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“Of course, Your Grace,” the cook acknowledged.

Gabriel turned on his heels and left the kitchen. He had intended to go back to his study to look over the lease agreements for his land, but he took a sharp right and headed for the gardens on the west side of the manor.

It wasn’t the flowers, plants, or vegetables he wished to see, but his most loyal companion.

Gabriel placed a hand on his forehead to shield his eyes from the midday sun. A flurry of movement caught his eye behind the rose bushes. A pheasant took flight, followed by a leaping giant Irish wolfhound. For a second, it looked like the grand beast might take flight with the bird, but its jaws snapped just behind the tail feathers, and Atlas fell to the ground while the bird made its escape.

The duke placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

Atlas’s ears perked up, and he spun and bolted for his master. Gabriel waited just outside the door as the wolfhound ran toward him at full speed before slowing and then coming to a complete stop a yard from him. Atlas then circled behind the duke and came to a stop at his right-hand side.

Gabriel reached down and scratched the top of the dog’s head.

“My apologies, boy. I didn’t bring you a treat. Next time.” He gave the dog an extra scratch behind the ears.

Atlas started straight ahead and let out a solitary bark.

Gabriel had learned to read the dog over the five years he had had him since he was a pup.

“Yes, quite,” Gabriel agreed. “My mind is elsewhere. She has bored into my brain like a sickness. I have shown better manners and greater self-control when facing boors who deserved to be struck. Yet, a minute in her company, and I had to raise my voice to put her in her place.”

Atlas gave another solitary bark, echoing through the trees past the gardens.

“She would have kept spouting nonsense and believed she was in charge of me if I hadn’t. Perhaps it was the nicest thing I could do for her. She wants a husband, and if she talks to any other man like that, they won’t have the patience to put up with it. It’s only right that I put her in her place now so she can better present herself in the future.”

Atlas looked up at his master, and Gabriel rubbed the coarse hair under his snout.

“Your Grace,” the butler said from behind, having approached without a sound. “Mr. Devereux is in the morning room.”

“Thank you, Watkins,” Gabriel replied.

He didn’t hear the butler walk away, but he knew that he had.

“Go on, boy!” he shouted.

Atlas obeyed the command immediately and ran off toward the trees. Perhaps he would track down the pheasant. Gabriel watched until his companion was out of sight, and then turned and headed back inside.

He strode purposefully towards the morning room, intent on not becoming lost in his own thoughts as he had already that morning. The kitchen staff would think he was a fool standing silently in the kitchen, though they would never address him as such. They knew better than that.

Gabriel held out his hand toward his uncle as he walked into the morning room. Richard smiled and closed the gap between them, taking his nephew’s hand and shaking it warmly.

His uncle had the same dark hair as his late father, parted in almost the same place, and, as his father had done, Richard always dressed up, no matter the occasion. The warmth and wide smile, however, were entirely unique to his uncle.

“Uncle, it’s wonderful to see you again.”

“I appreciate you putting me up, and putting up with me,” Richard laughed. “You are the man of the hour.”

Gabriel studied him, raising an eyebrow to ask what his uncle meant by that.

“There are some very jealous ladies out there, and some wary gents, from what I’ve heard,” Richard told him. “What made you agree to chaperone Lady Eleanor Ashworth for the Season?”

“Two days,” Gabriel grumbled. “Two days, and people are already talking about it. There really is nothing to talk about.”

“You know how it is in London.” Richard smiled as he walked over to one of the armchairs and dropped down into it with cat-like grace. “Society will talk about anything as long as it’s gossip. They’ll soon move on. I am curious, however, as to why you agreed to it. That doesn’t seem like you, Gabriel.”

“I need a drink,” Gabriel moaned. He went to the cart sitting under the window, and even though the hour was still relatively early, he poured a glass of cognac for himself and his uncle. “Lord Ashworth is a good friend of mine,” he explained as he took the drink to his uncle. “And I won’t be chaperoning as much as overseeing Lady Eleanor’s debut.”

Richard lifted his glass in a toast to his nephew, then took a sip. Gabriel couldn’t sit just yet, and he walked over to the unlit fire for something to do. He turned to face his uncle, leaning on the mantelpiece with one elbow, and holding his drink in his opposite hand.