Page 168 of The Good Duke
“Seph?” Simon asked concernedly.
“Do not worry,” she said, taking a hasty step away. “I will fix this.”
“Fix—?”
Before he finished his question, she headed back to Silas. At some point during or after the melee, his paramour had gone, and he now stood alone.
Lucky woman.
The whole time she approached, Silas studied Persephone with a peculiar expression. When she stopped enough distance from Silas to meet his cryptic gaze, Persephone drew in a deep breath.
“I know how this looks, my lord,” she said softly.
An emotion that looked very like sadness glinted in his eyes. “My lord?” he mused. “So…formal.”
Confused by his reaction, she cleared her throat.
“Silas,” she started this time, addressing him by his given name, “as I said…I understand how this must look.” Persephone grimaced. “I know howHis Gracemade it appear, and I cannot account for why he did such a thing but—”
Realizing she rambled, Persephone stopped. She took in another steadying breath. “All that to say, you have my assurance I am not his mistress. Our fathers were dear friends. His Grace and I, we practically grew up in the same nursery together. And Silas? I can also promise”—Persephone touched a hand to her heart—“as someone who has been friends with His Grace since I was in leading strings, the duke will be a good husband to Isabelle.”
“Do you think that is all I care about, Persephone?” He gave his head a wry shake.
Persephone stared at him in confusion. “I don’t…?”
“You don’t understand what I’m saying?” he asked in a gentle way, completely devoid of any rancor. “Then, please, allow me to state it plainly.”
The softness vanished from his tone. “To my very core, I loathe the idea of you living with Greystoke.” Silas’s eyes blazed with emotion. “Since I saw you together with him at the flower shop, I’ve been haunted. I love you, Persephone. I never stopped.”
His confession sent her reeling.
Silas wasn’t done.
His gaze burned into hers. “And whatever Greystoke is or isn’t to you? It doesn’t matter because I intend to woo you and marry you and bring you all the happiness you deserve.”
With that vow, Silas turned and marched back to his carriage, leaving Persephone stunned and staring after him.
Chapter 31
The Duke of Greystoke’s lavish dining room had been readied for the Formal Dinner Party of the Season—asThe Timesdeclared the intimate event between society’s most coveted bachelor and sought-after Diamond. The finest crystal, silver, and porcelain plates had all been set in their respective places upon the mahogany, triple-pillar dining table.
There were seven white Italian lace tablecloths—one for every course, to be removed after the completion of each portion of the meal. After all, every respectable lady who knew anything about throwing a party greater than eight guests, and given the nature of this evening’s grand event, required no less than seven courses served à la russe.
Only, Persephone wasn’t the hostess of the event written about in all the gossip columns. She was merely the organizer.
Because all the arrangements Persephone had made were as that of social secretary and not as lady of the household.
Having already seen to all those important preparations and dressed in an exquisite blue sapphire dress for the big event, Persephone had snuck off to find a moment for herself in Simon’s gardens—enjoying a calm before the storm.
Are you really enjoying it? Or are you just sitting here, miserable, bracing for the moment Simon’s betrothal to the kind, graceful, gracious, and breathtakingly beautiful Lady Isabelle is officially announced?
Only, she already knew the answer. God, she knew.
A half-laugh, half-sob built in her chest. She fought to keep that misery in—and failed. For, staring at the dense Dicentra plants, those pale pink heart-shaped flowers that resembled a broken heart, the irony wasn’t lost on Persephone.
Since this afternoon, she’d gone over and over again her exchange with Silas.
“To my very core, I loathe the idea of you living with Greystoke. Since I saw you together with him at the flower shop, I’ve been haunted. I love you, Persephone. I never stopped…”
