She never pouted. But this was due to her frustration. How would anything get done in time for the day of celebration?
“Stop making faces at me, Miss Temple,” he said with a rumble of laughter. “It will do nothing for your recovery. Resign yourself to taking on a supervisory role. Write out a list of all that needs doing. I will have my staff assist you.”
“Most generous of you,” she said, still grumbling when she knew she ought to have been grateful. “But will they not be needed here once your mother and her party arrive?”
“Perhaps, but we shall work it out.”
She tried to settle in a more comfortable position but yelped as pain shot through her.
“Ailis! Blast it, let me help you,” he said, settling her more securely.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She tried not to let him see that she was still in pain. “My greatest concern is the baking. Just about everything else can be done earlier, but the baking itself must be done that morning.”
“Do we not have an excellent bake shop in Broadmoor?”
She nodded. “But we cannot afford to have them make all the cakes and pies for us. They are expensive and—”
“I’ll pay for the baked goods. Hire them. Tell them what you need. Have them put it all on my account.”
She and Martha gasped.
Then Martha had the biggest grin on her face.
Ailis sighed. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is very good of you, and most appreciated.”
“Then what still troubles you, Miss Temple?”
She cast him a wincing smile. “Only my own stupid pride,” she assured him. “I love preparing for our annual charity event and especially setting up all the booths and games for the children. I love decorating the rectory, and having the scent of warm apples, cinnamon, and cherries fill the air as we bake allthose cakes and pies. I love the dancing throughout the day and the more formal dance at night. But this year, I can only watch as all of it is accomplished without me.”
“Oh, lamb,” Martha said sympathetically.
“Miss Temple, you will still be directing others,” the duke added. “I am sure you will have no lack of volunteers who will pitch in to help. But you are and shall always be the heart of this event. It is your ideas, your planning. Your organization. Your direction. This celebration does not happen without you. All you will miss out on is the dancing. Unfortunately, that is something I cannot fix for you. But I must stand firm on this. You cannot risk damaging your shoulder while hopping about to a lively reel. No dancing.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “No one will want to partner with me anyway, not while my arm is in an unsightly sling.”
She heard his release of breath, for her eyes were still closed and she suddenly felt too tired to open them. Not that she had done anything but walk to the window to look out upon the snow still falling and piling up in drifts upon the ground. Then she had eaten breakfast—another exertion, apparently.
She hated feeling weak.
“I shall look in on you later, Miss Temple. Count on my joining you for an early supper.”
“All right.” She would apologize to him then for her petulance. However, for now, she wanted to wallow in pity. It was a completely indulgent and petty thing to do, but their third kiss had left her undone.
What had seemed fun—kissing a duke—no longer felt so harmless.
She hoped the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach were merely a sign of indigestion.
But what if they were a sign of something more? Would it not be a disaster if they signified she was falling in love?
With the duke?
Chapter Six
The following day,after going through a morning’s worth of correspondence and other business matters, Jonas left his study, grabbed his cloak and gloves, and marched to the stable. He had already checked on his horses this morning, but he needed to be out in the fresh air again to clear his head. “Silas,” he said, striding toward his head groom, who was leading several of his horses to the nearby paddock, “how is Avalon faring?”
Avalon was his prize thoroughbred, a beautiful beast with speed and endurance enough to win all of his races at Newmarket.
“He’s a bit restless, Your Grace. I thought to let him out for a run along with the others. Snow’s piling fairly high, but the horses I took out earlier have trampled it down for these others. He’ll be fine. A bit of snow won’t hurt him. And look at Sheba,” Silas said of Jonas’s prize filly, who had red bows in her hair to keep her white coat from disappearing against the white of the snow. “She’s loving this cold weather.”
