Page 58 of A Rescue by the Rakish Duke
“These look wonderful,” she praised, smiling at the woman.
She could only guess that she was the owner, baker, or the baker’s wife. They were harmless presumptions, but she didn’t want to voice them. Instead, she focused on the products on display.
“Do you recommend anything in particular?”
The woman blinked, apparently surprised by Gwendoline’s question. It was strange, given that she was minding a bakery and should expect people to ask about her pastries.
“Your Grace, the honey tarts are quite popular,” she replied in a soft, kind voice.
“You know who I am? Who we are?”
“Of course, Your Grace. People have been excited about your visit. Someone has already rushed here, talking about how the Duke and Duchess of Greyvale have finally graced us with their presence. We’ve heard about your wedding.”
“Oh,” Gwendoline murmured. She had not expected to be recognized here. Then again, Willowbrook was part of the duchy. “I’ll take two honey tarts. Oh, never mind. I will take a dozen.”
She reached for her reticule, but Damian took her hand.
“I’ll handle it,” he said gently but firmly.
“Do you own this shop, if you don’t mind my asking?” Gwendoline asked.
“Yes. It’s my husband’s and mine. My husband is the baker.”
“Oh, wonderful. Now, I know who to thank when we come back to Willowbrook.”
“I do hope you will enjoy the honey tarts,” the baker’s wife said earnestly, quickly handing the pastries to Damian after he paid.
Gwendoline furrowed her brow at the interaction, but she held her tongue. Instead, she said, “Thank you for the honey tarts. We hope to return soon.”
They rejoined Evan outside the bakery. He seemed to have been scanning the crowd, his hands on his hips. There was barely any trace of the humor Gwendoline knew him for, but she knew that he was simply taking his job seriously.
As they walked on, she couldn’t help but break the silence. “The villagers of Willowbrook seem kind.”
“Oh, they are, Your Grace,” Evan murmured agreeably.
“Well, they also seem anxious. Maybe apprehensive?” Gwendoline looked at Damian pointedly. She needed answers.
He merely shrugged. “They’re not used to me.”
His tone was cold and monotonous. Gwendoline didn’t like him like this.
Evan was walking a few paces behind them, but he jogged to catch up when he heard Damian’s response. “Not used to you, Your Grace? Might they be afraid of you?” he teased with his usual knowing grin.
Damian glared at him, but he remained unfazed.
Gwendoline could tell that Evan was not in the least bit afraid of his master. What they had was more of a friendship than a master-employee relationship—at least as far as she could tell. Evan’s laughter seemed to confirm it.
“What? But surely you must know how people perceive you, Your Grace. You are not the most approachable man. Add your title and wealth to that, and people get nervous.”
Gwendoline chuckled, yet she felt a little sorry for Damian—not that she would ever admit to that. She glanced at him to see his reaction.
The glare was gone, replaced by a more neutral expression. Usually, she would worry more about him whenever he retreated behind that facade, but she caught a faint flicker of amusement in his eyes.
He was not wholly displeased. If at all.
The trio continued their stroll, occasionally speaking with villagers. Gwendoline found herself warming to the people. The conversations became more manageable for her, making her heart feel full. She had never felt like this before.
“How are you and your family?” she asked an elderly man of perhaps eighty.
