Page 28 of When a Duke Loves a Woman
“I beg your pardon?”
“Takes only one, if he’s the right one, to make you change your mind.”
“I’ll be thirty come December.”
“And I just turned forty-three, but here I am as smitten as a schoolboy.”
“With whom?”
He grinned broadly. “Figure it out.”
He opened the door and the throng rushed in, giving her no time to figure anything out, least of all the reason she’d really said yes to assisting a duke.
“So what is she like?”
Thorne glanced over at the woman striding beside him along the crowded street, her level gaze as questioning as her voice. He’d never before spoken to a woman without having to lower his eyes. He liked that he could look directly into hers. He also liked that he didn’t have to shorten his stride to accommodate her gait. Her long legs easily kept pace with his, or they would if his steps weren’t hampered by a slight limp. Even with the walking stick, his thigh and backside periodically protested his movements.
The hat she wore bore no frills whatsoever. No ribbons, no flowers, no bows. It reminded him of something a farmer might wear as he plowed his fields. He supposed she didn’t have enough hair to hold a hatpin, so keeping a more fashionable lady’s hat in place would be a challenge since she strode briskly more than ambled. Men doffed their hats to her. Women smiled at her, greeted her by name as they passed. Children ran up to her, hugged her legs, received a wooden token from her in return for the gesture, and darted away.
It amused him to observe her, comfortable and relaxed in these environs that made him expect to have his pockets fleeced at any moment. “I told you. Short of stature, fair.”
She scowled at him. “No. What isshelike? Not, what does she look like. What does she enjoy doing? What are her hobbies? When she wants time to herself, what does she do? How does she fill her day?”
He was embarrassed to admit he hadn’t a clue. “She makes morning calls naturally.” All ladies did. “Goes to the dressmaker. Shops. Engages in charitable works.”
“Such as?”
“What difference does that make?”
She easily sidestepped a rotund man who didn’t seem willing to give up his share of the path. Her bared hand skimmed across his gloved one, and he cursed the supple leather that formed a barrier between their skins.
“If she works with orphans, we could visit orphanages or foundling homes. If she does what she can for beggars, we could make inquiries at a shelter or mission. Perhaps someone there saw her.”
How was it that he’d known Lavinia for years and yet knew so little about her? She was a proper lady with a sterling pedigree. He had a vague understanding of how ladies spent their day, but knew none of the details when it came to the woman he’d intended to marry. They spoke of books and gardens and weather. Had he truly intended to spend the remainder of his life talking books, gardens, and weather?
“We often took a carriage ride through the park, but other than that, I’m ashamed to admit I’m not familiar with the specifics regarding how she spent her day.” He couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or disgusted by his lack of knowledge.
“Then we have a challenge before us,” she said lightly as though the matter was of no consequence, but he suspected she’d have not inquired if that were the case. “Do you know if she had any funds on her?”
“Her brother would have given her an allowance. If she saved it perhaps.” He hoped she had an abundance of money. He didn’t want to think of her sitting against a wall or curled on a stoop, with vacant eyes staring out at nothing, like numerous people they’d passed. He didn’t want to consider her being hungry or cold or frightened, not knowing what awaited her. He shook his head to throw off the morose thoughts. “I don’t know if she’d been planning to run away all along or if it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
She had been increasingly quiet of late. Had she begun to have doubts regarding marriage to him? Lady Aslyn had been betrothed to the Earl of Kipwick before she’d tossed him aside in favor of Mick Trewlove. Lavinia had been unusually silent and reserved at Lady Aslyn’s wedding, almost melancholy. Had Lady Aslyn’s change of heart planted seeds of doubt for Lavinia?
“Spur-of-the-moment,” Gillie suddenly announced.
He nearly laughed. “How can you sound so certain?”
“You seem the reasonable sort. Why wouldn’t she simply tell you she had reservations, had changed her mind?”
“Perhaps she feared I’d attempt to convince her otherwise.”
“Would you have not let her go?”
“To be honest, I don’t know. I’d made a vow...” And a deathbed vow was not to be taken lightly. Besides Lavinia was not a flighty debutante. She was of an age when she should have known her own mind, should have understood the solemnity of accepting his offer.
“I suppose there’s some comfort in knowing you’re a man who stands by his vows. But sometimes even the most well-intended oaths are best not kept.”
He wondered if she’d ever made any she’d not kept.
