“I am ever so grateful, for he needs the help. My brother, for whose benefit the vineyard was purchased, is no help at all. It is not right that my Father should have to carry such a burden. He is a good man. I do not like to see him so worried.”
“You appear close with your Father,” the Duke commented. She glanced up at him.
“I am. I have always found myself to be very much like him. It is why I fret so when he is stressed. It is why I do all I can to live up to his expectations.” She noticed a sad smile on the Duke’s face. “Have I said the wrong thing?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. It is simply the notion of living up to one’s parent’s expectations. I fear I have failed my own Father in that regard.”
She frowned for a moment, then reminded herself of her mother’s words of warning about frowning.
“I am certain your Father would be proud of you. You are his heir, after all. You are Duke, following in his footsteps.”
He shook his head. “It is my birthright to be Duke. Perhaps it is my burden to follow him in his footsteps. It was never my choice. The truth is, I spent many years living the life of a dandy instead of paying attention to the estate, instead of learning from him. I had no interest in the estate. The only thing that ever interested me was the vineyard. That, I must confess, was largely because it afforded me the opportunity to work alongside my brother, away from our Father.”
She squinted as another couple whirled past them.
“Was there a reason you sought to be away from your Father? It sounds as though you loved him and regret not being near.”
“I did. And I do. But we had a difficult relationship. He was a strong man, and strong willed. He did not take advice kindly from anyone but my Mother. We butted heads often. After my Mother passed away some years ago, he became ever more stubborn.”
He paused and sighed, his broad chest rose and fell.
“Without my Mother to act as a bridge between us, we could not communicate anymore without a fight. He was hard on me, always. Harder still on my brother. Henry escaped to the vineyard shortly after my Mother passed away and eventually, so did I. It was easier to communicate with my Father by letter and messenger than in person.”
She could not help herself, she squeezed his arm, which she had still been holding as they waited for their turn.
“I am sorry you had such a trouble relationship with your Father. It reminds me of…” she’d nearly said ‘my Mother’, but thought better of it. “It must have been difficult when he became ill.”
He nodded, unable to meet her eyes as he continued to look out over the dance floor.
“I did not know just how unwell he became until it was too late. By the time I was alerted to it, we were almost ruined, and he was near death. He was hardly in a condition to speak. I shall regret it to the end of my days.”
She blinked and glanced at him. No man had ever shared as freely with her as he did. Nobody had ever spoken to her in such a way, as if she were an equal. As if they had already known one another even though they had met but an hour ago.
And yet, I feel as though I can tell him anything as well.
Almost as if he had read her thoughts, he turned to her.
“I apologize, Lady Rowena. It is not my custom to pour my heart out to a stranger. I just…well. It appears I find speaking to you comes easily. Which is quite unusual, as this does not happen often.”
She nodded, holding his gaze.
“I understand. I find it difficult to share my concerns with others as well. Not even Papa. Not even my sister. When we were children, it was my brother Charles who I would confide in, but as we grew that changed. Now the only person I can speak to as I please is Betsy.”
“Betsy?”
Rowena was about to answer and explain just how precious her friend was to her when something else caught her attention. Just as another couple passed them to dance their turn, she spotted her father. He was deeply in conversation with another, younger man. Rowena’s throat constricted and she felt herself holding Lord Westmond closer.
She knew who he was before he ever turned around. When he did, her suspicions and her fears were only confirmed. It was him. She recognized him, and at last recalled their dances at the ball more than a year ago. The piercing eyes, the shaggy hair. Isaac Travers, the Duke of Thornmouth. Her future husband.
Chapter 9
Christopher could not stop marveling at the woman beside him. It was as if he were in a dream. She was everything he’d hoped for. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew more so than ever that he was right about her.
He felt as though he had known her forever. The words spilled out of his mouth as though she were a trusted confidant, not a lady he’d known for mere moments. He would have, and could have, happily spent the entire evening talking to her, dance or no dance. However, just as the time came for them to prepare themselves for their turn on the dance floor, her demeanor changed.
He felt it happen as much as he saw it. Her posture changed. She straightened up, her shoulder back in a regal, stiff manner. Her mouth which had flashed him smile upon smile was pressed together in a tight line he’d never seen before. And her eyes were narrowed, fixed at a point on the other end of the hall.
What has happened to her? Have I said the wrong thing? What has vexed her so?
