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Curtis cut him off sharply. “I am afraid that the law will not allow it. Your uncle specifically passed the guardianship of his ward to you!” Curtis’s faded eyes were leveled at the duke. “If Your Grace will but read this, it may explain, for it was written to me just one day before your uncle passed on.”
Reluctantly, the duke took up the ivory sheet of paper to read:
Dearest Curtis:
If you are reading this, I will have finally, thankfully passed.
See to this for me. My ward, Felicia Easton, runs wild, I am told. I have been deceived and thought her properly supervised at her Easton Manor home. My body will no longer serve my mind.
My honor requires that the matter be given immediate attention, but I don’t think I have long, as I am bent on joining my wife and my sons. This world has no lure for me any longer.
Glen has been on the town too long. He needs some settling, and though I know with a crook of the finger the boy would attend me, I’d rather he did it from his own sense of duty. I should like the girl to be given a London season, but first … tell him to stop by that little place I have … I can’t remember the name of the town, but the house needs refurbishing I am told. See to it. Glen can take Daphne and my ward with him, to have a look at it.
I leave the delicate handling of this matter in your very capable hands.
Arthur
Duke of Somerset
Glen Ashton’s jaw pulsated as he gritted his teeth and composed himself.
He had been fond of his uncle. He felt for him, for his loss, for the fact that the old man wanted to die, but he disliked being ‘handled’.
The young duke stared at nothing at all for a long moment. Even so, why had he not been told that his uncle’s ward had been left alone? That did need attention. His honor, his loyalty to his late uncle, demanded he repair that situ
ation at once.
The duke turned his attention to the solicitor and asked, his voice low and tinged with annoyance, “Why, Curtis, when you told me about Uncle Arthur’s ward and that he hadn’t seen her for over a year, you never said she was alone. Why didn’t you show me this letter sooner?”
The lawyer shook his head sadly. “I don’t know how it happened, but this sealed letter went first to our London offices and was set aside for me where it evidently got buried under a pile of post that needed attention. No doubt my staff believed I would attend to my mail on one of my weekly visits to town.” He sighed heavily and added, “Your uncle’s death was a source of great sadness to me as well as to you, my boy. We had, over the years, become friends. Last week, when this note came to my attention, I immediately sent you a letter regarding your uncle’s ward.”
Glen pulled at his bottom lip. “I did not receive it.” He frowned, for he had spent a convivial week with friends in Rye.
“Oh, Glen,” Daphne moaned, “that poor child … all alone. What must she think? How has she managed?”
“Daphne, I had no idea about her circumstances—”
“What you mean is you did not even read Mr. Curtis’s letter, did you?” snapped his sister.
Glen felt his cheeks burn. He had arrived home and found a pile of mail that needed attending and had not bothered to even sort it out. He felt ashamed all at once. Everything had happened so quickly—his uncle’s death and the looming responsibility of a dukedom all had hit him hard, and he had taken off for Rye immediately after the funeral.
Besides that, he had completely forgotten that his uncle even had a ward, or that she might be alone somewhere. He clucked his tongue at himself and shook his head. “Daff … I had no idea.” He eyed her. “Perhaps between us we can manage this.”
“Between us?” she returned in horror. “What do you mean between us?”
He tried cajolery. “Daff, you can’t expect the poor girl to go off with me alone, now can you?”
Reluctantly she conceded, “No, but you can hire a governess of sorts. How old is she?”
“She will turn one and twenty in the near future,” Mr. Curtis said gravely.
“Ah, well, that settles it. She can’t be seen to travel with me alone, now can she?”
“This is not my problem,” Daphne insisted. “I don’t want to be away from Freddy and London any longer than I must.”
“Look, if I am to fetch her to London for a season, I need some help. I mean, what in blazes do I know about launching a debutante? You must see that, Daffy. I’ll give her to you.”
Daphne made a strong sound indicating her objection, but Mr. Curtis immediately offered reasonably, “Indeed. She will need a hostess to accompany her about … Almack’s and all those sort of things.”
