Page 58 of My Deal with the Wrong Duke

“So am I.” She meant it. She wanted to mean it more. After all, this was Frederick. The man of her dreams.

They returned to the house in time for luncheon. Frederick held her chair. He buttered her bread roll without asking. He asked about her family. He described his library in Kent, his plans for the south wing, the morning room his mother had decorated.

“I do wish to invite you to the library,” he said and she nodded almost eagerly. “I should like that very much,” she said. “I am quite a fan of old books, I…” He nodded and smiled. “The lighting is beautiful,” he said. “My mother had a gift for decorating. When I marry, my wife will not have to change a single thing.”

“Oh.”

She nodded slowly. “That… sounds fortunate,” she said. He smiled. “Yes. She can simply walk into a life that is ready for her.”

His eyes gleamed, and her heart beat faster. This was everything she had wanted. He was looking at her with that gleam in her eyes, and telling her that his life was ready for her to simply walk in.

After luncheon, the hunting party assembled on the gravel drive. Frederick appeared in a riding coat, his gun under his arm.

“I shall not be long. A few hours.” He bowed over her hand. “I shall think of you.”

“Enjoy yourself.”

He mounted. The party clattered off. Frederick fell into conversation with Lord Ashton before they reached the gate.

Eleanor appeared at her shoulder. “Did he make you laugh?”

“He tucked a flower behind my ear.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Louisa lifted her chin. “The ladies are gathering in the drawing room. Let us join them.”

Lady Caldwell had claimed the settee nearest the window. Mrs. Fenton sat beside her with a letter open on her lap. Two younger ladies occupied chairs near the fireplace, their embroidery hoops balanced on their knees.

“The satin stitch is entirely unsuitable for a border of that width,” Lady Caldwell declared, holding up a square of linen. “I have said so to Mrs. Fenton. I have said so twice.”

“You have said so four times,” Mrs. Fenton murmured, turning a page of her letter.

“Because the point bears repeating. Chain stitch. That is what is wanted here. Miss Fairchild, you agree with me, I am sure.”

Louisa looked up from the cushion she had been pretending to examine. “Chain stitch is very reliable.”

“There. You see?” Lady Caldwell turned to Mrs. Fenton with the triumph of a barrister resting her case. “Miss Fairchild agrees.”

Mrs. Fenton did not look up from her letter. “My daughter writes that the weather in Bath has been uncommonly fine.”

“Chain stitch,” Lady Caldwell repeated, to no one.

Eleanor caught Louisa’s eye from across the room. Her expression said everything her mouth could not.

Louisa pressed her fingertips against her temple. “Forgive me, Lady Caldwell. I find I have a headache. I think I shall take some air.”

“Of course, my dear. The country air will do you good. We shall save your seat.”

Louisa collected Belinda from her room. She found the walled garden behind the east wing, making herself at home upon a stone bench beneath a tree.

She opened the book, reading a full three pages without absorbing a word.

“If I were Frederick, I would be deeply offended.”

She startled. Oliver stood in the archway, one shoulder against the brick.

Louisa lifted a brow. “You frightened me.”