“Good old Harrison was much older than you?”
Aubrey nodded slightly at his question. “He was in his sixth decade.”
She’d vowed never to marry again, to maintain her independence in London. But what would it have been like to have a younger man for a husband?
“Was it a true marriage?”
His inquiry perplexed her for a moment. Was he asking if it had been legal? And then the nature of his question sent heat rising into her face.
“That’s an inappropriate thing to ask a lady.” Because it had been. Unfortunately, in the beginning, it had been.
“I’ll take your answer as a no.” He stated casually before tearing off a piece of the bread that had been set on the table for them to share.
“Then you will be wrong.” Aubrey snapped her mouth closed for revealing something so personal to him.
She surprised him this time, causing him to still and take a moment to study her.“I would have guessed that you’ve never been kissed.”
“Pardon me?” He’d spoken so softly she wasn’t certain she’d heard him right.
“I would imagine you’ll not be missed.” At her confused expression, he added. “By your husband’s relations.”
“Oh, yes. And no—I suppose. Winifred seemed rather to enjoy having me around. If only to know there was someone who might listen to her complaints and also witness her piousness.” Oh, but Aubrey sounded like the most ungrateful woman who ever lived. Likely by the end of their meal he would believe she was filled with only bitterness, when in fact, she was quite hopeful for her new life. “Tell me about your family, Mr. Bateman. Did you grow up in France?”
He set his utensils on the table and leaned back. “Until I was seven.” He smiled as though remembering his childhood fondly. “My father met my mother when she was visiting Paris. They lived in the French countryside, initially, but my mother missed her family. She is English. My father only ever wanted to make her happy, and so he moved all of us here.”
“Do you consider yourself English, or French?” He must have been torn for the two countries to have been at war with one another.
“My head is that of an Englishman, but my heart, I believe, is French.”
Which made perfect sense. He seemed to be a practical man, and yet, he’d openly shown affection to his horse. And then another thought struck.
“War time must have been difficult for your family.”
He nodded. “I stood with the English.” He added, turning his attention back to his food. “My grandfather, my mother’s father, purchased me a commission when I finished school.”
“Going to war cannot have been an easy decision.” He’d had to fight his own countrymen then, perhaps even some with whom he was related. The war had ended nearly ten years ago.
“There was no decision to be made. As I said, only my heart is French.” There were instances when Mr. Chance Bateman seemed open, easy going, and all that was charming. And then there were others when he shuttered himself away. This moment was one of them.
Aubrey had barely entered her teens at the onset of the war, but she remembered families who had lost a son, a husband, a father…
Too many, all and all, despite eventual victory.
“I’m sure your family was grateful for your safe return.”
Another nod.
She picked up her fork and pretended sudden interest in her own meal before asking, oh, so casually, “Will you be meeting your wife in Margate? For this birthday party of yours?”
And then she did her best not to seem overly curious to hear his response.
When he didn’t answer right away, she peeked up from beneath her lashes and, why she had not expected such a response, she did not know. But he was silently laughing. And then not so silently.
When he’d finally sobered, he met her eyes boldly. “I am not married,Princesse. If that is what you were getting at.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, dragging Aubrey’s attention to his hands. She’d noticed them before, when he’d been brushing…
“What is your horse’s name?” She didn’t believe he’d ever said.
“Guinevere.” And then wincing added. “The name was my sister’s choice. I would have named her something far more original.”
