Page 58 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
“It’s perfect,” Harriet said. “I love nothing more than a long walk in the country.”
“This isnotthe country, though,” Martha said with a laugh.
“No, but it’s second best,” Harriet declared.
Chatting companionably, they strolled to the offices of Mr. de Havilland, and Martha showed them the basement room where the boxes of antiquities were categorized and kept. Though the latest crate from Africa had not yet arrived, her face glowed with excitement, which reminded Jo of how Matthew had glowed yesterday, how he had been almost boyish in his eagerness to show her all the treasures of Mr. Howard’s collection.
She really needed to stop thinking about the man.
Sometime later, after Harriet and Jo had left the museum and were walking down the busy street toward Jo’s house, she said, “Your sister’s passion for antiquities is catching.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Harriet said.
“It is a fascinating subject.”
“I agree, but I shall never be as obsessed with it as she is. It is interesting, but it is the past, after all.” Harriet smiled. “I am more interested in the present.”
Good, Jo thought; she’d brought the subject directly to the present, and the matter at hand. “I heard the Duke of Crestmont called upon you.”
Harriet’s smile didn’t falter. “He did.”
“What did you think of him?”
“He was very polite.” Harriet’s slender throat moved as she swallowed, and Jo studied her discreetly while maneuvering around the heavy street traffic.
“Anything else?”
“He seems to be quite fond of his castle in Nottinghamshire.”
“Really? Was he…bragging about it?” The duke could be considered a braggart. Jo could imagine him talking about his castle in that haughty voice of his, his lips thin, looking down the long slope of his nose.
But he wasn’t a braggart. Jo knew that now.
Harriet seemed to consider this. “I don’t believe he was bragging. He said it is a cold, unwelcoming place. He seemed to imply that I wouldn’t like it.” She gave a small shudder. “And he’s right—I probably wouldn’t. Drafty places chill me to my bones. But he has a modern country house, Crestmont Manor, and it sounds quite agreeable.”
Jo murmured her acknowledgment of this, and Harriet went on. “He said the gardens are stunning, with flowers blooming with abundant color throughout the summertime. And that they would look lovely in watercolor.”
Implying, of course, that once they were married this summer, Matthew would take Harriet to Northumberland, where she could paint the gardens.
And he could get her with child.
Jo stumbled over a cobble that seemed to rise up directly in front of her toes. Harriet grabbed her arm. “Oh, dear! Are you all right, Miss Porter?”
Damn her foolish heart. Through sheer force of will, Jo made herself recover her wits. She would not falter. She could not.
“Of course.” She patted Harriet’s hand, which still grasped her arm. “Just not paying attention to where I’m walking.”
They forged onward, until Jo gathered enough strength to ask softly, “Would you like to paint the gardens at Crestmont Manor someday, Miss Cherrington?”
Harriet kept her eyes straight ahead. “Of course,” she murmured. “I love to paint beautiful gardens.”
The answer was, Jo thought, decidedly noncommittal. It was not the answer she would have expected from a besotted young lady.
And that worried her.
…
Matthew leaned back against the wall in Joanna Porter’s office, his arms crossed over his chest.
