She could have left it at that. Could have nodded and found an excuse to walk away from what felt like a potentially dangerous situation. Only she didn’t. She examined his face a bit more closely. His jaw was clenched, but it wasn’t in anger or disgust with her. It was with pain. His dark eyes had flitted away from her. But he broke the connection because it was too much for him, not because of a judgment he was making against her.
She saw his anguish, the one that mirrored her own, and found herself saying, “Ask the question, Your Grace.”
He flinched. “I hate being called that. My father was His Grace. And yet this is what it is.”
She nodded. “I’m certain someday it will not seem so foreign or distressing.”
“I hope so,” he whispered. Then he met her stare again. “Do you have any suggestions on how to…how to manage the grief?”
She caught her breath.Thatwas not the question she’d ever thought he would ask of her. And not with such clarity and gentleness. There seemed to be no ulterior motive, just a real desire to discuss the subject with her because he had realized she was the closest one to it in his circle.
She understood that need to call out and find comrades in loss. She’d so wished for her own not that long ago. Now one was standing before her. Dashing and confusing and…just…there.
“Well,” she said, shifting beneath his intense regard. “In my case, I had little choice but to swiftly move on. I think my…my situation was known to most. I had to procure a position as soon as possible, for money was nonexistent after her death.”
“That must have been difficult,” he said, his brow wrinkling like he hadn’t truly considered that before.
She shrugged. “It was. But in some ways it was also…helpful. Searching and eventually finding my place here was a distraction that I desperately needed. Still need, truth be told.”
“Well, I certainly have a great deal of distraction in front of me,” he said. Then he shook his head like he’d heard his words and how they sounded like he meant she was the distraction. “I, er, mean with all the duties I must take on.”
“Of course,” she whispered, breaking her gaze from his for it now felt too intense. “But…”
“But?”
She worried her lip. “You cannot try to forget all your pain. It will not be possible.”
“You’ve tried?” he asked.
She felt that very pain rise up in her chest. “Oh yes. But any time I walk too far from the grief, try to ignore it is behind me, when it snaps me back it is all the worse. Almost unbearable. So I recommend that you do not try to pretend it away, no matter how busy your duties make you.”
“You mourn in the midst of your life,” he said.
The turn of phrase brought her up short. “Yes,” she said. “That is exactly right. I mourn my mother, in my own way.”
“How?” he asked. She blinked, for the sting of tears had begun in her eyes. For a moment she struggled with it, and he turned his face. “My apologies. It was another impertinent question.”
She shook her head. “No. It helps me to speak of it, and perhaps it will help you to hear it. My mother’s favorite flower was yellow primrose. When I came here I saw that your garden was filled with them.”
He bent his head. “I admit I am no expert in flora.”
She smiled a little. “No, I would think such mundane things would not interest you.”
The moment she said the words, she wished she could take them back. They revealed too much of her. Revealed that she’d watched the man over the years, been aware of his keen mind.
He held her stare for a beat. Two. “It is a failing, I think. My father loved flowers.”
“He did,” she said, ducking her head a little. “One afternoon he was walking with his nurse in the garden and saw me there amongst the primroses. He asked me about my interest and when he heard why I was drawn to that particular flower, he kindly told me I could make myself a bouquet for my room any time I liked. So one way I remember my mother is to pick a few of the flowers for my chamber each week.”
His lips parted, and for a moment she thought he looked…upset. She shifted a little. “If you do not wish to allow that now that you are duke, of course I will not continue. I can enjoy the flowers while out on walks with Phoebe. I do not need a bouquet by my bed.”
“You think I would deny you that small pleasure?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I am in your employ, am I not? You do not owe meanypleasures.”
His mouth set in a thin line and there was no mistaking his irritation this time. He held her gaze a moment, then shook his head. “You may continue, Miss Carlton. I would not stop you from picking a few flowers now and then. The garden was meant to be enjoyed.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. She stared at him a moment. He was so very difficult to understand, to read. After all, he’d spent years watching her with such judgment and now he was here, pressing her on personal matters. It was a strange thing. One that didn’t give her any sense of increased stability when it came to her future.
