The Duke And His Four Wards

Chapter 6.1 (Part 2)

   He had left Daniel packing at Hammington House and returned to the comfort of his own home to spend a quiet evening in contemplation of his wards. Their problems should really not cause surprise. At first sight, he had known what sort of men the Fleming girls would attract. And there was no denying they responded to such men. Even Maribella seemed hellbent in tangling with rakes. Thankfully, Emma seemed too quiet and gentle to take the same road—three rakes in any family should certainly be enough.

   Family? The thought sobered him. He sat, eyes on the flames leaping in the grate, and pondered the odd notion.

   His reverie was interrupted by sounds of an arrival. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Too late for callers. What now? He reached the hall in time to see Rickshaw and a footman fussing about the door.

   "Yes, its all right, Rickshaw, I'm not an invalid, you know!"

   The voice brought Felix forward. "Francis!"

   The tousled brown head of Captain Francis Cambridge turned to greet his older brother. A winning grin spread across features essentially a more boyish version of Felix's own. "Hello, Felix. I'm back, as you see. Curst Frenchies out a hole in my shoulder."

   Felix's gaze fell to the bulk of bandaging distorting the set of his brother's coat. He clasped the hand held out to him warmly, his eyes raking the other's face. "Come into the library. Rickshaw?"

   "Yes, Your Grace. I'll see to some food."

   When they were comfortably ensconced by the fire, Francis with a tray of cold meat by his side and a large balloon of his brother's best brandy in his hand, Felix asked his questions.

   "No, you're right," Francis answered to one of these. "It wasn't just the wound, though that was bad enough. They tell me that with rest it'll come good in time." Felix waited patiently. His brother fortified himself before continuing. "No. I sold out simply because, now the action's over, its deuced boring over there. We sit about and play cards half the day. And the other half, we just sit and reminisce about all the females we've ever had." He grinned at his brother in a way Margaret, for one, would have recognized. "Seemed to me I was running out of anecdotes. So I decided to come home and lay in a fresh stock."

   Felix returned his brother's smile. Other than the shoulder wound, Francis was looking well. The difficult wound and slow convalescence had not succeeded in erasing the healthy glow from outdoor living which burnished his skin and, although there were lines present which had not been there before, these merely seemed to emphasize the fact that Francis Cambridge had seen more than twenty-five summers and was an old hand in many spheres. Felix was delighted to hear he had returned to civilian life. Aside from his genuine concern for a much loved sibling, Francis was now heir to the Dukedom of Twyford. While inheriting the Delmere holdings, with which he was well-acquainted, would have proved no difficulty to Francis, the Twyford estates were a different matter. Felix eyed the long, lean frame stretched out in the chair before him and wondered where to begin. Before he had decided, Francis asked, "So how do you like being 'Your Grace'?"

   In a few pithy sentences, Felix told him. He then embarked on the saga of horrors examination of his uncle's estate had revealed, followed by a brief description of their present circumstances. Seeing the shadow of tiredness pass across Francis's face, he curtailed his report, saying instead, "Time for bed, stripling. You're tired."

   Francis started, then grinned sleepily at Felix's use of his childhood tag. "What? Oh, yes. "I'm afraid I'm not up to full strength yet. And we've been travelling since first light."

   Felix's hand at his elbow assisted him to rise from the depth of the armchair. On his feet, Francis stretched and yawned. Seen side by side, similarity between the brothers was marked. Felix was still a few inches taller and his nine years' seniority showed in the heavier musculature of his chest and shoulders. Other than that, the differences were few—Francis's hair was a shade lighter than Felix's dark mane and his features retained a softness Felix's lacked, but the intensely blue eyes of the Cambridges shone in both dark faces.

   Francis turned to smile at his brother. "It's good to be home."