He had been going to visit his brother’s room before dinner, but he had stopped himself at the last moment. Years of having to take responsibility for the well-being of others and his years as an officer had taught him that when possible it was better to let anger cool before taking action.
He would wait until the next day, he had decided, before confronting Thomas and demanding an explanation, and before he decided what he must do, if anything.
“I have sent for Pamela,” the duchess was telling Mrs. Grantsham and Lady Mayberry, her voice eager, her face bright. She included her husband in her smile when she realized that he was within earshot. “She should be here at any moment.”
“For Pamela?” he said with a frown. “Won’t she be in bed, Sybil? And very tired after this afternoon?”
“I sent a message to Nanny earlier to keep her up and get her ready,” the duchess said. “I wish her to meet her uncle. How could I deprive my darling of the pleasure of sharing in his return?” She smiled dazzlingly at the duke.
Of course! He clamped his teeth hard together and stood very still.
“You must instruct Nanny to take her back to bed after five minutes, then,” he said.
“Ah,” she said, “but it is Miss Hamilton who is to bring her down, Adam.”
What was she up to? The duke frowned.
He had not long to wait. Pamela, all dressed up in frills and bows, her hair styled in dozens of ringlets, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkling with excitement and tiredness, was brought into the room by Fleur, who curtsied and stood quietly inside the door.
The duchess took her daughter by the hand while the ladies fussed over her as they had that afternoon.
“You wanted to see all the ladies dressed for the evening, darling,” the duchess said, stooping down and smiling at her. “Well, here they are. What do you think?”
Lady Pamela beamed up at her, and the duchess hugged her.
“There is someone I want you to meet,” she said. “Someone you have not met before, though I have told you a great deal about him, and I daresay Papa has too. A very important gentleman.” She led Pamela to an ironically smiling Lord Thomas Kent. “This is your uncle Thomas, darling. Make your curtsy to him.”
Lady Pamela did as she was bidden and looked curiously up into the face of her uncle, who so much resembled her father except that his features were more openly handsome and carefree.
“So you are Pamela,” he said, one finger holding up her raised chin. “You do not have much of your mama in you, do you? You are all your father.”
The duke turned away, unable to watch. And his eyes focused on Fleur, who was still standing just inside the door. But she no longer did so quietly and impassively. Her face was so pale that her lips looked blue. He was on the point of crossing hastily to her side when her hand—shaking quite as badly as it had during that first night—reached blindly for the knob of the door, found it, and turned it clumsily.
And she was gone, leaving the door ajar behind her.
He was left staring at the spot where she had stood. But this was not the first time she had been in company with their guests. She had been at the ball two nights before and at the picnic that afternoon. Why the sudden attack of nerves? Was it Thomas’ presence? Had she met him before? In London, perhaps?
Had Thomas been another of her customers? He knew he had been her first, but he had often wondered if he had been her last too. There had, after all, been a lapse of five days between his encounter with her and Houghton’s hiring her as Pamela’s governess.
By some bizarre coincidence, had Thomas had her too? He felt a wild rage at the thought.
Or was it Brocklehurst, perhaps? He also was someone she had not seen until that evening. Was he the one who had been her customer and the sight of whom had sent her all to pieces?
He closed his eyes briefly.
“But where is Miss Hamilton?” the duchess was asking brightly. “Did she not realize she was to wait for Pamela?”
“I gave her permission to leave,” the duke said. “I told her that I would take Pamela back to the nursery myself.”
The duchess looked at him reproachfully. “But I was planning to present my daughter’s governess to Thomas,” she said, “and to Lord Brocklehurst, of course. Well.” She shrugged. “Another time. To bed, then, darling, with Papa.”
She turned back to Lord Thomas as Lady Pamela set her hand in her father’s and left the room with him.
“She was the one,” her grace said very quietly, “Adam’s doxy. I wanted you to see her, Thomas, and know the humiliation he has subjected me to.”
“Not any longer,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “I will not let him hurt you any longer, Sybil.”