“Unless it’s raining, there are performances every day of the week. Plays, musicals, choirs, operas, acrobats... It’s not Drury Lane, but it’s fabulously entertaining. Many of the villagers act on stage or play an instrument.”
He grinned. “I’m surprisedyouhaven’t done so.”
She stared at him.
He closed his eyes. “Of course you’ve done so.”
“I played Maria in Twelfth Night three years running.” She swept him out of the conservatory and into the brisk winter air. “Through these trees is a path leading down to the lake, which is currently frozen over and will remain so through March, making it the perfect spot for ice-skating.”
His face briefly twisted.
She stopped walking and placed her gloved fists on her hips. “Are you afraid of heightsandskates?”
“I’m notafraid,” he said defensively. “I’m a duke with no heirs. I could die falling down twenty flights of stairs, and I could die sinking through a patch of ice that’ssupposedto hold my weight, but doesn’t.”
“And you could die if your French chef decides to poison you, or if a squirrel spooks your horses and your carriage rolls off of a bridge. We all eventually die, whether we want to or not. The question is how you want tolive.”
“I...” he said.
Whatever he’d been about to say vanished as the six-foot, fourteen-stone duke darted from the path in a futile attempt to hide behind a leaf-less sapling.
“Did you see a squirrel?” she whispered.
“People,” he whispered back. “I thought I heard voices I recognized.”
Ah. The one thing that scared His Grace more than thin ice and tall towers and steep cliffs: being caught on a public path in proximity to Cynthia Louise Finch.
Not insultingat all.
The voices indeed belonged to people, and without doubt at least one of them knew Nottingvale well: the Duke of Azureford and his new bride strolled up the winding path arm-in-arm.
“Cynthia Louise!” squealed the Duchess of Azureford, better known as Cynthia’s childhood friend Carole. Because Houville was so close to Cressmouth, they’d seen each other at least monthly for decades.
The ladies bussed cheeks and the Duke of Azureford inclined his head to the Duke of Nottingvale, who had wisely abandoned the spindly sapling he’d hoped would disguise him.
“I hear you’re as terrible at billiards as I am,” Azureford said with a chuckle.
“Wonderful.” Nottingvale sent Cynthia a dark look. “I’m now being gossiped about.”
“I didn’t create the gossip,” she informed him. “Or invite you to billiards.”
“We’re inviting you both,” said the duchess. “Cynthia Louise has visited our new billiards room countless times, but it would be lovely to play with partners. Perhaps later this week?”
“Er,” said Nottingvale.
“He’s hosting a party,” Cynthia explained. “Right now, at this very second.”
He shot her an even darker look.
“Of course it’s still going on,” the duchess said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Perhaps Epiphany, then? Once the guests have departed?”
“We’ll let you know,” Cynthia said quickly. “In fact, I’ll drop by tomorrow for tea, and catch you up on the latest scandal broth.”
At Nottingvale’s startled look, she whispered, “I’ll leave out the good bits.”
His face flushed crimson.
“Well, then,” said the duchess. “You two look... busy. We’ll carry on. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cynthia Louise!”
