Page 57 of The Venus and the Viscount
He did not like her.
Hudson turned back to the fountain. “That is not pragmatic of you, Lady Elysande. One must fret over water where there should be some and things that are broken which require repair or replacing.”
“Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not intend to vex you.” She turned toward him with a sunny smile pinned to the lips he had grudgingly admired over tea.
She was impeccably pleasant. He felt like an ogre in comparison. Her continued politeness and cheer nettled. Best to get this business done. He hardly had the time to tarry in the ruined gardens.
“I need to marry,” he told her abruptly.
She did not appear surprised. “Of course, Your Grace.”
What was this nonsense with the forms of address? He disliked it immensely.
“You were betrothed to the former Duke of Wycombe.”
“Yes.”
“Have you an understanding with anyone else?”
She was still smiling, her beauty taking on an ethereal quality.
This, too, annoyed him.
“I do not, Your Grace,” Lady Elysande said.
Good enough, he supposed, tamping down his resentment. “Would you object if I spoke to your father?”
The smile deepened, and she was even prettier now. He had the vague impression her previous smiles had been false and that this one alone was real.
“That would be wonderful, Your Grace.”
Wonderfulwas not how he would describe the prospect of such an interview. An ill feeling settled in his stomach. He had to do this, he reminded himself. He had no choice.
“Shall we return to your mother and sister?” he asked, flicking another glance toward the empty fountain, a symbol of why he had proposed marriage to a lady he had only just met.
“Of course,” she obligingly agreed.
But then, everything about Lady Elysande was so bloody obliging. Fortunately, he had no intention of having a real marriage with her. When they were wed, they could happily carry on with their separate lives.
He escorted her back to the golden salon in grim silence.
