Why was Della’s father asking to see him? Did she know?

Of course she didn’t. As far as he knew, the only time she had seen her parents had been at the event two nights earlier, when he had been occupied with finding Wattings, and hadn’t been able to go to the party himself.

She hadn’t mentioned anything beyond it being difficult to see them.

Or was this why she had grown suddenly distant? Had she been distracted enough by their passion to forget, only to recall soon thereafter?

Or was he thinking too much that it all had to do with him?

Well. That was a lowering thought, and not one he had ever had before.

Perhaps her distance had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her own personal issue.

What did it mean if not everything was about him?

“The duke is expecting you.” The butler took his hat and coat, handed them off to a waiting footman, then gestured down the hall. “This way, please.”

Griffith followed, glancing around at the duke’s house. Was this where she had grown up? Or had she been in the country until it was time for her to enter Society?

There was so much he didn’t know about her, and he now wanted to know it all. Now that he knew he loved her. He wanted to immerse himself in her, learn who she was and what she wanted.

And who she wanted. Hopefully, that would be him.

“Lord Stanbury to see you, Your Grace.”

Griffith walked into the room where the duke waited for him.

“Thank you for coming,” the duke said, even though his tone was not at all grateful. More as though it was entirely expected he would, and that it was a courtesy that the duke had welcomed him in so quickly.

Or perhaps he was assuming.

“It is a good thing I did not have much scheduled today,” the duke continued, gesturing to a chair in front of a desk that was likely designed to look as intimidating as possible.

“Well, you did send a note,” Griffith replied, allowing a wry tone into his voice.

“Hmph, yes.” The duke walked around to his side of the desk, seating himself with a few grunts and groans. There was nothing to indicate the duke actually worked at the desk—no papers, no pens, nothing but a bronze bust of a past gentleman grimacing in Griffith’s direction.

“That is my grandfather,” the duke said proudly. “He had two sons. No daughters.” The last part he said bitterly, as though resenting his ancestor for his good fortune.

Griffith did not want to spend time discussing the duke’s forbears, given that he didn’t have too high an opinion of the current Duke of Marymount, much less an opinion on some long dead relative.