“You’re not disturbing me in the least. Did you need something from me?”
“Oh—no, sir,” she said feeling nervous that he had overheard her name slip. “I was just exploring the house and paused to look at this painting.” She gestured toward Carver’s likeness on the wall. “Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
The duke stepped out of the doorway and narrowed his gaze to the painting of young Carver. He pushed his spectacles closer to his eyes and smiled. It was astounding how much he and Carver favored one another. Both men shared an imposing figure and strong jaw, and the same disarming smile.
“Ah. He was a young one, here. I miss the days when he was a mischievous little bantling running wild across the park, playing pranks on his governess.” The duke smiled fondly as if he were looking back in time rather than at a portrait.
She smiled, too, thinking of Carver chasing her across the meadow and threatening to toss her into the stream. And playing in the nursery with Jane. It struck her that he had made her smile more in these few days than she had smiled in years. “Is he so very different, now?” she asked.
The duke’s smile fell a little and a sadness entered his eyes. “Yes.” His brows creased and then he looked at Rose. “Or, at least, he was. Before you came along. But you’ve managed to bring back a piece of Carver that I—” he smiled tentatively, “—we haven’t seen in a long time.” He smiled again but this time it was more than sad, it was regretful and weary.
She remembered the pain she often saw hidden in Carver’s eyes. The heaviness that lurked just behind his playful mask. She ached to know what had happened to him—to all of them.
“My study is just through there,” said the duke. “Will you come in and talk with me a moment?” A sudden nervousness built inside Rose. Why would the duke wish to speak with her alone? Did he suspect something? Did he not approve of her? Had Miss Gardener said something to him?
She smiled and tried to keep the worry from reaching her eyes. “It would be my honor.”
Trying to swallow her nerves, she stepped inside the duke’s study. A wave of masculine smells filled her senses: tobacco, firewood, leather, and smoke. It was an oddly soothing blend. The sun had finally begun to peek from behind the clouds and was streaming through the windows, revealing a few stray particles of dust floating in the air. The warmth of the room hugged her as she stepped further inside.
The duke gestured toward a navy leather wingback chair situated beside the crackling fire. Rose sat down and he took a seat in the matching chair adjacent to hers. When the duke did not immediately speak, Rose searched the room for anything that could spark a conversation. Guilty people usually kept their mouths shut and avoided eye contact. She held a confident posture, smiled and looked the Duke in the eyes. “There is an impressive amount of game mounted on these walls. I gather you enjoy hunting?” More like a frightening amount. Rose wasn’t usually easily intimidated, but she was finding herself hard-pressed not to squirm under the sight of the wolf baring its teeth above her head.
The duke smiled and crossed one of his long legs over the other. “Do you truly wish to discuss a topic that I imagine you would find intolerably dull, or should we put the civil whiskers away and get right to it?”
Rose swallowed and forced herself to hold his gaze. “With pleasure, Your Grace.” She admired his ability to cut through the pleasantries just as much as she was worried by it.
“Let me start by insisting that you call me Charles. Or Duke if you’d prefer it. But I think we can both agree that Your Grace is a touch too formal for our relationship, hmm?” It wasn’t too formal, given the fact that she wasn’t actually going to have any sort of relationship with him or his family in a handful of days. But it would look too suspicious to refuse him.
“Perhaps Duke until after the wedding day?” Rose asked.
“That will do.” He smiled again and Rose began to relax. Perhaps he hadn't suspected anything after all and only wanted to get to know her better. Get to know Daphney better, that is.
He rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking completely at ease. “I wanted to tell you how much I admired what you had to say over dinner last night.”
“Really? I was afraid it wasn’t the right time or place to share those opinions.”
He waved her off with a good-natured smile. “It’s my opinion that truth doesn’t require a specific time or setting to be spoken.”
She wrinkled her nose in an awkward honest smile. “I’m not so sure that the Gardeners would agree with your opinion on that. I’m certain I thoroughly offended them.”
He chuckled. “Oh, hang the Gardeners! I’ve wanted to be rid of their unwanted friendship for years but my wife is far too sweet to cut them out. I hope your statement finally accomplished the thing.” Oh, yes. Rose liked the duke. There wasn’t a hint of starch or pomp in his manners. He was authoritative and commanding, but not in a way that belittled anyone. In fact, he treated her with the same care and respect that he gave his daughters.
But she couldn't let herself hang onto that thought. She wasn’t his daughter. And she never would be.
“But I’ll tell you, Daphney, there was something that kept me up last night.” His look turned searching and all of Rose’s apprehension returned in a rush. “The circumstances you spoke of last night are not usually known to gently bred young ladies like yourself.” The fire crackled and popped, but those were the only noises in the room. Rose didn’t dare speak, not until she knew where he was going with that topic. “But you spoke with authority on the subject, almost as one who had been on the other side of the argument.” His gaze grew even more speculative. “One might be led to suppose that you were not actually a genteel lady after all, but rather a female who had lived such a life of poverty and theft herself.”
He knew. But how was that possible?
Rose held his gaze and carefully chose her words. Maybe she was changing, or growing, or just going soft, but for some reason, she really did not want to lie to the Duke. Neither could she tell him the whole truth. Not only would Carver be upset, but by admitting who she was, Rose would open herself to possible arrest. She couldn’t trust the duke with that, no matter how much she liked him.
Rose pursed her lips and then said in a calm voice, “One might be led to assume that, yes. But I dare say Carver would not appreciate it if they did.”
Rose and the duke stared at each other for an agonizing moment as she felt her palms grow damp with sweat. The duke’s face was unreadable. He did not look upset, but he also did not look happy. Rose was certain of one thing: the duke knew she was not who she claimed to be.
Finally he smiled and gave the most subtle of nods—similar to the one from the night before. In this voiceless exchange, the duke communicated his alliance. How could this be? Why?
He leaned forward in his seat and spoke quietly. “Daphney. My son has carried a deep pain that has kept him from returning home for several years. Nothing I could ever say or do would bring him back to us.” He leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers together in front of him. “But with you by his side, he came home. And even more than that, he’s seemed like our old Carver again, which is something we never thought possible. So my dear, because of those things, your past doesn’t matter to me. You have a friend in me and I hope you never forget that.”
Rose gritted her teeth, pushing down the tears she felt welling up in her eyes. Had she really made that much of a difference in Carver’s life? And if the duke knew the extent of the crimes she had committed, would he still say those things? She doubted it.