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“I found her under the large oak at the end of your drive,” Arthur replied. “She’s turned an ankle, but is otherwise unharmed. She was able to get on my horse, thankfully.” Sitting on his horse by herself had been another matter, but the less anyone knew about that, the better.
“One foolish cousin of mine, incoming,” Amberwood proclaimed as he walked back through the door, a rather perturbed Francesca in his arms. He nodded to his wife. “If you could summon some tea and Dr. Hartley, my love.”
“There is no need for such fuss,” Francesca grumbled with a rather adorable scowl as Amberwood made for the grand staircase.
“Nonsense,” Lady Amberwood chided gently. “Dr. Hartley has yet to leave after examining Kitty this morning and will likely spend the night because of this terrible storm. Hardly any fuss at all, my dear.” Over the past year, the marchioness had become quite the mother hen of the group, even extending her matronly fussing to him on more than one occasion. Though Arthur grumbled about it from time to time, he privately found Amberwood’s wife to be rather endearing, especially considering the lack of motherly affection he’d had in his own life. Francesca grumbled something unintelligible, likely giving in to the woman’s mothering as they all eventually did. Lady Amberwood nodded with a cheerful smile before walking down another corridor, presumably to do as her husband requested.
“I’d best help Francesca before Amberwood drives her mad with his fussing,” Her Grace said with amusement, giving her husband a peck on the cheek and following Amberwood up the stairs. Arthur watched them climb the stairs, his gaze lingering on Francesca for far longer than he should have allowed before they disappeared upstairs, leaving him alone with one of the most infuriatingly observant men in London.
“You look like you have had a time of it, Clifton,” Ashford drawled, his lips donning that supremely annoying quirk of amusement that he often used to ribald him.
“Quiet, you ass,” Arthur hissed back, glancing warily around the massive foyer for any prying ears. It would be just his luck to have his cover blown within minutes of arriving. He was here for a reason, not to rusticate at a country house party and certainly not to frolic about with a virginal debutante, no matter how delectable she was increasingly turning out to be.
“Oh, settle yourself. There is no one about. The entire house has been in a flurry for the past hour after Lady Francesca didn’t return from her errands. Quite the gallant rescue, by the way.”
“Yes, well, it was quite harrowing on my end.” More than harrowing. Arthur had thought his body would sizzle out of his skin once he’d caught a whiff of Lady Francesca’s heady, floral scent. He’d been overwhelmed with her for the entire ride, enough that he’d shared far more about himself than he should have. And then, instead of mocking him for his circumstances as many of her peers would, she’d apologized for prying, of all things. Suffused with affection for her, he could do nothing except to bury his face into her softness, to steal some of that kindness for himself, to taste the sweetness of the rain on her skin…
And now he was aroused again. In front of Ashford. Bloody brilliant.
“I need a drink,” he snapped grumpily. “Right now.”
The duke chuckled. “I was wondering when you’d ask.”
**
After several hours of good whiskey and conversation, Arthur’s turmoil had somewhat settled. Ashford proved to be unusually helpful, keeping their talk light and far away from the topic of Lady Francesca. If the duke suspected something untoward had happened on the way to the house, he did not let it be known. Amberwood had joined them within the hour, availing them of Francesca’s condition. A simple sprain and a mild chill were all she suffered, much to Arthur’s relief, and that she, along with the other ladies, wouldn’t be coming down to dinner was another boon. Even if a traitorous part of him was disappointed at her absence, he understood that distance from her was vital to keeping his plan on track, especially after Amberwood informed him that the good Dr. Hartley would join them for the meal. The good doctor had been settled in the area for a good ten years and had served both Amberwood’s family and Arthur’s own for most of that time. With some careful conversation, there was a decent chance Arthur could pry some information out of the man. It was a solid plan, and by the time the meal rolled around, Arthur was feeling far more like himself.
“I must thank you for your hospitality, Lord Amberwood,” Dr. Hartley said jovially as the first course rolled around. “This rain is quite horrendous, and I dreaded having to make my way home in it. Your lady wife has been most generous with the guest chamber I was provided.”
“I will extend your praises to her,” Amberwood replied with a genial nod. “It is the least we could do for someone who has served the family for so long and helped bring my boys safely into the world.”
“Lady Amberwood had things well in hand, but I thank you for the compliment. I am happy to see that the title is in such good hands.”
That the previous Marquess and his family had not been nearly so genial hung unspoken in the air, yet was obvious from the surprise in the doctor’s tone at receiving such hospitality.
“I’ve heard that the other Featherstons were a rather haughty sort,” Ashford remarked candidly, blunt as usual. The duke was never one to care about false niceties, and his rank often let him get away with sidestepping them entirely.
Hartley blinked before taking a nervous swallow of his wine. “Perhaps haughty is not quite the right word, Your Grace.”
Amberwood snorted. “A more miserable lot you wouldn’t find. Please don’t demure on my account, Doctor. There is a reason they are no longer in residence. I provided a perfectly lovely estate for the dependents and am quite happy to never speak to them for the rest of my days.”
The man blinked again, before relaxing with a small smile. “Oh, very well then. Yes, they could be rather unpleasant at times.” And just like that, the walls around him slipped away, and the previously reserved doctor relaxed into friendly amusement. “They were quite close with Lord Clifton and his family at Renwood.”
And there was the opening. “I heard in the village that the old earl passed away recently,” Arthur casually remarked.
Hartley nodded. “I had the… honor of attending to him during his final days.”
“And how do you find the new earl?”
“Oh, yes,” Amberwood chimed in. “I have yet to meet the man myself and am curious to know how you found him.” The marquess took a sip of his wine and shot Arthur a mischievous glance.
“A fascinating mystery,” Ashford added. Arthur fought the urge to twitch an eye.
As expected, Hartley shook his head. “He did not arrive after the earl’s death. I understand a surprise relation has inherited. No one in the village knows much about it. My assistant has a sister employed by the household, but all she knows is that the house has been in an uproar.” The man paused. “I have heard that the distant cousin whom they had initially thought would inherit had been betrothed to one of the earl’s grandnieces. I assume that arrangement is up in the air now.”
“Perhaps our new earl is afraid to see the state of his inheritance,” Ashford mused.
Arthur shot him a bland look, growing tired of the silly game he and Amberwood were playing. “Rather vulgar of you, Ashford.”
