The Duke stood at the window, back ramrod-straight, hands clasped behind him. On the desk before him rested a rectangular package wrapped in heavy cream paper.
“Lady Lavinia,” he said, turning at the sound of her step. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, dropping the requisite curtsy. “How may I be of service?”
He gestured to the desk. “That is for Lady Sophia. A new set of watercolors. Her… sketch showed promise.”
Lavinia blinked.Was he attempting… kindness?
“She will be delighted,” Lavinia said, managing to keep the surprise from her voice. “Thank you. I shall present it to her after our lesson.”
He nodded, but his eyes did not soften. Instead, he produced a folded sheet from the inside pocket of his coat and offered it to her. “This is the sketch.”
Lavinia took the page and unfolded it. The lines were tentative, but the composition was unmistakable: the wild sweep of the west garden, the distant oak, the suggestion of clouds threatening rain. It was not a child’s drawing, but the careful effort of someone desperate to prove herself.
“She worked from memory,” Lavinia said quietly. “I was not aware she still thought so much of the outside world.”
“Nor was I,” Tristan replied. “Until you arrived.”
Lavinia felt the compliment like a pebble in her shoe—small, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
She returned the sketch. “I will tell her you admired it.”
Tristan inclined his head, then transfixed her with a stare so intense it nearly pinned her to the spot.
“There is another matter,” he said.
Here it comes, Lavinia thought.
“I received word this morning,” he said, “that the Earl of Dawnford intends to call on you today.”
She set the sketch on the desk. “News travels quickly. Shall I assume you have spies in every parlor in London, Your Grace?”
He did not smile. “I have a duty to protect my household from unnecessary scandal.”
“And you imagine that my acceptance of a floral arrangement will lead to scandal?” Lavinia said, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Not flowers. The man behind them.”
Lavinia folded her arms. “If you have a warning to deliver, do so plainly.”
He met her gaze, unflinching. “Men like Dawnford do not pursue marriage. They pursue diversion.”
She nearly laughed. “Is that so? He must be disappointed to find such a dreary target as myself. I have been a spinster long enough to know when I am being handled.”
“I am not handling you,” Tristan replied. “I am informing you that his interest is not in your welfare, but in the conquest itself.”
“And yet you would have me accept his call? Surely you see the contradiction, Your Grace.”
He took a step forward, voice lowered. “I would have you exercise caution. The world is not kind to women who gamble their reputations on a man’s promise.”
“And you are the world’s appointed chaperone, I suppose?” Lavinia’s anger was gathering force now, pushing her forward even as her sense urged retreat. “You hired me to instruct your daughter, not to be instructed myself.”
“I hired you,” Tristan said, his own voice clipped and hard, “because you were the only person in the county with a hope of reaching her. But that does not give you leave to jeopardize her future.”
It struck her, then, that he was not talking about Lady Sophia at all.
“Do you think I am so desperate?” she said, quietly. “That I would let a man like Dawnford undo everything I have built for my family?”
