He’d have to ascertain she was still of the same mind when he saw her again. And if she was not, he’d have to accept her change of heart and withdraw gracefully, albeit frustratedly.

“My lord.”

How had he arrived back at Frederick’s so quickly?

“Good afternoon,” he replied to the footman who’d greeted him. The door swung open, revealing the taciturn butler.

He would have to figure out the man’s name eventually. Since he was going to be Griffith’s own butler at some point. His throat tightened as he thought about what that change would mean.

Please don’t let Frederick die, he pleaded. Now that I’ve returned home.

“Lord Stanbury, the duke is hoping to see you before dinner. If you would—?” he said, gesturing to Fred’s room. Griffith removed his cloak, relieved to have something to think about besides her and what they were not doing right now.

“What is it, Fred?” Griffith said as he entered Frederick’s room. His cousin was seated in front of a blazing fire, the warmth of it heating Griffith even from the doorway.

His cousin turned his head and smiled. “It’s nothing. Can’t I want to see my cousin and heir?”

Griffith suppressed a sigh of relief. He strode into the room, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on the back of one of the chairs. “You don’t have to make me feel a physical hell, it’s enough that I am being forced to go out into Society,” he commented, nodding toward the fire.

Frederick chuckled in reply. “But tell me the truth,” he said, fixing Griffith with a keen gaze, “it is far easier than you feared, isn’t it?” He rolled his chair closer to the hearth. Griffith was surprised Fred wasn’t on fire already.

“Being a duke’s heir smooths the path far more easily than being the rapscallion relative from a noble family.”

Rapscallion. Griffith would make sure to share the word with Della and Mrs. Wattings. “Perhaps,” he said, wondering why he felt so reluctant to admit Fred’s point, “but it really shouldn’t be.” He spread his hands out. “I have nothing to recommend me but my expectations. I ran off before anyone could come to know me, but I am certain I left a reputation behind.”

Frederick shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters as long as your title is old and your money is good.”

Griffith snorted in disgust. “That shouldn’t be all of it.” He recalled Della, and what she’d said about her own reputation. If it was as Fred said, then perhaps he could leverage his standing to help hers.

And then she’d marry someone else, a voice whispered inside his head. He couldn’t let that happen.

But you don’t wish to be married.

Did he?