruff and loveable as one of father’s old hunting dogs. “You summoned me?”

The duke patted her on the shoulder in an awkward gesture of affection. “I have always enjoyed your directness, Olivia.”

She inclined her head. “Then you would be the first and only. My father—"

“Is a fool,” Danby cut in. He folded his hands behind his back. “Trying to marry you off to Ellsworth.”

A glass fell. The shatter of crystal filled the room and Olivia spun around.

In the dark shadows of the room, illuminated only by the blaze in the fireplace, stood a towering figure.

Olivia took a step closer to her grandfather who chuckled in response. “Not normally that clumsy, old fellow.”

The man stepped deeper into the shadows, managing to make himself one with the wall.

A pull of awareness coursed through Olivia. She peered into the corner of the room but the old fellow remained cloaked in darkness. She cocked her head, Danby forgotten. Olivia moved out from behind the desk, closer to the center of the room, and then paused. There was something ominously familiar about her grandfather’s— “He’s my steward.”

Her brows knitted together. “Is he?”

And still, the man said nothing.

“You have anything to say to my granddaughter, Lady Olivia?”

A blush heated her chest and climbed up her neck. It was all she could to keep from reprimanding her grandfather. One didn’t correct the Duke of Danby, even for terribly gauche manners.

Apparently Danby’s steward considered himself exempt from the duke’s orders.

Determined to exert the years of genteel propriety drummed into her by governesses over the years, Olivia walked over to the steward. “Hullo, Mr.….?”

He retreated a step in an apparent attempt to halt her forward advance.

Silence met her question.

She pointed her eyes at the ceiling. It really needn’t surprise her that the Duke of Danby’s new steward was equally laconic and rude and impossibly unsmiling.

Olivia had to deal with unpleasantness from her father, but she certainly didn’t need to accept it from this stranger. With a snap of her skirts, she turned back to face grandfather. “Forgive me, I should allow you to return to your business,” she said.

The stranger in the corner finally spoke. “I’ll return later, Your Grace.”

A shiver coursed along her spine at the gravelly quality of the steward’s voice which appeared rusty from ill-use. And yet, her heart paused; something so wrenchingly familiar about that tone touched her.

It felt as though she knew him, and yet, she’d never met grandfather’s steward in five years. Bah. Foolishness.

“Don’t be daft!” Danby barked. “I’m getting on in age, gel. I…I’m not well. Might be my last Christmas and all.”

The duke’s pronouncement knocked the air from her lungs. She peered at her grandfather, the stranger in the corner forgotten.

Impossible. The Duke of Danby was invincible. A veritable fortress of a man. Yet there were new wrinkles creasing his aged, sallow cheeks. His color a pallid white.

Goodness. That was why he’d summoned her. Olivia froze. She’d assumed he’d sent for her to save her from a match with the Earl of Ellsworth. It would appear there was far more to his summons.

Danby believed this would be his last Christmas.

It couldn’t be. He was the pillar of her family. Oh, he was a gruff, old codger most of the time, but he’d made it his personal responsibility to look after all Danby off-spring.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped.

“Grandfather,” she said, hating that she was unable to quell the tremor in her voice. The Duke of Danby abhorred weak display of emotions.

He waved her off. “I don’t want your pity, girl. I want your help. If this is going to be my last Christmas…”

“It’s not going to be your last Christmas.”

“You don’t determine when it’s my last Christmas, I do. I want this holiday done right, girl. And you’re the easiest one to get here because you don’t have a husband.”

A small laugh escaped her. So she’d been summoned as a last option. It mattered not. Danby was ill, and she wanted to be here for him, but oh, how she wished Mother had come. Mother would know how to help care for the sick duke.

The duke coughed into a monogrammed kerchief, a shudder wracked his reed-thin frame. “I’ve got some important work for you to see to.” The aged lines on his gaunt cheeks tightened as if in pain.

“Perhaps we should speak later, Grandfather. When you are feeling better.”

Danby’s brows dipped. “I’ll say when we’re finished up here, Livvie. And you, where do you think you’re going?”