“He is always kind,” Fleur said.
“There was universal rejoicing in this part of the world when he came home so unexpectedly a year after being reported dead,” he said. “Thomas was probably the only one who was disappointed to find that he was no longer duke.”
“And yet,” Fleur said, “he is a very pleasant gentleman.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling at her in the darkness of the carriage. “Granted. You are coming to Timmy’s birthday party?”
They conversed easily for a while before lapsing into a comfortable silence.
Mr. Chamberlain turned to her as his carriage crossed the bridge at the end of the lime grove. “I will kick myself for a coward and an imbecile and a slowtop if I do not at least try to kiss you before this carriage stops,” he said. “May I, Miss Hamilton?”
What could one say to such a request? No, she supposed, if one disliked the gentleman. She did not dislike Mr. Chamberlain.
“I see that my audacity has silenced you,” he said. “And I suppose it is difficult to say a polite ‘Yes, sir,’ to such a question. I hope it would not be so hard to say ‘No, sir,’ if that is what you wish to say.”
She saw him smile in the darkness before setting one arm about her shoulders, lifting her chin with his free hand, and lowering his mouth to hers.
It was warm, firm, pleasant. He did not prolong the embrace.
“I wait meekly for a stinging slap on the cheek,” he said, withdrawing his arm and hand and sitting upright again. “None? I hope I have not offended you. Have I?”
“No,” she said.
“I shall look forward to seeing you in a few days’ time,” he said. “Perhaps we will even be able to exchange a few words above the shrieking of the children. Birthdays always cause more noise than any two other occasions combined. Have you noticed?”
He waited for his coachman to put down the steps before descending to the wet terrace in order to hand her out. He escorted her up the steps to the main doors, rapped on them, and bowed over her hand, raising it to his lips, before turning to leave.
“Thank you for your company, Miss Hamilton,” he said. “I have enjoyed the evening more than I can say.”
“So have I,” she said. “Good night, sir.”
She looked about her as the door closed, half-expecting Matthew or the duke to step out of the shadows. But there was no one except the lone footman who had opened the door.
She ran up the stairs and along to her room. She undressed quickly and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up about her ears.
She would think only of the evening. At least for one night she would go to sleep happy. She thought about Mr. Chamberlain and his friendly humor. And about his kiss. And she wished that life could have started a little less than a month ago. She wished that there were no Matthew and no Hobson’s body lying under the ground somewhere close to Heron House. She wished there had been no London, no necessity of remaining alive there. No Duke of Ridgeway. She even wished in some strange way that there had been no Daniel.
She wished there had been only Willoughby Hall and Mr. Chamberlain.
She thought again of his kiss, which she must not allow to be repeated. And of his attentions, which she must not encourage.
And she remembered warm strong arms tight about her, and a strong-muscled chest against her cheek, and a strongly beating heart against her ear. And she thought of waltzing with a partner who twirled her about with a firm hand at her waist and whose cologne had been a part of the beauty of the night.
She burrowed her head farther beneath the blankets.
THE FOLLOWING DAY CONTINUED WET. The duke rode out in the afternoon with two of his more hardy guests to call upon some of his tenants. When they returned, too late for tea, it was to discover that the entertainment for the evening had been arranged already. Everyone was tired of charades, Lady Underwood informed him, meeting him in the great hall. They were going to dance in the drawing room.
“Indeed?” he said. “And who is to play for us? Miss Dobbin?”
“She is quite willing to do so,” Lady Underwood said, “but Walter insists that she be free to dance at least some of the time. Have you noticed that he is quite smitten with her, Adam? And have you noticed that I am less than smitten with Philip but have to make do with him in order to avoid dreadful boredom, you annoying man?”
“Well,” he said with a smile, “you will have dancing to entertain you for this evening, it seems. Who is to play when Miss Dobbin is dancing?”
“Oh, the governess,” she said. “It is all arranged.”
“Is it?” he said. “At whose suggestion, pray?”