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She chuckled. “Did you know that according to a legend, coffee was discovered when some goats ate coffee berries and began running around as if possessed?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“And they’re quite pretty plants. That’s at least from what I can say from botanical illustrations I’ve seen. Very pretty, glossy leaves. White flowers. Red berries.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Botanical illustrations?”
“Yes. My brother brought a book of botanical illustrations the only time he visited us from Oxford.”
His face changed, and she didn’t know what she’d said. From showing surprised interest, to paling suddenly as though he’d seen a ghost.
Then it all changed again in a second. Creases formed between his eyebrows. His eyes became dark, with large black pupils, the irises the color of a stormy ocean.
“Madam, perhaps you would do yourself and me a favor by not talking for the rest of the trip.”
She opened and closed her mouth. What could have upset him so much?
Mama was right. She should have never been so interested in botany. He was a duke—of course he’d disapprove of her scientific interest. Good Lord, she was already spoiling this marriage in the first minutes of it.
Perhaps she should return to the topic of breakfast but stay away from talking about plants, no matter how much she enjoyed thinking about what a coffee plant looked like, what root system it had, and how to get it to flower and then to produce berries.
“Do you like strawberry jam?” she asked.
Do not think about strawberries! That they grew well in a well-drained, loamy soil and could be harvested in late spring to early summer, especially if there was much sun.
He scowled at her. “I asked you not to talk.”
“I thought strawberry jam was a safe topic. Do you like strawberry jam?”
He cleared his throat. “I don’t mind it.”
So preserves was a safe topic. “Neither do I. How about raspberry jam?”
He pinched his nose between his fingers. “Please. I am begging of you. You do not need to fill silence with questions about my jam preferences.”
“Forgive me. Um… Would you like to ask me a question?”
“No.”
She blinked. “Oh. Is that how ducal marriages work? No one talks to each other?”
“That is certainly how I would like it.”
“I must admit, I’ve never been very good at silence. My mother always said I was born under a chattering star,” she offered with a small, hopeful smile.
The duke’s gaze, icy and unforgiving, swept back to her. “And I was born under a star that appreciates peace and quiet.”
“But surely, Duke, there must be something you enjoy discussing. Politics, perhaps? Or maybe you have a passion for horses? Men usually do… At least that’s what I read.”
His eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion. “What you read?”
Oh, it was better when he was silent. “Yes. I don’t know many men. Many people, I should say. Most of what I know is from what Mama and Papa told me and from reading.”
He looked her over, and a hot blush crept to her cheeks.
Good God, he was so worldly, so experienced. For a moment, she was envious. She knew what he must be thinking. She was young, naive, and sheltered. What business did she have being the wife of this self-assured, confident man? He needed someone strong by his side. It must feel so calming to know exactly what one wanted to say and not to try to please anyone at all.
“Don’t you have some country friends? Daughters of a local vicar must pity you and offer you some company.”
