Page 66 of Her Tiger of a Duke
Mrs. Pendle returned at that moment with two plates of food and a jug of cider.
“Mind you eat while it’s hot, Your Grace,” she explained. “As I told you, they are only just out of the oven. If you’ve time after, there’s a family who’d be glad of a visit.”
“Certainly,” Owen replied. “Who is it?”
“The Claytons. Their eldest lad took a spill from the cart last week, broke his leg. Nasty business, but he’ll mend.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pendle,” Owen said. “We shall call on them. Before you go, might you have a room for us tonight?”
“I always have a room for you, Your Grace,” she said softly, leaving the room.
The pie was rich, savory, and comforting, exactly as he remembered. Beatrice took a bite, then looked up at him with surprise.
“You were right,” she said. “This is indeed the very best.”
“It is as I told you, this is a wonderful inn.”
“You do speak of it fondly.”
It was the perfect time to tell her something about himself. It would not reveal too much, but it would be just enough for her to see that he was trying.
“I suppose I do. When I was a boy, this was where I escaped to. My father was impossible to reason with, and so I came here when I could not stand to look at him. Mrs. Pendle always gave me somewhere to stay, and that did not change even after I became the Duke.”
“It must have been a comfort to have somewhere to go. I like it. It feels lived in, rather than those manor houses that look like they were decorated only to be admired.”
“That is precisely why I like it too.”
When they finished their meal, they returned to the main room, where a larger gathering had formed to see them.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace,” one older man said. “I don’t mean to intrude, but Mrs. Pendle said you might have a word about the north field.”
“Of course, Mr. Linton. You have no need to apologize. What did you have to say?”
“Well, it is better than we hoped, though the lower field’s still waterlogged from the rain.”
“Then the drainage will be seen to before winter,” Owen promised. “Send word to the steward, and I will authorize the cost.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. This must be your lovely wife. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
Beatrice greeted him in turn, followed by everyone else that wished to meet her. Owen facilitated the introductions, explaining who each person was, and when they had gone, Beatrice turned back to him, eyes wide.
“You know everyone by name.”
“Of course I do. It is expected of me.”
“Expected, perhaps,” she said softly, “but not always done. It is most admirable of you.”
He met her gaze for a moment longer than he meant to. The fire popped sharply in the grate, breaking the stillness. He reached for his cider to distract himself.
Later, Mrs. Pendle appeared with a bright smile.
“Your Grace, the villagers are hoping to see you both on the green. There’s talk enough already about your arrival.”
Owen glanced at Beatrice.
“Shall we?”
“It would be my pleasure. If we are to be talked about, we might as well give them something to discuss.”
