“How very glad I am to learn that my reservations about your work have proved groundless, Miss Illingworth,” he said. “I am sure you understand that the office of Thorkelson, Thorkelson, and Son takes very seriously the honor of serving the dukes of Hunsdon as long as we have.” He turned his sycophantic look on Mal. “We will be very happy to receive you in your offices, sir, or call upon you at your convenience. There will be a bit of business to see to regarding transfer of the title and so on, but we stand ready to?—”
“I will call upon you to discuss who shall handle the estate in future,” Mal said coolly. “Good day, Mr. Thorkelson.”
The other man had no choice but to bow and lumber away.
“Ducal already,” Amaranthe murmured under her breath.
Mal squeezed her hand again as he turned to Froggart. “How fortunate for you that Sybil is such an admirable, upstanding citizen, as you painted her,” he said. “Considering that she now has to stand all the court fees, including your retainer.”
“Grey!” Froggart exhaled explosively. “That is—er, Your Grace! Fine bit of oratory there, old fellow! You’ll make a roaring good barrister.”
“Barrister?” Rosenfeld rumbled with laughter. “Froggart, you bacon brain! He’ll have his coronet and a seat in Lords. He’ll have far more influence in Parliament than he ever could in a courtroom. With all due respect to Your Honor,” he said with a cheeky grin at Oliver.
Oliver grunted as he rose. The scribe scrambled to finish his notes and blew on his parchment before he rolled it up.
“I believe Mrs. Oliver and I have earned an invitation to your wedding breakfast,” the judge said as he made a grand exit. “Miss Illingworth, good day. This court is adjourned.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Amaranthe felt a bit dazed as she and Mal left the courtroom and looked out at the crowd browsing the market stalls set up in Westminster Hall. It seemed incredible that the world outside the courtroom could have been going on in ordinary fashion all this time.
“How do you feel?” she asked Mal. He still held her hand. She made no attempt to detach herself.
“Like I parted company from my horse and took a blow to the head.”
He looked down at her, his expression sober, his eyes searching. She savored the sight of him, the strong lines of his face, the arresting blue eyes, the shape of his lips. The pull grew every time she looked at him, every time she learned more of his character. Familiarity increased her adoration rather than dulling it.
Love indeed, then. Not infatuation or a passing fancy, but a deep appreciation for the man he was, and for everything that belonged to him. Love in truth.
“You will leave this hall the Duke of Hunsdon,” she said quietly. “Are you prepared for that?”
“No.” He studied her in return, as if he had discovered something new of her as well. Releasing her hand, he pointed his elbow toward her, and she took it. Once again that feeling struck her of pieces quietly slipping into place. Him at her side. The two of them, together. Something about it felt inevitable and delicious and right.
He held out his arm to her. That had to mean he wanted her beside him? He wasn’t going to cast her off after all? Or was he only being polite?
“Will you come with me to the house?” he asked. “I have to tell the children, and I’ve no notion how to prepare them. It will require some planning.”
She nodded. She was past pride. She would cling to him as long as he let her.
“May we stop by my house first? I must see to something.”
Davey strode up to them, settling his hat on his head. “I found a scarf for Eyde and the most cunning toy for Derwa,” he reported. “All wrapped up and put to bed then, miss? Mr. Grey? Saw the duchess storm out in a perfect rage, I did, so I guess things went your way? Knew the judge would see sense, I did.”
“The resolution was not satisfactory for the duchess,” Mal answered. “She will not be residing at Hunsdon House henceforth. We’ll allow her in to collect her things, and I hope you’ll watch her like a hawk the whole time.”
“Davey, we will have to address Mr. Grey by his new title,” Amaranthe said. “He is?—”
“Let’s speak of it later,” Mal said, laying a hand on hers. “You will join us for dinner? We have much to discuss.” He met her eyes and she nodded.
A warm thrill curled around her heart. He was holding her close. He was speaking of plans together. In the days since he had stormed from her house she had tried over and again to steel herself against losing him, against losing the intimacy andrapport that had grown so deep and strong between them in such a short time. Against losing the one man who made her come alive in his presence the way no man ever had. She had known from the start that she could not have him.
But here he was beside her, and her blood hummed with excitement and a wild, unlikely hope.
A line of carriages for hire stood in front of Westminster Abbey, awaiting the whims of visitors and tourists, and Mal crossed the street to inquire about one. Davey showed her the scarf he had bought for Eyde, and Amaranthe stroked the expensive imported lace, one made dearer by the tax.
“Davey, this is quite a fine gift,” she said, though she couldn’t help wonder where he had come up with the money. She paid him as well as she could, but she herself could not afford such luxuries.
“Aye, but she’s serving in a duke’s house, miss,” Davey said proudly, and Amaranthe smarted. How disappointed her staff would be to leave Hunsdon House and come back to her quiet little corner of George Court.
