He looked up from his desk. Morning light fell across his papers, catching in the gold threads of his waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and he sat with that infuriatingly casual posture that somehow made him look even more authoritative.
Beatrice felt her heart skip a beat, before she remembered herself.
“Duke,” she greeted, meaning to sound brisk.
“So formal already?” His mouth curved. “Have I offended you before you’ve even spoken?”
She stepped forward, ignoring his teasing. “I’ve seen the wet nurses.”
“And?”
She sighed. “I didn’t like either of them.”
He set down his quill and leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “What was wrong with them?”
Beatrice hesitated. She had rehearsed a dozen sensible answers on the way to the study, but none of them fit now.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “They were pleasant enough. Capable. There was nothing to object to.” She exhaled softly, frustrated. “Still, I couldn’t seem to—” She stopped, searching for the right word.
“To what?”
Her fingers tightened on the folds of her gown. “Nothing. I simply—” She huffed, frustrated with herself. “Something in me didn’t settle.”
He looked at her for a long moment, the set of his jaw thoughtful, his eyes steady.
“Then we’ll look for others,” he decided at last, his voice calm, almost mild. “There’s no need to rush.”
Beatrice’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “That’s all?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Were you expecting a duel over it?”
“I was expecting an opinion,” she replied, too quickly.
“You’ve already formed one,” he said softly. “I imagine it isn’t the women themselves who trouble you, but the thought of letting anyone else near her.”
Beatrice hesitated, then exhaled. “I… suppose that’s true.”
His mouth curved. “God forbid anyone else so much as breathes near her.”
That calm observation caught her off guard.
She blinked. “You make it sound as though I’m being sentimental?—”
Edward’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “I only sound that way because you are.”
“I’m managing well enough on my own,” she insisted, folding her hands to keep them from fidgeting.
“I know you are,” he allowed. “You always are. But I’ll remind you again, Duchess, that managing isn’t the same as taking care of yourself.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she said, too briskly.
He smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair. “That’s exactly what you said last night, before I had to make you eat.”
Her lips parted in indignation. “You didnotmake me?—”
“I recall spoon in hand,” he interrupted smoothly, “and a very stubborn duchess refusing to open her mouth until I threatened to sit there all night.”
“That is not how it happened.”
