Daniel adjusted in his stiff-backed chair, attempting to keep from eyeing the knot on the Duchess of Essex’s forehead. It was turning an odd shade of purple with hints of blue. He’d never been called a particularly observant man; however, he was certain the lump had not been there when he’d arrived earlier with Lettie in tow.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around the dining room to see servants lining the walls, prepared to serve dinner.

He’d expected the evening to be a bit awkward, but this was downright uncomfortable. His first instinct had been to send his regrets when the invitation had arrived to join Lettie and her family for dinner. But again, as always happened where Lettie was concerned, he’d pushed aside his unease, knowing she could use him at her side.

“I do not know what is taking the girl so long,” the duchess huffed. “It is not as if she has hair to style or dozens of gowns to choose from. She even turned away her lady’s maid, said she was more than capable of dressing herself. Can you imagine, Barclay?”

Lord Percival appeared to also choose to ignore his wife’s blemished forehead. The earl instead smoothed his cravat and straightened his utensils on the table in front of him before turning to Daniel.

“Lord Linwood, my wife and I thank you for collecting Colette from The George today.” He glanced over Daniel’s shoulder toward the door as if hoping that mentioning his daughter’s name would cause her to magically appear. At least then, it would not be her father’s responsibility to keep the conversation from veering too far from what was proper. “We are overjoyed to have her returned to us. Though the circumstances are not ideal, as I am certain she told you.”

Daniel knew exactly what information the earl was attempting to extricate from him, and part of him wanted the man to continue wondering if Lettie had opened up and shared her devastating news. “Yes, very unfortunate Lady Lettie has been through so much heartache.”

“If she had only done as she was raised to do, none of this would have occurred.” The duchess’s matter of fact tone left no room for argument, though Daniel could find many things wrong with her statement.

Namely, Daniel wasn’t certain he would have been able to wed a woman who was in love with another. Nor would he have doomed Lettie to a future with him when she desired someone else. Even if he hadn’t been overwhelmed by his father’s passing and taking over the Linwood title, he still would have allowed her out of their betrothal agreement.

It had been the honorable thing to do—for everyone concerned. That fact had not changed.

Though he could not honestly admit he’d done it at the time for honorable purposes.

“Good evening, Father.” Lettie quietly closed the door behind her, and Daniel prayed she hadn’t heard the conversation at hand only a moment before. “Mother. Lord Linwood. My apologies for my tardiness.”

“Do not worry, my girl,” Percival said as he stood to welcome her. “You are here, that is all which matters.”

She allowed her father’s embrace but her back remained rigid, and she appeared uncomfortable with the action.

“Do sit.” Her mother nodded to the open seat beside her, and a servant stepped forward to pull back her chair.

Lettie stepped slowly around the table, giving Daniel the opportunity to take in the sight of her. She’d bathed and styled her hair in a tiny pearl clip; however, lines of exhaustion still etched her face. The dark grey gown she’d selected hung on her lithe frame. Odd, because Lettie had never been considered ample in size, but now, she was far thinner than he remembered.

“Why in heavens have you chosen that dreadful rag?” The duchess’s irritation over Lettie’s gown choice was obvious. “No matter. A trip to the modiste will solve all your problems, and you will feel much improved. I will contact her immediately to schedule a fitting for you.”

It would take more than a visit to a Bond Street modiste to even begin to help Lettie through everything she’d experienced in the past several years.

Her scrunched brow and pinched mouth confirmed she believed the same.

When Lord Percival and Lettie took their seats, the earl motioned for the meal to be served. Servants entered the room, one after another in an endless display, as plate after plate and pot after pot were set upon the long table in a grand display fit for a king. The only way the many platters of food would be consumed was if all the Essex servants joined them at the table and filled plates; however, after the lids had been removed, the servants fled the room, leaving only four footmen to serve.

Succulent duck soup, pheasant with plum sauce, three types of bread, and pieces of cheese were heaped upon each of their plates.

“Father,” Lettie sighed. “This is far too much.”

“Nothing is too much for my daughter’s homecoming meal, I assure you.”

“No, I mean this is far too extravagant. There is more food on my plate than a soldier is rationed for an entire week.” Lettie turned an exasperated glare on her father. “This is wasteful.”

“What has gotten into you, child?” her mother huffed. “Show your father the respect he deserves. It is not his fault he provides well for his family and those he loves.” She turned a grimace on Daniel as if to apologize for Lettie’s outlandish behavior.

Daniel had been wrong to accept the earl’s invitation to dine with them on Lettie’s first night in London. It was evident they needed more time privately, as a family, to reconnect and familiarize themselves with one another once again.

Yet, he’d needed to see Lettie again, be close to her if only to soften her discomfort of returning to England.

“Mother, I do hope you instructed your maid to apply ice to your forehead.” Lettie took her utensil in hand, and he and the earl breathed a sigh of relief at the same time. “The bruising will last a week or so, but the swelling will recede sooner if you ice it several times a day.”

He was taken aback by her knowledge. She’d spoken of her chores as a soldier’s wife, though he’d envisioned her preparing meals and mending clothes.

“Yes, your maid instructed mine; however, Darcy confirmed that nary a mark remains.” The duchess lifted her chin a notch and turned her attention to her plate as silence fell. Only the sounds of a servant filling Lady Lettie’s wine goblet could be heard as the table at large focused on the meal.

He watched as she expertly wielded her knife, cutting her pheasant into tiny morsels and spearing them before taking her first bite. When her eyes closed and her head tilted slightly back, Daniel could almost hear her moan of pleasure at the tasty bite.

The duchess glanced at her daughter as she too took a forkful of the fowl before setting her utensil aside. “It will be nice to have you at my side once more, Colette.”

“Please, Mother, it is Lettie,” she said, narrowing her stare on her plate. “No one has called me Colette in many years.”

“Be that as it may, my friends—all of society, truly—know you as Lady Colette.” When Lettie’s glare snapped to her mother’s, the woman acquiesced. “But, of course, if you prefer Lady Lettie then I will not argue over the matter further.”

“That is kind of you.” Lettie lowered her spoon into her soup, but did not bring a taste to her mouth. “Lord Linwood, it is nice of you to dine with us. I would expect you to have other pressing matters to attend to this evening,” she said dryly.

Daniel had waited for her to mention something along those lines, and he could not blame her for her snide comment. “Actually, there is no other place I have to be this evening. Although, I do appreciate your concern with my daunting schedule,” he replied with an eyebrow raised.

She was quick to quarrel—as if she remained on the battlefield, disregarding his attempt to be her ally, not her foe.

But he’d taken her bait so quickly. He needs must remember she was grieving, and people handled their grief in many different ways. He’d thrown caution to the wind and taken to his rakehell ways after his parents passed away. Who was he to judge her prickly manners?

“I am sure there is a gaming hell or tavern that is missing you…and your funds,” she said, not taking her glare from her soup bowl.

He would not allow her remark to spark his temper. “Actually, I find I have lost interest in gambling and drinking.”

“Is that so?” Her brow rose in question.

“It is.” His utensils scraped against his plate as he cut into his meal.

“Linwood has been working with me, learning to better manage his estate and take his place in parliament,” Percival interjected. “Been very happy to have him, I have.”

Daniel chuckled. “Happy to have him” was an understatement. The elder lord treated him as the son-in-law he had been meant to be, going so far as to show Daniel the ledgers from the duchess’s many estates, which would eventually belong to Lettie.

Lettie stuffed another forkful of food into her mouth and chewed slowly, keeping her eyes downcast.

It brought to mind their final meal as a betrothed couple before she’d announced her plans to marry Hughes and follow him to war—with or without her parents’ approval. Daniel had arrived to escort Lettie to a ball, already deep in his cups with the sweet scent of his ladybird upon his coat. He’d tripped over the threshold of her townhouse and virtually tossed his coat and hat upon the foyer floor when he’d learned she was still dining with her parents.

Daniel had marched right into their dining room and sat across from Lettie.

He’d been a scoundrel. Never an attentive suitor.

He’d been young and still reeling from the loss of his parents.

She’d been the only constant thing in his life, the only person who grounded him. The one person who put up with his deplorable demeanor.

That night, she’d had enough of him and ended their betrothal. And, like the fool he was, he’d agreed to let her go. Actually convinced himself it would serve him best not to be tied down to any woman permanently. Contracts, gossip, and scandal be damned.

She’d already met and thought herself in love with Hughes at that point.

Lettie had looked exactly as she did now.

Sullen and a bit green. Though then, he hadn’t realized she’d been wracked with nerves over breaking their betrothal, knowing it would cast a bad light on them both, as well as their families. He’d already lost his entire family. She was all he had left to lose.

He’d wished for years after that evening that he’d have been clearheaded enough to notice her anxious turmoil. He could have put her mind at ease without bringing around her abrupt confession of love—for another man.

“Lady Lettie,” Daniel said, watching her closely. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She stood so quickly, the servant behind her was unable to pull her chair back to allow her departure. The tiny bauble she’d pinned in her hair skidded across the floor. The high-backed chair tilted so far back, Daniel thought it in jeopardy for falling completely over and knocking clear through the wall.

“Lettie, do stop with the hysterics!” the duchess screeched.

Daniel also stood, pushing his chair back with less force to follow as Lettie fled the room.

“I will tell you, Barclay, that girl is not fit to take over the Duchy,” her mother whined. “Whatever are we to do?”

“She will adjust,” Daniel called over his shoulder before departing the dining hall after Lettie; though her parents were not making anything easier for her.

“Six months, my dear,” Percival answered. “We shall give her half a year. Then I will step in and set her straight. The chit must select a proper husband or take her place among the aging widows.”

Daniel wished he hadn’t heard those final words. He could not picture Lettie wedding another man.