Page 15 of Distracting the Duke

“How was your journey?” Clara asked as Philip came into the house and sat down to remove his boots.

“I’m glad I rode over on Samson. The road would have been too soft for the carriage. I wonder how much longer we’ll be able to afford to keep so many horses.”

“Our fortunes will improve. I’m sure they will,” Clara said gently, removing her brother’s hat and stacking his boots in the rack. “Would you like some tea?”

“A jug of ale would go down better.”

“I’ll have some fetched for you,” said Ellie gaily, and headed off to the kitchen. Philip pulled on his indoor shoes and started to rise.

Clara held out the letter. “This has arrived for you.”

She held her breath as he picked up the missive and turned it over. He raised an eyebrow at the seal. “I wonder what Ulvercombe wants with us now?”

“Oh, I do hope it’s not another invitation,” said Ellie as she returned with a tankard and jug. “I’m quite at a loss as to what to say to him. He asks me so many questions and I don’t know what answer will please him.”

“Let’s see, shall we?” Breaking the wax, Philip perused the letter, sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly, frowning.

“What is it?”

Everyone moved a little closer.

“It appears,” he said, taking a thoughtful swig of his ale, “that the duke is keen to put right the wrongs of his grandfather. I wonder what we’ve done to deserve such magnanimity.”

Clara refrained from rolling her eyes. The man was truly blind.

“Maybe you should punch more members of the aristocracy,” she said, “when it seems to have such positive results. What is he to do for us?”

Her brother looked stunned. “He’s going to return the Pajou.”

A shiver of shock whipped up and down Clara’s spine, and for a moment the world became blurred and shaky. She fumbled for a chair and sat down.

“Really? Just like that?”

“What’s the Pajou?” asked Sarah, emerging from the kitchen.

“You remember. The family story about the duke’s grandfather winning a priceless statuette from mine by cheating at cards. The artist was Augustin Pajou.”

“Then your grandfather shouldn’t have used it for his stake,” said the ever-practical Sarah. “Clara, you’re looking quite peculiar. Did last night’s haslet not agree with you?”

Not Sarah, too. Why did everyone think there was something wrong with her? “I’m fine. And you’re right. It was foolish of Grandfather to play against a potential cardsharp. But he was short of coin at the time.”

“Couldn’t he just have sold the piece if he needed money?”

“It would have attracted too much attention to the family’s dire financial situation,” said Philip. “I’m sure he had no intention of losing when he gambled away the precious family heirloom.”

“Anyway, what does His Grace say?” asked Clara, helping herself to a fortifying sip of Philip’s ale.

He cleared his throat. “Ulvercombe says he’ll be auctioning off a few items and donating the money to a widows and orphans fund. The Pajou will be one of the lots. We must make sure to win it, whatever the price, so we are publicly seen to have purchased it. When the sale’s over, he’ll give the auctioneer his fee, and waive our payment. The Pajou will be ours again, and with very little trouble.”

“What a kind gesture!” said Sarah enthusiastically.

It did sound kind, though Clara was quite sure there was an ulterior motive. “A clever scheme,” she said, “for it puts right a wrong but avoids admitting his grandfather’s guilt. The Albermarle family name remains untarnished.”

Philip folded the paper and regarded her. “I wonder what can have brought about this change of heart? At the Kessington ball he was so determined to hang on to the statuette, he was prepared to wrestle you for it.”

“Indeed,” said Ellie, giving Clara a surprisingly penetrating look. “What did you say to persuade him while you were stuck with him in that camera obscura contraption?”

Clara gasped at the implication. “Nothing!” she replied, perhaps a little too swiftly. “This is surely an attempt to please you, Ellie.”