Honesty in polite conversation was rare in ladies—or gentlemen, for that matter. No one could admit to being discontented without seeming ill-mannered.
“I suppose,” he said, “that when you are in your usual milieu at your school no one ever imposes social obligations upon you or bullies you into enjoying yourself. I suppose you usually have a great deal of freedom and independence.”
“And you do not?” she asked him, raising her eyebrows.
“Quite the contrary,” he told her. “When one is in possession of a title, even if itisonly a courtesy title, one is under an obligation to be available to help fill every ballroom or drawing room or garden to which one is invited during the Season so that the hostess will be able to claim that it was a veritable squeeze and thus be the envy of all her acquaintances. And one is obliged to be courteous and sociable to all and sundry.”
“Am Iall?” she asked him. “Or am Isundry?”
He chuckled. He had seen flashes of her dry humor before and rather liked it.
She was looking steadily at him, the light from the water dancing in patterns across one side of her face.
“And that isallyou do?” she asked him without waiting for a reply. “Attend parties and make yourself agreeable because your rank and society demand it of you?”
He thought of the time he spent with Lizzie, more than ever since Christmas, and felt the now-familiar heaviness of heart. He would have introduced a new topic of conversation then, one he certainlymeantto raise with her before she returned to Bath, but she spoke again before he had found the right words.
“You do not sit in the House of Lords?” she asked. “But no, of course you do not. Yours is a courtesy title.”
“I am a duke in waiting,” he told her, smiling. “And I would prefer to keep it that way, given the alternative.”
“Yes,” she said, “it is not a happy thing to lose a parent. It leaves a great yawning, empty hole in one’s life.”
Her father’s death had disinherited her, he realized, whereas the opposite would happen in his case. But when all was said and done, a human life mattered more than any fortune. Especially when it was the life of a loved one.
“Family always matters more than anything else,” he told her.
“I thought I would enjoy a couple of weeks here with Susanna and Frances,” Miss Martin said with a sigh as she turned her face to look across the water. “And indeed it has been lovely to see them. But being with them means also being at events like this. Now I think I would like to return to Bath as soon as I may. My life is lived in a very different world than this.”
“And you would prefer your own,” he said. “I cannot blame you. But in the meanwhile, Miss Martin, allow me to do what I do best. Allow me to entertain you. I see that there is no one in line for the boats at the moment. And it appears that Crawford and Miss Meeghan are on their way in. Shall we take their boat?”
“On thewater?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“The boat is small,” he said. “I suppose wecouldhoist it up over our heads and run about the garden with it. But our fellow guests might think us eccentric, and I for one have to associate with them in the future.”
She dissolved into mirth, and he regarded her with a smile. How often did she laugh? He guessed that it was not often enough. But it certainly ought to be. It was as if a whole suit of armor was shed from her person when she did so.
“Itwasa foolish question to ask,” she admitted. “I should love a boat ride of all things. Thank you.”
He offered her his arm and she took it.
She sat with rigidly straight back and severe demeanor after he had handed her into the boat as if she felt she had to atone for her earlier laughter and ardor. She did not move a muscle while he rowed out into the center of the river and then along it, passing by other grand mansions with lavish gardens and willow trees draping their greenery over the water. She kept her hands in her lap, cupped one on top of the other. She did not have a parasol as most of the other ladies did. But her straw hat was wide-brimmed and shaded her face and neck from too much exposure to the sun. The hat had seen better days, but it was not unbecoming.
“Do you go boating in Bath?” he asked her.
“Never,” she said. “We used to go boating when I was a girl, but that was a long, long time ago.”
He smiled at her. Not many ladies would have added that extralongto imply an advanced age. But she seemed to be a woman without vanity.
“This is heavenly,” she said after a minute or two of silence—though she still looked like a teacher keeping a watchful eye upon her students as they worked. “Absolutely heavenly.”
He remembered something she had said last evening—A long time ago. A lifetime ago.She had been speaking of her acquaintance with McLeith.
“Did you grow up in Scotland?” he asked her.
“No, in Nottinghamshire,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought perhaps you grew up in the same neighborhood as McLeith,” he said.
