Page 36 of A Spinster to Reform the Duke
“What do the gifts mean, Your Grace?”
“Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Consider them a kindness from one friend to another. I rather like making you smile, my Lady. I find myself trying many ways in which to do it.”
“You are a kind man,” she said looking up at him.
“I rather think I am not.” He didn’t want to go into the matter of who he really was. Her words from before about how he had a good heart were still bothering him, as if she had seen something in him that even he couldn’t see, even when he was staring directly in the mirror.
“You’ll make my family talk,” Lady Rebecca fidgeted with the shawl.
“Do they know of the gifts?”
“No one noticed the book was new, but Mama commented on the inkwell. When I said it arrived at our door, she thought it must have been a belated gift for my birthday. From one of our cousins.”
“Then let her think that,” Timothy said with a sigh. He didn’t need the Marquess and Marchioness Birkston knowing he was giving gifts to their daughter on a regular basis. They would suspect a courtship. “As for the shawl, tell them it is my way of repairing the damage done to your gown when you fell in the water.”
“How can I thank you?” she said, turning toward him again.
“Thank me? You do not need to do that.”
“I must. You have been kind to me, please allow me to do the same for you.” She was clearly not going to abandon the endeavor.
“I cannot allow you to give a gift to me, my Lady. Your parents would certainly notice such a thing, and we will only start gossip again.” His words made her grimace.
“Is there anything else I could do for you?” The way she looked up at him with the words was so sincere, so open, that he found there was one request he wanted very much.
“There is something I’d like to ask of you,” he spoke slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Though I will understand it if you say no. You are perfectly within your right to refuse my request.”
“You are apologizing for your request before you have even made it, Your Grace,” she said, shaking her head at his foolishness. “Pray, just tell me what it is you would like. The worst I can do is turn you down, and the word ‘no’ is hardly likely to cause any great injury.”
Timothy had a feeling that word was capable of drawing a lot more pain than she thought, but at least not in this case. He breathed deeply, as if building the courage to speak his mind, before he took the book of poetry from her lap, gesturing to it.
“This is one of my favorite books,” he said slowly. “I have read it many times, I will admit, and certain poems stick in my memory. Yet there is another poem that sticks in my mind just as much, even though I read but a scrap of it that day I first came to your house.”
She clearly understood his meaning, for her smile faded as she stared back at him.
“I would like to read more of it if I could. Lady Rebecca, could I read your poetry?”
Chapter Twelve
Rebecca slowly stood to her feet, holding the shawl tightly around her shoulders. She could feel the Duke’s eyes upon her at all times. Never once did he blink as he waited for her answer.
I do not show my poetry to anyone. Not even Eliza.
Yet feeling the soft material of the shawl beneath her fingers, Rebecca felt a new thought taking hold. It was the realization of how kind the Duke was. To give her all these gifts and not even want the credit of it!
“Wait here, Your Grace,” she pleaded. “I will be back soon.”
Before he could say any more, she hurried off into the house, heading straight for her writing bureau in the sitting room. As she sifted through the papers, her fingers landed on the inkwell, where she smiled at it for a moment. How did she not think before the gifts could be from him?
She gathered two poems, one that was finished, another that was nearly there, before she hurried back out of the room and into the garden another time. When she returned, she found the Duke had moved to the tea table, clearly making polite conversation with her mother, until he noticed her return. At once he stepped away from the table, coming to meet her on the terrace.
“Is this them?” he asked, rather excitedly as he met her.
“Yes.” Yet her fingers wouldn’t release the papers yet. She held them tightly to her chest, nervous to do so.
“You do realize, my Lady, it is rather difficult to read them where they currently are.” His jest made her laugh softly as she looked down at the papers. “You are nervous.”
“I am.”
