Page 19 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Honoria Sinclair, the Dowager Duchess of Aldermere, entered with the effortless grace that seemed to follow her wherever she went. The years had silvered the auburn hair at her temples, but they had done nothing to diminish the warmth in her green eyes. If Algernon carried Father's reserve, William often thought, then their mother possessed enough kindness for the entire family.

“There you are,” she said, crossing the room toward him. “I began to wonder whether White's had finally decided to keep you.”

William bent to kiss her cheek. “I returned with my purse a little heavier than when I left.”

“I never doubted it.” His mother smiled. “You were always infuriatingly fortunate with cards.”

“It is skill, Mama.”

“Is that what we're calling it now?”

Her attention shifted toward Algernon, who remained before the fire, slowly turning the brandy in his glass. “And you are still attempting to convince yourself that brandy improves your disposition.”

Without so much as glancing in her direction, Algernon replied, “It has yet to succeed.”

“No,” she agreed lightly. “Though I admire your persistence.”

William couldn't suppress the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. His mother had been teasing Algernon for years with remarkably little effect.

She settled into the armchair nearest the hearth with a quiet sigh. “I have spent the better part of the afternoon listening to dreadful stories about poor Lady Eastmere.”

William's attention sharpened immediately. “The gossip has grown worse?”

“Far worse.” His mother folded her hands in her lap, her expression clouding. “Apparently everyone has suddenly discovered a cousin or family friend who knows precisely where Lord Eastmere has gone.” She shook her head in quiet disgust. “It is astonishing how inventive people become when they possess no facts.”

“The poor woman,” she murmured.

“And Lady Rosalind,” William said.

Her eyes lifted to his, a flicker of curiosity passing through them before she nodded.

“Yes. Her too.” Her voice softened. “I also heard that the directors of the British Institution have withdrawn their invitation to tomorrow's private viewing.”

William frowned. “They have?”

“This afternoon.”

“That is shameful.”

His mother inclined her head in agreement.

William turned toward his brother. “Algernon.”

Algernon met his gaze over the rim of his glass but said nothing.

“You donated several of the paintings to the exhibition.”

“A handful.”

“Enough that the directors value your opinion.”

“Perhaps.”

William hesitated for only a moment. “Then use it.”

One dark eyebrow lifted almost imperceptibly. “To what end?”

William chose his words with care.