of his old trunks and breathe in that smell, and if she concentrated very hard, she could almost imagine he was there with her.
She didn’t open it up often though, fearful that his scent would escape and one day, it wouldn’t be there at all. It would be gone forever. If she concentrated very hard, she could summon the memory without it.
He’d lifted her off the bed and carried her over to their favorite chair in the nursery. It had been a rocking chair, mostly for babies. It was one of the last times he’d ever sat and rocked her like that.
“I’ll never let anything hurt my princess,” he’d said, stroking her hair. He’d felt warm and strong and safe.
“I’m not a princess, Daddy.” It had been a joke between them.
“Then you’ll be my little duchess,” he’d said. “The prettiest duchess in all of England.”
“Do boars chase duchesses?”
“Not my duchess,” he’d answered.
“Do I have to marry a duke when I grow up?” At such a very young age, she’d already grasped the concept of her duty as a daughter.
He’d chuckled, his chest vibrating beneath her cheek. “I imagine so, Poppet.”
She’d buried her head in his neck, not wanting to think about ever leaving her father. Not wanting to think about her dream.
“I won’t let anything hurt my little duchess.”
The memory grew dim, then, and she realized she had probably fallen asleep in his arms.
The carriage hit a bump, and Tabetha grasped the leather strap over the window. This vehicle wasn’t as well-sprung as her brother’s, which was somewhat surprising, since Culpepper was a duke and her brother only an earl. Tabetha’s heart fluttered nervously.
He was going to have to meet with Westerley eventually, in order to collect her dowry. Perhaps afterward, they would purchase a newer model.
She wondered what Bowcliff Heights was like. She could decorate it to her liking. She would make it into a home, her home, a safe place where they would raise their little ducal children.
“Sexual compatibility is something all young women ought to consider before consenting to marry—even grasping little chits like you.” If she ever saw Stone Spencer again, she was going to try much harder to land her punch so that she could actually slam her fist into that impertinent mouth of his.
“Because mark my words—you will be expected to lie with him. He’s not only going to require an heir but a spare as well.”
Having him in her head was almost worse than having him trailing her around all of Mayfair.
And Culpepper had kissed her. Twice! In all honesty, fireworks hadn’t exploded in her mind, but the kisses hadn’t been repulsive.
She had liked them. Yes. She’d liked them.
Culpepper’s head was tipped back again. His eyes were closed but his mouth had fallen open, exhaling soft snoring sounds.
She squirmed again and then smoothed her sleeves. Archimedes opened his eyes to watch her suspiciously—as though she was the usurper here.
She met and held the feline’s pale blue gaze, determined not to be cowed by something as ridiculous as a naked cat.
He was as stubborn as she was.
Locked in a staring war, she surreptitiously searched around beside her until her hand landed on her reticule. Untying it without looking, she ever so carefully removed one of the biscuits stored there on the off chance that she might need one.
She pinched a section off for Archie but, knowing it would be sweet, buttery, and crumbly, she broke off a larger piece for herself before storing it away again.
A lady never knew when she was going to require the bolstering that only a sweet biscuit could provide.
She raised one brow for the cat’s benefit, challenging him in her mind.
Ignore me now, you little puss.
Sure enough, when she offered the small piece in the palm of her hand, the cat perked right up. “Here kitty, kitty,” she whispered.
Archie’s eyes flicked from her hand to her face and then back to her hand again. It was rather satisfying when he finally stretched forward and swiped it, chewing greedily. Within ten seconds, he’d eaten his portion and was licking his lips.
If only Culpepper could be dealt with so easily.
Tabetha pressed her forehead against the window and then grimaced when the carriage jerked. How was it possible that they’d driven across every rock and hole in this Godforsaken road between London and Scotland?
The duke frowned across from her, keeping his eyes closed.
He’d begun doing that late on the second day of the drive—pretending to be asleep, that was. She’d been offended,