were uncomfortable or not.
Then Lady Hester addressed Canon Smeech. “I understand the harvest was particularly good this year.”
“Ah, indeed, um, yes. Very fine, very fine.”
The canon rambled on for some time about the crops and livestock of the village of Barroughby, needing no further prompting to indulge in the sound of his own deep, sonorous tones, and Adrian realized something had gone amiss. It was not for this mousy young woman to direct the conversation, nor was it fitting for her to look slyly at McKenna, as if sharing some kind of secret with him.
Not when the Duke of Barroughby was present.
“I suppose you’ve already collected the tithes?” Adrian demanded, not particularly caring if he sounded rude or not.
The Reverend Canon Smeech cleared his plump and pompous throat. “Yes, my lord.”
“I did not think you would neglect that,” Adrian noted dryly.
Lady Hester frowned slightly, a peevish little downturn of her full lips. So, she did not approve of his remarks. He didn’t care. She had probably heard worse things about him than his lack of respect for a bombastic hypocrite like Smeech.
The duchess’s companion rose gracefully and faced the duchess. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I promised Reverend McKenna that I would show him the garden the next time he visited on a sunny day. This one would seem to be perfect.
Hamish McKenna got to his feet awkwardly and flushed deep red. “Indeed, yes, I would be delighted,” he said.
I’ll wager you would, Adrian thought. “Apparently Lady Hester prefers not to be in my presence—today”.
There! A flash of fire in her large blue eyes, just enough to tell him that she understood his reference, and that he had not imagined her in his room last night.
“Is it any wonder, when you are so abominably rude?” the duchess demanded.
“You wound me, Your Grace,” Adrian said with a mockingly injured air as he put his hand over his heart, while at the same time resolving to be more courteous to Lady Hester. “I give them leave to go.” Indeed, he was tempted to join them, but the idea that he would have to hide his limp or endure pitying remarks kept him in his chair.
Jenkins appeared in the doorway and bowed as far as his rheumatic back would permit. “Sir Douglas Sackcloth-and-Ashes and his daughter have arrived, Your Grace,” he announced.
“He means Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper and his daughter, Damaris,” the duchess explained to the confused clergymen. “Poor Jenkins—his hearing is beginning to go.”
Adrian made no effort to hide a smirk. Beginning to go? Jenkins’s hearing had been going for fifteen years.
“Show them in,” the duchess said brusquely, and Adrian was glad that he hadn’t offered to walk in the garden, for this was surely going to be interesting.
He easily remembered Sir Douglas, a country squire with good manners, small intellect and vast ambition. As for Damaris, he had last seen her five years ago. She had been about twelve then, and a very pretty child, if rather dull.
Sir Douglas marched into the room, his bearing military and his fifty-year-old body remarkably well preserved. Obviously country life agreed with him, judging by his robust good health. “My dear duke!” he cried, taking Adrian’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I heard from Smythe at The George that you were come home.” He faced the duchess and the risen canon. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Canon Smeech.” He bowed to Lady Hester, who made a small curtsy, and he nodded dismissively at Reverend McKenna.
Then Damaris Sackville-Cooper, no longer a little girl, entered the room. Adrian realized at once that she was a rare beauty, with dark hair topped by a pert dark green chapeau and veil, which hid limpid gray eyes that were quickly and demurely lowered, her dusky lashes fanning her satiny cheeks. Her figure was perfect in a very fashionable riding habit of dark green velvet, and her posture graceful and elegant.
If Damaris were to appear in London with him, Adrian thought, she would cause a sensation. However, he was quite used to causing a sensation, and somehow, the vision didn’t excite him. He would just as soon appear with Lady Hester on his arm.
He smiled to himself. Now, that would cause a very different sensation. The Dark Duke in public with a homely woman—the gossips would have a high time.
He glanced at Hamish McKenna to see how the young man of the cloth reacted to the sight of such loveliness.
Reverend McKenna looked completely stunned.
And what of Lady Hester? Surely she would not welcome such a visitor.
Lady Hester smiled warmly at the young woman, apparently without envy. A rare woman indeed, to feel no jealousy in the presence of such pulchritude.
When Adrian rose to greet damris, he wondered why he felt absolutely nothing beyond mere curiosity as he regarded her. Could it be that he was getting old? Or had he simply seen too many beautiful women? He reached out to take her hand, and she drew back, shying like a terrified horse—not a completely unexpected reaction from a country lass, and not at all disturbing.
Her father cleared his throat, and damris held out her gloved hand, albeit as if she feared Adrian was going to bite it off.
“We were about to take a turn in the garden,” Lady Hester said softly. “Perhaps Miss Sackville-Cooper would care to accompany us?”
“Charmed,” the young lady replied, not looking in Adrian’s direction.
“Delightful idea!” Sir Douglas said. “Delightful! I’m sure the duke knows many interesting things about the flora!”
“I regret my current indisposition forces me to remain behind,” Adrian said. He had no great desire to stay here with his stepmother, yet he knew his leg couldn’t bear the walk around the garden. He would wait until they were gone, then decamp to his room. Boredom was infinitely better than enduring the duchess and Canon Smeech.
Damaris Sackville-Cooper brightened considerably at his words. The other two young people turned away before he could catch their expressions, even though he didn’t particularly care how they felt about his refusal.
“Nothing serious, I trust?” Sir Douglas inquired with grave concern.
“A mere flesh wound,” Adrian replied lightly. “I have been advised to rest.”
“Why don’t you go, too, Sir Douglas?” the duchess suggested in her own, unsubtle way. “And you, too, Canon. You can explain to Sir Douglas about that new plant, the one you suggested I put in near the rose garden. I shall await your return here, for you all must stay to tea.”
“Won’t you join us, Your Grace?” Canon Smeech asked.
“I fear my heart couldn’t take the strain of walking about in this unseasonable warmth.”
The garden party departed, Lady Hester in the lead, followed by Reverend McKenna and Miss Sackville-Cooper, then the slower canon and a reluctant Sir Douglas.
They soon moved out of sight and presumably out of hearing. Adrian was about to rise and leave the room when the duchess turned to him. “You know what that man’s trying to do, don’t you?”
“Which man?”
“Sir Douglas, of course.”
Adrian raised one eyebrow with sardonic speculation. “No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.” “Don’t give me that look, Adrian. What I’m about to say is for your own good.”
“Well, then, I must hear you out,” he replied, wondering what the duchess considered “his own good.”
The duchess frowned darkly. “He has designs on you.”
“Carnal?” Adrian inquired nonchalantly.
The