Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye

appreciate his grandmother, but she did. She gave him a reassuring smile. ‘No apology is necessary.’

      They strolled through an ornately carved archway and entered a long wood-panelled extension of the hall. To their right, tall windows with blue damask silk draperies brought muted light into the room. The opposite wall was covered with life-size portraits of men in various poses and attire.

      Katrina paused and looked over the portraits of the men who were staring down at them. She advanced further and their superior gazes followed her.

      ‘Who are they?’

      He appeared to stand taller, if that was even possible. ‘May I introduce you to the Dukes of Lyonsdale?’

      Her eyes widened as she spun around. ‘All of them?’

      He let out a soft laugh at her obvious amazement. ‘We are missing one. However, every man in this room has held my title at one time. My ducal title is one of the oldest in England.’

      In Katrina’s dining room at their country home in Tarrytown her mother’s portrait hung on the wall behind the chair where she had sat. Her father said it reminded him that she was still somehow with them. He also carried a miniature of her mother on his person. The only other portraits of her family were one of her father and one of his parents. Lyonsdale had many, many more.

      Near the doorway they had walked through hung the portrait of a man with dark curly hair, wearing armour. His sword was raised in the air as he sat upon his steed. From his expression she gathered he would be happy to use that sword on her if she moved the wrong way. He was an intimidating sight.

      Lyonsdale approached her. ‘That is Edward Carlisle, the First Duke of Lyonsdale. He was awarded the title by King Henry the Seventh for service to the crown in battle.’

      ‘Which battle?’

      ‘The Battle of Bosworth.’

      Well, that explained nothing. She continued to study the designs on the man’s armour.

      ‘The Battle of Bosworth took place during the War of the Roses.’

      He might just as well have been speaking Italian.

      ‘You have heard of the War of the Roses, haven’t you?’

      She shook her head while she looked up at the superior expression of the First Duke. ‘Do you know when he was given the title?’

      ‘Of course—in the year 1485, not long after Henry was crowned King.’ He placed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels.

      Lyonsdale knew what his ancestor had been doing in 1485. She knew little of her family’s history past her grandparents. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips.

      He appeared affronted. ‘What have I said that you find so amusing?’

      ‘All I know of my family is that my great-grandfather came to America from Holland and was proficient in building ships. That is how my father came to inherit our shipyard in New York.’

      There was no telling if his shocked expression was at the lack of information she possessed or her ancestor’s occupation.

      ‘Surely you know more than that?’

      ‘No. That is all I know,’ she said with a shrug. ‘My father may know more.’ She knew nothing of her mother’s family. It had never occurred to her to ask.

      Lyonsdale appeared to be catatonic. He wasn’t even blinking.

      ‘Would you like to tell me about the others?’

      It took him a minute to answer. ‘What others?’

      She gestured to the portraits with her hand. ‘The other Dukes.’

      He snapped out of his stupor and let out a deep breath. ‘I believe you are simply being polite.’

      ‘That’s not true. Tell me more about your family.’

      They walked from portrait to portrait and he recounted numerous accomplishments spanning hundreds of years. It was an impressive group of men. Had they all been in a room together it would have been difficult to choose one who stood out from the rest.

      When they reached a gap between two of the portraits Katrina stopped. ‘Where is this one?’

      Lyonsdale cleared his throat and crossed his arms. ‘The Fifth Duke was a disgrace. He was too concerned with his own pleasure and did not live up to the responsibility of his title. His portrait is not fit to hang with the others.’

      Now, this sounded interesting. She stepped closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘What exactly did he do?’

      He leaned his lips close to her ear and his warm breath fanned her neck. Her eyes fluttered at the sensation.

      ‘I’ll. Never. Tell.’

      When he pulled his head back the cool air was a shock.

      The proper thing to do would be to end this discussion, however much she wanted to know what the man had done.

      ‘Was it something truly dreadful? I’ll wager it was.’

      He arched a regal brow, which gave him an expression closely resembling that of the Sixth Duke, who was looking down at them with disdain.

      ‘Miss Vandenberg, it is not polite to poke into other people’s affairs.’

      She gestured to the empty wall. ‘He is dead. He will never know.’

      He spun on his heels and walked towards the far end of the room. ‘I meant my affairs,’ he called out over his shoulder.

      She hurried to catch up with him. ‘I was not talking about you. I was talking about the Fifth Duke. What was his name?’

      ‘His history is my history. His actions reflect who I am. Hence it is my affair. His name is inconsequential.’

      ‘That’s a peculiar name.’ She tried to hold back her smile but it didn’t work.

      He stopped abruptly and turned to her. Their eyes met and a smile tugged on his lips.

      It felt like an odd little victory.

      ‘I believe you were interested in my library?’

      ‘I was... I am.’

      What did one have to do to be removed from a portrait gallery? Was he a gambler? A rake? Perhaps he enjoyed his brandy a bit too much?

      ‘I can keep a secret.’

      His dubious expression was the only response she was to receive.

      Past his shoulder she spied Lyonsdale’s own portrait. His face was fuller and younger.

      ‘You appear astonished to find me here,’ he said.

      ‘Is it a requirement that none of you smile for your portraits?’

      ‘The responsibility of this title is not a jovial matter. The portraits should imply that.’

      She let her gaze drift to the men who were still watching them. ‘I suppose... But none of you appear at all pleased with your illustrious accomplishments.’

      ‘Would you have us laugh in our portraits?’

      ‘No, but a hint of a smile would be refreshing. You are an impressive collection of English noblemen. However, I fear dinner would be a dour affair if you all were present.’

      He looked insulted, which she found amusing. ‘I believe, Miss Vandenberg, we were heading to the library.’

      ‘Lead on, Your Grace. I will humbly follow.’

      ‘You are a sauce-box. You are aware of that, are you not?’

      It proved impossible to hold back her laugh.

      She was about to respond when she froze at the sight of the library before her.