Chapter Four

Graham followed Murray down the marble hall toward the library. Though the house looked the same as far as he could remember, the tone felt different. It wasn’t noticeable, the change; rather, subtle enough that if he hadn’t been away for so long, he likely would have missed it. But the atmosphere was lighter, freer, as if a weight had been removed from the very air. A weight he hadn’t noticed till its presence had been removed. Pushing his strange observation to the back of his mind, he tugged on his gloves as he entered the library, a smile curling his lips as he saw his old friend.

“Clairmont!” he called out, immediately reaching for his friend’s hand.

“I say, old man, how are you?”

He studied his friend. The cynical gleam in his eye was startlingly absent; rather, his expression was light, weightless even. A strange emotion stirred in Graham’s belly, one with which he wasn’t familiar.

Envy.

Shaking his head to dispel the horrid emotion, he focused back on his friend.

“Quite well, no worse for the wear.” The duke chuckled.

Never before had Graham seen his friend so blissfully happy. It was almost frightening.

Yet the burning sensation of envy overpowered any other weaker emotion. Later he’d have to figure out why exactly he was feeling so out of sorts.

Or maybe he’d just forget it entirely.

“I can see that! You’re positively tame! I never thought I’d see the day,” Graham teased.

“Ah, I’m far from tame, my friend.” Clairmont grinned wickedly.

Ah, there’s my old friend.

“How is your governess these days?” Graham asked, earning a chuckle from the duke.

“Splendid. After all, she is married to me.” He raised an eyebrow, a very self-satisfied grin firmly in place.

“And here, that was the very reason I even asked the question.” Graham shot back.

Clairmont glared.

Graham chuckled and rocked on his heels. How he missed teasing his friend. Perhaps the envy was simply a passing fancy.

“So I’m told that my presence is needed, with your ward’s come out and all.” Graham strode to a chair and sat, his gaze firmly on his friend, watching for his reaction.

“Who told you that rubbish?” Clairmont grumbled as he took the chair across from Graham.

“My sister.”

“Your sister is nothing but a thorn in my side.”

“Mine too.”

“You haven’t been around bloody long enough for her to even tickle you, let alone gouge out your flesh.”

“My, my, we’re macabre.”

Clairmont glared.

“I can see why my presence is needed.”

“I do not need you.”

“Are you concerned that the girl won’t make a suitable match?” Graham leaned forward, apprehension taking over from the earlier banter.

Clairmont’s glare deepened.

“What?”

“I should be so lucky.”

“Pardon? Isn’t the whole reason for the season to find a husband?” Graham asked, perplexed.

“Yes, but—”

“You don’t think she’ll find a match?”

“No, but—”

“I’m failing to see—”

“Because you keep interrupting me! Damn, you’re as bad as your sister!” Clairmont stood and stalked to the fireplace.

“Now, Clairmont, there’s no reason to stoop so low,” Graham grumbled.

“Forgive me. It’s just…” He paused, his shoulders sagging slightly.

Graham stood and walked toward his friend, unaccustomed to seeing him in such a state of upheaval. It was awkward, and he didn’t know how to react, or to help.

“Bethanny… she’s beautiful,” the duke spoke reverently, with pride and fear.

“I’m sure she’s quite lovely,” Graham spoke softly.

Clairmont turned toward him, an intolerant expression clouding his blue eyes. “No, you don’t get it. She’s not lovely, she’s… she’s… my nightmare. Every fortune hunter, dandy, rake, and decent fellow is going to be fawning all over her, and I will have to resort to beating them off with a large stick if they think they can gain entrance into my home. You know how men’s minds work, Graham. They’ll see her as nothing more than a fine face, a beautiful figure. They’ll see her money, her connection to me and — and ah! I don’t want some rake to ruin her.” Clairmont was pacing furiously, his expression stormy, unsettled and wild.

“Heaven help your daughters, should you have any,” Graham murmured to himself.

Clairmont stopped midstride.

Perhaps he’d spoken too loudly.

“Therein lies the issue. I’m responsible for my wards, but they have become my family. Bethanny, Beatrix, and Berty, they deserve love matches. Heaven knows how difficult marriage can be, and I’m married to a saint. I never understood the dynamic of marriage till I entered it myself, and, being ferociously in love with my wife, I do not want any less for the girls. They deserve to be cherished, adored, wanted. Not simply used to carry an heir and discarded. And for many men of the ton, that is exactly what they want from a wife. I refuse to sentence them to that fate. Not when it’s in my power to protect them. As I said, marriage is difficult, and without any fondness, affection or love for the person you married, it’s doomed.”

Graham simply stared, gazing at his friend as if seeing him for the first time. “I…don’t quite know what to say.”

Clairmont exhaled loudly, his gaze looking heavenward. “Your sister was right.” He said after a moment. Then closed his eyes.

“No, I’m quite sure that’s not what I was going to say.” Graham teased.

Clairmont opened his eyes and glared, again. If Graham weren’t so self-confident he would have wondered if his presence was even appreciated.

“No…and heaven help you if you dare repeat it to your sister. Bloody hell, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“My lips are sealed.” Graham made a show of pretending to lock them up.

“My heartfelt thanks.”

“So, at the risk of hell freezing over… what exactly was my sister correct about?” Graham asked, once again taking his seat in his abandoned chair.

“I need help.”

“With?” Graham leaned forward. Never before had the great Duke of Clairmont needed anything, let alone help.

Good Lord, what was the world coming to?

“I need you to help me keep an eye on Bethanny.”