“Ah, you’re thinking this Phineas Coates might be the man who can find Rafe for me.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m thinking. You could go through the War Office, but the extremely busy people there might not consider the mission as important as you’d like.”
“And, since Mr. Coates is a Bow Street Runner, he should have no problem in running down Rafe if we tell him what we know, that my nephew is in Paris. He could even, considering the man’s desire to leave the Runners, offer his services as the new duke’s valet, and stay with him, accompany Rafe home to Ashurst Hall. All very neat and tidy.”
“Only if you’re agreeable. I don’t know Phineas, but I can vouch for Josiah.”
“Very well, then, that’s what we shall do. I’ll write to Rafe tonight, and you can include the letter along with your instructions? And, yes, I’d feel much more comfortable if this Mr. Phineas Coates stayed at Rafe’s side until he’s home safe. I might even suggest they stop in London for a few days, to do something about Rafe’s wardrobe. The boy has been in uniforms for half a dozen years. Now he has to dress himself as befits a duke. Oh, dear, I wonder if he’s going to like that. He left here a boy, but he’s a man now. I wonder if he’s going to like any part of this, to be truthful. He had no ambitions in this direction, and no training, when it comes to that.”
“Three hearts away from the title, two of them young and I’ll assume vital, I can see why your nephew might not have considered that such a day might arrive. The title, this estate and, I’m sure, several others? He’s inherited considerable responsibility. Is he up to it, do you think?”
Emmaline nodded. “Rafe is a good, sound person, boy or man, I’m sure. He may be somewhat discommoded to see how his sisters have blossomed in his absence, and I don’t envy him having to ride herd on his mother once she decides she is now the dowager duchess—but, no, I have no serious qualms for the title now that it is in Rafe’s hands.”
She put down her cup. “John...about what happened in the gardens...”
He shook his head slowly. “No, let’s not talk about that now. You’ve had a long and extremely trying day, one way or another, and I certainly wasn’t any great help to you.”
“I feel as if I’ve just been told to take myself off to bed,” she said to him, smiling. “All right. And I’ll have that letter for you in the morning. Oh, and I suppose there are others I’ll need to write. To some distant aunts...perhaps the newspapers?”
“Tomorrow, Emmaline. There is nothing you can do anymore tonight that can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Do I look that exhausted?”
“No, Emmaline. You look that vulnerable. And I’m not as strong as I thought myself. Not since I kissed you, at any rate.”
He watched as hot color invaded her cheeks once again. “Oh. Well, then, all right. It has been a long day.”
“Until tomorrow, which is already much too far away,” he told her, not daring to kiss her hand because he knew neither of them would be able to stop with such a simple, formal gesture.
He watched her walk, chin held high, toward the foyer, and then drank the rest of his wine, resisting the temptation to then fling the glass into the fireplace.
What in bloody hell had he done out there in the gardens? The woman had just had a terrible shock. Had he really believed that seducing her was the answer to all her problems?
And lying to her? How was that helping her?
His deception had begun easily enough, but there had been ample opportunity for him to correct her when she addressed him as captain.
She’d been impressed to hear he was a captain in the Royal Navy, that he had, like her nephew, gone to war to defend his country. And all of that was true enough.
She’d also felt comfortable with him, possibly because he was, to her mind, a relatively simple man. She’d felt free with him. Free to tell him the truth, bare her troubled soul to him. Free to lean on him in her time of need.
Free to let him kiss her.
She was Lady Emmaline Daughtry; daughter of a duke, sister of a duke, aunt to a duke. There would be no real social consequences for her if she kissed a captain in the Royal Navy. Kissed him...or more.
John poured himself a second glass of wine, preparing to settle himself in for at least another few hours of thinking, and most probably drinking. He had to tell her. He couldn’t put off telling her.
How would he tell her?
“Your Grace?”
John’s head turned toward the door before he could stop himself, and he watched as Grayson entered the main saloon, to bow in front of him.
“Excuse me, Grayson? That’s Captain, not Your Grace.”
“No, Your Grace, it’s not. I took it upon myself to personally unpack your bag. There were letters inside. I left them tied as they were, but could not avoid reading what few lines I saw. You are His Grace, Captain Jonathan Alastair, Duke of Warrington. I’ve taken the liberty of removing your belongings to the large bedchamber just to the left at the top of the landing, Your Grace.”
“Lady Emmaline?”
“Doesn’t know, no, Your Grace. May I ask why?”
“I was just sitting here asking myself the same question, Grayson. She seemed...she seemed pleased that I served in the navy.”
Grayson nodded, transformed from the stiff and stern butler to the sort of old family retainer who had come to look upon his employers as well-loved children. “Her ladyship is very admiring of those who chose to defend this country from that rascal Bonaparte, yes, Your Grace.” The butler bowed, turned to leave, and then turned back to look at John, his expression stern once more. “She is also, begging Your Grace’s pardon, quite fond of honesty and truthfulness.”
“Yes, thank you, Grayson. Lady Emmaline is, indeed, a very truthful, forthright person. She deserves nothing less in return.”
Grayson bowed again. “As you say, Your Grace.”
...SUCH SAD AND shocking news. I imagine you reading this wherever you are, and marveling at how quickly lives can change. In truth, I have been thinking much the same thing ever since Captain Alastair walked into the gardens of Ashurst Hall this afternoon.
Emmaline lifted her pen and stared at her words. Why had she written them? She should tear up this letter as well, and put it with the other discarded efforts she had begun and then abandoned. But it would make no difference if she began again; no matter how she tried to concentrate on the matter at hand, John Alastair kept creeping back into her thoughts, and onto the page of the letter to her nephew.
She dipped the pen once more and continued:
You are, of course, needed home as soon as you are able, but I understand the demands of your service, and wish to assure you that we are all quite safe here, and capable of holding things together until you find it possible to return. I ask only that you write to us as often as you can, and that you allow Mr. Coates to be of any and all assistance to you.
Rafe, you will make an exemplary Duke of Ashurst. You hold my deepest confidence and blessings.
Yrs. In Greatest Affection,
Emmaline
Before she could change her mind, Emmaline sanded the page, folded it and then used the Ashurst seal to press the warmed wax onto the folded page. There, it was done. She’d arrange for funds to be given to Mr. Coates, who would carry them with him to Paris, so that Rafe would not feel penny-pinched