Free The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior by Megan Frampton

twisted her mouth up in thought. “Not very, I had tea when I first got here. With the duke. There were scones.”
    Of course. Tea with the Dangerous Duke.
    â€œTomorrow we’re to go shopping for new clothing.”
    Rose made a face. “Don’t like shopping. Can’t I just stay here with Mr. Snuffles?”
    And leave me to shop alone with him?
    â€œPerhaps, Miss Rose,” Lily said, flicking her nose. “We will see how you feel tomorrow. It’s been—” How to say it without mentioning what must have happened to land Rose here, yet to make sure she knew it was all right to talk about it? “—a day,” she finished lamely.
    â€œYes, it has,” Rose said, sounding as though she thought it was an obvious point. Which it was.
    â€œYes. Well.” And in other conversational gambits, perhaps she could teach Rose all about tautology, pointing out not only that the day was a day, but that the cat was a cat, and the doll was even, oh my goodness, a doll.
    She allowed herself to smile at thinking the duke would likely enjoy the joke.
    â€œT ea, Thompson.”
    â€œTea, Your Grace?” Thompson sounded as surprised as his properly stodgy self could, which is to say as though the bakery had delivered twelve rolls instead of a baker’s dozen. A horror, likely, to Thompson’s way of seeing things.
    Marcus glanced up from his paper. “Tea.” If he was going to be a respectable father, which he damned well was, he would drink tea, not brandy.
    Which was why he was sitting in the library, not in any of the more convivial rooms, reading a newspaper and awaiting tea. As opposed to,
say, drinking bottles of brandy with his new boon companions.
    Or cavorting with the governess, a voice whispered in his head.
    Hadn’t he just twelve hours ago been dissatisfied with the course of his life? Been wanting some sort of occupation that someone with his title and responsibilities could engage in without getting engaged?
    It felt as though he hadn’t really done anything with his life. No, he knew he hadn’t really done anything with his life. And now he had the chance to do something good, for another person. Perhaps then he would be able to allow himself to do something he wanted, even if it wasn’t necessarily right.
    Could he look at himself in the glass if he hadn’t, at least, tried to do the right thing for his daughter?
    The door opened before he could answer that, thank goodness. Thompson himself bore the tray in, setting it down on the desk just adjacent to where Marcus was sitting.
    â€œShall I pour, Your Grace?”
    â€œNo, thank you. I can take care of it.” Because while he was intent on behaving more like a proper duke, he had no wish to be fussed over, no matter if every other duke received that behavior.
    â€œVery well.” Thompson made as though to go, but Marcus held his hand out.
    â€œWait. The thing is, if anyone inquires, Miss Rose is my cousin’s daughter. The cousin has just
recently died. If anyone inquires,” he repeated. Which they will.
    Thompson nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. If you need anything further, just ring.”
    â€œMmph,” Marcus grunted. Thompson left, shutting the door softly behind him, leaving him alone with the tea, the paper, and likely a cat or two hiding somewhere.
    Mr. Snuffles, she’d named the all-black one. With white spots. He hadn’t missed Miss Lily’s answering smirk when he pointed out that an all-black cat would not be all-black if it had white spots, and he wondered when he’d last shared a simple joke with someone.
    Oh, yes. The night before, with Smithfield. His new best friend. Who was—goodness, what had he been thinking?—coming to dinner next week, his best friend’s sisters and husbands in tow as well. He’d have to make sure he sent out proper, written invitations—something he’d never had to deal with