He wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

The door opened again, and Her Grace stepped into the room, looking much more like a young aunt than a mother to the stuffy duke. A smile and a light foot did wonders to keep someone spry, which meant Everton probably looked old enough to cause Harrington concern. The duchess was most likely only a dozen or so years older than Everton.

“Your Grace.” Everton bypassed Harrington and, with a flourish, kissed his mother’s hand. “It has been far too long.”

The duchess laughed softly and struck his shoulder. “I danced with you at the ball you hosted not long ago. I did take note that you forgot to send flowers. But a visit is even better. I will allow it.” Her smile spread wide across her face.

Perfect.

Everton felt, rather than heard, Harrington growl. Perhaps he imagined it, but the look on the young duke’s face was priceless. He really should make home visits a more regular occasion, especially to widows with grown sons.

Harrington strode toward Everton and grabbed him by the elbow. He pulled him roughly toward the doorway of the drawing room. Everton shrugged at Her Grace as he was dragged past her. Harrington hauled him into the hall, shut the door between them and Her Grace, and then shoved him away.

“My mother is young but surely not young enough to tempt you. What is this about, Bryant? Have you come to extort money from us because of Patience? I had thought better of you. Not much better, but better.”

“I don’t need money.”

“I find that many men who don’t need money still want more of it.”

“That is not what I want. I sincerely would like to speak to your mother.”

Harrington scowled. “Then you won’t mind if I join you.”

“This is your house, and I cannot stop you from joining me, but what I have to say to your mother will be said in private, so I will be forced to come again when you are not home.”

Harrington bent his head and rubbed the back of his neck. The fact that he had let his posture slip meant Bryant was getting under his skin. It also meant the day was looking better already.

“Fine.” Harrington turned on his heel and made his way across the hall and down a corridor.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Everton called after him. “My intentions are honorable, I assure you.” Harrington’s step faltered for a moment before he shook his head and continued.

Everton could have been good friends with Harrington at some point if Harrington hadn’t gone off and joined the army for two years and if Everton hadn’t become—well, whatever it was that he was now.

Everton returned to the drawing room. The Duchess of Harrington was still standing, her slim figure and dark hair a stark contrast to the tall window behind her. “I won’t apologize for my son. I think he is a fine, upstanding young man.”