His fingers were reaching for the cord to summon a servant when the door opened at last. A woman stepped into the room—a very attractive woman, with toffee-brown hair and soft green eyes. His hand dropped back to his side in surprise.
“Lord Winterton,” she said, dipping a curtsey until her dark blue skirts pooled around her. She raised her head and looked him in the eye with a warm smile on her lovely face, and Wes would have sworn the floor rose and fell under his feet like a ship on the sea in a squall. “I apologize that you’ve been left waiting.”
His eyes fixed on her, Wes bowed. “Were we? I hardly noticed.” Justin made a quiet noise behind him, and he started. He’d forgotten his nephew was in the room. “My nephew, Viscount Newton,” he said, motioning toward the young man.
She made another graceful curtsey. It made her bosom plump up beautifully. “Welcome to Kingstag, Lord Newton.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Justin’s voice sounded deeper and more interested, which perversely annoyed Wes. This woman was too old for his nephew. Not that she was old by any stretch. In fact she looked to be just about perfect. But when he shot a glance of veiled rebuke at Justin, the boy was gazing attentively at the newcomer.
She came forward, her skirts swaying attractively. “I am Mrs. Cavendish, private secretary to the Duchess of Wessex. I’m afraid I bring unfortunate news. His Grace is not in residence now.”
It took a moment for the words to penetrate Wes’s brain. His attention had snagged on the way her lips shaped the words. “We had an appointment,” he said.
She bowed her head. “I apologize, my lord. His Grace was called away rather abruptly. I believed Mr. Martin to have written to anyone expected, requesting a postponement.”
“There’s a snowstorm,” protested Justin. “The roads are a nightmare.”
Her face blanked for a split second, then turned pink. It was entrancing, and completely distracted Wes from the urge to correct Justin’s rude statement. “Oh no,” she said, her lips curving into a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean you must leave, certainly not in this weather. You are very welcome to stay. I regret that I cannot tell you when the duke may return, though.”
If someone had told him an hour ago that the duke would be away and his trip would be for naught, Wes would have snarled in frustration. Now, he stared at Mrs. Cavendish’s smile and forgot all about atlases and the long carriage ride and the snow. “That is very kind. I hope Wessex wasn’t called away on a tragic matter.”
Her expression flickered for a moment. “Nothing of the sort. Her Grace the dowager duchess bade me welcome you, and convey her regret that she’s unwell and unable to receive you herself.”
Wes bowed his head and murmured a wish for the duchess’s health. Both the duke and the duchess were away on urgent business—there could be no other kind that required them to leave in such weather—and the dowager duchess was confined to her bed. There must have been quite a search to find someone to tell him the bad news.
As it happened, he was not sorry Mrs. Cavendish had been the one chosen.
“Withers is having rooms prepared for you,” Mrs. Cavendish went on. “May I send for some refreshment? You must be chilled and tired after your journey. The family dines in an hour, if you would care to join them.”
“Thank you.” Wes shook himself out of his daze. He was dumbstruck by a secretary; what a fine example to set for his nephew. Hypocritical, too, after warning Justin away from the miller’s pretty daughter.
The door opened behind her before she could reply. A young woman, about Justin’s age, slipped in. “Viola, may we—?” She stopped short at the sight of the two men, her mouth hanging open. “Are you a friend of Frye?” she asked Justin suspiciously.
Justin blinked. “Who?”
“The Duke of Frye,” said the young woman with a trace of disgust, earning her a dismayed glance from Mrs. Cavendish. “The scoundrel.”
A deep blush suffused his face. “N-No.” He sucked in a quick breath and added, somewhat boastfully, “I am Lord Newton.”
She brightened. “Oh! Are you joining the house party? You didn’t tell me anyone else was coming, Viola.”
Mrs. Cavendish put up one hand. “Lady Bridget, please.” She turned back toward Wes. “Lord Winterton, Lord Newton, may I present Lady Bridget Cavendish, His Grace’s youngest sister. Lady Bridget, the Earl of Winterton and Viscount Newton.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” said Lady Bridget cheerfully as she curtseyed. Her attention immediately swung back to Mrs. Cavendish. “We need a ladder, loads of white feathers, and something that could portray a ghost—a tablecloth, perhaps.”
“What? Why?” asked the other woman in some alarm, before she held up her hand again. “Never mind. We shall discuss it later.”
Lady Bridget rolled her eyes. “But—”
“Later,” repeated Mrs. Cavendish with a small shooing motion of her hand. Reluctantly, Lady Bridget went.
“I beg your pardon,” said Wes. “I’d no idea there was a house party.”
Mrs. Cavendish shook her head, but with a betraying flush on her cheeks. “It’s only a few guests—friends of Lady Serena, the duke’s sister. I shall urge them to stay out of your way. The castle is quite large enough for all.”
There was really no choice. Night was falling, as was the snow. “Thank you,” he said again, revising his plan. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing to have an extra day or two without the duke at home. He could examine the atlas at leisure, to be sure it was the one he wanted. If not, he could take his leave and go without a fuss; he would say he needed to return Justin to his family in time for Christmas celebrations, as his nephew wished.
But if it were the atlas he wanted . . . This could be an invaluable chance to plan his strategy. The duke had not wanted to sell it, and had only agreed to let him look at it when Wes pushed all boundaries of politeness. It would take some persuading to get Wessex to part with the atlas, and any insight he could glean before the duke arrived home might prove vital. And he suspected the lovely secretary would know her employer’s mind . . .
Yes, it suited him quite well to have missed the duke.
“We would be delighted to dine with the family,” he said. “In an hour, you say?”
“Yes. Withers will send a man to attend you, if you’ve not brought your own . . . ?”
Wes shook his head. He’d got used to doing for himself on short journeys, and Justin didn’t have a valet to bring.
Mrs. Cavendish excused herself and left. Wes turned to his nephew. “Well, that’s quite a turn.”
“What?” Justin was staring at the closed door, and flinched at his remark.
“That Wessex isn’t here.” Justin looked blank. “You shall get your wish to be home with your sisters for Christmas.”
“Oh. Yes.” The young man cleared his throat. “The house party may prove diverting.”
Wes glanced at him with sudden suspicion. “Oh?” He could almost hear his sister’s voice in his ear, urging him to deliver a lecture about proper behavior toward young ladies. Wes quieted it for the moment. Lady Bridget seemed full of high spirits, but the dowager duchess, who must be Lady Bridget’s mother, was in residence. He wanted to be a mentor to Justin, not a nagging conscience.