“Sarah Churchill, the Duchess of Marlborough, campaigned tirelessly for Whig causes and was Queen Anne’s main counsel. Georgiana, the scandalous Duchess of Devonshire, was also a political activist and philosophical influencer who lived and breathed the reforming ideals of John Locke and Rousseau. To such an extent that the public loved her so the government had to listen to her on occasion. So many duchesses and marchionesses and countesses are patrons of all manner of laudable things from hospitals to schools, and I guarantee that there will be an aristocratic woman spearheading the current fight against child labor, improving factory and mining conditions, and all manner of sweeping reforms that are urgently needed. Women who use their privilege as a platform and the finances at their disposal as a weapon and, while I agree that it might be slow, as change so often is, in the end they really make a difference.”
All valid arguments—but why was he suddenly making them? “And your labored point is?”
“That you can do more good for the causes you hold dear as theDuchess of Debden than you ever could as Portia Kendall, so maybe you should consider staying a duchess? Till death do us part?”
Of all the things she had expected Leo to say today, “till death do us part” wasn’t one of them. “What?”Was he seriously suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?“How is me using and abusing your title the least bit fair on you?”
“Leo!” A giggling Emilia had already reached the pontoon several yards ahead to secure them a boat. “Stop dawdling! It’s your turn to row!”
“Isn’t it always?” he yelled back as he extricated himself from Portia’s arm. Then, without another word, he left her to jog toward the girls.
“Leo!” Portia dashed after him, still reeling. “Leopold Sloane!” He turned, still moving—albeit backward—and smiled. Making no effort whatsoever to stop like she wanted. “Are you honestly suggesting that we stay married?”
His dimples flashed. “Of course I am, my darling.”
“But Leo—” She would not be bamboozled by mischievous dimples and seductivemy darlings. “Be serious.”
“I have never been more serious.” And all of a sudden, his smile conveyed that. “If it helps, for context, you should probably also know that I am head over heels in love with you and have been since the beginning. Probably, truth be told, since you first took my breath away at your interview.” Then, despite having just knocked her sideways, he turned back to the boats again and quickened his pace.
As if rowing aimlessly across the Serpentine was somehow more pressing than them having any further conversation about the staggering and monumental confession he had just made.
Portia stopped dead, her sensible head reeling and her stupid heart singing.
He loved her.
Leo loved her!
What the hell was she supposed to do about that?
Chapter
THIRTY-FOUR
Leo decided to leave Portia to mull for the rest of the afternoon and made sure they didn’t have a single moment alone until the five of them arrived back home after the park. She was oddly silent and he had no idea if that was a good or a bad sign, but he was glad that he had told her. He had wanted to for days and had almost bared his heart during numerous passionate encounters, but held back. Reasoning that any declaration made in the heat of the moment would give his clever wife a reason to doubt the earnestness of the words.
Now, like the accused in the dock awaiting the deliberating jury’s return, he was nervous as to what her verdict would be.
“Who fancies some tea?” asked his mother as she climbed the front steps.
“Me,” answered Portia without a second’s hesitation and with a furtive glance his way, which all rather suggested she was either putting off telling him the bad news or the jury was still out.
“Your grace?” A man suddenly wandered toward them on the pavement, his hat respectfully in his hands. “I presume you are the Duke of Debden?”
“I am.” But Leo was certain he had never seen this fellow in his life. “Can I help you?”
“I am Mr. Walker. Mr. Robert Walker of Soho. You recently purchased one of my machines and I wanted to check that it met with your satisfaction?”
“Oh.” What bloody awful timing. “Yes. Of course.” Leo placed a hand on the small of his wife’s back to usher her up the steps and out of earshot, but she was having none of it and planted her feet. Her eyes were also suspiciously narrowed. “It arrived in perfect order, sir.”
“That is good to know.” Like Portia, Mr. Walker showed no signs of moving. “One worries when such an expensive piece of equipment travels so many miles on the water. Bath is such a long way from London.”
“Indeed, it is but it came at record speed with no hiccups at all. Thank you so much for taking the trouble to check.” Leo inclined his head to signal that this impromptu meeting was done while racking his brains for a suitable lie to tell Portia to explain the strange conversation as he practically pushed her up the steps. Would she believe he had ordered a new plow from London? Or a threshing machine perhaps? Or a—
She stopped dead on the top step and spun around. “Robert Walker of Soho? You make printing presses, don’t you, Mr. Walker?”
“I do indeed,” said their unwelcome visitor, his chest puffing with pride. “I like to think that we make the best printing presses in the entire country.”
Her gaze flicked to Leo and he could see the cogs of her clever mind working overtime. “You are licensed to make Stanhope presses, I believe, Mr. Walker?” Except the dark brow that quirked in question quirked at Leo instead of their guest.
