How to Catch a Duke by Grace Burrowes (buy e reader TXT) 📕

“This is half of them,” Abigail said. “I can’t promise I’ve recalled them word for word, but I’ve read them dozens of times. Much of the language is verbatim.”

Stephen accepted the copies of the letters and all they represented. “I promise they are safe with me. May I show them to my family?” He tucked them into an inside pocket, though he longed to read them. He would rather keep Abigail’s secrets to himself, but only a fool would muddle on without the aid of keen minds eager to help.

“Read them first, then decide. You look splendid.”

They held this exchange in the foyer of Quinn’s home, for the hour had come to accompany Abigail on a shopping expedition. The outing was for show—Stephen hated shopping and suspected Abigail wasn’t much for idling about in commercial venues either.

“I am supposed to look besotted.” He’d spent five minutes choosing a cravat pin and eventually settled on plain gold. “Somebody waits in the carriage whom I’d like you to meet.”

Her gaze grew wary. “Not another one of your sneak thieves in dandy’s clothing?”

“Neddy is not a sneak thief. He’s a loyal and highly skilled family retainer, and I was so jealous of Quinn’s affection for him I nearly shot young Ned in the leg. Quinn hugged him, just the once, when Ned was a boy, and I happened to see it. I should not have been spying—Ned would die of mortification if he knew I’d caught that moment—but I was overcome with jealousy.”

Stephen was also babbling, prattling like the nervous suitor he almost was.

Abigail took down a cloak from a hook. “My father always had fine words for the ladies who came into his shop. They wore lovely bonnets, had fetching reticules, or were in quite good looks, while I—striving endlessly to learn his trade without even the respect an apprentice is owed—was invisible.”

Stephen took the cloak from her and managed to drape it over her shoulders without setting aside his cane.

“Which do you suppose does more damage,” he asked, “a violent parent or a parent who treats a child like an invisible servant?”

He fastened the frogs of her cloak, and—glorious moment—she allowed him to perform that courtesy.

“I feel conspicuous in colors,” she said, frowning at her reflection in the mirror over the sideboard. “But Her Grace has an eye for fabric, and velvet is durable. Who is this friend I’m supposed to meet?”

Her cloak was brown, for pity’s sake, the plainest color Stephen could think of that flattered her coloring, and the richest velvet he could purchase on short notice. The garment had a mere dash of red and purple embroidery on the collar.

“I have brought a gentleman to make your acquaintance,” Stephen said. “He comes from good family, and his betters have put the manners on him. He will also safeguard your person at times when I cannot.”

Abigail pulled on her gloves. “You insult your brother’s footmen. I don’t so much as sit in the garden without two of them keeping me in sight at all times.”

Stephen would thank Quinn for following orders, or thank Jane. “Footmen cannot sit adoringly at your feet while you read salacious novels by the hour.”

Abigail glanced around, then pressed a kiss to Stephen’s cheek. “You are so naughty. I adore that about you.” She took a straw hat from the sideboard but didn’t put it on.

“One tries.” Stephen opened the door and Abigail sailed through ahead of him. She took his arm when he joined her at the top of the portico’s steps and let him escort her to the coach waiting under the porte cochere.

“I miss you,” she said, staring at the coach door as she donned her straw hat. “I watch Their Graces, always touching each other. I see Duncan sitting with an arm around Matilda’s shoulders. Your family is affectionate and I…”

They hadn’t always been affectionate. Far from it. “And you?”

“I have regrets,” Abigail said. “Introduce me to your friend, and let’s be on our way.”

Stephen sent up a prayer, opened the coach door, and stepped back. “Hercules, come.”

The beast descended with all the dignity of a duke, his plumed tail waving gently. He sniffed at Stephen’s hand, then at Abigail’s, then sat as if he awaited the formal introductions that must follow with any new acquaintance.

“This is your friend?” Abigail said. “This splendid fellow is your friend?”

Hercules panted gently at her side, his enormous head coming to her hip.

“He’s a Danish-bred mastiff, sold to me by an earl’s son who has a way with canines. Hercules can impersonate a lapdog or an imperial guard, depending on your commands.”

Abigail scratched Hercules behind the ears, and Hercules sent her an adoring look. “He’s not a lapdog. Gentlemen usually give ladies fussy little lapdogs.”

Well, blast and bedamned, Stephen had got it wrong, then. “One doesn’t want to be predictable, Abigail, and one does want you to be safe. A lapdog can bark, true enough, but Hercules can take down an intruder. The command is ‘Take down,’ followed by ‘Hold.’ His leash manners are impeccable, and he has all that sit, stay, shake, and roll over nonsense well in hand—or in paw?”

Hercules flicked him an annoyed glance. Reciting commands when twelve stone of noble hound was busy at his flirtations was apparently not the done thing.

Abigail took off her glove, the better to bury her fingers in newly washed fur. Stephen’s footmen had threatened to give notice over that job.

“He’s really quite splendid,” she said. “I love his name. It suits him.”

“You don’t mind that he’s a little big for a lapdog?”

Abigail left off petting her puppy. “I love him. I love that you thought of my safety, that you have found a companion for me whose quiet good nature is apparent even on a few minutes’ acquaintance. Thank you.”

She kissed Stephen’s cheek, and if he’d been able to dance a jig, he would have. “You like him, then?”

“I adore him. Nobody gives me gifts, nobody worries about me. I must consider a reciprocal display