Ashford shoveled in some sausage and egg and watched him thoughtfully. When he’d swallowed his mouthful he said, “She’s an interesting young woman. Have you talked to her about her family?”
“Not a great deal, no,” Robert admitted.
“She’s the eldest of eight. That ought to be something you have in common, eldest children and all that.”
Robert nodded thoughtfully. “You’re right. I’ve not been thinking enough about her, have I? I mean, I’ve done nothing but think about her, but not in the way you mean—from her perspective.”
Ashford nodded. “Try to get off your high horse. Stop being a duke.”
“I told you—”
“Yes, and I told you—be Robert, not Troubridge, when you talk to her. She’ll be marryingyou, not your bloody title.”
Robert swallowed. That was the trouble, wasn’t it? This was to be a marriage of convenience; it was his bloody title he was offering. Yet he desperately wanted to make it something else. But could he? Did she want that? He had to admit to himself that he hadn’t a clue. He didn’t know what she wanted, and he didn’t know how to ask.
But I’ll bloody well have to learn, won’t I? If I want a hope in hell of persuading her to view this as something more than a business transaction.
“I’ll take her for a drive in the park, talk to her. You’re right, I’m an idiot.”
“No just a duke,” said Ashford with a smile. “You’re not so bad when you forget your dignity.”
*
Sarah had spenttwo days in a quake, waiting to be branded a harlot and chastising herself roundly for her behavior. She had not confided what had happened to Daphne, who seemed rather more taken with Ravenshaw than a respectable widow ought tobe. Particularly remarkable considering the marquess was ten years her junior.
When the duke called late in the afternoon on the third day to take her driving in the park, she was in two minds about refusing, but Daphne didn’t give her a chance, accepting on her behalf and chasing her away to get her cloak, for there was a breeze out, and “It would not do for you to take a chill, my dear.”
Returning back downstairs in her cloak and bonnet, she let the duke help her step up into his high perch phaeton, and when she was settled with a rug tucked round her legs he leaped up into the driver’s seat, gave his groom the office to let go the horses’ heads, and they were off. The pair he was driving were elegant greys, and he explained he had another pair for longer trips where four horses were required.
“I trust you have recovered from the other night?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, I should thank you because I am sure it was your idea, wasn’t it, not Lady Ashford’s?”
“It was,” he admitted.
“The fireworks were spectacular.”
“Even though your peace had been cut by what occurred earlier?”
She looked up at him, startled that he would so bluntly refer to what she had hoped to forget.
“Yes, I can only apologize for my silliness.”
“Please don’t, the fault was mine. We seem to have come off clean, however. Lannister must have taken my warning seriously.” He looked a trifle grim at that.
“All the same, I should not have let you take me into that temple.” She worried at her reticule, still uncomfortable with her own behavior.It must have been the champagne and the masks.
“Perhaps not, but in spite of everything, I cannot regret it.”
Her heart skipped at the implications of that.
“You have mentioned to me that you are the eldest of eight. Would you care to tell me about your siblings?”
His abrupt change of subject took her further by surprise. “Why?”
“Is it such a stretch to believe I might be interested?” he asked, negotiating round a parked carriage.
She smiled thoughtfully. “No, I suppose not. You know, Your Grace, you are constantly surprising me. I’m not sure that I know you at all.”
