“Dominic.” The word fell from her mouth, evoking that sense of impropriety, of being too intimate.Perhaps with practice, I will grow used to it.
“Very good.” Dominic stepped away from her and bowed low. “Then I will make my excuses to your father.”
“Thank you.” She hesitated a moment and then added, “Dominic.”
For a moment, he looked surprised, and then he smiled. “I see you are already practicing.”
“Practice makes perfect.” Charlotte shrugged.
“So it does, my dear Lady Nettle. So it does.” And there was something in the way he said her last name that made it feel as though he had said her first.
As he walked away from her, Charlotte stared after him, an odd feeling in her chest. She shook her head. It was just a name. It meant nothing and the Duke — no, Dominic — was right. They needed to convince everyone of the truth of their engagement.
“This is purely a practical decision. It means nothing,” she murmured aloud.
Then why does it feel so dangerous?
Chapter Seven
DREAMS, DESIRES, AND DEVELOPMENTS
“Iam sorry that it has been so long since I last visited, Mother.” Dominic brushed a few strands of grass from the tombstone.
It was overgrown. Like much of his estate, it was in need of tending. Not quite dire need, but not far from it. Dominic sighed as he looked down at the writing before him.
“Here lies Her Grace, Amelia Dorson, Dowager Duchess of Verimore. Beloved Mother and wife. Born 20 October 1768 – Died 1 January 1811,” Dominic read and shook his head. “Six years ago, and yet still, I feel it as though it were yesterday.”
He sighed. “I wonder what you would make of everything that has happened? Would you even notice that I have a fiancée? Would it have alleviated your pain or made it worse?”
“And what would you have thought, father?” Dominic glanced down at grave beside his mother’s—Arthur Dorson, Duke of Verimore, Beloved Father and Husband. “I hope you are both at peace,” Dominic murmured, getting to his knees and turning away from the headstones.
He had not been here in many months, and though he felt guilty, he could not bring himself to visit more frequently. Not with the memory of his mother, all of those years ago, her eyes glassy, face purpled, and skin mottled.
The sickly-sweet smell of laudanum filled his nose, and he felt a rising panic threaten him.Stop it. It was many years ago.
“There you are! Honestly, a rather maudlin thing to be doing so early in the day, Dorson,” a voice called, bringing him back to the present.
Dominic smiled and stood up, catching sight of two young men striding towards him. “What are you doing here, cousins?”
“We came to find you!” his cousin, Frederick Felton, Duke of Caverton replied.
Beside Frederick, Thomas grinned, bounding up to him. “Caverton has just told me you managed to wangle an invitation to grandmother’s games.”
“She is calling them her Dowager Dabbles now,” Frederick reminded him.
“Yes, the Dowager Dabbles.” Thomas sighed.
“I gave her that name.” Dominic let a note of pride enter his voice.
“Did you indeed? I hate it,” Thomas said.
“Do you hate the name or the fact that you did not think of it?” Dominic teased his cousin, knowing that he liked to think of himself as something of a wordsmith.
“Why not both?” Thomas replied good naturedly without missing a beat. “Besides, I hate the whole concept of the games. It feels very much like grandmother is up to something nefarious.”
“Then you do not plan on attending?” Dominic canted his head towards his cousin.
“If I had the choice, I would not. But grandmother insisted that I come to Caverton. And I know of few people, living or dead, who can refuse her requests.” Thomas shuddered as both Dominic and Frederick nodded in agreement.
