It was prettily said, with not a hint of censure in it. Yet the undercurrent of steel beneath the words, the emphasis on her status, did not go unnoticed by him. Or his mother, if the considering look she gave Clara was any indication.
The duchess inclined her head in a regal tilt.
And that was all. No apology, no remorse for the great slight to Clara. But Clara’s brief feather-light touch to his back had reminded him to rein in his raging temper. He perhaps should have been concerned by the strength of his reaction to a mere touch from her. In that moment, however, he could only be grateful. If there was anything he needed just then, it was to remain in tight control of his emotions. His mother had ever looked for weaknesses in others, and exploited them wherever she could.
“Yargood,” Clara said into the silence, “if you would be so kind as to add two extra cups for Her Grace and her guest to the tray being prepared?”
As the butler turned to go, Clara’s words brought Quincy’s notice to the slight woman half hidden behind the duchess. She was a colorless little thing, her blue eyes wide in her pale face. Her blond hair, so light as to be nearly white, was pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Even her gown was without color, the pale gray dress only enhancing the waxen look of her.
A choked sound escaped her thin lips when his eyes fell on her. She dipped into a deep curtsy and held it so long, he nearly rushed forward to assist her back upright.
The duchess considered him with sharp eyes as the girl straightened. “May I present Lady Mary Durant.”
No other explanation as to who the girl was, or why she had accompanied the duchess to so private a meeting. No doubt, from the way his mother gazed at him like the proverbial cat that licked the cream, she wanted nothing more than to see him squirm in curiosity.
But though the name Durant snagged at something just out of reach in his memories, he would not give his mother the pleasure. He schooled his features into his typical rakish devilry and dipped into a bow. “Lady Mary, how absolutely enchanting to make your acquaintance. May I present Lady Clara Ashford?”
As Clara greeted her, deftly guiding the two women to a circle of comfortable seats, he cast a sideways glance at his mother. The smug smile had not left her face, instead only increasing into a kind of cold satisfaction.
Trepidation wormed under his skin, a chill shiver that had his hair standing on end. What the devil was the woman up to?
Though there were plenty of seats to choose from, he found himself gravitating toward Clara, sinking down beside her on the settee. His mother could be cruel and had already insulted Clara beyond bearing. He would protect her as well as he could.
Yet he knew, deep down, it was Clara doing the saving. He needed her calming presence, as the effect of her touch on his back had proven. This meeting was unsettling him much more than he would ever admit.
“Lady Mary,” Clara said with a small smile for the girl, “have you been in London long?”
The sudden infusion of color to the girl’s cheeks did nothing to help her complexion, leaving mottled splotches across her face and down her neck. “I have arrived just this morning,” she choked out.
“Goodness, how tired you must be! I hope you did not have a long journey.” When the girl only gave a jerky shake of her head, Clara continued. “And what brings you to the capital?”
Lady Mary’s eyes swiveled to the duchess for a moment, wild with uncertainty, before skidding off in his general direction. The unease that had begun to creep up on him intensified.
“To meet with His Grace,” she replied, her voice barely discernible for the trembling in it.
“You have come to meet with the duke?” Clara looked to him, a question in her eyes, before turning back to Lady Mary with a kind smile that should have put the girl at ease.
Yet her agitation seemed only to grow. With another choked sound, she looked in desperation to the duchess.
That woman did not so much as acknowledge Lady Mary, instead keeping her focus on Quincy and Quincy alone. “Mayhap,” she said in silky tones, “Lady Clara might give us a moment to discuss family matters.”
Over my dead body.If there was anyone sane in this scenario, it was Clara. He needed her there. A fact that he would not look too closely at until this infernal meeting was behind him.
Clara inclined her head and made to rise. Of course she would, he thought in a panic. She was far too accommodating. Which was something he was apparently only too happy to exploit. Before he quite knew what he was doing his hand shot out, catching at Clara’s. She let out a soft gasp and tensed. In the next moment, however, her fingers curled around his, a bold attempt at comfort.
“I assure you,” he drawled, “Lady Clara is more family to me than my own ever was. Whatever you have to say to me can be said in her presence.”
Clara sank once again beside him, her fingers tightening about his own. He ignored the warmth that spread in his chest at the show of solidarity, needing his wits about him. “And besides,” he continued, “I hardly think it can be at all sensitive, if Lady Mary’s presence is any indication. No offense to you, my lady,” he said to the girl. She was an innocent in this, after all.
The duchess’s soft laugh turned his blood to ice. “I was certain, Reigate, that you would understand Lady Mary’s presence here and what it meant. You have been quite busy, from what I hear, poring over the documents from our solicitor. Surely you’ve come across Lady Mary’s name in one or two of those papers.”
Her taunting words finally jarred loose the elusive bit of information. Of course, Lady Mary Durant. Orphaned daughter of the Marquess of Eccleston, heiress to a vast dowry, including a lucrative property next to the Reigate country home in Lancashire.
And briefly engaged to his brother Sylvester before his untimely—and idiotic—passing.
He looked at the girl with new eyes. Sylvester had been dead a mere six months. His mother’s stark black wardrobe reflected that. Lady Mary wore the gray of half-mourning. Had she loved Sylvester?
He inclined his head. “Of course. Forgive me, my lady. My condolences on your loss.”