Page 10 of The One With the Duke's Curvy Bride

Philomena stuck with her tried and true response. She nodded.

Chapter 6

IT HAD BEEN HOURS since he had seen Philomena. Henry was pacing the drawing room. Guests were mingling and playing cards. Paulina had given him a sly look a couple of times. Obviously, she knew what had happened in the gardens. But she was discreet. He hoped.

When he asked her where Philomena was, she couldn’t say. She merely suggested he check the library. As if Henry hadn’t done so already. Library. Conservatory. Philomena’s guest bedchamber. The only place he hadn’t checked yet was with his mother.

His mother was the last one to have seen her and she had absconded to her bedchamber. Something was amiss. Apparently his mother had a megrim and was not to be bothered. She blamed it on the rain and he couldn’t doubt her. She often claimed that the weather affected her health.

But it was certainly more than just the meager rain dousing the grounds that had thrown Henry’s mood off its normal even keel as he marched onward to see his mother.

Anxious. Huffy. Vexed. So much so that the coin he was smoothing between his thumb and index finger was about to rub away his epidermis. That’s what physicians called the outer layer of skin, wasn’t it? He was sure that was correct. Yet, his brain was not functioning properly.

If this was what happened when he couldn’t determine Philomena’s whereabouts, there was really only one thing to do. Which, after the night in the library, he had already decided. He wanted to marry her. He just needed time to get his mother to agree. He could do it. He just needed…well, he wasn’t quite sure what would convince his own mother, but surely she would bless him knowing that he loved Philomena.

Loved.

Yes.

His coin smoothing stilled. His footsteps froze. Standing just outside the door of his mother’s room, Henry gave himself permission to listen to his heart in full.

Loved.

Yes. He did love her. He had always loved her. As a friend, but even perhaps on a deeper level. He had always cared for her wellbeing and had always loved sharing everything he could with her. He needed to talk to her now. More than when he had needed to show her his coin. What a euphemism that sounded like…

Megrim be damned. He rubbed the lucky coin hanging on a chain around his neck, tucked his new coin in his pocket, and knocked on the door.

Before he heard an answer, he strolled into the room to find her sipping tea by the fire. “Mother.” He stopped in front of her. “Where is she?”

Taking a slow sip, his mother looked up, “Won’t you have a seat?”

“There’s no time.”

“Henry, you sound like a mad man.” She gestured to the chair. “Please take a seat. That’s a good boy. Now, where is who?” A fraction of a smirk crept up and disappeared in a trice.

“Where is Philomena?”

“Isn’t she with the rest of the guests?”

“No. No, she’s not, Mother.” Henry sat on the edge of his seat. “Do you think I’d be here asking you where she was if she was with everyone else?”

His mother slowly lifted two fingers to her temple. “There’s no need to shout.”

“I’m not shouting. I’m demanding. Tell me where she is.”

“Surely I don’t know. I’ve been up here all evening. Perhaps she took a walk.” She glared at him. “Again.”

“So you know what happened.”

“I saw the way you were looking at her. Like a little puppy. She’s not the woman for you, Henry. We agreed that you would let me pick your wife. This dukedom will not be put to shame because you can’t pick the proper wife.”

“The proper wife?”

“Yes. The proper wife. You need someone who knows how to run a dukedom. How to host. How to throw events. Appeal to their guests.”

“Like you?”

Another glare. “Similar to me.”

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