Page 52 of The Heiress Gets a Duke
She gave her borrowed filly a few loving strokes that had a strange sort of jealousy coming to life in him. What would it take to make her touch him in the same loving way? Probably calling off this marriage pursuit would be agood start, but Evan could not go that far. Not when they needed her so desperately.
Instead, he guided them off toward the path that went along the river that cut through the estate. Many of the farms bordered the southern part of the estate and made use of the river. It was time to start showing her one of the few things he could offer her. Freedom.
“Have you ridden astride before?”
She nodded. “We have a country house in Connecticut. I usually ride astride there.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He grinned.
She smiled over at him. “No one is supposed to know, but I have riding trousers and a special skirt made for the task. Violet does as well.”
“I would not mind if you did that here... should you agree to become duchess.” He glanced out over the gray, slow-moving water to avoid her face. It was the first they had spoken of marriage since the night of the ball. Even now he could not quite say it. He spoke around it, and a queer sort of flicker began in his stomach. It was an agitation he did not care for.
“How magnanimous of you.” There was a bitterness in her voice that was softened by the shape of her smile. It drew his gaze to her shining eyes. “Or I could simply stay unmarried and do as I wish.”
He gave her a nod. “Or you could do that.”
Logic urged him to remind her that she would eventually marry. He might have believed that she was perfectly happy not to marry, if he had not kissed her. If he had not witnessed how her eyes lit up and her body softened to him. She wanted companionship, the kind that only a lover could bring. He was surprised that he also wanted that. Marriage had never been important to him, but it was all he thought of lately by necessity. With her, however, his thoughts took him further. He found himself imagining nights at the theater, days at home with her in front of the fire, surprising her with small things like a necklace or a book. He had noticed a few of those on the desk in her bedroom.
“I have read about the suffrage case before the American Supreme Court.”
Her head whirled back to him. “What do you mean?”
“The case for women’s suffrage.”
“Minor v. Happersett?”
“That’s it. Have you followed it?”
She gave a small laugh that sounded a bit like disbelief. “I have. I daresay any thinking American woman has heard of it, or at least its predecessor, the Susan B. Anthony case. I’m... I’m merely surprised that you know of it, or paid attention to it.”
“It is a newfound interest of mine.” Very new, considering he had not been bothered to give the issue much thought before her. His world had been very narrowly focused on his own needs, with the occasional thought of his mother and sisters butting in. “Both were unsuccessful in their attempts to gain suffrage equality.”
She nodded. “I don’t think anyone actually believed that Minor would prevail, but it was a challenge that needed to happen.”
Wanting to completely understand her position, he asked, “How do you feel about voting rights for women?”
She had turned forward, but she cut her eyes at him as she spoke. “I think the more pertinent question is: How do you feel about voting equality?”
He could not help but to smile at her boldness. “I believe that it makes no sense that my butcher be allowed the vote but not someone as educated and contemplative as you.”
She finally looked at him head-on, and he could see that she was startled. “Then you support women’s suffrage?”
“I do, and I also happen to be in possession of a seat in Parliament.” He swallowed and plowed forward with his bid for her acceptance. “I could use it to further that cause.”
Her lips parted and she visibly swallowed. “Have you been to Parliament this season?” she asked dubiously.
“I go only when absolutely necessary. I can hardly stand to listen to the endless speeches by the pompous, boorish, and self-important men who spend their days there.”
“But you would brave those if you had to?”
He gave a nod. “For good reason, yes, I would spend more time there.” He hated the idea of it. Politics was something he loathed almost as much as he had loathed spending time alone with his father. But for her, he could take his place there.
“One of our tenant farms.” He gestured to a house in the distance. They had passed a bend a while back that made the first farm come into view. Now they were close enough to make out several figures in the far field in the midst of harvesting the winter barley. She had yet to respond to him, and he hoped it meant that she was thinking it over. “This is Harold Armstrong and three of his sons.” Harold raised an arm in greeting as they approached. “His family has lived on this estate for over a hundred years.”
“Good mornin’, Your Grace.” Harold took his hat off as he approached, revealing a receding hairline and a generous amount of gray mixed in with the brown. The man was only approaching middle age, but he looked as if he could be sixty, such were the lines and crevices in his face.
Evan introduced him to August. After greeting her, the man turned and introduced her to his sons. They stood like step stools all in a row of descending height from the oldest, who was about fourteen or so, to the youngest, who appeared to be half that.
