so much as a glance Adrian’s way as he left the room, the young lady hurried to his stepmother’s side.
“I must indeed look sick,” Adrian muttered as he made his way toward the stairs, keeping most of his weight off the elderly butler, using Jenkins only for balance.
“Look at what, Your Grace?” Jenkins asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. Your Grace” Jenkins corrected. “You said, ’Look at it.”
“I meant my father’s portrait. I think it needs to be cleaned.”
They paused and surveyed the portrait of the late fifth Duke of Barroughby—in his full regalia for the House of Lords—which was hung on the landing. Beside it was a smaller portrait of Adrian’s mother.
“Ah, those were good days,” Jenkins said with a sigh. “I was younger then.”
“So were we all,” the sixth Duke of Barroughby noted as he passed them by.
“Don’t look so glum, John,” Adrian chastised the surgeon, who was applying a fresh bandage to the wound in his leg. “I’ve had worse.”
“What caused it?” John Mapleton asked. The stout man puffed a little from the exertion of bending over Adrian’s elevated leg. “Not a sword.”
“Pistols at twenty paces.”
“Ah!”
“It bled terribly, but no lasting damage, the London surgeon said.”
“Lucky for you.” Mapleton straightened with a grunt. “Lucky again. One of these days you’re not going to be lucky. You’re going to be dead.”
“I didn’t have very much to fear from my opponent. I was far more concerned that his shot not hit my second or some innocent bystander.”
“Huh.” Mapleton began repacking his black bag. “What was the cause? A woman?”
“Yes.” Adrian lifted his foot and placed it gingerly on the thick carpet. On the table beside the brocade chair was a basin full of bloodied water and a cloth the surgeon had used to clean the reopened wound, items that seemed distinctly out of place in the ornately decorated room with its expensive wallpaper, comfortable brocade chairs, delicate tables, large canopied bed, damask draperies on the tall, narrow windows and chinoiserie armoire.
Mapleton gave him a shrewd look. “Yours or Elliot’s?”
Adrian didn’t answer.
Mapleton frowned and went back to his task. “Elliot’s, then. I should have known. The young fool ran off to hide in Europe and you took the blame. Again.”
“All has been taken care of, so I would prefer to let the matter drop.” Adrian winced as he stood and tried to put some weight on his leg.
“I would rest some more, Your Grace, if I were you. Tell me, did it never occur to you to take a coach here?”
“Drake needed the exercise, and after London, I wanted the air.”
The deep, measured tones of Dr. Woadly were heard as he passed Adrian’s door. “I fear my presence has sickened my stepmother,” he noted sardonically.
“You could send her to the Dower House.”
Adrian slowly resumed his seat. “And have her tell everyone I turned her out?”
“She has no right to Barroughby Hall,” Mapleton said. “Your father left everything to you.”
“So he did.” Adrian reached into his vest for a cheroot. “I suppose, given my reputation, one more blemish shouldn’t matter.” He struck a match. “Don’t imagine I haven’t given it some thought. Still, my father wanted her to remain here. Along with Jenkins.”
“Your father has been dead these ten years.”
Adrian raised one dark eyebrow, well aware that Mapleton would never see eye-to-eye with him on certain things. “I was not aware there was a time limit on promises made to a dying parent.”
“There should be!” Mapleton said forcefully.
“This is such an unpleasant topic, John,” Adrian said as the smoke from his cheroot curled toward the high ceiling. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”
Mapleton thought a moment, then nodded his head. “If you let me get it.”
“Only too happy not to have to stir a hair,” Adrian replied lightly.
Mapleton went to another small table that held a decanter and some crystal glasses. He poured two drinks and handed one to Adrian before sitting beside him. “I really think you should consider retiring Jenkins. Give him a cottage and a pension. He’s getting too old for his duties, and his hearing…” Mapleton left off suggestively.
“I know. He’s worse every time I come. I’ve made certain he has only the basics to attend to, for the one time I said something about his age, I thought he was going to cry.” Adrian drew on his cheroot and let the smoke out gradually. “You can’t imagine a more worrisome sight than old Jenkins with a tear in his eye.”
“Must you joke about everything, my lord?”
Adrian gazed at the surgeon with a thoughtful expression. “It helps,” he said truthfully.
“I’m surprised the duchess hasn’t insisted he go,” Mapleton said after a short silence. “She doesn’t strike me as having the patience to put up with his mistakes.”
“Ah, now there I can offer an explanation,” Adrian replied, happy to be diverted from a serious subject like promises made on his father’s deathbed. “Jenkins was in his middle years when the duchess married my father. Now, if Jenkins is getting too old to do his job, well, how old is the duchess, then?”
Mapleton frowned. “You mean, if she admits that Jenkins has to stop working, she’s admitting she’s getting old herself.”
“Exactly!”
“And I suppose I could extrapolate that she also feels by having a young woman who is not noticeably attractive for a companion, she maintains her position as the most beautiful woman in the household.”
“One could say that,” Adrian agreed, for such an explanation might also illustrate why the duchess didn’t get angry over Lady Hester’s slight defiance. “How long has Lady Hester been here?”
“About four months.”
“Helpful, I take it?”
“I believe Dr. Woadly would say so.”
“Ah. Fewer summonses from Barroughby Hall?”
“So I understand.”
“We’ve made a very good guess as to why she might suit my stepmother, but why do you think Lady Hester would stay here?”
