Page 8 of Yours Truly, the Duke
Good. Whyever he was there, he apparently didn’t intend to stay long.
Confident he’d soon be gone, she asked, “Then may I offer you refreshment?”
He didn’t move an inch from his uncompromising stance. “Thank you, no,” he answered in an even tone.
Wonderful. That was even better. Much as she hated for it to be true, his physical presence was making her uneasy. On this day, when she was waiting to meet another man to consider the possibility of marrying him, she didn’t need these improper sensations erupting inside her for such a fine-looking man who exuded power and lived a devil-may-care life.
The duke looked past her to the children again. The corners of his eyes tightened, but this time seeming with more concern rather than curious expression. That was understandable, she supposed. Children were not usually seen in drawing rooms. Nevertheless, she saw no reason to explain their presence, since his arrival was unexpected. For now, she simply needed to find out what he wanted and send him on his way before Mr. Maywaring arrived.
Which could be any minute.
Fredericka exhaled a steadying breath. “Then please tell me how I may help you.”
Cocking his head back, centering his concentration solidly on her once more, he offered, “Perhaps we could take a walk in the garden.”
That was a devilishly brash invitation so quickly after introducing himself to her. What nerve. Yet uncommonly, her pulse thumped erratically. Her stomach tumbled over at the thought of strolling elbow-to-elbow alongside this powerful-looking man.
For a fleeting moment she wanted to accept that invitation, but before she had time to seriously consider such a bad idea, her sensible self returned and took over.
She remembered Miss Litchfield snoozing in the sun and immediately answered, “It’s rather sunny out, Your Grace. I would need time to properly prepare for an outing—put on my bonnet and cape. Fetch my parasol.”
Fredericka didn’t know His Grace at all, and not any man really well, but the duke’s countenance seemed unusual. It was as if he expected her to somehow know why he was there. She gave him an inquisitive stare.
“Is your driver lost and in need of directions?”
His brows knitted together in a frustrated frown. “No. Why do you ask?”
Was he deliberately being evasive with his answers? They’d all been so short. Perhaps he was simply a man of few words.
“I don’t know,” she answered, beginning to feel a little flustered. “I thought perhaps, well—it doesn’t matter.”
The duke acknowledged her pitiful answer with a nod and asked, “What’s wrong with the children?”
Alarmed, Fredericka recoiled and looked back at them, thinking Charles had made a rude or funny face or maybe Bella had stuck out her tongue to the duke.
A brush of pride rushed through Fredericka and her spine straightened as she let out a satisfied breath. They were behaving beautifully. Not twitching or stirring about at all. The girls had their hands neatly folded in their laps and Charles had made a perfect little steeple with his fingers, keeping them still. They weren’t even staring at the duke with youthful interest.
His bold and unwarranted question irritated her, and she faced him defiantly. “Nothing’s wrong with them,” she answered more tersely than would be considered an appropriate tone to take with a duke. But he deserved no quarter for his somewhat rude comment. They weren’tdoing anything that could disturb him. “They are all sweet natured.…” She paused and swallowed hard as memories of peonies flying through the air and water puddling on the floor flashed before her. “Most of the time. They’re healthy, bright, and obeying mannerly rules admirably well.”
“Rules,” he muttered as if he had great distaste for the word. “They look like wooden soldiers.”
Fredericka gasped in outrage. “What did you say?” She lifted her shoulders so high she rolled onto the tips of her toes to make herself almost face-to-face with the duke. She gave him what she hoped was a withering glare. “Whatever would make you say such a thing about a child?”
His brows rose and his lips parted ever so slightly. “It’s an observation,” he argued.
“A critical observation,” she said impulsively, not caring at the moment how she spoke to the duke.
“No,” he said without backing down. “I don’t criticize children.”
“You could have fooled me,” she shot back, and then set her lips in a resolute line.
“It’s a fact,” he stated with no ambiguity. “They aren’t moving.”
Determined not to let him rile her further before sending him on his unmerry way, she settled flat on her feet once more. The last thing she needed was to be in an agitated state when Mr. Maywaring arrived, but the duke was testing her limits. “What do you mean?”
“Children are supposed to be squirming about as if they have ants in the seats of their unmentionables. They should be swinging their legs, moving their arms, snickering, or elbowing each other. They’ve hardly blinked since I walked into the room.”
“Of course they aren’t fidgeting,” she remarked quite proudly, thinking the boorish duke should have offered an apology for his insult, not an explanation. She clasped her hands together tightly, lest she seriously consider attacking him before asking him to leave. He truly was beyond the pale with hisobservation! “They are being polite and mannerly in your presence. As they should be.”
