Page 97 of The Good Duke
“Idoknow that,” he said exasperatedly. “I know because any woman and her family who shows me interestnowdid not do so before I became a duke.”
Persephone gripped his spare hand. “But you have been gone awhile, Simon. Those women are not the same as the ones you left behind.”
“No,” he allowed. “But they do belong to the same families. The same families that decided I, as an earl with a stammer, was unworthy of their daughters.”
“But—”
“Enough, Persephone.” At the same time, those two words contained a firmness that indicated he considered the matter at an end.
Simon gentled his response with a crooked smile that did more of those strange things to her heart and thoroughly jumbled up her thoughts.
No man had a right to possess that entrancing half-smile.
“Now, I believe you have a lesson for me, on what was it, Miss Forsyth?” He waggled his eyebrows. “The importance of flowers in a courtship.”
Miss Forsyth. Simon’s courtship. His impending marriage…to a woman whom I will handpick.
And just like that, she came whirring back from the haze he’d cast.
He continued to stare at her in that concerned way.
“Yes,” Persephone said dumbly. “Our first lesson…locating the ideal flowers for your…for your…”
“Future duchess?”
Her stomach churned. “Y-yes, th-that.Her,” she corrected.
Simon motioned ahead. “Lead the way, Miss Forsyth.”
His words prompted her into movement once more.
Lead the way, he’d said. That was precisely what she intended to do. Guide him to the ideal companion for him, and as Persephone walked with wooden steps toward the most famous hothouse in all of Covent Garden, she found herself gripped with an overwhelming urge to cry.
Chapter 18
Simon trailed behind Persephone.
Somewhere between the rows of gardenias, carnations, and tulips, he began to doubt whether her planned trip to Covent Garden to deliver a lesson on flowers was actually to guide him in the courtship process or whether she’d brought him here for her own pleasure.
He watched wistfully as she all but danced down each row, smelling each bloom she passed; Simon found he rather didn’t mind at all if the answer was, in fact, the latter.
“And this is, of course, the—”
“Never tell me, a rose,” he volunteered behind her.
Persephone spun about and wagged a finger at Simon. “Don’t be impudent, Your Grace.” The twinkle in her eyes softened any real hint of rebuke. “Not all roses are the same.”
Simon crossed his arms before him so that his dog’s leash dangled over his right elbow. “Do tell, Miss Forsyth.”
“I would be happy to.” Persephone drew her shoulders back and tipped her nose up. “Especiallyas this is the very reason for our being here.”
“For a lesson in botany?” he drawled, enjoying himself more than he had in longer than forever. He leaned down and held her gaze. “And here I thought, Miss Forsyth, you were providing me guidance on the courtship process.”
“Absolutely, I am.” Persephone stole a glance about. She returned her attention his way. “Perhaps the reason your past courtships did not go as you’d hoped is because you were unaware of all the very important nuances of the process.”
He snorted. “Oh, I highly doubt it. So much so that I’d wager every land holding, coin, and title. Ladies were most certainly not clamoring for the attentions of a lanky, stuttering, unsure fellow for a husband.”
“Do stop that this instant.”
