Page 52 of Yours Truly, the Duke
“We have no tournaments that afternoon.” Rick volunteered the information.
Fredericka appreciated his friend’s assistance but kept her eyes only on her husband.
Wyatt kept his attention on her. “Perfect,” he finally answered with a frown tightening the corners of his mouth just before he gave her a smile of admiration, letting her know she had won that battle.
She nodded and stepped back. “Your Graces,” Fredericka said coolly, nodding to Hurst, Rick, and then Wyatt, giving him a satisfied look. “I’ll take my leave and join the children so the three of you can retire to the book room to finish your conversations.”
CHAPTER 14
THE REMONSTRANCE OF THE TRANSPLANTED FLOWERS
—EMMA C. EMBURY
Oh, lady, list to the voice of mirth,
By childhood wakened around thy hearth,
And think how lonely thy heart would pine,
Should fortune the ties of affection untwine.
When was he going to learn to just keep his blasted mouth shut?
Wyatt closed the door to his book room and stood there looking at it. Fredericka had definitely won that argument.
“I wouldn’t visit a mistress either if I had a wife like her waiting for me at home,” Rick said from behind Wyatt.
Wyatt growled and spun to face his friend. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” Hurst answered immediately for Rick. “He didn’t say anything.”
“Maybe I should teach him how to guard his tongue since he doesn’t know how,” Wyatt offered with a warning in his tone.
“That won’t be necessary.” Hurst moved closer to Rick and looked directly into his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today. You are stepping into a pot of hotwater, and then fanning the flames underneath it. Are you trying to get burned? You don’t have many friends, Rick. I suggest you try to keep the ones you do have.”
“All right, all right,” he muttered, holding up his hands in surrender and looking at Wyatt in an attitude of repentance. “What I said just now was out of line. I shouldn’t have said it.”
Wyatt continued to glare, not certain he wasn’t going to smash his fist into Rick’s face.
“It wasn’t my fault Fredericka excused herself and left the room,” Rick argued.
“It was,” Hurst insisted.
“You were reading her private writings.” Wyatt added his accusation with a slight sneer, refusing to give him an inch.
“The paper was lying on the secretary right beside me. When I looked down, I couldn’t miss seeing the sheets. Wet ink. Four lines, three verses. I was curious. Anyone would have been. But I didn’t read it. Bloody hell, Wyatt, it was poetry. In your house. I was too surprised to read it.”
“That’s no excuse for you picking it up and bringing it to our attention.”
“No, it’s not. I wasn’t trying to upset her, you, me, or anyone else.” Rick sighed loudly and shook his head as if trying to clear his fuzzy brain. “I only mentioned the proposal letter had poetic lines in it, romantic notions, because I thought she would like to know you were capable of such lyrics. I thought it would help smooth things over with the two of you.”
“Smooth what things?” Wyatt’s shoulders flexed. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know. Maybe dancing with Priscilla? LeavingFredericka at Paddleton all this time rather than bringing her here and taking away the mystery of her.”
Wyatt pointed a finger at him. “That is none of your concern! I don’t need your help with my wife.”
Fredericka was fully aware and accepting of the conditions of their marriage. She was to keep to her life in Paddleton. Not put herself and the children in danger by hightailing it to London without any warning. No one hated her walking into his house and seeing him dancing with Priscilla more than Wyatt. But he wanted to give the party for Priscilla—for Grant. And he wasn’t sorry he had.
