“How fascinating.” Perhaps he was here for his flock and not her?
He raised his black brows. “You have an interest in sheep?”
Dismayed to be caught flatfooted, she nodded. “Of course. Where would we be without them?”
She was sure she caught a glimmer of amusement in the duke’s eyes.
At her father’s frown, Nellie hurried on, “As this is sheep country, you’ve certainly come to the right place. There’s a county show held in May.” The particular reason which brought him here hovered unsaid between them.
“I will be sure to add it to my diary for next year,” he said politely.
Suspecting he was merely patronizing her, a prickle of heat rushed up her neck.
“I hope you will join us tomorrow, Your Grace,” her father said. “After breakfast, my guests and I plan to bag a few birds for Saturday’s dinner.”
“I should be delighted.”
Nellie was relieved to avoid further scrutiny. Her father and the duke were now discussing guns and the killing of innocent wildlife. Something she’d always hated. The sound of guns booming through the woods made her cringe.
“Now, Nellie, I know you don’t approve.” Papa cast her an affectionate smile. “My daughter doesn’t care for hunting, Your Grace. But what member of the gentler sex does.”
The duke didn’t comment, but she was sure he could name many women who did. She knew one or two herself.
Hinckley appeared at her father’s elbow. “Her ladyship is arranging tea and a game of loo for the ladies in the parlor. Cards for the gentlemen are in the library, milord.”
“Ah, yes, Hinckley. Perhaps you’ll join us, Your Grace? After you’ve removed the travel dust from your journey.”
“I will. Thank you,” His Grace murmured. His gaze rested on her overlong. It made her take a steadying breath.
Nellie snatched her chance. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I promised to help my mother.”
“But of course.” Shewsbury bowed.
“You can show His Grace over the estate after luncheon,” her father said before she could beat a cowardly retreat. “As he has told me he wishes to see more of it.” He frowned at her over his shoulder as he turned to order a footman to escort the duke to his suite.
Nellie escaped into the passage. A quick glance told her Shewsbury had turned to watch her as he followed the footman from the room. Was he thinking she wouldn’t suit? And what did she make of him? He’d given away nothing of himself. Apart from that slight look of amusement, which might have meant he mocked her, he had been quite formal and rather serious. She was sure they would bore each other to death.
“Well, how was it?” Marian asked, waylaying her on the landing. “I shall be seated next to him at the table. Conversation at dinner is always helpful when assessing a man’s character.”
“A lot of good it will do me, but please do. Papa wishes me to show the duke around this afternoon. I imagine we’ll ride to the pastures to view the sheep.”
Marian giggled. “I can think of better things to do in a pasture.”
Nellie frowned at her. “He is sure to make his excuses and leave. He won’t even stay to dine, let alone spend another two days here.”
“There you go again.” Marian tutted. “I’ll wager my coral-beaded reticule, which you admire so much, against the shawl with the silk fringe you bought in Piccadilly last year, that he will not only be here at dinner, but he will stay until Monday.”
“It’s a bet,” Nellie said, not entirely sure whether she wanted him to stay or not.
“You’re lucky he’s good looking. He might have resembled the Duke of Culchester with a paunch and three chins,” Marian said before she hurried back to her recalcitrant son.
“Well, looks aren’t everything,” Nellie called after her. She must read up on Herdwicks before she and the duke rode this afternoon. It would be something to talk about, but even if she studied the subject, she feared her contribution would dry up in a matter of minutes.
She hurried to her bedchamber to tidy her hair. Dear heaven. Was he a rake and a bad-tempered bully, as those newspaper items Marian found had suggested? If she disliked him, it might be wiser to discourage him. But if she did, would Papa ever speak to her again?
*
Even during the journey to Cumbria in the ducal coach, Charles had been in two minds as to what to do concerning Dountry’s daughter. His brother, Jason, had told him the little he knew about Lady Cornelia. The lady was a bluestocking by all accounts, favoring the company of poets, and had been often seen in the company of Walsh, an Irishman. That alone gave him pause. Charles had made inquiries. The fellow was now in Ireland. So nothing had come of their relationship.
His marriage to Lady Cornelia had been arranged by his father and Dountry. The joining of the two families having been decreed long before any progeny had been born. The lineage was all Charles heard in his father’s last two years on this earth. After his elder brother, Michael, died, it had taken on even greater importance. Charles struggled to adopt the same heartfelt belief. For when men died young or lived a mere threescore years and ten, what did it really matter in the scheme of things?
Charles had been heartsick at his brother’s death, followed so quickly by that of his beloved father. For the years prior, Charles had envisaged himself never marrying, engaging a succession of attractive mistresses, and involving himself in his estates and the House of Lords. And it was not until his younger brother, Jason, fell in love and married that Charles had begun to hope he, too, might find a degree of contentment within marriage. Not love, for he would never risk his heart again.
Charles’s mood lifted when he’d met the gaze of the tall blonde woman in violet-gray across the Dountry’s
