Page 40 of The Duke’s Caught Bride

“Well, she was available. That seems to have been her primary qualification.”

She closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips. She would not allow the tears to fall.

Chapter Thirteen

“It’s Uncle Jonathan!”

The carriage arrived at half past two, announced by Freddie’s shout from the nursery window.

Alice set down her teacup. She had heard Kenneth mention Lord Nortley’s visit that morning in passing, a sentence delivered to the air above her head as he crossed the entrance hall on his way to the stables.

Freddie thundered down the staircase before Alice reached the corridor. Charlie followed at a measured pace, though the faint color in his cheeks betrayed an enthusiasm his dignity would not permit him to display.

The front door opened, and Lord Nortley stepped into the entrance hall carrying a leather satchel under one arm and a wrapped parcel under the other, his hat already off and his grin already in place.

He looked precisely as Alice remembered from the wedding: tall, fair-haired, and possessing the effortless ease of a man who had never met a room he could not charm.

“My little fellows!” He dropped to one knee on the marble and held the parcel at arm’s length. “I come bearing gifts and unimpeachable intentions. Who wants to open it?”

Freddie lunged at him. Charlie held back for approximately two seconds before stepping forward, his composure surrendering to curiosity.

The paper tore. Inside, nestled in straw, sat a brass telescope no longer than a man’s forearm, its barrel polished to a deep gold gleam. Freddie seized it and pressed his eye to the smaller end.

“I can see everything,” he breathed. “The stables. The south meadow. Charlie, there’s a fox at the tree line.”

Charlie took the telescope when Freddie shoved it at him and adjusted the focus ring carefully, his fingers precise on the brass.

“It’s a dog,” he said after a moment. “Mr. Briggs’s terrier.”

“It could be a fox.”

“It has a collar.”

Jonathan straightened and turned to Alice, his grin shifting into a warmth that felt genuine. “Your Grace. We met at the wedding, though I believe you were understandably preoccupied.” He bowed. “Jonathan Crawford, the Marquess of Nortley. Lifelong friend to your husband, though I believe he’s called me a nuisance every once in a while.”

“Lord Nortley.” Alice offered her hand. “The Duke has mentioned you.”

“Disparagingly, no doubt.” He took her hand and bowed over it. His grip was firm, his eyes bright. “And it’s Jonathan; I refuse to stand on ceremony in a castle where I have been personally responsible for at least two broken vases. And perhaps one regrettable incident involving a billiard cue and a portrait of the third Duke.”

“The third Duke deserved it,” Kenneth announced from the doorway.

Alice turned. Kenneth stood at the threshold, his riding coat still on, his boots carrying the faint smell of leather and grass. He must have come in through the side entrance. He glanced at the telescope in Charlie’s hand, and a smile flickered on his lips.

Right then, he saw Jonathan approaching.

“You’re early,” Kenneth remarked.

“I prefer punctual.” Jonathan clapped him on the back. “You look terrible, by the way. When did you last sleep past dawn?”

Kenneth smiled, his eyes twinkling with something akin to mischief. “Sleep is for men without estates.”

“Sleep is for men who wish to remain civil company. You are currently failing on that count.” Jonathan turned to Alice. “Is he always this grim, or does he save it for my visits?”

Alice glanced at Kenneth. The impulse to soften the truth pulled at her. She resisted. “He is remarkably consistent.”

Jonathan’s laugh filled the entrance hall, and Alice caught the faintest twitch at the corner of Kenneth’s mouth before he turned toward the drawing room.

“Dinner is at eight,” Kenneth called over his shoulder. “Try not to break anything before then.”