Page 40 of The Captive
“We’ve an assignation, then, so be off with you.” The duke turned her by her shoulders and gave her a gentle shove. “Mind you go straight to the nursery, and don’t get your pinafore dirty on the way, lest Nanny and the countess be wroth with me.” He shook a playful finger at her, then blew the child a kiss.
Grim?
The girl scampered off, turning to wave at them from the barn door, then cutting a line across the gardens toward the house.
“She’s more animated for having you about,” Gilly said. “The entire staff is elated to have you home again.”
“Oh, quite. Risen from the dead and all that. Would you walk with me, Countess?”
He wrapped her hand over his arm, the ease of it giving Gilly a private pleasure. On those occasions when it had been necessary to walk with Greendale, he’d spent the entire promenade hissing criticism at her, while presenting a bland countenance to the world. Strolling on Mercia’s arm felt…peaceful.
And protected, the opposite of Greendale’s carping and threats.
“You’re silent. This makes a man nervous, Lady Greendale.”
“We’re sharing a roof, Your Grace, and we have been cousins by marriage. Might you call me Gillian? Nobody does anymore.” Not that Greendale had. His names for her had been…not worth recalling. Gilly leaned closer to her escort.
“Gilly is a pretty name.”
In his less vile moods, Greendale had called it a peasant name. “How long do you suppose you’ll stay, Your Grace?”
“Stay?” The duke snapped off a red damask rose, took a whiff, then passed it to her. “This reminds me of you.”
Another compliment?
“Stay here at Severn,” Gilly said, wanting to touch the rose to her nose, but finding the impulse oddly intimate. “Before you leave.”
“I’ve quite sold out, Countess, and the only reason I’d set foot on the Continent would be if old army matters required it of me, and they well might.”
“But you’ve estates elsewhere. Business in Town, matters that will take you from Severn.” Part of her wanted him to travel on, lest she cross the line from kisses given out of friendship and comfort to kisses of a different nature.
“Are you asking if I have a mistress in Town, languishing for lack of my company? That would have been fast work, my dear. Should I be flattered or insulted that you suspect such a thing of me?”
Mydear?Was he teasing? She recalled him shaking his finger at his daughter in mock sternness. “You should be quiet. I would never ask such a thing.”
Though she might suspect it.
“Helene did.” He disentangled their arms and took her by the wrist instead, leading her to a shaded bench. “At great, vociferous, and tiresome length, she accused me of being quite the blade on the town.”
Good heavens. It was one thing to complain to a cousin, quite another to rip up at one’s husband. “You cut a dash. Greendale remarked it.”
“Greendale was still wearing powder and patches. He’d criticize the angel Gabriel for flying. I was faithful to my vows, Countess. My parents were a love match, and I married Helene hoping to esteem her greatly.”
He fell silent while Gilly cast about for a change in topic—Helene had hopedtobeesteemedgreatly, and apparently she had been. The duke went on, his tone thoughtful.
“I often suspected Helene had a wandering eye and couldn’t quite admit it to herself, so she must see the fault in me.”
To his list of attributes, Gilly added astuteness, which was not a great blessing under some circumstances.
“She very much enjoyed being Duchess of Mercia,” Gilly said, relieved that it was the truth.
“She did. I take consolation from that.”
“Will you observe mourning for her and Evan?”
“That depends in part on the guidance I receive from Vicar, but I am inclined to take up second mourning, as Helene will soon have been gone for a year.”
“And Evan, too.”
