“You will stay here at Dane House, of course.”
“Certainly not,” he said in mock horror before grinning. “I’m a bachelor in London. If you think I’m going to miss out on cavorting to my heart’s content, you’re sorely mistaken.” He laughed as Peter rolled his eyes heavenward. “But Mivart’s is just a street away, so you may see me much more often than you’d like. Though”—he cast a glance about him, taking in the richly carved bookcases, the deep-blue-silk-covered walls, the towering windows looking out onto a verdant garden—“I admit to feeling more than a bit of regret now that I’ve seen your London residence. The place is amazing, man. Is Danesford even half as incredible?”
“Even more so.” A quiet pride shone from Peter’s eyes. “I thought I would forever despise the place, that I would be glad to see it fall to ruins. Yet now my feelings could not be more different.”
“And I suppose having Lenora by your side has not aided in that about-face,” Quincy murmured with humor.
“Laugh all you want. I don’t mind telling you that she’s had everything to do with it.” Peter chuckled.
Quincy shook his head, grinning. “I cannot believe the change in you, man. When last I was here, you were in the throes of despair for love of Lenora. And now look at you, happily married, master of all this.” He swept his arm out. “And a damn duke. Don’t tell me I have to start calling you Your Grace now.”
“Arse,” Peter muttered. “If I hear those words from your lips, I’ll gladly trounce you. Sit, while I pour us something to celebrate this visit.”
As Quincy settled himself into an overstuffed chair, his friend went to the small cabinet in the corner. “Never tell me you’re drinking strong spirits now.”
Peter chuckled. “I’ve not changed that much. Though,” he added, his tone turning rueful as the sound of clinking glass echoed about the room, “there are times I wish for a small dose of something stronger than lemonade or wine.”
“Has it been much of an adjustment then, taking over the dukedom?” Quincy asked, stretching out his long legs.
Peter’s lips twisted as he turned and made his way to his friend, a glass of whiskey in one hand and something that looked suspiciously like ratafia in the other. “Transitioning from commoner and self-made man to a duke has been…difficult,” he said. “There are so many people’s well-beings and livelihoods I’m responsible for. It boggles my mind. Without Lenora by my side, I don’t know that I would have taken to the position with any grace.”
Quincy snorted as he accepted his glass and Peter settled across from him. “Grace. That is one word I would have never associated with you. But how is our dear Lenora? I look forward to seeing her again after so long.”
At the mention of his bride, Peter’s face lit up. That was the only phrase to describe it. It was an expression Quincy had never witnessed before in his normally stoic friend, a softening of features typically held tight against the rest of the world.
“Lenora is wonderful. She’s out with Clara and Phoebe just now.”
Ah, yes, the Ladies Clara and Phoebe, Peter’s cousins, daughters of the previous Duke of Dane and now under Peter’s protection. Lovely girls, both of them. Or rather, Lady Phoebe was a lovely girl. Lady Clara, on the other hand, was most definitely a woman, and a stunning one at that.
Most women were pretty in some way to him, of course. He found something to admire in every female he came in contact with. But Lady Clara had captured his interest much more than he’d expected.
Not that anything could come of it. She was under Peter’s protection, after all, and the man would have Quincy’s head if he so much as looked at the lady wrong. And so any attraction he might possess for Lady Clara would have to be kept under strict lock and key.
But Quincy’s imagination was a healthy thing, often manifesting at the most inopportune times. So it was a blessing when Peter spoke, breaking him from thoughts of a freckled, round face and dark blue eyes. Unfortunately, it was to ask about the very last thing Quincy wished to discuss.
“Doesn’t your family hail from London?”
Quincy pulled a face and took a healthy swallow of his drink, his mood souring in an instant. “Yes. Not that it brings me an ounce of pleasure to realize just how close I am to them. I hope you comprehend how much you mean to me,” he said with a severe look his friend’s way, “that I would willingly find myself in the same city as them.”
“I shall take the compliment, and gladly,” Peter regarded Quincy over the rim of his glass. “Do you plan to see them while you’re in town?”
“You truly know how to put a damper on a moment, did you know that?” When Peter merely arched a gold brow, Quincy let out a harsh breath and rolled his eyes. “For your information, yes, I am planning on seeing them and putting the past behind me once and for all. Are you happy now?”
“Oh, quite,” Peter said with a grin. “After all, you were more than willing to feed me to the wolves, so to speak, in forcing a reconciliation I had no intention of indulging.”
“I don’t see you complaining now that you’ve got the sweetest woman in all of Christendom as a bride,” Quincy drawled.
“That is true,” Peter said with a happy sigh. He gave Quincy a sly look. “But you never know, you might be just as fortunate.”
“If you think I’ll come away from this with anything other than a headache, you’re sorely mistaken. Besides, I’m not the least bit ready to settle down. A wife is not in the cards for me just yet.”
A commotion in the hall blessedly interrupted whatever sarcastic comment Peter had been about to make. In the next moment Lenora sailed through the study door.
“Peter, darling,” she said, tugging off her gloves, “your aunt has bid me to tell you—Oh! Mr. Nesbitt, what a wonderful surprise!”
Quincy surged to his feet and offered a deep bow that he quickly ruined with a wink. “Your Grace.”
Her laugh was like bells. “Oh, none of that. Lenora, please,” she said with a warm smile.
“Lenora,” he repeated with a grin. “I do hope you don’t mind me dropping in unannounced.”
She laughed again, accepting a kiss from her husband before taking Quincy’s hand. “Why, you make it sound as if you were merely in the neighborhood and did not have to sail for weeks across an ocean to get here. But we never received word that you intended to visit.”
“I admit, I had hoped to shock this fellow here.” He jerked a thumb in Peter’s direction.
“I do wish I had seen that. For though I try my hardest, not much surprises my husband.” She sighed happily. “But this is just splendid. I’ll have Mrs. Ingram prepare a room right away.”
Before he could lay waste to that generous offer, a sweet voice carried from the hall. “Prepare a room for whom, Lenora?” And then Lady Clara was there, filling the doorway and his vision.
The breath caught in Quincy’s chest. She was just as lovely as he remembered, if not more so. Rich brown hair in a riot of curls so soft his fingers itched to dive into their depths. Pale skin with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. A willowy figure, accentuated by the light blue of her dress.