Free Bedding Lord Ned by Sally Mackenzie Page A

Greycliffe gardens are very pleasant, even in winter.”
    And if they could stroll outside, she could get away from the duchess’s far too interested gaze. Ned’s mother was sitting with the duke, Miss Mosely—the mousy woman who’d been standing by Ash before dinner—and Mr. Humphrey, but she was smiling and nodding at Ellie, completely ignoring whatever Mr. Humphrey was holding forth about. In point of fact, Miss Mosely was the only one listening to the man—the duke was busy consulting his pocket watch, likely calculating how much longer he had to endure before the duchess would let him escape.
    â€œI believe her grace mentioned your father is the vicar,” Mr. Cox said as they passed the scowling portrait of the second duke. “Did you grow up here?”
    â€œYes. This has been Papa’s only living—he was one of the duke’s school friends and came here as soon as he was ordained.”
    This was her home—Greycliffe and the vicarage—the only home she’d ever known. If she married— when she married—she’d have to leave it all behind. She might never again see the duke, the duchess, Ash, Jack, Ned—
    She wouldn’t think of that. She forced herself to smile. “You will undoubtedly consider me the greatest rustic, sir, for I’ve never traveled beyond the parish boundaries.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Not even to London?”
    She shook her head. “No. Papa couldn’t afford a Season, especially with four daughters to launch. The duchess offered to sponsor me, but I didn’t want to be so beholden to her.”
    That hadn’t been her real reason. She hadn’t cared to go husband hunting in London because the husband she’d wanted was here at Greycliffe—or Linden Hall once Ned attained his majority and the duke gave him that unentailed property.
    She’d always wanted to see Linden Hall, but there’d been no reason to do so. If Cicely had lived, she could have visited ...
    Perhaps that would not have been a good notion.
    Mr. Cox’s right eyebrow rose higher. “That was exceedingly generous of her.”
    It had been, but the duke and duchess were generous. “Why are you surprised? Papa and the duke are friends—Mama and the duchess as well.”
    They paused under the gloomy gaze of the third duke. She looked up at the man’s pursed lips and flaring nostrils— she’d often teased Ned about how dyspeptic his ancestors appeared.
    â€œI’m just not used to peers thinking of anyone but themselves,” Mr. Cox said.
    â€œOh?” Ellie looked back at him; his attention had wandered to Lady Juliet who was sitting with Percy, Ophelia, and Ned—though it looked as if all her attention was on Ned. She laughed very prettily at something he said, and it felt like a knife twisted in Ellie’s gut. She wrenched her eyes back to Mr. Cox—he was still observing Lady Juliet.
    â€œThe duke and duchess are the only peers I know,” she said, “and the duke didn’t expect to inherit—the title was thrust on him when he was thirteen—so I suppose he might have a different attitude than someone born and raised to his position.”
    Ned must be serious about Lady Juliet if he was willing to subject himself to Percy’s company a moment more than absolutely necessary. And his expression when he looked at her—intent yet tender—was exactly the one he’d always had when he’d looked at Cicely.
    Ellie’s stomach sank so low she risked tripping on it.
    â€œPeers, in my experience, can be quite unreasonable.” Mr. Cox managed to return his attention to Ellie. “The title tends to go to their head. But I shouldn’t be surprised the duke and duchess are different. It was clear at dinner that they consider you almost a daughter.”
    â€œYes.” Ellie had always been happy about that—she’d equated