Page 35 of A Family Bargain with the Duke

Julian hesitated, some reluctance rising at the prospect of failing in front of her rather than merely in front of an empty room, then set his jaw and formed the shape he had been attempting for the better part of the last quarter hour.

Louisa studied it for a moment, her head tilted slightly, and then reached out and closed her fingers gently around his wrist.

Julian went very still.

“Here.” Her touch was light, entirely businesslike, and yet he found himself acutely aware of every point where her fingers met his skin, the cool brush of them against his pulse, which he suspected was beating faster than usual. “Your wrist wants to bend inward, not outward. Like so.” She guided the angle of it, slow and deliberate, and then released him. “Try again.”

He tried again, his wrist held at the angle she had shown him, and immediately felt the shape settle into something considerably more correct than his previous five attempts combined.

“Better.” Louisa’s smile had returned, warmer now, genuinely pleased. “Much closer. You got the shape nearly right, Your Grace. You were simply bending your wrist in the wrong direction the whole time, which I imagine felt entirely natural to you and looked, I confess, more alarming than the sign was meant to.”

“I am relieved to hear it was only alarming and not entirely unintelligible.”

“A close thing, but no. Try it once more, so I am certain it has settled properly.”

He repeated it a third time, and this time she simply nodded, satisfied, before stepping back to gather her ledger from the corner of his desk.

“You are doing this for him,” she said, not quite a question.

“I would like to tell him something; I do not say that as criticism of your help, which has been crucial and which I am entirely grateful for. I simply find that I would like to eventually manage a conversation with my own ward using my own hands.”

Louisa studied him for a long moment, something in her expression he could not entirely read, warmer than simple approval and yet carefully, deliberately restrained.

“That is a very good reason, Your Grace.” She tucked the ledger under her arm. “I would be glad to help you practice, whenever you find the time for it. Properly, rather than leaving you to puzzle it out alone from my brother-in-law’s rather ambitious sketches.”

“I would be grateful for that.”

“Good.” She paused at the door, glancing back at him with the faintest trace of her earlier amusement. “Though I suggest that you lock the door next time you mean to practice unobserved. I nearly announced myself with the ledger before I noticed what you were doing, and I should hate for a footman to walk in on you mid-gesture and report below stairs that His Grace has taken up some private, unexplained habit of waving at his own correspondence.”

Julian’s ears warmed despite himself. “Noted.”

She smiled, clearly satisfied with herself, and reached for the door before stopping again.

“Ah.” She looked down at the ledger tucked beneath her arm. “That was not, in fact, why I came.”

“No?”

“No. I received Catherine’s confirmation this morning.” Crossing back to his desk, she laid the ledger open between them. “She and Alaric will be dining with us next Thursday, with Henry and Oliver in tow. Lord Carwell has also written to say that he will be joining us.”

Julian glanced down at the neatly ordered pages. “Then I take it Mrs. Whitfield is awaiting her marching orders.”

Louisa smiled. “With admirable patience, though I suspect I am rapidly exhausting it.” She turned another page of the ledger, neat columns of dishes already filling the paper. “I thought we ought to settle the menu before she decides the matter herself.”

“A wise precaution.”

“Fiona writes that she cannot come, sadly. Her mother has decided she is to spend the fortnight with an aunt in Bath, and Fiona writes that she would rather eat her own bonnet than argue the matter twice in one letter. She sends her regrets, and considerable envy, and instructions that I am to report back every detail of the dinner in a letter twice the length of any I have sent her yet.”

“Then we shall have to make it a dinner worth reporting.”

“I intend to, Your Grace. Mrs. Whitfield has already had her input on the proper order of a first course, and even stronger ones on gentlemen who claim not to care what they are served.” Her eyes flicked to him. “I believe you have already found yourself among the latter.”

Julian’s mouth curved. “Have I?”

“She informs me that any gentleman who answers, ‘Whatever Cook pleases,’ has surrendered all right to complain thereafter.”

“An entirely reasonable policy.”

Louisa’s eyes danced. She gathered the ledger beneath her arm and turned toward the door. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”