Page 37 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
And yet, she still wanted to know. He could see it in her eyes. Glancing around, he wished this room weren’t so tiny. He wanted to pace. Instead, his hand slid off the desk, and he clenched it in his lap. “I…” He cleared his throat. “Last time we met, you expressed some interest in my weather research, and I… Well, I brought some of my charts.”
She clapped her hands together and grinned in delight. “Really? Oh, Your Grace, thank you. Will you show them to me?”
Her interest confused him but at the same time, he found it charming. He pulled out the sheets of paper he’d tucked into his pocket and unfolded them, then pushed them to the center of her desk. “This is a graph of this month’s weather, compared to April of last year.”
She bent over the sheets, her finger moving over the lines as she studied them. “It is warmer this year.”
He showed her his other charts—predictions, barometric trends, and historical readings, including rainfall and snow averages.
She thought it was magnificent. She wasn’t faking it because he was a duke, or because he was one of the richest lords in England. No, she was truly impressed. That made his chest swell with something akin but not quite equivalent to pride. It made him feel accomplished.Satisfied.
Finally, they finished going over his long-accumulated data and study, and he tucked the papers back into his pocket. For a moment, he stared at her as she smiled back at him.
“About Fanny Fleming,” he said suddenly. “I’d like to tell you what happened.”
She jerked back, surprised.
He hadn’t known he was going to say that. He hadn’t planned to tell her a damn thing about Fanny. But there she went again, opening his mouth like she was the sole person to hold the key to what he kept inside.
“All right,” she murmured. Then, she waited patiently as he gathered his courage.
Finally, he started. “The Flemings were acquaintances of my parents, and as such, I’d known Fanny since I was a young boy. We went from despising each other, as young girls and boys tend to do, to developing affection for each other.” He laughed ruefully. “At least, I felt affection for her. I believed she did for me, too.”
He closed his eyes, opened them, then forced himself to continue. “When my parents died, I rushed home from school to take on the responsibilities that had been suddenly piled upon my shoulders. My uncle George arrived as well, presumably to help me make the transition into my new role. But he…” Swallowing, Matthew shook his head. “He didn’t do a very good job of it. He implied my parents had failed at preparing me to take on the role of duke. He made me feel insignificant. Incompetent. Like I’d never live up to my father’s legacy.”
“You were so young, and in mourning, though,” Miss Porter said. “You needed love and support, not to be belittled.”
She was right. Hehadneeded love and support. He’d needed time to mourn, then he’d needed more time to learn everything about what was expected of him now that he was the Duke of Crestmont. Uncle George had probably known it, but he’d done everything possible to undermine Matthew’s sense of self-worth.
He shrugged. “With him consistently, and deliberately, I believe, picking away at my confidence, I began to feel—well, one might say I became rather lonely.”
“What ahorridman.” Miss Porter’s features had gone dark with fury. “I should very much like to have been there. I would have given him a piece of my mind.”
“What would you have said?”
“I would have told him to leave you alone to grieve. To give you time and space to find your footing as duke. To stop belittling and demeaning you. I would have reminded him that you were young and needed support.”
Her words made him realize that, since his parents had died, not many people had stood up for him. Aside from Cole, Winthrop, and Jameson, no one had really cared about him. No one had given a second thought to protecting him; rather, they begged to be protectedbyhim.
This woman before him, a near stranger, wanted to stand up for him. He was grateful. More than that.
He wanted to kiss her.
The thought bolted through him, and he jerked to standing from the ugly green chair. Looking away, he sucked in air and strode to the door before turning around and raising his hand to combat the sudden expression of alarm on her face. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving. I just—” How could he explain? He couldn’t. So he didn’t try. Instead, he merely sighed.
She walked around the desk and came to stand closer to him, placing her hand on his arm. He wanted to lean into her, but he held himself stiff. “I understand this is difficult. You don’t have to—”
“No, no. I’ll continue.” He swallowed again, looking down into her upturned face. So pretty. The kindness glowing there lent him strength.
“The Flemings asked if they could stay at Hanford Castle a while to ‘help me through such a difficult time.’ Knowing that Mr. Fleming and my father had been friends, I said yes, and after they arrived, I began to feel human again. For the first time, I felt like I could be a duke. A man. Fanny and I grew close, and when she said she loved me, I clung to that, telling myself that I loved her, though now I’m not so certain I actually did. Perhaps I just loved the idea that, after the loss of the people in the world most important to me, there was still someone who cared. I felt like she was all I had in this new world where I felt so alone. I wanted to keep her by my side, so I clung to her. I was determined she would be the one thing I wouldn’t lose.
“I knew my uncle would disapprove of the match, because she was a country girl with no family of note, so I did what I believed would be the most romantic thing…” He paused.
“You took her to Scotland.”
“I did.” He swallowed. “My uncle discovered the scheme a few hours after we left, and he followed us in a mad pursuit to Gretna Green. We’d just arrived and were speaking with the blacksmith when Uncle George’s carriage rumbled up and he flew out of it in a rage.”
“Oh my goodness,” Miss Porter murmured, her hand still on his arm in a comforting squeeze.
