Page 35 of How to Capture a Duke

“But the duchess was his mother. She must have loved him, no matter how he spoke,” she argued.

“She was a cruel and selfish woman. She treated him with disdain, and when it became clear he could not be ‘cured,’ she turned cold and unloving.”

She tried to imagine Tristan as a boy. A scared youth who feared disappointing his mother every time he opened his mouth.

“The duchess hired tutors, but they were unable to help with his speech. He was put through rigorous drills, sometimes even cruelly struck, and when nothing helped, his own parent scorned him then shipped him off to Eton. He wasn’t treated any better there.”

She listened in dismay, and her heart went out to Tristan as a boy. No wonder he preferred to isolate himself in his study or avoid social events.

“Thank you for telling me, my lord,” she said.

“Please call me Spencer. We are family.”

She smiled at that. “Yes, we are.”

“I do believe you are what my cousin needs.”

Antonia had said the same thing to her before Olivia had departed Rosehill. “I’m not so certain I’m what the duke needs. As far as I can ascertain, he needs to refine his gentlemanly manners.”

Lord Jeffries threw back his head and laughed. “See? I do believe my cousin has met his match. When can I see you again?”

His laughter was contagious, and she found herself smiling. “You may visit soon. My husband will most likely be home next time.”

“I shall visit you both.” He leaned forward, a flash of mischief lighting his blue eyes. “Pray tell me, where do you go outside your home for an evening of pleasure? The theater? A certain ball during the season?”

She knew what he was asking. Where did she plan to spend her evenings without the Duke of Keswick? She contemplated Lord Jeffries’s forwardness. Did he know her marriage to his cousin was in name only? Was he interested in more than friendship? He was handsome enough to attract attention from many women. He didn’t need attention from his cousin’s new wife.

But Lord Jeffries, or Spencer as he wanted to be called, was so different from her husband. Friendly. Sociable. Easy to talk to, to confide in. She saw no harm in his friendship.

“Do you enjoy roulette, my lord?”

His brow furrowed. “Roulette? Of course. Why do you ask?”

“You inquired where I go for an evening outside my home. I was planning on attending the Raven Club to play games of chance. Have you heard of the club?”

“I don’t know of a gentleman who hasn’t. I’m surprised you know of the establishment.”

“As I said, my upbringing was a bit different. I’m also quite good at vingt-et-un. Are you shocked?”

The look he gave her was full of interest and humor. “Only in a good way. Please tell me when you will attend.”

“Tomorrow night. I shall wear a blue mask.”

She didn’t tell him her family owned the establishment. It was quite bold of her to tell him she planned to attend in the first place, but she had the feeling Lord Jeffries—Spencer—would not judge her.

Unlike her husband.

Chapter Twelve

“The duchess is in the drawing room with your cousin, Your Grace.”

Tristan had returned from a morning ride in the park with Atlas when his butler, Gordon, told him the news of his cousin’s visit.

He took off his hat and greatcoat and handed them to his butler. “How long has Spencer been here?”

“Close to a half hour now.”

Damnation.