Page 23 of A Duke in the Rough

As if finally realizing Anne was there, Drake sent her an apologetic smile. “Thank you, Miss Weatherby, but I’ve already eaten. I heard voices and came in to remind you the games are commencing.”

Games?She glanced at Anne in question.

“Oh, that’s right, Honny. You went to bed with a headache. Burwood announced we would be participating in a variety of outdoor games today—weather permitting.”

“Which at the moment is favorable. The sun is shining down upon us,” Drake said.

Anne flashed him a blinding smile so bright Honoria swore the aforementioned sun sparkled off the girl’s teeth. “Will you be my partner?”

Did she bat her eyes?

Drake slid a glance over to Honoria, then back to Anne. “I would be honored—if we indeed partner. I believe the first game Burwood has planned is blind man’s buff.” He held out his arm. “Now shall we proceed?”

Slipping her hand over his arm, Anne apparently forgot her breakfast.

“Anne, your toast,” Honoria said.

With a swish of her hand, Anne brushed the reminder aside. “Since you’re so fond of the raspberry jam, you can have it.”

Air stilled around Honoria as Drake’s gaze glided toward her. She pulled what little there was into her lungs, waiting for him to invite her to join them.

“You like the jam?” He smiled. “Burwood will be pleased.” Then he turned, leading Anne out of the room, his voice trailing off as he said, “Now, Miss Weatherby, you must tell me about the strange name you called Lady Honoria.”

Staring at the practically untouched toast and cake, Honoria sighed, the remainder of her scant appetite vanishing. Yet, she forced down a few more bites, washing it down with tepid tea. It would not do for her to grow lightheaded from lack of sustenance, especially during vigorous games such as blind man’s buff.

Her mother appeared at the entrance. “There you are. Thank goodness. Your father is beside himself, wondering why you’re not out with the others participating in the activities.”

She blinked, unsure she’d heard her mother correctly. “Father wishes me to play the games?”

In a swish of lavender, her mother breezed into the room, arriving close enough to whisper. She waved a hand as if batting away a pesky fly. “Of course he doesn’t care about those silly games. He finds them ridiculously plebeian. However, he and I both noticed the attention Burwood lavished on you last evening at supper. You should capitalize on the duke’s favor and continue to position yourself near him lest his attention stray to another.”

It would appear her father had already formed an attachment in his mind between her and Burwood. Out of spite, and a bit of childish recalcitrance, she took another bite of the plum cake and chewed slowly, hoping it didn’t reemerge later.

Honestly, she hated vexing her mother, who had no doubt been pressed into duty by her father to retrieve her. If Honoria waited any longer, the man himself would most likely come to fetch her, dragging her out by any means necessary and shoving her in front of Burwood.

After swallowing the last masticated bite of cake, she dabbed at the corners of her mouth with the serviette. “Very well. But I caution you and father not to make assumptions regarding the duke’s interest in me. I believe he’s only being a gracious and attentive host.”

“Bah!” her mother said most uncharacteristically. “A mother has eyes. He likes you exceedingly well.”

Honoria refrained from rolling her eyes at her mother and instead followed her out of the house to the expansive gardens.

Occasional squeals of laughter punctuated more subdued chatterburbling across the stone terrace. Parents, guardians, and chaperones sat in comfortable chairs in what had been a quiet place of respite the day before. Some sipped tea or lemonade as they watched the younger members of the assembly scatter across the expanse of the lawn in merriment.

Lydia Whyte emitted a high-pitchedeepas a blindfolded Victor Pratt reached for her and grasped air.

“Lady Honoria!” Burwood called. Several women clung to his arms, perhaps using him as a shield to hide from Mr. Pratt. “Come join us.”

As everyone stopped to look her way, Victor Pratt managed to catch Lydia, who didn’t seem the least bit disappointed to be captured.

“Go on, then,” her father said from his seat by the terrace wall. “Join that ridiculous game.”

Before she could descend the steps to the lawn, her father muttered, “And allow Burwood to catch you.”

With her back to her parents, she strolled toward the group and released the eyeroll. Had her parents become so desperate to see her married as to orchestrate some type of compromising situation between her and Burwood?

Perhaps not simplymarriedbut married to a duke.

Poor Burwood. He deserved better than to be trapped. Delicately brushing off the clinging women, he motioned for her. “Where have you been, you slugabed? We’ve been waiting for you.”

---