Read Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke for Free Online Page A

that, Leo.”
    “I dare say there are lots of things we could do to help out.”
    “I shall come and bear you company,” Miss Tilling said with alacrity.
    “The invitation was not extended to include you,” Nia said with scant regard for civility. The events of the day had left her with a headache and she had even less patience than usual with her grandfather’s lame ducks.
    “Oh, I am sure that doesn’t signify.”
    “I am equally sure that it does. If you wish to be of help, you can offer your services to Hannah. There is plenty to be done here in the house.”
    “I think it would be better if I took the boys,” Mr. Drake said portentously. Since he made little effort to disguise the fact that the boys irritated him intensely, Nia assumed he was…well, assuming too much responsibility for her—again. The image of Mr. Drake as her protector was almost enough to make her smile. “You know nothing of these people, my dear, and might feel overwhelmed in such august company. I, on the other hand, have had a great deal of exposure to good society. Indeed, when I read some of my verse in Lady Effingham’s salon last summer, my audience was quite overcome.”
    Of all the patronising, egotistical, controlling…
    “Probably with a collective case of boredom,” Sophia whispered in Nia’s ear, loud enough for the entire table to hear her, making Nia smile through her irritation.
    “Your desire to be of service is as unexpected as it is welcome,” Nia said with asperity. “However, I do not need anyone’s help to drive the gig a few miles. When I do need something done, on the other hand, you all appear to be fully occupied.”
    “You should accept offers of assistance when they are forthcoming,” Miss Tilling said, waving her fork rudely in the air. “Those of us with artistic souls cannot put our creativeness to one side simply to oblige you; not when the muse is upon us.”
    “Let us hope the muse strikes tomorrow then,” Sophia muttered.
    Nia patted the older lady’s hand, aware she was the only person beneath this roof whom she could take to Winchester Park and not be ashamed of. Paradoxically, she could not possibly ask them to receive her. She sighed. Society’s mores were guaranteed to make her headache worse.
    “You will all be better off remaining here and continuing with…well, with whatever it is you do all day,” Nia said.
    Her grandfather sat at the head of the table, looking dazed and confused, his luncheon barely touched. Even Sophia’s gentle coaxing failed to have its usual beneficial effect. Grandpapa’s earlier exuberant mood had changed in the blink of an eye and he had now retreated to a place where she could not reach him. It broke her heart to see him that way, but she could no longer deny the episodes of distraction, unawareness—call them what you will—were becoming more frequent and prolonged. Soon, they would have to give up the pretence all together. It filled her with fury that, in part due to his own trusting nature, her beloved grandfather could not already enjoy a luxurious retirement.
    His near catatonic state killed what little appetite Nia had, and she placed her knife and fork aside.
    “Come along, Grandpapa,” she said, standing and kissing his brow. “Why do we not sit outside in the sunshine for a little while? You would enjoy that, I’m sure.”
    Her grandfather stood and shuffled from the room with her, more compliant than the boys when they were on their best behaviour because they wanted something. She steered him towards a stone bench on the terrace, now bathed in afternoon sunlight. The two of them sat side by side, Nia firmly grasping her grandfather’s wrinkled hand. A hand that had created such beautiful works of art, but which now struggled to grasp a brush. When it did so, there was no telling what the result would be. Sometimes he produced something extraordinary—images conjured from the vast recesses of the functioning parts of his brain