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CHAPTER20
The sound of the front door opening, followed by a brief scuffle, drew the Dowager Duchess of Gilleton out from the salon where she had been enjoying a book by the fireplace. Frowning, she drew her shawl over her shoulders as she ventured to where they usually received their guests and, to her great astonishment, found her only son stumbling in and quite foxed at that!
Her eyes widened in surprise as she was so used to Daniel conducting himself in an upright manner at all times.
“Daniel?”
At the sound of her voice, both the Duke and the pained butler turned to her direction.
“What in the world—” she muttered before shaking her head as if to shake off the daze she was in. She turned to Crowley immediately, and with a regal nod, she instructed, “Assist His Grace to the salon and tell the kitchens to brew something for his…affliction.”
“Mother, you needn’t say it as if I have some sort of malady.”
She smiled wryly at him. “You returning at this unholy hour in such a state is certainly unheard of. Do forgive me if I find it a little odd.”
“One would think that you would be appalled over this,” her son grumbled in reply.
“Well, since I do not keep company with the fashionable elite on most days, my reaction might be a bit unusual.”
Joyce Bolt followed the butler and her inebriated son to the salon and watched as Crowley carefully helped the Duke onto the couch. A sad smile tilted the corner of her lips when she realized the depths of misery that her son was in to act in such a manner.
“Mother, do forgive me if I am such ill company tonight,” he sighed.
“Not at all, my dear.” Joyce elegantly sat down on an upholstered chair closed to him, her movements both graceful and refined. “Although, it does pain me to see you this way.”
“All men indulge once in a while.”
“But you are not all men, nor should you aspire to be like all men.”
There was a quiet pause between both mother and son before Daniel begrudgingly admitted, “I know.”
The Dowager Duchess smiled sadly at him before directing her gaze into the flickering flames in the fireplace. “I will not pretend to know what ails you—no, don’t give me that look now!” She shot him a warning glance. “But you need not deny it to yourself.”
She hazarded a glance at him and found him staring sullenly at the flames, his blue eyes tormented. Her heart went out to him, but even as his mother, there was only so much she could do.
“Your Grace, I have brought the soup you requested.” The soft voice of the maid bearing a tray with a bowl of hot soup penetrated through the awkward silence between the Dowager Duchess and the Duke. The maid looked hesitantly towards the Dowager Duchess, who nodded at her and motioned for her to set the tray down on the table nearby. As soon as the maid had done so, she murmured a hasty excuse and left the salon altogether.
Joyce took the small bowl and stirred at the contents slightly, allowing the soup to cool a little before offering it to her son. “Have some of this soup before you sleep. It will help with the headache.”
And maybe clear your head in the process, she wanted to add. However, she knew all too well that her dear son might need more than just hot soup to clear the blocks in his heart.
* * *
Daniel woke up to a slight pounding in his head as he groaned and rolled over in his bed. He slung an arm over his eyes, hoping to block out all sight and sound.
He preferred the brief period of inebriation when he did not have to deal with the mess that his own life had become.
Before Emily, his life had been—although not exactly perfect—orderly enough. He went about his days as most noblemen of his stature did—building his wealth in the daytime and enjoying the company of either his friends or his mistress in his leisure time, his heart impervious to the sudden bursts of absurdity it now seemed prone to having.
Now, he found it terribly hard to be as carefree as he was before.
Without warning, the wallflower of two seasons had managed what no other woman in existence had managed—she had successfully gotten under his skin, stirring a hunger, a craving he knew not how to assuage.
Had it been just his base desires, he could very well find his mistress to take care of such…needs.
However, this was vastly different, and even when he appeared in the luxuriously appointed, although discreet, residence he had generously provided for his mistress, he found himselfterminatingtheir liaisons instead of enjoying her company.
To say that Miranda had been surprised was an understatement, but to her credit, she did not throw the usual theatrics women were prone to doing—no, she had gracefully accepted that their trysts had come to an end. Perhaps, it also helped that he had softened the blow by telling her that she could keep the townhouse as well as all the little gifts he had given her in the past.
