“Your duty?”
“Of course. This whim of mine is keeping a score of locals in gainful employment. I’m paying a whole team of people to design, install, and maintain it. I’ve bought twenty pairs of ice skates from some enterprising vendor in London, not to mention all the extra provisions we’ll need for the party itself: crates of wine, huge amounts of food. Extra candles. New furnishings – because somethingalwaysgets broken when people have fun. Last year I had to commission a new marble fountain at vast expense because some idiot waded into the pond, climbed onto Poseidon’s back, and snapped his head off.”
He sent her an irresistible grin. “So you see, I’m supporting the artists and tradesmen for miles around. That’s why being a duke is so hard; it takes a lot of brain power to come up with ever-more ludicrous schemes for building follies and grottoes.”
“You could commission someone to paint portraits of all your dogs and horses,” she suggested wryly.
“Already done that. We’re on to racing pigeons and prize-winning livestock now. I’m going to have to start a zoo, like Carys Montgomery, just so there’s something more to paint. That, or commission a life-size marble sculpture of myself.”
“Artfully draped, like Pauline Bonaparte requested of Canova?” she teased.
“I rather thought fully nude, except for a fig leaf to preserve my modesty, like Michaelangelo’s statue of David. Alargefig leaf, of course.”
She snorted at the thought, sure her cheeks were turning pink at the mental image of him naked, and he smiled, delighted that he’d made her laugh at something so scandalous.
He gave a casual shrug. “Of course, my duchess could help me with ideas. I imagine you can think up all sorts of ways to redistribute my income to deserving recipients. I know the ladies of King & Co. support the Traveler’s Rest home for war veterans in Covent Garden. And another one for helping ladies of ill-repute. That sort of thing.”
Livvy shook her head, but a smile still curved her lips. Oh, he knew precisely how to layer on the temptation. She could think of a dozen worthy causes she’d support if she had the weight of his fortune at her disposal. She’d seen ample examples of human misery, injustice, and cruelty during her two years in London.
Not only that, but as a duke, Devlin was automatically a member of the house of Lords; he had political power a woman could only dream of. He could influence the laws of the entire country for the better, if he only bestirred himself.
As his wife, she could influence him.
She tried to dispel the seductive thought. She would only be able to influence him if he valued her opinion, respected her ideas, and loved her enough to want to please her.
Which was currently not the case.
But could it be? Could she make him fall in love with her? Or was hoping for such a thing as ridiculous as creating an artificial skating pond in one’s garden?
Devlin didn’t push her for a response, for which she was glad, and instead he swept his arm towards a series of small buildings visible in the distance.
“I need to check on my weather station. Come on.”
They set off across the lawns, their soles crunching on the frosty grass underfoot and leaving two lines of dark footprints behind them. His boots were much larger than hers.
“I didn’t know you were particularly interested in the weather,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise. “I thought rakes steered clear of anything that might be classified as scholarly.”
“We must havesomerespite from all theidleness and dissipation. Drinking, gaming, and conducting torrid affairs becomes quite boring after a while.” He leaned closer, as though to impart a great secret and his shoulder brushed her own. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually quite fond of reading.”
“And predicting the rain?”
“Well, that’s a relatively recent interest. I took it up after returning from the continent. In fact, it was Waterloo that made me realize the importance of the weather.”
“What do you mean?”
“Most people don’t know this, but a rainstorm significantly helped our victory. The night before the battle, it rained incredibly hard, and again in the morning, which turned the fields into a muddy nightmare. Everyone was wet and cold and miserable.” He kept his gaze ahead, so she couldn’t see his expression.
“The rain meant Bonaparte delayed the start of the battle. He waited several hours for the ground to dry out, but even that wasn’t enough. The cavalry’s horses were hock-deep in mud,reduced from a gallop to a canter. Rifles misfired because of damp powder. The heavy canons of his artillery kept sinking into the mud and getting stuck. And the cannonballs were less effective than usual—when the ground’s hard they skip across it and inflict more casualties.”
A wrinkle appeared between his brows as he grimaced, clearly remembering some unpleasant memory, and Livvy fought the urge to put a comforting hand on his arm. She made a soft hum of encouragement instead, keen for him to continue; he’d never discussed anything to do with the war with her before and she was thrilled that he was opening up to her now.
He gave a small shake of his head and continued. “Anyway, the delay also gave Blucher and the Prussians time to join us. They arrived in the afternoon, just when things were looking really grim, and attacked the French flank. I doubt we would have won without their support.”
“So a thunderstorm is the reason we’re not speaking French right now?”
“Or worse. If Boney had won, and managed to invade, my head would have ended up in a basket beneath the guillotine. He’d have dispatched aristocratic wastrels like me in short order.”
“Thank goodness for rain, then,” she said. “And the bravery of every single man on the battlefield. England owes you all a debt far greater than the ones my father managed to accrue.”
