My Last Duchess (The Wildes of Lindow Castle #0.5) - Eloisa James Page 0,27
these days, but briefly, I’m afraid. I’m often very busy. I’m not offering that by way of excuse, but virtually every day brings some complication.”
“What sort of things do you do?” Ophelia asked. “Peter—” She caught herself. “My estate is small, of course. It takes me one morning a week, at most.”
“I am the judge for my county court, which encompasses three villages. Two hundred tenants work in and around the castle, and then I own a townhouse in London, and an estate in Scotland. And a few other concerns.”
Ophelia nodded. “It does sound like a great deal of work.”
“Not enough to make up for the fact that I don’t know my four younger children as well as I should.”
“That is also true.” Ophelia kept her tone even, because Peter hated nothing more than disapproval from her. A spouse, he always said, was the bulwark against the world’s unkindnesses and should never be critical.
Hugo just nodded. “What do you suggest I do?”
“Spend part of every day with them. Not just a visit to the nursery. Do things together.”
“They are very small,” Hugo objected. “Joan cries every time she sees me.”
“That must make you feel terrible.”
“I would like to say yes,” he said. “I want you to think—well, to admire me. But to be honest, I always thought that at some point she would stop crying. Perhaps by the time she was able to carry on a conversation. As I told you, Joan’s nanny reports that she doesn’t speak yet.”
“Joan has her own nanny?”
He nodded. “The two younger children have nannies, Mrs. Banks and Mrs. Winkle. There’s a governess, Miss Trelawny, for the older children. And some nursemaids, Myrtle, Flora, and Delia.”
“Viola doesn’t have a nanny,” Ophelia confessed. She felt even guiltier upon hearing about all the people helping the duke’s children become civilized adults. “I only have a nursemaid. Of course, I ought to acquire a proper nanny.”
“Not if you don’t want to,” Hugo said.
“I am a lady, and Viola must be a lady too. What if she thinks that one’s mother is no more than a playmate?” She peeked at Hugo from under her lashes. “Sometimes we play together.”
He blinked, as if he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I cut out houses from foolscap. People too. Sometimes horses, though I’m rubbish at cutting around their legs.”
“She plays with paper?”
“She does crumple them,” Ophelia said with a wry smile. “But not before I tell her a story about the people who live in the house.”
“I cannot tell stories,” Hugo said. His tone was final.
Ophelia sighed. Peter had been given to statements like that as well. Perhaps it was a male failing.
“I could try it,” Hugo said, surprising her.
“You wouldn’t be embarrassed?”
Astonishment crossed his eyes but he kept his answer simple. “No.”
Of course he wouldn’t be. Dukes were probably never embarrassed. Why should they be? Ophelia fidgeted, thinking of the way her skin crawled with embarrassment when she thought about a nanny entering her nursery and seeing the way she played with Viola.
“If you were my duchess, you needn’t be embarrassed either,” Hugo said, exhibiting a nimble ability to turn the conversation to his advantage. “Duchesses set the fashion; they don’t follow it.”
“I have no wish to set fashion,” Ophelia stated.
“Your dress last night was very elegant, and so was your carriage.”
“I ordered both because I enjoyed the designs, not because I wanted them copied by others.”
“You are already a duchess,” Hugo murmured, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “Would you be offended if I mentioned that I haven’t had a cockstand this long for years? Since I was a young man.”
Cockstand? Ophelia tried out the word in her head and decided it was useful. “Is that a compliment?”
“Of a sort.”
“Would you like me to return to my bedchamber? It’s just next door, to be frank.”
“Absolutely not. Unless you wish to go.”
Ophelia thought about that for a moment. This was a night stolen out of time, in a way. She had decided not to marry the duke, and he wouldn’t bed her without that promise. So they were at an impasse.
But perhaps . . .
“We could be friends,” she said, blurting it out.
“What?”
“We can’t be spouses, because I don’t wish to marry you. We can’t be lovers, because you don’t want to bed me without a wedding ring.”
“Oh, I want to,” the duke growled.
Ophelia waved her hand, ignoring the fact that her body clenched at the rough desire in his voice. “You know what I mean.”