“Your Grace!” Esther gasped, executing a clumsy curtsy, not sure where to look. Her heart seemed to stop completely in her chest before catching itself and beginning to tear out a frantic beat.

Agnes collected herself almost at once. "Duke!" she cried, immediately feigning ignorance. "Whatever can you mean?"

Amos said nothing, walking into the room and carefully shutting the door behind him. Without a word, he turned and faced the two ladies, seeing the carefully executed blank expression on the Lady Heber’s face and the milk-white face of his housekeeper.

“Tell me the truth,” he began, quietly, his gaze fierce as he turned to Agnes. “This…” he gestured to Esther, “…is the Lord Bertram’s daughter?”

Agnes did not know what to say, looking helplessly at Esther, who was staring at Amos with a tortured look. Closing her eyes briefly, she let out a long breath and nodded.

Amos exploded.

“How dare you do this to me, Lady Heber? I am harboring a runaway daughter whose father is currently a guest at my dinner table? Are you aware of what dangers you have put her in, and me as well? If she is discovered, what do you expect me to do? Marry her? Both of our reputations will be ruined!”

“I—” Esther began, trying to tell him that she did not ever intend to force him into marriage, but Amos did not even look in her direction.

“I cannot believe that you would deceive me in such a manner! Even with the difficulties the girl is in, why did you not simply speak to me? I am sure that, together, we could all have come up with a reasonable solution to help your goddaughter.” He flung a look at Esther, seeing her tremble, but his heart did not care. He was too angry to care about anything.

Agnes drew herself up as tall as she could. “Duke,” she commanded, gazing at him severely. “That is quite enough.”

“Don’t you dare—” Amos began, his voice growing louder, but Agnes was not to be interrupted.

"I said, that is quite enough," she repeated, talking to him as though he were a small boy. "Now, you will return to your guests and spend the remainder of the evening being your usual charming and amiable self." She held up a hand to put a stop to the diatribe about to fall from his lips. "Esther, Bernard and I will meet you in the drawing room once all your guests have left, and we will talk all of this through then." She did not even wait for a response from him, opening the parlor door and waiting for him to walk out.

Amos was inwardly seething, but, for some reason, found himself walking out of the parlor door and up the back stairs. Agnes was right; he was too angry to listen to anything either of them had to say. He hated the thought of returning to his guests and making idle conversation with them when he had an important situation to deal with, but he had no choice. Plastering a smile on his face, he returned to the drawing room where the rest of the gentlemen had only just returned to join the ladies, having enjoyed their port and cheroots.

Lord Bertram, Esther’s father, had obviously been drinking in excess; his red cheeks and nose were an outward indication of too much liquor. He was speaking far too freely, his laugh loud and abrasive. Despite all that, Amos found his way over to the man, managing to pull him into their own private conversation.

“I am so sorry to hear about your daughter,” Amos began, seeing the glint in Lord Bertram’s eye. “I can imagine it must be very distressing for you to not know her whereabouts.”

“It is most distressing,” Lord Bertram agreed, picking up his newly refilled glass of port. “For myself and Lord Thompson, of course!”

“Indeed,” Amos agreed, covering his disbelief with a sympathetic look. “Has it been a long-standing engagement?”

Lord Bertram laughed. “My daughter has not even agreed to the match,” he chortled. “But I have no doubt she will find it a most amiable proposition once she receives a firm talking to.”

“Oh?” Amos asked, raising his eyebrows. “She is a good daughter then?”

“She is that,” Lord Bertram agreed, sloshing a little port onto his cravat. “Always does what she’s told in the end. Especially when I tell her that if she does not do what I ask, her poor papa could end up a pauper.”

“Lord Bertram, you cannot be serious!” Amos exclaimed, feigning shock.

Lord Bertram chuckled again. “Have no fear, Your Grace, that will not happen. The moment Lord Thompson marries my daughter, he is to give me a large sum for her. It will be enough to clear my debts and ensure I have a comfortable living for the remainder of my life.”

“How fortunate,” Amos muttered, feeling a stab of sympathy for the girl. Amos was also embarrassed for Lord Bertram. Surely, he was only sharing his grievances because he had consumed too much alcohol. It was well known that Lord Bertram enjoyed gambling, and it seemed he had wasted much of his wealth at the tables.

“He has had his eye on Esther for a long time,” Lord Bertram continued, a disgusting grin on his face. “Her disappearance just makes him more keen to wed her.”

Amos could barely hide his disgust.

"I take it you and Lord Thompson are friends?" he continued, attempting to smile. "He must be quite a gentleman if he has been deemed worthy of your daughter."

Lord Bertram threw back the rest of his port, a little dribbling down the side of his mouth. “Your Grace, so long as the man has money, I care very little about who marries the girl. She is already on the shelf and had no prospects to speak of, so if she is taken off my hands, then the better I am for it. She will be someone else’s financial burden, instead of my own.” He laughed uproariously, as if he had made some wonderful joke, and Amos felt nausea ripple through his stomach. Leaving Lord Bertram to his port, Amos walked out of the dining room and back to his study, seeking a little peace and solitude. Whilst he knew he was being a terrible host, he did not care in the slightest. He needed the quiet. He needed to think.