Page 37 of The Wolf Duke's Wife
I will not be alone.
The idea was intoxicating and terrifying. The road dipped toward the village where shopkeepers leaned in doorways, shading their eyes as the procession passed. The Dowager’s carriage halted by the green. She alighted with surprising agility for a woman of her years, waving them over.
“My dear girls!” she cried, “how very radiant you both look. Lady Christine, a word with you, if you please.”
Blanche, with a tact born of long friendship, slipped away toward a flower stall, leaving Christine to face the old Duchess’s shrewd, smiling eyes.
“I hear,” said the Dowager, “that congratulations are in order.”
Christine felt heat rise to her cheeks. “Your Grace…”
“Hush. I am delighted. You think I did not notice you and the Duke growing friendly during the games? I’ve orchestrated too many love stories to miss the signs.”
Christine found her voice. “There is…less to it than people believe.”
“Nonsense.” The Dowager looped her arm through Christine’s and steered her along the path by the river, “the world rarely errs on the side of less. Besides, his Grace is a complicated creature. He would not waste his time on a passing fancy.”
“I doubt he knows what fancies are.”
“Oh, he does,” the Dowager said, smiling faintly, “he simply mistrusts them. He mistrusts everything.That is why you interest him.”
Christine looked away, the water flashing gold beside them. “You speak as if he were tame.”
“Not tame,” the Dowager corrected, “but tamed briefly, by your presence. My late husband was much the same. A man who bit the world before it bit him. Some men require a steady hand, not a leash.”
Christine’s throat tightened. “You think I could be that hand?”
“I think you already are.” The Dowager patted her arm, “Do not run from good fortune, child. I know how cruel gossip can be, but gossip fades. Security does not.”
They walked in silence for a while. A heron rose from the reeds, beating slow wings toward the far bank. The Dowager sighed contentedly.
“You will find, in time, that courage is not always in defiance. Sometimes it is in surrender.”
Christine was still pondering that when Blanche rejoined them, breathless and carrying a tied bouquet of cut flowers. The Dowager wandered away, sighing over the picturesque village. Blanche tucked the flowers into Christine’s hand before they climbed aboard.
“For courage,” she said softly.
Christine sniffed them, appreciating their fragrance. She and Blanche resumed walking along the river in companionable silence. Ahead of them, Lady Martha appeared, escorted by Lord Bingley.
“There is a woman who should now be your best friend,” Blanche whispered, “you cannot be seen as a threat if you are engaged to another.”
“Should,” Christine said.
Lady Martha smiled as they drew close enough to acknowledge each other’s presence.
“Lady Christine, Lady Blanche. Are you enjoying a break from the festivities?” she asked, sweetly.
“We are,” Blanche replied, “and at least one of us hopes to be sharing the state which you and Lord Binley currently enjoy.”
Martha’s smile was frozen, matching her eyes. She looked at Christine entirely correctly, but with projection spikes and daggers.
“So, I am given to understand. Quite a catch. Did you need a net?”
Christine had been prepared to present a face that would enable her to walk on by and forget Martha’s venom. She heard the insult to Tristan and felt a corresponding surge of anger.
He needs no one to spring to his defense but…he did help me on the first night. He is offering me help now.
“Better a tidal wave than a drip,” Christine said.
