Page 21 of The Duke's Return
“Would you care if––” Genevieve caught herself, glancing at the servants as as the doors beside them opened to the dining room. “That is, would you care to join me, my dear husband? It feels ages since we have shared a meal together.”
“It as though you read my mind.” He offered his arm and led her through.
They might still be strangers, but Julian could see the tension in Genevieve’s smile. Curiosity held him captive, making him wonder what sharp retort she had planned to say about him. His clothes? He had been called a dandy before due to his commitment to bold jewel tones and the current styles. His timing? He was only two minutes late, hardly worth mentioning. Or had she found something else to complain about?
I don’t even know why I am curious. It’s not like she cares. This is simply her duty and nothing more.
He reminded himself of this as he led her to her seat and then took his own. It was a private dining room for family with a total of eight chairs. They weren’t so far they would have to shout, but not close enough to touch one another. As he pondered his preference, Mrs. Waverly announced the first course while the kitchen servants brought out the dishes.
Once the servants took their leave, only two footmen and a serving maid remained lined against the wall. Silence settled. It was soft at first before growing awkward.
Julian ate his greens slowly before pausing to take a look at Genevieve. Her gaze met his only for the merest second and then dropped without a word, beyond the pink blooming on her cheeks.
Silverware clinked. He turned back to his meal. There came the ticking sound of the clock to his right. Once he had tried to climb the great thing and had received quite the ear cuffing for it. Through the courses, his mind wandered until he was certain he might go mad in the quiet.
“How is your dish?” Julian asked at last, his leg bouncing beneath the table.
Genevieve had her fork halfway to her mouth. She slowly set it down before looking at him. “I haven’t tried it yet.”
They had just been served the main dish, roasted pheasant. Though he’d downed three bites so far, apparently she’d been busy cutting hers. He eyed her plate and then looked at her carefully blank expression. “You’ll enjoy it.”
“Will I?”
“You like pheasant, surely?” Too late, he should have thought to rephrase the question as though he did know. Everyone liked pheasant. Didn’t they? He blinked while Genevieve darted an uneasy glance to the servants. “It’s fresh, I believe.”
“Yes, Mrs. Waverly just told us that,” his wife said with a slight gesture toward the door. “Plucked this morning for a slow roast.The scent is very promising, so I am sure I shall like it. And… and how do you like it?”
He cleared his throat. “Very well. But the first bite is always the worst because my mind always turns to Mr. Partridge, a fat old pheasant down the hallway that glowers whenever we walk by.” His wife stared. “My grandfather shot him, from what I hear, and did the stuffing himself. That’s why the eyes are different sizes. When I was a child, I was certain he would come back to life for revenge if I wasn’t careful.”
A short giggle escaped her from where she sat. So close and yet so far. She lifted her hand over mouth as more giggles burst forth. It was the merriest sound he had heard in a while. Laughter shook her body, and he watched, amazed.
“I saw him earlier! I had the same thought,” she sputtered. “What a poor bird! How dreadful. Perhaps he should come back to life if only to put us all out of the misery of seeing him so often.”
Raising his eyebrows, Julian found himself pleased with her reaction. He had hoped for a bit of a smile. But to hear the laughter…
As she put down her hands and cleared her throat, the smile fading, he straightened up. “He almost had a mate, you know. I went hunting as a young man and almost brought one home.”
“Oh?” She paused before taking a bite. Her head tilted as she watched him, letting him dive into his story.
“I was hosting a party with my great aunt Eliza at the time. She had several politicians and diplomats who preferred arguing over breathing. As a recent graduate, I thought I was more thanequipped for any sort of challenge. I brought a few friends along and included a hunting party for Eliza’s weekend.”
Chewing, Genevieve nodded to show she was listening.
“What a beautiful day it was. We arose early and I played with the dogs, readying them for the hunt. I even brought out my favorite mount, Heidi, at the time. Beyond the orchard are some forests with plenty of birds and rabbits and foxes. A fruitful summer, I expected us all to enjoy ourselves. As the host, I led out the hunt.”
She paused to drink and then asked, “Do you hunt often?”
His lips curled into a smile before he could help himself. “I enjoy a good ride, but no, I had not hunted much before then. Only with my father. But this was what men do, and I was eager to impress. So I led the way, jumping over broken logs and hedges and showing my horse’s talent. We caught wind of a creature before long. The dogs howled and we took chase… and kept chasing. We trusted the dogs more than our sight, you see. They smelled something and we expected to hunt it before long.”
“Then you didn’t know what you were hunting?”
“Not yet. But that’s part of the fun.”
“Not if you get it wrong. Then you’ve wasted your time,” she pointed out.”
“Do you waste time enjoying a stroll in the gardens if you do not do the planting yourself?” he countered cheerfully.
Genevieve hesitated. “Touché. Very well, carry on.”
