“It would make the poets weep with frustration because they could not hope to convey such beauty in mere words.” Dominic’s gaze met hers, and she saw an earnestness she had not expected.
“Oh,” she said.
“I also said that I admired your loyalty and the way you cared so deeply for your sisters,” Dominic added as he leafed through his collection of letters. “So, it seems only fair you say something nice about me.”
“Well, it is hard when I know very little about you,” Charlotte pointed out.
“You know that I am handsome.” He gestured to his face, giving her what she assumed he thought was his most charming smile.
To her immense frustration, she found that it softened her, just a little.
She forced herself to say as cooly as possible, “Are you?”
“I have been told often enough.” Dominic gestured to himself and struck a ridiculous pose.
“But anyone can tell you that you are handsome. And yes, I will add it into my letter, Sweetkins. Honestly, did your mother never tell you that vanity is a sin?” Charlotte teased him.
The Duke stiffened, and an odd look crossed his face, but before Charlotte could read it, it vanished. He shook himself and smiled at her, but there was a tension to it that had not been there before.
“My mother did not tell me much. She… She was not well for much of my childhood,” the Duke explained, his voice seemingly detached and dispassionate.
“Oh. I did not know. I am sorry.” Charlotte thought of her own mother and how sick she had been in the final days of her life.
“Why would you have known? We only just met.” Dominic looked at her.
“Is your mother… Is she better now?” Charlotte asked hesitantly.
“She is dead,” Dominic replied, his voice flat. “I like to hope that she is with my father and that they are both happy.”
“Did they love each other very much?” Charlotte asked.
A mix of anger and sadness flitted across Dominic’s face. “I do not think I have ever seen two people so in love.”
“You make it sound as though it were a bad thing.” She frowned at him.
“Maybe it was.” He sighed. “It does not matter. What’s done is done, and wherever they are now, I must hope that it is a better place.”
Charlotte thought of her own mother and how sick she had been before she died. She remembered the days she had spent nursing her. The hours she had pleaded with God to help her get better.
She saw something of that pain in Dominic’s expression, and without thinking, she gently laid a hand on his. The warmth of it surprised her, spreading through her as she gently squeezed his hand and then released it.
Softly, she said, “It must have been hard caring for her while she was sick.”
“It was. But I managed. And now, I need only look after myself.” He smiled “Well, and my setters.”
“Setters??” Charlotte asked.
“You know, the hunting dogs.” The Duke raised an eyebrow at her
“Yes, I know what a setter is, I was referring to the plural. How many do you have?” Charlotte leaned forwards.
“Only three, by no means an excess,” he replied.
“And you did not bring them with you?” Charlotte did not have a dog of her own: her stepmother had forbidden dogs in the house, and Charlotte hated the idea of it not being able to be with her.
“Grandmother has a strict ‘no pets’ policy for large family gatherings. A necessary policy when one of you has eighteen terriers.” Dominic grimaced.
Charlotte gaped. “Eighteen?!”
