Ashton’s mouth curved up into a half smile as he coughed and tried to look serious once more.
“For you, yes. I willpicnic.Richard will make sure I do not bore you too much.”
“I am never bored in your presence, Ashton,” said Violet softly, her cheeks warming as the words flew unexpectedly from her lips.
The duke wastrue to his word, and before the sun was high in the sky, the three of them were seated in a sumptuous barouche pulled by four perfectly matched bays, headed through the village to the coast. A second coach with the food and servants followed behind, as it was about an hour’s travel, although the spring weather was beyond fine for such an outing and everyone seemed very pleased at the idea of an afternoon by the sea.
Violet fiddled with the edge of her bonnet as the breeze whipped at the ribbons, seated beside Ashton with Richard facing them both, spread out comfortably along the opposite bench.
This was her first public outing, and the carriage was made for the people they passed to view them in all their ducal finery.
Ashton took her gloved hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Relax, little Violet. You are a duchess, lift your chin and gaze down regally at your admirers.”
“You can’t be serious,” she muttered through teeth clenched into a strained smile.
The duke flashed Richard a look, and the doctor turned and spoke a few words to the driver. Without warning, the carriage slowed to a stop in the middle of the main street. Before Violet could voice a protest, she was swept down from the carriage by both men, her arm firmly tucked into the duke’s as they promenaded along the shopfronts. Waltzing into the confectioners, Ashton ordered boxes of every bonbon, cake and truffle on display while Violet blushed and clung to his side.
It was absolutely over the top, but the duke did not bat an eye at the attention they drew. Merely making small talk with the local landowners who hurried over as the multitude of boxes was loaded into the already packed carriage following behind them.
By the time they arrived at the pristine white chalk cliffs overlooking the channel, the sun was high in the sky, the grassland rustling and rippling with every gust of wind as they disembarked from the barouche and took a quick walk down to the sandy beach below.
Overheated from the walk, Violet allowed herself to be led to the blankets that had been spread out for their repast while they were gone, cleverly sheltered from the sea breeze in an alcove formed by the crumbling abbey ruins.
Baskets of food were left invitingly open and wine still cool from the wrappings was ready to be poured. She glanced around, stunned that such a fine spread had miraculously appeared, but the servants were not to be seen.
Ashton handed her a glass of sweet red wine, noticing her curious glances. “I told the staff to take themselves off to the local inn for luncheon. I wanted us to have a moment of privacy.”
“That is very kind of you,” said Violet, taking a small sip of the crisp wine. “I am still unused to such a large complement of staff.”
Ashton cleared his throat, raising his glass in her direction.“To you, Violet. My radiant duchess.
Violet blushed, fiddling with the edge of the blanket as she murmured her thanks.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. Determined to enjoy the outing.
“Please enlighten me, what does one do during such a distinguished picnic?” asked Violet, gesturing to the bottles of chilled champagne, stuffed partridge pie and the decadent assortment of dainties on display.
Richard relaxed against the stone wall at his back, his long legs stretched out before him as he popped a ripe strawberry into his mouth. “Comment on your fairness and intelligence of wit, naturally. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“Yes,” said Ashton, smirking in the doctor’s direction. “Let us not forget the recital of florid verse to convey our adoration.”
Violet flushed again with embarrassment. “You needn’t jest.”
Ashton dusted off his palms, springing to his feet and taking a dramatic pose. He looked different, with his coat cast aside and his dark hair ruffled by the brisk air.
“Who said we were jesting? What if we do admire you, sweet Violet?”
Ashton proceeded to launch into a flawless recital of a poem Violet had never heard before.
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.
When he was done, he ducked his head to his audience of two, Richard giving him a clap of praise. “Well done, old boy. I see you have started with the indomitable Keats, but I propose I have something to add.”
