Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) by Lucinda Brant Page B

Duke had never needed assistance before and he wasn’t about to start needing it now, despite his physician’s insistence that the use of a cane would make walking less of an effort and thus help regulate his breathing, and this in turn would ease the congestion in his lungs. It made perfect sense, but to a nobleman who had all his adult life, up until a month ago, woken with the sun, was astride a horse every morning and kept late hours, the trappings of the sick and dying were to be resisted until the last breath left his body. His secretary knew this, but fresh from graduating from Oxford, he was eager to please. He was also in awe of his noble employer and, the Duke had to smile to himself, a little in love with the Duchess: but who wasn’t in love with his beautiful wife? If he was truthful with himself, it was her vitality, youth and eternal optimism that gave him the iron will to live for many more years to come.
    The secretary dismissed, the Duke lingered a little longer by his wide mahogany desk, a glance down the length of the library to where his son and heir was patiently waiting to speak with him. The boy had been waiting for nearly an hour, and the Duke had kept him waiting until he had decided how best to approach the subject uppermost in his mind. Yet, Julian did not seem to mind the wait. In fact, he had taken a bundle of day-old newssheets to the far end of the library and was casually reading through them, stretched out on a sofa, a hand behind the tapestry cushions under his head.
    The Duke walked slowly to the far end of the long room and warmed his white hands at the second fireplace. When he turned about it was to find Julian on his feet, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his silk embroidered frock coat and awaiting his pleasure.
    A tug of the tapestry bellpull and the butler came soft-footed to his master’s side. A word spoken and the servant retreated to return with a footman carrying a tray laden with breakfast items, and with a silver coffee urn that the butler placed on its pedestal on the low table between the two sofas. Neither nobleman had said a word to the other and kept their own counsel while the butler was in the room. When they were finally alone, the Duke returned to the fireplace, and his son poured out the coffee into two porcelain mugs, which he then set on the table. A wave from his father and he helped himself to the hot rolls, slices of ham and wedge of pie.
    “Your mother said you would not stop to eat your breakfast at the Bull and Feather,” the Duke remarked, taking up his mug and setting it on the mantle. “That establishment’s fare must be lamentably lacking or you—er—have a higher regard for my opinion than I at first supposed?”
    Julian cocked an eye at his father but said nothing, finishing off a second roll before pushing aside the plate. He drank down his coffee and poured a second dish. “The fare at the Bull and Feather is rather good, sir; the venison pie, excellent.”
    The Duke smiled thinly and took out his snuffbox. “I am glad to hear it. I must increase my head of deer so that you can continue to enjoy such excellent venison pie. I trust I did not tear you away from—er—unfinished business?”
    “Your letter stated that I present myself at my earliest convenience and so I have; convenient or otherwise. I’m glad I find you well, sir.”
    “You can dispense with the niceties, Alston,” the Duke replied bluntly. “I am no better and no worse than when I last saw you in Paris. I see that your appetite has returned, therefore I take it that you are fully recovered from your—er—mishap?”
    “Yes, sir. I only wish that you had not been inconvenienced—”
    “You should have thought of that before you crossed swords!” the Duke enunciated coldly and turned to the fire, angry for letting emotion get the better of him, and the interview just begun. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “Those fools were beneath your