The Other Duke by Jess Michaels

to escape a marriage to Cyril.
    “I would like to be your friend,” she admitted softly. “I think, from what little I know you, you would be a good one to have.”
    He shrugged. “I would try.”
    “But, as your friend, I must ask you—are you not concerned in any way with performing your duties as duke?”
    He seemed genuinely confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
    She shook her head. “Men are trained at their father’s knee for decades to take on a role that you have been thrust into almost overnight. You will have Parliament to sit on, estates to manage properly, expectations about support for your tenants and others under your care. People will come to you with questions and assume you have the answers.”
    His brow furrowed, and for a moment she saw a flash of anxiety in his eyes. Then he shoveled another bite of food into his mouth and grunted, “I’ll learn.”
    She didn’t have a chance to respond before Lathem entered the room with a quiet clearing of his throat. Rafe nodded. “Yes, Lathem, what is it?”
    The butler held out a tray with several envelopes stacked high. “These have come for you.”
    Rafe stared. “What are they?”
    “Invitations, of course,” Serafina said with a shake of her head. “Surely even a Society-avoiding scoundrel must recognize them.”
    He laughed. “A Society-avoiding scoundrel. I think I shall have that engraved on my headstone. But yes, minx, I have received an invitation or two in my time. Just not…what are there, Lathem? Five?”
    The butler didn’t even look down. “Eight, Your Grace.”
    He winced. “Eight at once. Great God. Well, respond en masse with a resounding no, Lathem.”
    Serafina’s eyes went wide at his immediate and very firm dismissal of the very duty they had just been discussing. “You cannot mean that.”
    “But I do. I don’t want to go to some stuffy party where I’ll be Your Graced until my head aches. Lathem is Your Gracing me enough.”
    She tossed the butler a look. “Will you bring me the invitations, Lathem?”
    “Of course, Your Grace.” The butler stepped inside and set the tray beside her, out of Rafe’s reach. “Is there anything else, my lady?”
    Rafe glanced toward the sideboard with a forlorn expression. “Has your wife made any of her famous hash this morning?”
    Lathem hesitated, and for a moment he went pale. “Well—”
    Rafe must have sensed the same trouble that Serafina did, for he leaned closer. “What is it?”
    “I would have mentioned it to you later, sir, but you see…there was an incident in the kitchen just before we brought the breakfast items out for serving.”
    “An incident?” Serafina asked, watching the butler wring his hands.
    “A—a fire,” Lathem clarified.
    Rafe jumped to his feet. “A fire!”
    “Yes.” Lathem took a step closer. “It was small, but it started in a kitchen storage area that is rarely used and we were very fortunate that a footman, Feddington, noticed it before it got out of hand.”
    Serafina raised a hand to her chest to cover her pounding heart. “Lucky indeed.”
    “Was anyone injured?” Rafe asked.
    Serafina looked at him with a smile. Of course he would be concerned for those in his employ. He was truly nothing like his cousin.
    “Thankfully, no,” the butler said. “And the breezes through the kitchen windows seemed to draw most of the smoke outside, which is why the smell didn’t reach the rest of the house. But obviously this interrupted the preparations. Mrs. Lathem said to tell you that the hash will be on the menu tomorrow.”
    Rafe waved a hand to dismiss that statement. “Great God, tell her that is the least of my worries. And please let her know that I will come down later today to assess the damage and clear funds for any clean-up or repair.”
    Lathem nodded. “Very good. Is there anything else I can do for either of you?”
    “No,” Rafe said with a reassuring smile.
    After the servant had gone, Serafina shuddered.