Page 62 of A Duchess Disciplined

“We will have to decide on what we want you to read,” Hester said. “Oh, there are so many options!”

“Perhaps, he should read them all,” Catherine said. “Spend the entire day searching through the pages of books.”

“Only if you join me, my dear wife,” William replied. “Or did you assume that you would be elsewhere?”

“I have affairs of my own to attend to,” she said. “There is correspondence that needs answering, and I must speak to the housekeeper. As a duchess, I am also expected to maintain a certain amount of correspondence. I will need to speak to my siblings and the ladies of the ton.”

Somehow, William suspected such correspondence was not as urgent as Catherine made it seem.

“I am certain that you can tend to your correspondence, while we read,” William said.

“You are mistaken, my husband. I cannot concentrate on my correspondence if there is any sound at all,” Catherine said. “Although I would greatly enjoy listening to you read, I do not believe that would be possible.”

“That is unfortunate,” Hannah said, frowning. “I wish that you could join us.”

“As do I,” Hester murmured, taking a bite of her roast potatoes.

Catherine averted her gaze, her expression softening a little. “Perhaps, I may make a little time to listen to you read.”

“That is good of you,” William said.

She took a sip of her coffee and said nothing. William’s eyes lingered on her chest. Catherine’s gown was a soft lilac, the bodice decorated with tiny embroidered leaves and flowers. The cut was scandalously low, proudly displaying the tops of her full breasts. He ached to take her breasts in his hands, to weigh them in his palms, and draw her close.

As if she sensed him staring at her, Catherine’s cheeks pinkened. She ate another piece of toast, and William idly noted that she had quite an appetite for such a slender lady.

“I would like to read something about knights and ladies,” Hannah said, sighing dreamily. “Perhaps, something with Sir Gawain or Sir Lancelot.”

“Or Perceval!” Hester suggested. “I have always enjoyed reading about the Waste Forest.”

“I have never understood why it was called that,” Hannah said. “The stories always describe it as green and lively. There is nothingwastefulabout it!”

“What do you like to read?” William asked Catherine.

“Novels,” she said. “I am especially fond of Miss Radcliffe.”

Somehow, he found himself unsurprised by that fact. Catherinedidseem like the sort of woman who would delight in sensational literature. He wondered if she liked to imagine herself as such a heroine. Maybe she was writing the story in her head with their every conversation.

Perhaps, she was casting herself as the beautiful and imperiled heroine, wed to a dangerous and wicked man. Catherine would spend her days and nights leaving no stone unturned until she had found all his secrets and brought them to light.

“I am not terribly familiar with Miss Radcliffe’s works,” William conceded. “I have only heard of her novels from others who have read them.”

“You ought to read her. You might find that you enjoy her writing.”

“So I might. Regrettably, I do not believe that we have any of Miss Radcliffe’s works on the estate.”

“Indeed, that is regrettable.”

“Perhaps, I might procure them for you,” William said.

“Perhaps, you might.”

Despite Catherine’s spoken agreement, it was obvious that she suspected they were merely exchanging witticisms. She did not anticipate him truly doing anything kind for her. He would have to show her differently. William wondered if unexpected kindness would earn him the same vexed looks as his argumentations.

“I have never read her works,” Hannah said. “I do admire lady novelists, though.”

Hester wrinkled her nose. “I find most of them to be quite silly.”

“That is because you prefer to read about more scientific works,” Hannah said. “It has nothing to do with the lady writers themselves.”

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