Page 56 of The Wolf and the Wildflower
Since that night she had begun to look forward to his appearance each day with mingled excitement and apprehension. What she had done was observe the duke’s interactions and made a few notes. The discussions she had with her father each night only revealed that he, too, believed the duke was in possession of all his faculties. Jules agreed, even though it was evident that his experiences over the last decade had shaped a gentleman that was incapable of being altered.
Even with that supposition there existed a shift between the duke and his sister, for it was evident in Lady Felicity’s smiles and her interactions with the duke. He appeared more indulgent with her, whereas he stood aloof and watchful with the rest of his family. His mother was delighted by this progress even as sadness still shadowed her eyes. Uncle Hubert watched this change with more suspicion, and the cousin who had been ousted from any possible inheritance of the dukedom had departed for town only this morning.
“My nephew seems to have taken to you, Mr. Southby,” a crisp voice said at her elbow. “I wonder why is that?”
Jules turned and almost groaned at the sight of his Aunt Cecily holding a lorgnette over her eyes as she stared at Jules. His aunt, Lady Shrewsbury, a countess, was a rather eccentric lady who had too much fondness for elaborate hats and coiffures. Today her gown was a deep shade of purple that harked back to earlier days. Although it was styled similar to current fashions, the ornate cloth and ornamentation suggested the lady would prefer to dress in a crinoline and her stiff posture was used to more rigid corsetry. Her face was long but unwrinkled and so it was hard to guess at her age. His aunt’s hair was snowy white and piled high in an elaborate confection of curls and jewels which would not have been considered excessive by the late, no-longer-lamented Queen Marie-Antoinette.
“It is perhaps because we are close in age, my lady,” Jules politely murmured.
The countess pursed her lips, lowered the lorgnette, and skewered Jules with her direct glare.
“Your father revealed you are three and twenty young man, you are hardly close in age to the duke, and it would not benefit you to presume any friendship.”
It was amusing, but she understood there was some hurt underneath that pique. “His Grace only needs time to reacclimate with his family,” Jules said gently. “I suspect you were once close?”
The countess’s eyes widened, and her fingers tightened over the lorgnette. “Has he…has he mentioned me to you, Mr. Southby?”
“I am sorry, my lady, he has not. The duke hardly speaks of his past or his family, however, his reticence is expected. He is learning to trust others again when for so long he has only trusted in his own instincts, which is the most primal part of us and has little to do with learned, civilized behavior.”
The countess sniffed, narrowing her gaze on him. “He allows you to touch him. I wonder why is that.”
Jules jolted. She had not been aware the family observed them so attentively. Keeping her expression carefully composed, she murmured, “Only fleetingly, my lady.”
The countessharrumphedbut continued staring at her nephew.
“Do you truly believe there will be a time that James…that he will return to the lad we all knew and love?”
Jules folded her hands behind her back. “No.”
The countess snapped her regard to Jules, her eyes widening. “I beg your pardon?”
“Harsh experiences have shaped your nephew, my lady. How can he be the same? Are you the same lady as you were ten years ago? I doubt it. Perhaps the family can learn to accept the changes presented and love him still for it,” she said gently.
The countess considered her with a measured stare. “I suppose that is what your studies of those newfangled ideas taught?”
“Some,” she replied, careful to suppress her amusement.
The countess carried on, and Jules went outdoors and headed over to her father who sat underneath a gazebo. He was furiously writing in a notepad, barely sparing her a glance when she sat on the bench opposite him. Earlier she had answered his questions about the duke’s behavior, careful to only share observations that did not violate the duke’s trust.
Jules waited for her father to complete his observations, staring at the ladies who peppered the lawns like the prettiest and most delicate of butterflies. They preened and walked with lovely grace, their smiles beautiful and flirtatious, their laughter tinkling and airy. They all stared at the duke like he was a great prize to be won, a few expressions were wary, but most seemed challenged.
Did they secretly wish for his Grace to fall in love with them?
Who are you, James, and why do you still seem like an enigma?
As if he heard her silent question, the duke shifted his regard, and their gazes collided across the expanse of the lawns. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and there was a slight tug at the sides of his mouth, yet a full smile did not form. More by habit than anything else, Jules checked to ensure her moustache was firmly in place, before dipping her head in a respectful manner.
The memory of his mouth against her most intimate flesh brought a rush of heat to her face, and Jules looked away from him. Instead, she directed her regard to a young lady who sauntered over to the duke, dipped into a most elegant curtsy, and started to engage him in conversation. Jules directed her regard to the duke, searching his expression. She could not read what he thought but he seemed to be politely responding to the young lady. The duchess who observed from a short distance away gave the pleased appearance of the cat who stole the cream.
The duchess waited a few beats before joining her son and the young lady with two of the duke’s aunts. He courteously held out his arm to the young lady, who fluttered her lashes up at him, her mouth curving into a rather beautiful smile.
What was it like to be courted? Jules wondered if all ladies felt the same twisting sensation of want and deep yearning she felt whenever she encountered the duke. Was such a feeling common, or was it singularly unique?
“What is that look of longing on your face?”
Startled, she dropped her regard from the lady and shifted to meet her father’s gaze.
“I was thinking about courtship.”
