both know you will never get on in a dull, arranged marriage—which is why you have avoided matrimony for almost fifteen years.”
Stephen was oddly annoyed, and they were once again at a stand-off. “I’ll see you at the Stag later. I pray we can discuss your affairs, not mine.”
“Coward.”
Only Alexi de Warenne could get away with such an insolent statement. Stephen decided to ignore him and strode off into the crowd. He had better things to do—and an acquaintance to pursue.
SARA HAD BEEN THRONGED with guests and admirers since she’d arrived. Stephen smiled, studying his half sister from a slight distance. She had never seemed so happy, and he was at once glad and proud. She was a very pretty girl, taking after her mother in both appearance and temperament; she was kind, shy and gentle. While he’d known her since she was an infant—she had been born shortly before he’d inherited the duchy—he hadn’t spent as much time with her or Marion as he would have liked, due to the constraints of the situation. While most of the sprawling de Warenne family knew the truth about him, his half sisters had been told the exact nature of their relationship only two years ago. After all, children did not keep secrets well. Until that time, they had thought him a dear family friend.
He was aware that she was shy with him, as if he were an older relative who did not visit all that often. He also knew she was in some awe of him, and he wished somewhat wistfully that he could have been a brother to her openly, but that was simply impossible.
She was shining tonight, as she should be on her sixteenth birthday. As he watched several young men flirting with her, he felt a stirring of pride and protectiveness. He would always be her protector, even if from a distance.
He quietly awaited his turn to greet her, but the men and women in front of him realized who was standing behind them and allowed him to cut to the head of the queue. She was blushing profusely as Lord Montclair, who was far too old for her, congratulated her, and Stephen paused to smile at Lady Harrington.
“How are you, Your Grace?” Blanche Harrington asked, clasping both his hands warmly.
Blanche had been warm and kind to him from the moment of their first meeting, when he was nine years old. He liked her greatly in return, and understood that she had embraced him so genuinely because of her deep love for Sir Rex. “I am enjoying the evening, and apparently so is Sara.”
“The truth is,” Blanche said softly, “Sara was dreading this evening. You know how modest she is. She was afraid she would fail her guests. But she has been having a fabulous time.”
He glanced at Sara, wondering how more confidence might be instilled in her. Sara saw him, and she instantly stepped forward, blushing. “Your Grace,” she whispered.
Long ago, he had decided that having his half siblings address him formally was not awkward—just a necessity. He took her hands and said, “Congratulations, my dear. You are so lovely tonight, and I believe your ball is a great success.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She smiled shyly. “I’m so glad you could come tonight.”
“I would never miss your birthday. In fact, your present is on the gift table in the front hall, and I hope you will enjoy it.”
“I will treasure it,” she said seriously. “Because it is from you.”
He took her hand and kissed it. He had given her a diamond pendant necklace, and he hoped she would treasure it forever. But before he could straighten, he had a vision of Tom Mowbray standing behind her.
It was just for a moment, but the old man was mocking his sentiments, as if he thought him a fool.
Stephen tensed. Even though Tom was gone and what he’d seen had been a memory, not a ghost, he could hear him as clearly as if he still lived. Your duty is Clarewood—not a half sibling! And you dare to yearn for more?
But he wasn’t yearning for anything. He was merely fond of his sister—and that was as much his duty as anything else.
Sir Rex detached himself from a group of guests and turned to face him. Stephen knew he was fortunate that his natural father was a man of such honor, and they had developed a friendship over the years. “Will Sara shriek and swoon when she sees your gift? I hope it was within reason,” Sir Rex said, as they shook hands. “How are you, Stephen?”
Sir Rex refused to address him as Your Grace, and while it was odd, no one seemed to care, or perhaps society had simply become used to it. Stephen thought that he would hate being so formally addressed by the man who had not only sired him, but had had his best interests at heart for as long as he could remember. He had respected and even admired Sir Rex for years, before learning the truth about their relationship, while Sir Rex had always been more than usually kind and attentive to him. In retrospect, he understood why. “I am very well, and currently preoccupied with the Manchester housing project, amongst other things.” He was building housing for textile workers, housing with proper lighting, ventilation and sewage disposal. The factory owners were not pleased, but he did not care; they would come around when they realized that healthy workers were far more productive than ill ones.
“Are the plans finalized?” Sir Rex asked with interest. He had been a huge supporter of all of Stephen’s good works.
“No, they are not. But I was hoping to show them to you when they are done.”
Sir Rex smiled, pleased. “I have not a doubt the plans will be a triumph, and I can hardly wait to see them.”
Sir Rex was as different from Tom Mowbray as a man could be. He believed in praise and encouragement, not criticism and scorn. Stephen knew that he should be accustomed to such praise, but he was not. He was always vaguely surprised and a bit uncomfortable, and always warmed. “There might be several go-rounds,” he said. “There are some issues still to resolve.”
“You will resolve them—you always do. I am confident,” Sir Rex said, smiling.
“Thank you. I am hopeful your confidence will not be misplaced.” As he spoke, he saw Randolph, Sir Rex’s son—his own half brother—enter the ballroom. Randolph instantly saw them, and he grinned, starting toward them.
“I am glad you are mentoring Randolph,” Sir Rex said. “He has done nothing but speak of your good works since returning from Dublin.”
“Randolph is determined, and he is very intelligent. He discovered some discrepancies in the Clarewood Home’s Dublin accounts. I have had to replace the director there.”
“He told me. He is astonishingly adept with numbers. He does not get that from me.”
Randolph was not yet twenty, but he was tawny and handsome, resembling his father almost exactly, except for his golden coloring. He had tremendous confidence, present in his long, assured stride—and the many younger debutantes present were all ogling him as he passed by. He grinned as he paused beside them. “Hello, Father…Your Grace.”
“You are late,” Stephen said mildly. Randolph was flushed and very, very smug, and Stephen damned well knew what he’d been up to.
“You are not the only one who has rescued a damsel in distress tonight,” Randolph boasted.
“You will catch a dreadful disease,” Stephen warned, meaning it. “And one must never discuss indiscretion openly.”
