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“You look like a dress shop exploded and you were in the middle of it all. You can only see your cheeks and your eyes. How’s a gentleman supposed to find you in all that netting?”
“Ladies,” said Viola, stepping in between them. “Isn’t it a splendid day? The sun is shining, and the birds are singing a song about building their nests and lining them with feathers.”
“They’re probably eyeing Belinda’s netting,” Betsy said. “Shouldn’t wonder if one of them swoops down and tears off a yard or so.”
West had to laugh at that. “Belinda looks very well. And, Bets, you may run over and watch the cricket match, but only until we’re finished walking. And I saidwatch, mind you.”
“Jolly good of you!” Betsy ran off with no hesitation, her race across the pathways generating scandalized glances and whispers.
Viola smiled at him gratefully and his heart skipped a beat. That’s what he’d been waiting for this entire morning, to see those dimples.
He had the sudden and nearly uncontrollable urge to take her hand.
Wanting to kiss a pretty woman was ordinary. He would have been alarmed if he didn’t want to kiss her.
Wanting to take her hand in his and stroll through a park... that was... unprecedented.
You could hold her hand. Make her smile. Give her your heart.
No, he couldn’t. He was supposed to be courting Lady Winifred. It was his duty to the family. The problem was... his heart was torn between duty and desire.
He desired Viola, and he wanted to be with her and maybe he was even smitten with her, as Jax had accused, but he couldn’t be with her for somany reasons, not the least of which was that he’d given up his right to such simple pleasures.
The smell of fresh crisp air with the hint of impending rain. The sound of robins twittering.
An alluring woman’s smile of approbation that made the day feel complete in a new way.
He was saved from this dangerous line of thought by his friend Daniel, Duke of Ravenwood, and his strikingly beautiful wife meeting up with them at a crossroads. Ravenwood held the hand of a sturdy redheaded lad of about four.
“Westbury,” Ravenwood said. “Been searching for you. Couldn’t believe my ears when your man told me you were out promenading in Hyde Park. Thought you spontaneously combusted in direct sunlight.”
“Ha-ha, Ravenwood. Thought you were in Paris.”
“We’re back for a time.”
The duchess strode over to Viola and the two of them launched into an animated conversation.
“Who’s this little fellow?” West bent down and patted the boy’s cap.
“This is Ambrose, one of my brother-in-law’s brood.”
“What’s Banksford about these days? Haven’t seen him in quite some time.” The Duke of Banksford was an old friend of West’s.
“He’s still building steam engines, financing railways, and filling the nursery with redheaded children.”
The boy tugged on West’s coattails. “Hullo, are you a duke?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“My father is a duke. And I’ll be a duke someday.”
“Shall you make a good duke?”
“Of course I shall. My mother says that I’m practically perfect in every way.”
“Does she now.”
“Oh yes, and then she kisses me and reads me stories about rabbits. You’re very tall and strong. I shall be tall and strong someday. Will you lift me up on your shoulders so I can watch the cricket match?”
