Understandable, perhaps. While his father had been a model aristocrat, his skills in other areas had not been nearly as well developed.
Patience with wayward children, for instance.
Before Harbury had gone away to school, he’d been close to some of the staff. All of them—including Anderson—retainers left over from his grandfather’s time. Seemed like every holiday, he’d come back to the hall only to be told another one of them had either been pensioned off or had passed on.
His father had found his interest in their welfare unseemly.
Was his father’s insistence that he keep his distance from the staff then why he’d held himself so aloof from everything now? Moreover, had he held onto his single-minded attachment to Viv because indulging memories of her kept him from feeling the depth of his frustration with his father?
“Earlier—”
His wife startled him out of his reverie.
“—I called you insufferable.”
“I took your insult in jest,” he replied.
“I meant it in jest…” She hesitated. “Thistime. But Eliza and I used to call you insufferable.The Insufferable Duke. Unfair, I know. But there was the Almack’s incident.” She smiled apologetically. “I just want you to know I don’t think of you as insufferable anymore.”
“I’m glad I’ve improved in your estimation,” he commented dryly.
“You have. And in my defense, you had nearly ruined me. If I had nearly ruined you, what would you have called me?”
Unfortunately, when he’d first told Adrian about her, he’d called herthe silly chit.
Unfairly, too. They hadn’t even been properly introduced. He’d just been piqued because he’d been drunk and angry with himself.
But what would he call her, now?
He tilted his head. “Now, I’d call you the best choice I ever made.”
She blushed and looked away.
“You’re catching on,” he said.
Her glance was furtive.
“Driving, I mean,” he clarified.
“Thank you.”
Suddenly, she yanked up on the right rein and the cart jerked to one side.
“Trusty. Stop! Now.” The horse came to an abrupt stop, but the cart did not, a violent see-saw of wheels nearly toppling them.
“What the—” but before he could finish his exclamation, she had jumped to the ground. She was already heading for the brush. “Cassandra!”
“I’ll be back,” she called over her shoulder.
Trusty made a noise melding both annoyance and protest. Harbury glanced between Cassandra and the horse before climbing down from the box and trudging over to soothe the animal.
“Sorry boy,” he crooned. “I’ve absolutely no explanation.”
Noise in the shrubbery alerted him his wife hadn’t gone far. Still, he breathed a jagged sigh when she reappeared, leaves sticking willy-nilly from her hair. In her arms she held a squirming ball of mud and fur.
“Mercy,” he breathed.
“How clever and excellent a name,” she said beaming. “What do you think?” She spoke to the ball of filth. “Shall we call you Mercy?”
