She smiled. “Yes, I think so, too.”
“You must miss her.”
“Of course. We spent every day of our lives together until she left to work for His Lordship.”
Cassandra paused to admire the roses. She ran her gloved fingers across the dark green foliage and fondled a profusion of scarlet blooms.
“These are lovely! Have you a garden at your estate, Your Grace?”
“I am sure I do somewhere, but I spend most of my time in town.”
“I suppose you must be very rich.” She groaned inwardly. The Stauntons had been brought up never to discuss another’s finances. “Forgive me, but it is impossible to fathom that level of wealth.”
Thankfully, His Grace was unfazed. “My ancestors spent the past hundred years amassing properties necessary to support a dukedom. It’s prohibitively expensive, you know, which is why there are so few of us.”
“I believe it is a great honor to be given a title from the Crown.”
“For the war heroes and visionaries, I imagine itisa very great honor—and well-deserved—but for someone like me…”
“You don’t act like a duke,” she told him.
“I don’t particularly enjoy being one.”
She was shocked at his bold admission. “You’re joking, surely.”
“People treat me differently.” He gestured toward the white peak of the marquee tent just across the terrace, as if he could not get far enough away from the rest of their party. “Eugenie Raines would not be after me were I anyone else.”
It was true. He wasn’t a particularly likable fellow, and voiced his opinions too freely, but he was tall, handsome, and well-dressed. Wouldshehave agreed to walk with him if he hadn’t been a duke?
“Your life is privileged,” she argued. “You’re afforded luxuries the rest of us only dream about.”
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. “Do you dream of luxuries, Miss Staunton?”
Cassandra wouldn’t take his bait. “I dream of many things, Your Grace.”
They reached a clearing in the bushes where a wrought iron bench sat among red, pink, and pale yellow blooms. She smoothed her skirts, eased down upon the sun-warmed seat, and then shifted to make room for her companion.
As Wadebridge sat, his thigh brushed hers. He stared at that brief point of contact as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world and searched for words to break the silence.
“You like art?” Now—surely—this washisturn to cringe at his own fumbling attempt at conversation.
The duke had been so forgiving of her awkwardness. She owed him a little mercy in return.
Cassandra smiled her prettiest smile. “I am sure I would, if I’d ever seen any.”
“You knew that Gainsborough on sight.”
She shrugged. “A lucky guess.”
“No, I don’t think it was.” His shadowed gaze narrowed on her.
She felt an urge to confess the truth. This outing was meant to be a reprieve from her everyday life. She was sitting with a duke, surrounded by roses of the most romantic hues. After today, she would never see him again. Why not indulge them both?
“My mother was the daughter of a prosperous London merchant. She told me stories of the art she’d seen growing up visiting the museums and galleries. Gainsborough and Reynolds were her favorites.”
“Althorne likes art. He fancies himself a collector. I’m certain he has a Reynolds hanging about somewhere.”
Cassandra wasn’t interested in what the viscount did or did not have. “Doyouown any art, Your Grace?”
