Page 14 of Her Wily Duke

Late that night, as Adam was preparing for bed, Walham, having finished assisting him, cleared his throat. Adam turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

“My Lord… if I may… there is something I think you should know about.”

“Oh? You sound troubled. What is it?”

“It may be nothing, but it’s got the servants all in a tither. This afternoon, after Lady Caroline’s singing lesson, the Duke, he took Miss Mowatt to his study, called for tea and cakes, then sat there and talked to her for an hour or so. The door was open, and as far as the maids could see, it looked like nothing improper happened, but still… He’s not normally the kind of man to have a nice little chat over tea, now is he?”

At Walham’s words, Adam felt a cold spike of fear slip through him, a feeling which eased a little when he considered the ‘nothing improper’ part, but still, he felt at least as disquieted as the staff. And he also felt something which seemed shockingly like jealousy – the idea of his brother taking tea with Miss Mowatt invoked an instantaneous desire for him to be able to do that, himself, and for his brother to never go near her again.

He had no right to wish to constrain Miss Mowatt’s actions, yet he wanted to, to protect her, apart from anything else, for he did not trust his brother’s motives at all.

“I see. That is strange. Do please keep an ear on what the staff are saying, and let me know if anything further occurs.”

*****

Emme and her father were again seated in the study on a bright but cool early winter afternoon. The forest outside their window was a riot of colours as the last of the leaves turned. She was considering the last few weeks, in which good things had happened – she was now teaching Lady Caroline the pianoforte as well as singing – as well as not so good things – the Duke’s continuing attention.

“I’m beginning to worry about the Duke,” she said.

Mr. Mowatt was engaged at the pianoforte, evaluating a piece of music, or he would have known that Emme was stirring her spoon with shaking fingers.

“Why’s that?”

His voice held the same disinterested tone as he generally used when distracted by something else.

“Because he grows more insistent,” she said. “Every day this week after our pianoforte lesson ended, and before singing lessons began, he took me into his study” — her father rose in his seat — “where we drank tea and talked for an hour.”

“What do you mean, ‘insistent’? Really, Emme, you had me worried.”

He had dropped a bundle of sheet music in his alarm, which he now stooped to pick up.

“I’m worried,” said Emme again in a determined voice. “You may not be inclined to trust the judgements of young women, but I don’t trust the look in his eyes when I talk to him. There’s a strange hunger there.”

“For what?” he scoffed. “For you?”

“Yes, I really think so!” said Emme with an indignant look. “He has never shown so much interest in anyone that I know of, least of all not someone of such lowly station.”

“Then his business sense is as bad as they say,” said Mr. Mowatt, wiping his glasses with undisguised merriment. “A wise Duke would have the good sense to marry the daughter of an Earl, not a piano and voice instructor with little or no dowry. If he marries you, he will be ruined, rather than financially saved by a dowry.”

“You may laugh at the situation if you like,” said Emme. “You may even laugh at me for being a silly, impudent girl of almost nineteen, but don’t mock my judgement! I know the light that flames in a young man’s eyes. I know what it portends.”

Mr. Mowatt held up an apologetic hand.

“Well, what does the younger son of the late Duke have to say about it? Or do you see him at all?”

“Hardly ever,” said Emme, “until just lately. Not since the lesson on the day of his return home, shortly before I began teaching Lady Caroline pianoforte. That evening he walked into the music room where Lady Caroline and I were having our lesson — I think he may have been trying to study and the noise distracted him. He stood in the doorway for a moment as though transfixed…”

She broke off. Emme had long wanted to share her memories of that night with someone else, but she doubted whether her father was the right person.

“Did he fall to his knees in adoration?” he asked. “Did he play the flamenco guitar while seven Spanish gypsies sang and danced in a circle around him?”

“Not quite,” said Emme, almost stifling laughter.

She remembered the look on his face when he’d seen her, and how strange it seemed that she should have claimed his attention instead of the sister he hadn’t seen for nearly a year.

But the spell had been broken a moment later when Lady Caroline turned and went running into his arms. After the joy of this reunion had subsided somewhat, Lord Whitewell had introduced himself, and apologised for interrupting the lesson with characteristic modesty. Emme was charmed by his kindness (and he was, if she was being honest, exquisitely handsome).

Following this meeting she had rather hoped to see more of the younger Villiers brother, and less of the older one. But judging from the scarcity of his visits to the Music Room, although of late they had been more frequent, Lord Whitewell had taken no true interest in a continued acquaintance with her. The Duke, on the other hand, was indefatigable in his attentions.