Jules hid her smile and made no reply.
The duchess leveled them with a stare. “I do hope you understand my reasons for not extending an invitation to the ball to you, Dr. Southby and Mr. Southby. There are already whispers about your role here, and I do not want anyone to see you at the ball and believe you are there to observe the duke and make a report on his state of mind. I am perhaps being overcautious in this matter, but I want no gossip.”
“You are not being over cautious, Your Grace,” her father said with a smile of reassurance. “Your care is understandable. My son and I will stay within our rooms and ensure we encounter no guests on the night of the ball.”
The duchess nodded regally, then swished from the drawing room, her steps lighter than they had been a couple weeks ago.
“Walk with me,” her father murmured.
They headed outside to escape the bustle of the house as a multitude of servants prepared for the ball to be held tomorrow. Jules was fascinated as three footmen brought down a large chandelier and cleaned the crystals and removed the burned-out candles. Meanwhile a group of workmen were hanging green damask drapes to some of the walls of the ballroom, while others were winding gauze in a paler shade of green twisted with gold braid around the room’s marble columns. More workers were carrying in boxes and carefully constructed displays of flowers.
Jules was certain that around the manor, other servants were striving to bring the house to a perfection of cleaning and that it would be difficult to keep out of the staff’s way.
Once outside, shrieks of laughter drew Jules’s attention, and she noted that Lady Mariah strolled beside the duke, smiling up at him. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, listening attentively to whatever she said. As if he sensed Jules’s stare…or perhaps smelled her across the distance, he looked in her direction. That volatile surge of awareness crackled through her body, and her heart thrummed. Jules looked away from the duke, giving her attention to her father.
“You must find a way to get the duke to cut his hair in the fashion of a man of his rank and stature. The duchess once again noted His Grace spends an inordinate amount of time in the woods. We need to devise a strategy to urge him to stay within the main grounds. Uncle Hubert also reported to me about seeing the duke running in trousers alone in the night across these lawns. These behaviors are very unsettling to his family.”
An incredulous laugh pulsed from her, and her father frowned.
“I was not aware I said something humorous,” he said stiffly.
“Papa…the duke will not cut his hair. He stays in the woods because he finds it peaceful, and if he chooses to run across the lawn barely clothed…I daresay there are far more eccentric personalities within society. There is little to be unsettled about.”
He opened his notebook. “Are you now suggesting his behavior is unalterable?”
“I am suggesting the duke’s reason for not cutting his hair is his own, and he protects his peace and privacy. That he does so, quite ruthlessly, and might be unforgiving of those who violate his boundaries, does not suggest an unhealthy behavior.”
He took a breath. “I’ve observed the duke watches you often, especially when he thinks no one is aware of it.”
Her heart kicked painfully inside her chest. “Does he?” she asked, striving for a casual tone.
Her father merely arched a brow at her tone, and Jules felt as if he peered behind the veil of her insouciance.
“You do the same,” he said. “Watch the duke. It is curious behavior on both parts. I am not certain what to make of it, son.”
“We are friends,” she said simply, careful to fight the need to blush. “Such conduct between friends is quite normal and does not need any scrutiny or analysis.”
“Even if you are the relative of a viscount we do not own the station where you can bear the consequences of being friends with a duke, especially one as powerful as Wulverton,” he said sharply. “We are only here in a professional capacity, try to remember it.”
“Yes, Father.” The words felt as if they had been scraped from Jules’s throat.
Her father remained silent, and she walked beside him, casting him sidelong glances. “Did you wish to speak with me about something else, Papa?”
He cleared his throat. “Did I mention I was very proud to receive letters from your professors of how well you did in your studies?”
Her chest warmed. “Yes, Papa, you did. Thank you.”
“Have you considered what you will do after we leave Longbourn Park?”
An odd sensation hooked itself inside her chest, and she ruthlessly prevented herself from looking back at the duke. “Even before returning to England, I had considered further studies at The University of Padua.”
“First Germany and now Italy,” he murmured, fiddling with his spectacles on his nose. “Are you running from home, my boy? Are we to live wishing you were closer to us but not having you near?”
A knot tightened in her belly. “You know I am hungry to learn, Father. England offers very little in psychology and advancement in the field.”
He stopped, and she slowed as well, turning to face him.
A hopeful expression settled on his face. “Would you consider working alongside me for a few years before you hie off to Padua?”
