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And Leo would try, very hard, to make her a good husband. He would do whatever necessary to ensure his marriage worked this time.
“I like her,” he said quietly, as he reached into the straw.
“Who?”
“The lady who meets those criteria.”
Yes, he liked Susannah Macey. She didn’t fire up his imagination or any of those other traits he sought in decorative objects, but she wasn’t a decorative object, so that was all right.
“Does she like you?” Hadrian asked.
“She doesn’t run at the sight of me, which is always an encouraging sign.”
Searching in the crate, his fingers touched cool porcelain. He gently extricated a vase. Excitement poked up its head like a curious kitten, then sank back down with a sigh. Not quite, he thought, as he inspected the brushwork through his quizzing glass. It was technically good, but it lacked that spark, that heart, thatsomethingthat stirred him up inside. He imagined Juno’s merry laughter if he told her that. “It’s called ‘emotion,’ Leo,” she would tease him. “It’s emotion that makes art, not technique.”
Hadrian wandered to his side and tapped the vase. It rang hollowly. “I don’t understand, Dammerton,” he said. “This seems so superficial. That’s very pretty, I’m sure, but it’s avase. Today’s newspaper is dissecting your last speech on voting reform, yet here you are, surrounded by…” He waved an arm at the waiting crates.
“Frivolous fribbles and fripperies?” Leo suggested dryly. “To quote my critics.”
“You established an embroidery workshop. What sort of duke establishes an embroidery workshop?”
“The sort of duke who seeks to safeguard those with the skills to create beautiful things.” He glanced down at his waistcoat, made by a talented embroideress at that workshop, and brushed off a piece of impudent straw clinging to the bright riot of flowers adorning the silk. No surprise the decorative arts seemed superficial to Hadrian, who was up to his ears in secret affairs of state.
“The objects in our lives aren’t mere things. They connect us to each other.” Leo raised the vase to the light. “Someone shaped and painted this vase with their own hands. Someone fired the kiln, using wood someone else cut, carted by a horse someone else fed, with corn harvested by someone else.” He waved his free hand at the mess around him. “Someone sawed the planks to make the crates, someone sailed them down the canals, someone baked the bread to feed the men who built those canals. Countless steps, involving countless people, each with their hopes and fears, losses and loves. One simple object, a thousand complex lives. There is nothing superficial about that.” He returned the vase to its bed of straw. “How often do you look at everyday objects and think about all the people involved in making and moving them?”
Hadrian shrugged. “Approximately never.”
“Try it some time.”
“Then I’ll become as mad as you are.”
“Nonsense. Dukes are far too rich and important to be mad.” Leo grinned. “I am merely eccentric.”
* * *
When Leoand Hadrian emerged onto the street, they were greeted by the sight of a jaunty peddler’s cart. Propped up against the cart was Woodruff himself, packing tobacco into a crusty pipe. At Leo’s approach, the peddler grinned, causing his long, luxurious beard to quiver. Woodruff oiled his whiskers as devotedly as he adorned his cart with ribbons and bells. Leo lived in hope that the peddler would similarly adorn his beard with ribbons and bells, but, alas, was disappointed again.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite duke!” Grinning, Woodruff twirled his pipe. “Fancy meeting your lordship here.”
“Fancy,” Leo agreed dryly. “Haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks at least.”
“I’ve been traveling the world. I’ve been hunting down such marvels as to bring a tear to a fine man’s eye.”
“The whole world? In a fortnight? I’m impressed.”
His feet carried him toward the cart with its dizzying display of goods.
“You’re not buying something from him,” Hadrian said.
“You never know. He might actually have a treasure here.”
“Oh, I do,” Woodruff offered. “Such treasures that are sure to steal your breath.”
“Not to mention your purse,” Hadrian muttered. “I’ll leave you to it. See you at dinner. And good luck with the courtship!”
With a wave, he jogged across the street and leaped into a hackney cab.
Woodruff’s eyes gleamed, as the pipe disappeared into the depths of his greatcoat. “Courting, is it, Your Grace? You’ll find a special gift for the lucky lady here. Consider these handkerchiefs, the silk so soft you’d think it were spun from the locks of angels. Or these combs…”
