Bliss.
FRIDAY AFTERNOON.
THEDUKEof Rothwell’s study was a bastion of wearisome orderliness and dull authority. Every surface polished to an absurd shine, the desk a burnished beacon of dreary command and quills trimmed to tedious perfection. Even the portraits preened with pomposity.
Ernest loathed it, and ignoring the hellishly hard chair that his brother Casper insisted everyone sat in, he flung himself to the blue chaise, Hessian boots lifted to the silk.
Mind you, these days the ducal tediousness was somewhat ruined by Cleopatra, the sable-black cat, who lazily stretched on the desk where she had been snoozing upon estate reports. She arched her spine, soundlessly dropped to the rug, stalked to the chaise and sprung onto Ernest’s chest.
“Whydoanimals like you so much?” muttered his brother from behind the desk, shuffling papers and looking important. “I feed the thing. I stroke it. I even allow it upon the ducal bed…on occasion.”
Ernest held out a curved palm for Cleo to nuzzle into. “Who knows? My winning, carefree smile, perhaps?”
His brother grimaced. “Doubtful.”
“My amusing jokes?”
“News to me.”
“My soothing, husky voice?”
“Like a parrot with laryngitis.”
“Ah, I know, my talented touch with females?”
Casper closed his eyes, expression pained. “Indeed, I read all about your exploits in Hyde Park yesterday.”
Ernest scratched behind Cleo’s ears. “In truth, I never got the chance with Lady C in the end as–”
“Not those exploits.” Casper grabbedThe Timesand stabbed a finger. “And I quote… ‘Lord E’s brave and gallant rescue of a curricle’s occupants from certain drowning in the Serpentine has set all of London’s female bosoms a’heaving. Could this rake break any more hearts?’” Casper raised a brow. “End quote.”
“Rather sensationalised, I’d say. The curricle’s occupants would never have drowned as it’s scarcely two foot deep at the edge, but for the horses it might have been a different matter. Do you remember that quakebuttock Dutens who was rescued from the drink last year? His matched greys drowned.” Ernest gritted his teeth. “I cannot bear to imagine their terror.”
Without a word, Casper rose from behind his desk and strolled to the decanters upon the mahogany side table, his back ramrod straight.
Ernest shifted uneasily, awaiting the set-down for dragging the exalted Rothwell name into the gossip columns…again. Although their relationship was much improved, he and his brother still clashed on any manner of matters given their distinct dispositions – Casper could be cold, private and strait-laced whereas Ernest’s blood ran hotter than Hades and he enjoyed flirtation, laughter and absurdity.
A brandy glass was waggled before him. “It was commendable and brave, Ernest. But take care, won’t you? I don’t wish to lose my brother beneath some carriage wheels.”
“Thank you, Casp.” He accepted the liquor with a grin. “Evelyn is good for you.”
Ernest wasn’t the type of fellow to repute that love existed – how could he when his brother had shown such a marked improvement since his marriage – but he himself was a mere colt. Plenty of time yet.
“By the way, Casp, I ought to inform you…” Ernest removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. This was not going to be easy, as he was only too aware that in the past Casper had considered him an irresponsible sluggard, but now that his brother had allowed him to manage the Rothwell stud stables, he was hoping to prove his worth. What he was about to say, however, could be construed as…careless, and he didn’t relish having his ears blistered. “I seem to have…lost a horse.”
His brother stilled. Turned. Perched on the desk edge. His lips moved as though counting to ten. Inhaled. “Lost?”
“That new stallion I purchased for stud, named Sir Oswald.”
“Jumped a fence? Escaped his stall?”
Ernest sat up and placed hands to knees, a disgruntled Cleo clawing his cravat. “I thought you’d assume I’d left him at some inn.”
“If there’s one thing I know of you, Ernest, it’s that you’d never abandon a horse outside an inn, even for a pretty barmaid.”
“Thank you…I think.” He disentangled Cleo. “Well, Sir Oswald went missing from the meadow paddock. True, he’s a wild one and the fence was broken so he could have trampled it and escaped.” He scrubbed his jaw. “Yet no trace of him has been found and…”
“So theft is possible?”
