Richard sent Ashton a meaningful glance, and Ashton inclined his head in some unspoken agreement.
Ashton reached forward and scooped Violet into his arms, hauling her into his lap so that he could wrap his arms around her.
“Do you know why I asked you to be my duchess?” he asked her, his breath ghosting against her ear and sending a shiver down her limbs.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Asthon had voicedthe one question that kept Violet up at night, as she came awake in the darkest hours.
Why had Ashton chosen her?
“No, I do not know at all,” she admitted, even as she marvelled at the feel of his strong arms around her, her body curled against his chest so that she could feel the steady thump of his heart against her back.
“We saw you months ago, you know,” Ashton murmured, his hand stroking its way down her arm.
His voice was as smooth as warm molasses, making her as giddy as if she was twirling on her feet. Nothing but his heat and weight to steady her.
Her gaze flashed to Richard’s, but he nodded gravely, his eyes a piercing blue as he watched her.
Ashton continued, stealing her attention. “We saw you at the May Day celebrations. You were wearing a simple white gown and were seated away from the revelries, entertaining a gaggle of tenant farmer’s children by showing them how to weave flowers into a garland.”
Violet frowned, thinking back to the May festivities.
Yes, she had attended with her parents.Her father, as a baronet, would never miss the opportunity to show off his pigs and compete with the other gentry of the county. He prided himself on the prizes won by his champion sows every year. Her mother hated the whole ordeal, of course, but she had performed her duty, manning a table raising funds for the destitute as was suitable for a matron of the church.
Violet and her sisters were expected to attend, but not allowed to dance or engage in the celebration. Her mother insisted it was extremely common behaviour.
As a result, Violet had spent the day running up and down at her mother’s behest or hiding out behind the haybales with the village youngsters. She had always loved children, and could never resist their sweet faces. Violet had shown a few of them how to gather the white flowers from the field and fashion garlands for their heads. Telling the little girls how beautiful they looked with their smudged, gap-toothed smiles and the fresh blossoms in their hair.
“I don’t understand,” she said at last, bemused.
Richard cleared his throat, steepling his fingers as he leant forward. “One of the girls took the flowers you had helped her weave and placed them on your head like a crown.”
Violet stifled a chuckle at the memory.
It had been a poorly constructed flower chain, but the little ones had been so delighted with her efforts, that Violet had worn it proudly the rest of the day.
Ashton took up the tale. “The sun lit you then, and you smiled.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and whispered. “You hardly ever smile, do you know that?”
“It stopped me in my tracks, even from across the field. I had never seen something so lovely, so poignant,” he continued.
“Ashton has a sentimental streak, as much as he denies it,” said Richard with a quirk of his lips. “But, May Day is the traditional time to choose a bride, after all.”
“But the way you came to my house, your manner, it was…” Violet didn’t know how to complete her sentence, and the words trailed off into silence.
Ashton cleared his throat, tightening his arms around her. “It was transactional, I know. Men like your father, they do not understand anything but business. He didn’t need to know anything more or less. Richard and I knew, and that was enough.”
“ButIdidn’t know, and I still don’t understand. You asked for my hand because of flowers?” Violet frowned, turning to look up at Ashton in confusion.
“No,” he said, with a depreciating smile. “I chose you because I saw a solemn girl who cared about others, and I saw something I wanted for my children.” He cleared his throat with something suspiciously like emotion. “Something I wanted for me.”
Richard sighed, watching his friend with concern.
“My father, the old duke, was not a good man. And my mother… she suffered under him.” The words came out harsh, clipped.
“I have held off siring an heir, but when I saw you I thought that maybe there was a path to do so that was better than what I endured.”
His hand drifted to her stomach, cupping the slight curve of her belly. “Even now you could be carrying my babe, and I am hopeful you might come to feel something for me. For us. As unconventional as our arrangement is, I do want you to be happy.”
