He frowned. “May I?” he said before taking the smaller piece from her and placing the larger back into her lap. She decided to accept the gesture without protest and took a small, delicate bite of the bun.
“You are ever the lady, are you not?” he commented while taking a bite out of the bun that left almost nothing in his hand at all.
“It is how I was raised. To have perfect manners at all times,” she shrugged and placed another piece in her mouth. The sweetness filled her every sense and she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing it.
When she opened her eyes again, he saw that he was looking at her, his head cocked to one side.
“What is it? Your Grace is staring at me in the most alarming manner.”
He shook his head. “Nothing at all. I simply thought to myself that it must be exhausting for you, to have to be aware of how you carry yourself at all times. It must be a burden.”
She shrugged. “It is what I was born to do. And I hesitate to call it a burden. Not when there are others less fortunate than I. The little girls in the orphanage with nobody to look after them, or those in the poorhouse. They might look upon me and laugh if I said I felt my life a burden.”
She grew silent then. It was true that she often felt as if this life she was raised to have was cumbersome, but it was a gift compared to the hardships of others.
“We each carry out own lot, no matter what class,” the Duke said. “Although I understand you well. My Mother felt as you did. She spent a lot of her time at the local parish in Lancashire, raising funds for the Vicar and the nunnery. She was particularly fond of the Foundlings’ Hospital in Blackpool.”
“What an extraordinary woman she must have been,” while Rowena loved her mother, she could not imagine Lady Hazelshire engaging in such work.
“She was,” the Duke said, his voice thick with melancholy. To her surprise, she saw a tear spring into his eye and he wiped it away hastily. The urge to place her hand on his overcame her but she forced herself to keep it in her lap.
“Your Grace–” she began but he quickly forced a smile back on his face.
“No, let us not talk of such sad things. How are you enjoying your sweet?”
She looked at her lap where most of her half was still sitting. “I am enjoying it, thank you. I am simply trying to make it last, for I may not get another for some time. Not if my Mother has anything to do with it.”
He shook his head. “Dash it all! If you were my wife, you would have all the buns you could eat.”
She grew cold at his words and he appeared to understand at once that he’d overstepped the bounds of their uneasy connection.
“I apologize, Lady Rowena. I should not have…well. No. I should. I am not sorry at all. You must know how I feel about you. It is obvious to all.”
“I do.” She looked away, taken aback by this sudden, serious change in their conversation.
“And what of you, Lady Rowena Burton?”
“I am not…I cannot–” she shook her head quietly.
“Lady Rowena…” To her utter shock, he took ahold of her hand. The feeling of his skin on hers sent her entire world into a spin but she did not pull it away. She had no desire to. “You are a diamond of the first water. I have not been able to take my eyes off you since the first day I saw your portrait in your Father’s office. It might be silly of me, but I have imagined this, us, together and talking, for so long. And I have a strong feeling that you feel the same. Please, if I am making a cake of myself, tell me and I shall stop.”
“If I was a woman that could make her own destiny,” she said quietly, looking him in his beautiful eyes, “I would be ever too pleased at your declaration. I would tell you that I too feel the same, that I have thought of nothing but Your Grace ever since the ball. Alas, I cannot make my own destiny. I must do as my Father has planned. I must wed the Duke of Thornmouth, as much as I wish I did not. We are at a pointnon plus, Your Grace.”
She was shocked at her own words. She’d known them to be true. She’d carried these feelings in her heart with no intention of letting them escape her mouth. But something about him had forced her, something about him made her act against everything she’d ever been taught.
“You can make your own destiny, Rowena. We can–”
The Duke looked at her with pleading eyes and she felt herself melt at his word. She was about to reply when–
“Rowena, quickly. Your Mother is looking for you,” Betsy appeared in the door, her voice full of urgency. “You cannot let her see you out here.” Her eyes settled on the Duke. “Nor you, Your Grace. Follow me, quickly.”
Rowena got up, the handkerchief and bun still in hand and rushed up the steps into the house, the Duke behind her.
“Let me take this,” Betsy said and took the bun from her, tucking it safely away in the pocket of her dress. Footsteps could be heard on the marble floor, heading their way. Rowena looked around, panic rising.
“Rush up the servant staircase and then descend from the front, claiming to have recovered from a dreadful headache. The Duke and I will stroll in and I will say that I …”
“You have found me out in the garden, exploring on my own and we fell into conversation about…” he stopped for a moment, scratching his chin. Then he snapped his fingers. “Lord Portsmouth. We were conversing about Lord and Lady Portsmouth, given that I know him, and you are to work for him.”
