Page 37 of A Duchess Untouched

“She called herself Mary Wills, my lord. She had brown hair and brown eyes. She was rather polite and may even be called pretty, but she was thin. The boy had the same coloring, and was also frail-looking, poor thing.”

Matthew took careful note of the names and descriptions.

“Mary Wills.” Matthew tested the name on his tongue. It was a plain name, but what did he expect? The woman was not of noble blood, yet she had nonetheless caught his brother’s eye.

The Duke had never met Robert’s Mary, but he could still remember how Robert’s voice would soften whenever he mentioned her name. At that time, Matthew was even resentful because as much as he moved from one woman to the next, he had never met anyone whom he could describe as Robert described Mary.

And Matthew had no doubt that Robert was sincere about his affections. His older brother had been just as skeptical about love as he was.

Mrs. Briggs finally grabbed her coin and gave a nod of thanks. Matthew turned on his heel and strode out of the inn, again not minding the pouring rain. Drenched, with his heart pounding, he entered the carriage and lodged himself there. Harrison was waiting for him, wide-eyed, with a pen and notes prepared to write any orders.

“We now have a name and a description,” Matthew declared. “Mary Wills, with brown hair and brown eyes. I know it is a too-common set of descriptions, but it is a start. She is heading for London, seeking employment, perhaps domestic work or anywhere she might be able to work with her child nearby.”

“Having a named target makes our task a little easier, Your Grace. The surname will certainly narrow down our search. We can only hope she will not use a fabricated name. I will search employment registries and inquire about recently hired domestic servants.”

“Yes,” Matthew agreed. “That is certainly why I want you to take a horse and return to London immediately. Start your search as soon as you arrive. You now have Mary Wills as the name and her boy.”

“At once, Your Grace,” Harrison said, nodding. He had just snapped his ledger shut after writing his notes. “Will you be returning with me?”

“Yes. I shall be at Wentley House tonight,” Matthew replied. “If we are lucky enough this time, our travels away from London will cease once and for all.”

Just as Matthew uttered those words, his mind returned to the memory of his wife. He had spent two days away from Selina, and they were not enough. Another four years would not erase the memory of her on his desk or the feel of her on his fingers.

And those two days away in the rain, searching for the woman and child who continued to evade him, were torturous. Matthew had to head home, where Mary and Robert’s child might actually be hiding amidst the city’s busy streets.

Yet, the thought of returning to London sent him into an unfamiliar fit of anxiety, as he would have to brace himself against seeing Selina again.

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the carriage’s window frame. He had lost control in the study, and he regretted it. Oh, he did. It felt like something he could never return from. He had made a promise to himself to keep his distance. But the moment he touched Selina, all his resolve was gone, and he was reduced to pure instinct. He had acted like a starving man, pressing her against a desk to take what he could.

What now?

The question haunted him. Did he open a door between the two of them that he could never shut again? Should he be afraid of the answer?

A heavy, wet nose nudged against his knee. Maximus almost always seemed to know when his master was in some sort of distress. Now, he looked up at Matthew with soulful eyes.

“At least one of us still has a clear head, boy,” he said softly, as he scratched under his constant companion’s ear. “Let us go home.”

Chapter 18

“Ihope you will stop avoiding me, Antoinette.”

Selina squeezed her eyes shut. The throbbing pain in her temples was no longer something she could deny. Her father simply could not be bothered to address her mother-in-law by her proper title. When she fluttered her eyes open, one of the Dowager Duchess’s eyebrows was still raised. Meanwhile, her father’s waistcoat was partly unbuttoned, and she itched to reach across the table to fix it.

The Dowager took a long, deep breath as she perused her bowl of stewed plums, as if they would spare her from responding. Her shoulders were stiff, and a tic in her jaw suggested she was on her last bit of self-control.

“How dare you address me by my Christian name as if we are on friendly terms? Especially after that night.”

“The poem was only a compliment, Your Grace,” Harleigh added. Selina almost sighed in relief. The Dowager still was not too happy, though.

“A compliment,” she said, her voice as chilly as her whole demeanor, “does not involve poorly written poetry with rather vulgar content. It does not involve reciting it in front of my closest friends, some of whom are merely waiting for me to be humiliated. They have likely already taken great pleasure in recounting my humiliation throughout London!”

“I stand by every word I uttered,” Harleigh declared, puffing his chest. “The poem was written from the heart, and if your friends would treat you like that, they do not deserve to be called your friends, Antoinette.”

The Dowager gave him a withering look and said, “If you wish to remain under this roof, Mr. Quinten, you had better learn to keep your completely unwanted admiration and opinions to yourself.”

Selina found it difficult to eat breakfast with her father and her mother-in-law, and she realized that Oliver had made the right choice by taking his breakfast in his room for the past couple of days. Suddenly, the silver fork in her hand weighed several tons. She was irritated by her father’s self-satisfied grin contrasting with the Dowager’s rage-clenched jaw. She knew that things could get even worse if she did not step in that instant.

“Papa,” Selina said softly. “Perhaps you ought to give her some peace this morning. She has had a trying week.”