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“No,” he was quick to assure her, appalled that his silence might be construed as disapproval. “I think it commendable.” He paused. “As I think your own newly acquired profession ofconjugality coordinatoris commendable as well. Though, after last night, you may have changed your mind about me.”
She blinked in surprise. “Why ever would I do that?”
His lips quirked in a wry smile. “I think you saw firsthand just how hopeless I can be in social situations.”
“I wouldn’t call you hopeless,” she hedged.
“Mrs. Kitteridge, you needn’t lie. I have been a passenger in this head of mine for nine and twenty years; I know what I’m capable of—and not capable of. Which is a startling amount.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Very well, you’re not what one would call a charming swain.” She grabbed his sleeve when he made to rise and held him in place with impressive strength. “But I daresay someone with smooth, easy manners wouldn’t have need of my services, would they?”
“I suppose not,” he grumbled.
“There now,” she said, her tone bright, her smile wide, “you see? I’m not ready to abandon our agreement, not in the least.”
Relief flared in his chest. “Thank you,” he managed.
“There’s no need to thank me, Your Grace. I assure you, you’re doing just as much of a favor for me as I am for you.”
Once again questions flitted through his mind on why she might need funds. But even he, as clueless as he was in social niceties, knew better than to question her on her finances. No doubt she had her reasons. She was a war widow, after all; too many families had been left destitute after the dust of battle had cleared.
“We may as well discuss what kind of lady you’re looking for in a wife while we’re on the subject,” she said. She flipped the page in her sketchbook and held her pencil aloft over the blank page, then looked at him in anticipation. “Do you have any preferences? Status? Manners? Looks? Do you require an heiress?”
He barked out a sharp laugh, startled—and, to be truthful, a bit intimidated—by her sudden air of intense competence. “I assure you, I have no preferences at all, save that she is of child-bearing years. As vulgar as that may sound.”
She nodded, jotting the pertinent information down. “You’re a duke; you require an heir. There is nothing vulgar about it. Or, rather,” she corrected, with an arch smile his way, “it’s an accepted vulgarity in our society.”
He was struck mute, the humor changing her features from cool and collected to mischievous in a moment. Goodness, she truly was lovely.
“What of temperament or manners?” she continued, all business once again. Thank goodness. “Family connections? Are you opposed to a commoner?”
“Truly, Mrs. Kitteridge,” he said, his head beginning to spin, “I don’t care if she is highborn or the daughter of a farmer, if she has fine manners or burps and swears like a sailor. As long as she can stomach bedding me, I’ll be happy.”
She stilled, her eyes widening in shock. He groaned. “I’m very sorry for being so crass.”
She flapped her hands in dismissal. “I assure you, such talk doesn’t bother me in the least. Why, my cousin Peter, the Duke of Dane, has been known to blurt out inappropriate things himself, especially when going to battle with my grandmother. But I’ll not have you disparaging yourself in such a way, sir. You will make someone a wonderful husband.”
He found his gaze dropping from her piercing one, overcome by her sudden defense of him. “I thank you for your optimism, Mrs. Kitteridge,” he murmured, studying the plain handle of his cane with much more interest than it warranted, rubbing his finger over the embedded bullet, buffed to a sheen after years of such nervous actions. “I, however, don’t see it as disparaging myself; I’m merely being realistic.”
There was a charged moment of silence. Suddenly she stood. He looked up at her in surprise.
“I’ll not have you talking in such a way in my presence,” she declared with a bright smile. “It will do no one, most especially yourself, any good at all. Now, shall we head inside? Breakfast should be ready, and I’m famished, as I’m sure you are as well after a morning of exercise. A full stomach will perhaps help us to decide where to begin.”
He rose with the help of his cane and fell into step beside her as they headed back to the house. As they walked in companionable silence, however, he realized that already things did not seem so dark. Was it owing to her presence? He should, perhaps, find her effect on him a cause for concern. Theirs was to be a business arrangement, after all, and even if it weren’t, he had no wish to develop a close relationship with her. But in that moment, able to breathe a bit more freely than he had in too long, he found he could not regret it. Nothing would come of it, he reminded himself. He would find a bride in just under four weeks’ time, and would leave Synne. And he need never worry about his troubling reaction to Mrs. Kitteridge again.
Chapter 4
Daniel rather thought that if the rest of his interactions with the unmarried women on Synne went as horribly as his time with Miss Katrina Denby was going, however, he was in trouble, indeed.
“I am so sorry,” the young lady mumbled, face red as a beet as she tugged futilely on Mouse’s collar. The black-and-white-spotted beast of a dog—it was as large as a pony, and Miss Denby could easily ride it about the Isle if she had a mind to—once more had its nose buried in Daniel’s…nether regions. “Are you quite certain you didn’t drop a bit of sausage on your breeches this morning at breakfast? Mouse does love sausage, you know, and it would certainly explain his interest in…ahem, well…”
Daniel, who rather thought he must be as red as Miss Denby at the moment if the heat in his face was any indication, would have been more than happy to melt right into the flagstones. Instead he forced a smile and did his best to push the dog away—and keep Miss Denby’s nervous hands from brushing the most sensitive aspects of his person. “No, I’m quite certain. But perhaps, if we continue walking, he might find something to distract him?”
Miss Denby sent a concerned glance to his leg and worried at her lip with her teeth. “Are you certain we should continue walking, Your Grace?” she asked with a small grunt as she yanked again on her dog’s collar. “Would you like me to secure a footman to assist you back to the house?”
Daniel glanced back at the manor in some disbelief, doing his best to rein in his annoyance. They had not even left the balcony. “I assure you,” he replied in as pleasant a manner as he was able, “that I am more than capable of accompanying you.”
“But the stairs,” she said, looking to the stone steps leading down to the back lawn, then glancing back to his cane. “Are you certain you can maneuver them?”
