And curse it all, he realized as they entered the study, he enjoyed every minute of their sparring. No other woman took so seriously every careless phrase he tossed, as though each syllable mattered.
It was all so absurdly, impossibly diverting.
Chapter Six
“Imust confess, Cordelia,” Matilda said, drawing her shawl closer against the morning breeze, “you have managed to procure the loveliest corner of England. If Kenton were mine, I should never wish to leave it.”
Cordelia beamed, the very picture of satisfaction. “I told you it would delight you. These gardens have been my pride since I first set foot here. Mason claims I spend more hours among roses than I do among people. I like to spend my days wandering the paths in search of love letters or listening for whispers among the hedges.”
“Cordelia,” Matilda chided with a smile. “Must you always have your head filled with schemes? You will make the gardeners uneasy, believing their flowerbeds are haunted.”
Cordelia, however, slipped her arm through Matilda’s. “You jest, dearest, but I am glad you admire the grounds. It pleases me to know you both feel at ease here.”
Matilda cast her gaze toward the sun-dappled lawns, the distant fields framed by oak and elm. It was true. She had not felt such quiet peace in a long while. And yet, just as quickly as it came, the peace soured when her thoughts turned to the reason they were here.
“To be entirely candid,” she said, her voice lowering, “I cannot think myself fortunate in all things. Sharing such a sacred duty with your cousin is hardly my idea of comfort.”
Hazel’s brows rose. “You mean the Duke?”
“Who else?” Matilda returned, a faint tightness about her mouth. “It is no small thing to stand as godmother. I imagined it a bond of gentle remembrance, of steadfastness in your child’s life. Yet now I find myself forced to share that bond with a man who considers the world his amusement. A rake, a scoundrel, and worst of all, so very certain of himself.”
Cordelia’s laugh was quiet but not without mischief. “You must admit, Matilda, he is entertaining company.”
“Entertaining!” Matilda repeated, affronted. “If you mean by that, exasperating beyond endurance, then yes, I concede the point.”
Hazel clasped her hands in delight. “How perfect, then! For while you spend the coming fortnight loathing him, the rest of us shall look on and enjoy the spectacle.”
“Hazel,” Matilda said sternly, though the heat rising in her cheeks betrayed her irritation. She fixed her eyes upon the far hills, hoping neither friend noticed. “You may laugh as you wish, but I intend to think of the child and nothing else. The Duke of Harrow may prance about as he pleases; I shall not allow it to disturb me.”
A moment passed, and Matilda felt as if someone nudged her in the stomach.
“Speak of the devil,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing as a tall figure appeared on the gravel path leading toward the house.
Jasper Everleigh, the Duke of Harrow, had just arrived. His dark riding coat caught the sun, his stride as assured as ever, and even from a distance, Matilda could sense the infuriating air of self-possession he carried everywhere.
Hazel pressed closer to her side, curious. “That is him? He looks?—”
“Exactly like the sort of man one should avoid,” Matilda cut in. “I should have thought Kenton’s air too pure to tolerate his presence.”
Cordelia hid a smile, but before she could reply, a commotion drew their attention. Jasper’s valet, struggling under the weight of several cases, let one slip. It landed with a dull thud upon the drive. Matilda’s lips curved into the faintest smirk.
“Now we shall see him bark like the tyrant he is. No servant escapes unscathed when pride is wounded.”
But what she expected did not come to pass. Jasper turned at once, but instead of scowling or striking, he bent to lift the fallen bag himself.
“Steady there, Miles,” he said easily, his tone absent of censure. “It seems I have overpacked for Kenton, though we both know it is my fault, not yours.”
The valet muttered an apology, clearly flustered. Jasper clapped him on the shoulder with a friendly firmness. “Nonsense. If I am to ruin my boots with the weight of trunks, I would rather do so in company. Come, we shall manage together.” And with that, he hoisted two cases in either hand, carrying them toward the house as though it were nothing.
Matilda stopped walking. Her frown faltered. She watched as Jasper continued to speak with the man, his words quiet but warm enough that the fellow’s face relaxed, even brightened. A laugh escaped Jasper as the valet recounted something in return.
Cordelia, seeing Matilda’s unguarded expression, spoke softly. “You know, Jasper’s valet, Jeremy Miles was once a soldier, a decorated one. His injuries left him unable to find steady work when he returned. Jasper employed him five years ago and has kept him close ever since. He says Miles is the best man he has.”
Matilda blinked, unable to form a ready reply. She had expected cruelty, arrogance, anything but this easy camaraderie between master and servant. Her thoughts tangled in a way she disliked.
Hazel leaned forward, whispering mischievously, “Matilda, you are staring.”
“I am merely… astonished,” Matilda admitted quickly, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.
