“That wasn’t the first time I saw you. I had been watching you from my window.” Her expression suddenly grew sheepish. “Actually, I remember thinking that you had an especially fine pair of boots.”
He let out a howl of laughter. “Are you telling me you love me for my boots?”
“Well . . not anymore,” she said with a slight stammer. Was he trying to tease her into admitting to him that she loved him? She was suddenly afraid—afraid she might declare her love for him and he would have nothing to say in return. Oh, this was so difficult. She knew he loved her—she could see it in everything he did—but she wasn’t sure he realized it yet, and she didn’t think she could bear the pain of his murmuring an inanity like, “I care for you, too, sweetheart.”
She decided he had no ulterior motive because he appeared oblivious to her internal distress. Trying to look very grave, he bent down and lifted her skirts up a couple of inches. “Your boots are very nice, too,” he said, admirably managing a straight face.
“Oh, Dunford, you do make me happy.”
She was looking away from him when she said that, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “You make me happy, too, minx. Unfortunately, I fear I had better get you home before they begin to panic at your absence.”
“You did practically abduct me.”
“Ah, but the end most definitely justified the means.”
“You are probably correct, but I do agree with you that I need to return. Ned will be wildly curious.”
“Ah, yes, our dear friend Ned.” With a resigned expression, Dunford rapped on the wall, signaling the coachman to drive to the Blydon mansion in Gros-venor Square.
“You must be kinder to Ned,” Henry said. “He is a lovely person, and I am sure he will be a good friend.”
“I’ll be kind to Ned once he’s found a woman of his own,” Dunford grumbled.
Henry said nothing, too delighted with his obvious jealousy to scold him.
They sat in contented silence for several minutes while the carriage made its way to Grosvenor Square. Finally it rolled to a halt. “I wish I didn’t have to leave,” Henry said wistfully. “I wish I could stay in this carriage forever.”
Dunford hopped down, then put his hands around her waist to help her alight. He held on slightly longer than was necessary once her feet touched the ground. “I know, Hen,” he said, “but we’ve the rest of our lives ahead of us.” He bent over her hand, kissed it gallantly, then watched while she walked up the stairs and into the house.
Henry stood in the foyer for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the events of the last hour. How was it that her life could be so perfectly turned around in so short a time?
We’ve the rest of our lives ahead of us. Had he meant that truly? Did he want to marry her? Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Good God, Henry! Where have you been?”
She looked up. Ned was striding purposefully down the hall. She didn’t reply, merely stood there staring at him, her hand still over her mouth.
Ned immediately grew alarmed. Her hair was a mess, and she didn’t seem able to speak. “What is going on?” he demanded. “What the devil did he do to you?”
We’ve the rest of our lives ahead of us.
Her hand fell away from her mouth. “I think . . .” Her brow furrowed slightly and she tilted her head to the side. Her eyes looked utterly bewildered, and if asked, she wouldn’t have been able to describe a single item in the hall. She probably couldn’t even have identified the person in front of her without taking a second look. “I think . . .”
“What, Henry? What?”
“I think I just got engaged.”
“You think you got engaged?”
We’ve the rest of our lives ahead of us.
“Yes. I think I rather did.”
Chapter 17
“What did you do?” Belle asked, her voice containing more than a twinge of sarcasm. “Ask yourself for permission to marry her?”
Dunford grinned. “Something like that.”
“This is something straight out of a very bad novel, you know. The guardian marrying his ward. I can’t believe you’re doing it.”
Dunford didn’t believe for a moment that Belle had not been working actively toward this very end for several weeks. “Can’t you?”
“Well, I can, actually. She suits you perfectly.”
“I know.”
“How did you propose? Something terribly romantic, I hope.”
“Actually I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a trifle premature, then?”
“Asking Ashbourne to invite us out to Westonbirt? Not at all. How else am I supposed to arrange some time alone with her?”
“You’re not engaged yet. Technically you don’t deserve any time alone with her.”
Dunford’s smile was one of pure male arrogance. “She’ll say yes.”
Belle’s expression grew irritated. “It would serve you right if she refused.”
“She won’t.”
Belle sighed. “You’re probably right.”
“At any rate, much as I’d like to get a special license and marry her next week, I’m going to have to accept a more conventional engagement period. The ton will be titillated enough by the fact that she’s my ward, I want no undue speculation about her character. If we marry too hastily, someone is bound to do a spot of sleuthing and find out we were unchaperoned for over a week in Cornwall.”
“You’ve never cared overly much about ton whispers before,” Belle mused.
“I still don’t,” he said sharply. “Not for myself at least, but I will not expose Henry to any scurrilous gossip.”
Belle bit back a smile. “I’ll be expecting that thousand pounds posthaste.”
“And you shall have it—gladly. Just so long as you and Blackwood head out to Westonbirt along with us. It will seem more of a house party if three couples are there.”
“Dunford, I’m not going to stay with Alex and Emma when John and I have a home not fifteen minutes away.”
“But you will come out to the country next week? It would mean a great deal to Henry.”
And anything that meant a great deal to Henry obviously meant a great deal to Dunford. Belle smiled. He’d fallen hard for this girl, and she couldn’t have been happier for him. “Anything for Henry,” she said with a magnanimous wave of her arm. “Anything for Henry.”
A few days later Dunford and Henry left—with Caroline’s blessing—for Westonbirt, the Ashbourne estate in Oxfordshire. At Dunford’s rather vocal urging, Alex and Emma had hastily arranged a house party for their closest friends—Dunford, Henry, and the Blackwoods, who promised to come by each day although they insisted on spending their nights at their nearby home, Persephone Park.
The carriage’s occupants numbered four, Lady Caroline steadfastly refusing to let Henry go unless her maid and Dunford’s valet acted as chaperones during the three-hour trip to the country. Dunford had the good sense to keep his grumblings to himself; he didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize this precious week he’d been given. Alex and Emma, as a married couple, were proper chaperones, but they also had a soft spot for romance. Belle, after all, had met and fallen in love with her husband under their not-always-so-watchful eyes.
Henry remained silent during most of the trip, unable to think of anything she wanted to say to Dunford in front of the servants. Her mind was brimming with things she wanted to tell him, but it all seemed so personal now, even down to the sway of the carriage and the color of the grass outside. She contented herself with frequent glances and secret smiles, all of which Dunford noticed, for he was quite unable to take his eyes off her the entire trip.
It was mid-afternoon when they turned onto the long, tree-lined drive that led to Westonbirt. “Oh, it’s lovely,” Henry said, finding her voice at last. The imm
ense structure had been built in the shape of an E, to honor the then-reigning Queen Elizabeth. Henry had always preferred more modest structures, like Stannage Park, but Westonbirt somehow managed to possess a homey air despite its size. Perhaps it was the windows, which glinted like cheerful smiles, or the flower beds, which grew in wild abandon all along the drive. Whatever it was, Henry fell in love on the spot.
She and Dunford disembarked and made their way up the steps to the front door, which had already been swung open by Norwood, Westonbirt’s elderly butler. “Do I look presentable?” Henry whispered as they were shown into an airy parlor.
“You look fine,” he replied, looking rather amused at her anxiety.
“I am not too rumpled from the trip?”
“Of course not. And even if you were, it would not matter. Alex and Emma are friends.” He gave her hand a reassuring pat.
“Do you think she will like me?”
“I know she will like you.” He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. “What has gotten into you? I thought you were excited to make this trip to the country.”
“I am. I’m just nervous, that is all. I want the duchess to like me. I know that she is a special friend of yours, and—”
“Yes, she is, but you are even more special.”
Henry flushed with pleasure. “Thank you, Dunford. It’s just that she is a duchess, you know, and—”
“And what? Alex is a duke, and that didn’t seem to stop you from practically charming the breeches off him. If he had met you before Emma, I’d have had quite a fight on my hands.”
Henry blushed again. “Don’t be silly.”
He sighed. “Think whatever you like, Hen, but if I hear one more worried comment come out of your mouth, I shall have to kiss you into silence.”
Her eyes lit up. “Really?”
He exhaled and rested his forehead against his hand. “What am I going to do with you, minx?”
“Kiss me?” she said hopefully.
“I suppose I’ll have to do just that.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against hers, carefully avoiding any deeper contact. He knew that if his body touched hers in any way, even just his hand on her cheek, he would be unable to stop himself from hauling her roughly into his arms. There was nothing he’d rather do, of course, but the Duke and Duchess of Ashbourne were expected at any moment, and Dunford had no particular desire to be caught flagrante delicto.
A discreet cough sounded from the doorway.
Too late.
Dunford pulled away, catching a glimpse of Henry’s pinkening cheeks as he swerved his gaze to the doorway. Emma was trying very hard not to smile. Alex wasn’t trying at all.
“Oh, God,” Henry groaned.
“No, just me,” Alex said affably, trying to put her at ease, “although my wife has, on more than one occasion, accused me of confusing myself with the one of whom you speak.”
Henry smiled, very weakly.
“Good to see you, Ashbourne,” Dunford muttered, getting to his feet.
Alex led his heavily pregnant wife to a comfortable chair. “I expect it would have been much better to see me five minutes hence,” he murmured in Dunford’s ear as he crossed the room to Henry. “Delightful to see you again, Henry. I’m glad to see you’ve conquered our dear friend here. Between you and me, he didn’t stand a chance.”
“I . . . uh . . .”
“For goodness sake, Alex,” Emma said, “if you say one more thing to embarrass her, I shall have your head.”
Only Henry could see Alex’s face as he tried very hard to appear contrite, and she had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“Perhaps you would like to be introduced to the virago in the yellow chair?” he said with a quirky half-smile.
“I see no virago,” Henry said archly, catching Emma’s smile from across the room.
“Dunford,” Alex said, taking Henry’s hand as she rose to her feet, “this woman is as blind as a bat.”
Dunford shrugged, sharing an amused look with Emma.
“My darling wife,” Alex said. “May I present—”
“That’s ‘darling virago wife’ to you,” Emma said pertly, her eyes twinkling mischievously at Henry.
“Of course. How remiss of me. My darling virago wife, may I present Miss Henrietta Barrett of Cornwall, lately of your Aunt Caroline’s guest room.”
“I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Barrett,” the duchess said, and Henry rather thought she meant it.
“Please call me Henry. Everybody does.”
“And you must call me Emma. I wish everybody would.”
Henry decided instantly that she liked the young, flame-haired duchess and wondered why on earth she had been so apprehensive about meeting her. She was, after all, Belle and Ned’s first cousin, and if that wasn’t superb recommendation, she didn’t know what was.
Emma stood up, ignoring the protests of her concerned husband, took Henry’s arm, and said, “Let’s be off. I am so eager to talk with you, and we can be much more frank without them.” She flicked her head in the direction of the gentlemen.
Henry smiled helplessly. “All right.”
“I cannot tell you how happy I am to finally meet you,” Emma said as soon as they reached the hall. “Belle has written all about you, and I am so excited that Dunford has finally met his match. Not that I don’t think you are lovely in your own right, but I have to admit, mostly I’m just pleased that Dunford has met his match.”
“You are frank.”
“Not half as much as you, if Belle’s letters are any indication. And I couldn’t be more pleased.” Emma grinned at Henry as she steered them down a wide hallway. “Why don’t I show you ’round Westonbirt while we chat? It’s really a lovely home, for all its size.”
“I think it’s magnificent. Not at all forbidding.”
“No,” Emma mused, “it’s not. Funny, that. It was meant to be, I think. But anyway, I am glad you are also frank. I have never had very much patience for the doublespeak of the ton”
“Nor I, your grace.”
“Oh, please call me Emma. I hadn’t a title of any sort until last year, and I still haven’t gotten used to all the servants bobbing curtseys every time I walk by. If my friends don’t use my given name, I shall probably die of too much formality.”
“I should be very pleased to be counted among your friends, Emma.”
“And I among yours. Now, you must tell me. How did Dunford propose? Something original, I hope.”
Henry felt her face grow hot. “I’m not certain. That is to say, he hasn’t exactly asked . . .”
“He hasn’t asked you yet?” Emma blurted out. “That conniving little wretch.”
“Now see here,” Henry began, feeling the need to defend him even though she wasn’t certain of the charge.
“No offense meant,” Emma said quickly. “At least no major offense. I expect he did it so that we would turn a blind eye if the two of you happened to wander off on your own. He told us you were engaged, you know.”
“He did?” Henry said uncertainly. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Men,” Emma muttered. “Always going around thinking that a woman will marry them without even bothering to ask. I might have known he’d do something like this.”
“It means that he is going to ask me, I should think,” Henry said dreamily. “And I can’t help but be happy about that because I do want to marry him.”
“Of course you do. Everybody wants to marry Dunford.”
“What?”
Emma blinked, as if just suddenly returning in full to the conversation. “Except me, of course.”
“Well, you couldn’t, anyway,” Henry felt obliged to point out, unable to pinpoint when exactly the conversation had veered into the bizarre. “As you are already married, that is.”
“I meant bef
ore I married.” Emma laughed. “What a widgeon you must think me. I don’t usually have so much difficulty remaining on one topic. It’s the babe, I think.” She patted her stomach. “Well, probably not, but it’s deuced convenient to be able to let it shoulder the blame for all my idiosyncrasies.”
“Of course,” Henry murmured.
“I only meant to say that Dunford is very popular. And he is a very good man. Rather like Alex. A woman would have to be a fool to turn down a proposal from a man like that.”
“Except there is the little problem that he hasn’t exactly proposed yet.”
“What do you mean ‘exactly’?”
Henry turned and glanced through a window which looked out onto a cheery courtyard. “He has implied that we will be married, but he hasn’t asked me directly.”
“I see.” Emma caught her lower lip between her teeth as she thought. “I expect he wants to propose here at Westonbirt. More of a chance to get you alone. He’ll probably want to, er, kiss you when he asks, and he’ll not want to have to worry about Aunt Caroline swooping down to rescue you at any moment.”
Henry didn’t particularly want to be rescued from Dunford, so she made an inarticulate sound that was meant to convey agreement.
Emma cast a sideways glance at her new friend. “I can see from your expression that he has kissed you already. No, don’t blush, I’m quite used to such goings-on. I had as much trouble when I had to chaperone Belle.”
“You chaperoned Belle?”
“And did a dreadful job of it, too. But no matter. You will be delighted to learn I will probably be just as lax with you.”
“Er, yes,” Henry stammered. “That is to say, I think so.” She spied a bench covered in rose damask. “Do you mind if we sit down for a moment? I’m suddenly very weary.”
Emma sighed. “I tired you out, didn’t I?”
“No, of course not . . . Well,” Henry admitted as she sat down, “yes.”
“I have a tendency to do that to people,” Emma said, lowering herself down onto the bench. “I don’t know why.”