She padded down the empty hallway, past the closed door of the study, and paused just out of sight, bracing herself against the wall. Oscar’s voice, echoing in her memory:I already have an heir. Henry.
If the boy was to be the Duke’s heir, then the two must form a cordial relationship.
Something must change. I must insist upon it.
CHAPTER 13
“Idon’t know if I should be shocked or affronted that you did not invite me to your wedding, Scarfield,” Adrian declared as he swept into the study with all the gravity of a man arriving at the site of a national disaster. “Perhaps both, for safety’s sake.”
Oscar looked up from his morning correspondence, one eyebrow raised in polite inquiry. “You should feel both,” he said, setting down his letter opener. “You seem the type to enjoy dramatic excess.”
“Touché.” Adrian sketched a bow in the general direction of the window, as if to an appreciative crowd. “But still, a marriage? Without so much as a card or a whisper to your closest friends? It wounds, Oscar.”
Oscar regarded him for a moment, then replied, “The ceremony was a small affair. There was no need for a crowd.”
Adrian clutched his chest with mock pain. “And now you’re calling me a crowd. My self-esteem may never recover.”
“You have enough self-esteem for a dozen crowds,” Oscar returned. He gestured at the decanter on the sideboard. “If you need to anesthetize your feelings, help yourself. It’s a bit early, but I’m told that never stopped you before.”
Adrian poured a generous splash of whiskey, then perched on the edge of the desk, somehow managing to radiate both sloth and tension. “So. How did it go?”
Oscar examined him for signs of genuine interest, then decided it was safer to assume the worst and offered a neutral, “Efficiently.”
“Efficient?” Adrian sounded appalled. “I demand at least one detail. Did she weep? Did you? Was there a duel? Or did the Duchess simply tie you up and force you to sign the papers at gunpoint?”
Oscar’s mouth quirked. “There was no gunpoint. The Duchess was perfectly dignified.”
Adrian nodded, as if he’d expected nothing less. “And the children?”
“They’re acclimating,” Oscar replied. “Better than expected, given recent events.”
“A wise decision to make her your Duchess, then. Do the children find her agreeable?”
Oscar nodded as the memory of Clara’s arms around Nancy’s neck and Henry’s eyes wide with all the hope he had in her pressed in at the edges of his mind. “They will benefit greatly from her presence.”
“Of course,” Adrian murmured, swirling his drink. For a moment, Oscar thought he saw something pass over Adrian’s face—a calculation, a flicker of envy, something quick and buried. But then Adrian brightened, too fast. “I take it she will be assuming charge of the household?”
Oscar braced himself. “Naturally.”
“And the matter of the governess?” Adrian pressed. “My cousin’s recommendation still stands. Miss Blythe can start next week, if you wish.”
Oscar weighed the name. He had no fondness for strangers in his home—least of all ones vouched for by Adrian—but the twins did require more than the occasional story or lullaby. “I appreciate the offer,” he said, carefully. “But the children need time to adjust. Perhaps in a month or two.”
Adrian pretended to pout, then shrugged. “Very well. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence. Adrian drank; Oscar returned to his letter, but found himself unable to focus on the page.
After a while, Adrian spoke again. “So what is it like, having a Gallagher in the house?”
Oscar considered. “Noisier. But less tedious than anticipated.”
Adrian barked a laugh. “High praise. She must be truly exceptional to receive such warmth from you.”
“She is—” Oscar stopped, unsure how to complete the thought. “She is herself.”
Adrian sipped. “And how is she managing you?”
Oscar almost laughed. “With the same discipline you’d expect from a Neads girl. She left me speechless more than once already.”
