“Isn’t it obvious?” He gave a sheepish smile. “They’re all yours. You can keep them here if you prefer, or you can stuff them into your basket with Tiglet. His claws cannot possibly make my designs any worse.”
“Tiglet is a paragon of fashion,” she admitted. “Let’s leave them here so he doesn’t outshine us.”
“Tiglet outshines everyone, with or without bonnets,” Faircliffe pointed out.
Chloe wasn’t so certain.
The Duke of Faircliffe, with his wide shoulders and chiseled jaw and floppy flowered bonnet covered in wax cherries and a rainbow of silk rosebuds, outshone any other member of the beau monde Chloe had ever met.
Hesawher. He didn’t want anything from her. He wished to do thingsforher. He wanted her to be herself.
Could a woman ask for anything more?
“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’ve been flippant because I am speechless.”
The tips of his ears reddened. “Don’t thank me. I had plenty of help. My staff and I spent the evening pinning these contraptions together and giggling like schoolchildren.”
The picture he painted caused Chloe to giggle as well. And to rethink more of her assumptions about Faircliffe. He was a duke, yes, but he was also a man who would sit around a table piled with millinery, playing at handicrafts with his servants. Servants like…
“Mr.Hastingsmade one of these hats?” That explained the secret smile on the butler’s face.
“He fashioned the bonnet on my head,” Faircliffe confirmed. “There was a clump of wooden apples, but they kept falling off. Dinah and Peggy used them on a different headpiece.”
Chloe’s chest lightened. She was visible not just to Faircliffe but to his entire staff. Even those whom she had not met yet had worked together to surprise her with a gift they weren’t certain she would want.
All so that here, with him, there would be no need to hide.
“One cannot be anyone but oneself,” Faircliffe said with a crooked smile. “There’s no point in fighting it.”
Could that be true?
This week, she had gone to Philippa’s reading circle not for any nefarious reason but because Chloe liked books. And Philippa. And highly, highly valued being invited as Chloe Wynchester rather than forced to infiltrate as Jane Brown. That alone had once seemed impossible. The idea that she could take that further and be as peculiar and quirky as she pleased with Faircliffe was heady indeed.
“I was wrong about you,” she admitted.
His face fell. “I’mnotthe most dashing duke in the entire history of England?”
Definitely the most kissable.
“You’re more than what you seem,” she said. “Just like me.”
He was as complex and as surprising as his bonnet. There was so much to admire. He was honorable, indefatigable in Parliament, loyal, caring, imaginative. His empathy was not reserved for speeches about the nameless, faceless masses but for every person individually. Her, specifically.
He liked her and was unashamed to have her know it.
Chloe held out her hand as if meeting a stranger for the first time. She had crossed paths with Faircliffe a dozen times in the past. Her fingers shook as she realized that he would never forget her again.
He didn’t just remember her when he saw her. He thought about her even when she wasn’t there. Maybe even as often as she thought about him.
“Good afternoon. I’m Chloe. And I’m thinking very seriously about living inside your millinery trunk.”
He took her hand and gave the trunk a dubious glance. “There’s not much oxygen in there. Experts recommend a dressing room with plenty of natural light.”
“I’ve got one,” she admitted. “And if you thinkyourcollection is eccentric…”
He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers. The gesture was not torrid but tender. As if she was a prize worth winning. “It is delightful to meet you, Chloe Wynchester. I’m Lawrence. I daresay you’re perfect no matter what clothes you wear.”
“I daresay I’d like to kiss you, Lawrence,” she said before she lost her nerve.
