Page 44 of The Truth About Dukes
Nathaniel twirled one of the last of the red tulips by its stem. “How do you sense trouble approaching? Can you anticipate a seizure?”
“Not reliably, and not for want of trying.” The flower bed had bloomed and faded, but Robert believed in allowing the foliage to die back naturally, at least for a few weeks. The appearance of the declining bed was too wretched to be borne, so he folded the leaves to the stalks and tied the lot into tidy bundles. “After yesterday, I must offer Lady Constance the opportunity to cry off.”
“Are you formally engaged already? Fast work, Your Grace.”
Nathaniel sounded a bit envious, which brightened Robert’s outlook marginally.
“Constance is the sister of a duke, the proprieties will be observed. We have an understanding, or we did.” He tied off the last forlorn, pale plant. “Constance needs a man who can support her in all endeavors, not some graceless invalid who embarrasses her in public.”
“Bit late for that, isn’t it? You knew you had epilepsy when you courted her favor.” Nathaniel sat on the gardener’s rug beside Robert, knees bent, feet spread,twirling his tulipand gazing across the garden like some damned philosopher.
Robert had seen the looks on the faces of the crowd around him in York. He’d felt the swift blow to the sole of his boot delivered by a lad more curious than appalled.Be he dead?Those words had lodged in his memory, along with the recollection of being unable to roar back:No, I am not dead.
“People are still unenlightened when it comes to epilepsy, Nathaniel. For myself, I will cope with the hand I’ve been dealt. Having seen one of my seizures firsthand, Constance should be given an opportunity to decline having to share my lot.”
“If you send Constance packing,” Nathaniel said, rising and stretching, “I will be disappointed. She cares for you, and you care for her. The rest can sort itself out if that foundation is in place. Shall I have a look at the correspondence?”
How casually he made that offer, how kindly. “I’ve already gone through the day’s mail, and I’m caught up, thank you. Take some catmint to go with your bouquet. Damned stuff comes back twice as thick for being pruned.”
“You have as well,” Nathaniel said, scooping up the jar. “Thus far, every time life has tried to prune you, you’ve found a way to thrive despite all. I admire that. Looks like we have company.” He sauntered off toward the garden door to greet Lady Constance, who’d apparently tossed propriety to the wind and parted from her sister on the drive.
Brave woman. Dear woman. But was she brave enough? Why should she have tobebrave, given what life had already put on her plate? Robert pulled off his gloves, ran a hand through his hair, and prepared to have a difficult, necessary conversation with his intended.
Nathaniel went whistling on his way, bouquet at the ready, leaving Robert alone with the woman he might soon part from.
Again. “Good day, my lady.” He bowed.
She gave him the sort of look she probably reserved for difficult portraiture subjects. “It won’t wash, Rothhaven. The formality, the courtesy. I understand that you need your dignity—heaven knows I have need of mine—but that won’t serve for what I have to say.”
Oh, dear. Oh, damn.“What will serve?”
She stepped closer. “I wanted to kill them all, every one of them, all but that old man who was so calm and helpful. I wanted to brandish a sword at them and breathe fire upon them. They dared look at you with less than respect, and I wished them all to perdition.”
How easy she was to love. “Did you, now?”
“I wished them to perdition in my thoughts.” She stalked away, pivoting at the Cupid birdbaths. “We are born flawed. Why does that surprise people? Stephen has an injury. I fell in love with a bounder. Quinn can be rigid, and Jane can’t sing to save herself. Why is anything less than perfection cause for judgment and curiosity? I am overset. I didn’t mean to explode like this. I had planned to be articulate and self-possessed, as your future duchess should be.”
“Should she?”
Constance’s path brought her back to him. “Of course.Youare dignified and self-possessed, when not in the midst of your affliction.”
She patted his cravat, which he’d tied in a quick, simple mathematical because he’d craved the comfort of his garden.
“Do you recall our little hike to the orchard, my lady?”
Another pat, or more of a caress. “I relive that encounter in my dreams.”
As did Robert. In his fondest, wildest dreams. He slipped his arms around Constance’s waist. “Do you recall kissing me?”
She linked her fingers at his nape. “Yes, and I recall you kissing me too.”
“Was I dignified and self-possessed?”
The question occasioned a frown. “At first. You have self-restraint, Rothhaven. Buckets and bales of it. I do not.”
Robert drew her close, slowly, gently. “All those years in the schoolroom learning proper deportment when you wanted to go barefoot and paint nature. All the hours spent repeating French phrases you had no use for. All the years of hiding your sorrow as a mother from even your family.” He kissed her temple. “You have self-restraint, Constance. Buckets and bales of it, but I hope you have little need of it with me.”
She let him have her weight on a soft exhalation. “Althea said you might set me aside. She said you are accustomed to being alone and that your attraction to me was too precipitous to endure. I’m a novelty.”
