Chapter Three
Lord James stared ather in shock. “Surely—”
“No,” Tilly cut him off. “Whatever you plan to say in her defense, you’re incorrect, my lord. Prudence is evil. I know it’s bad of me to think so. I’ve spent most of my life trying to reform my opinion. She doesn’t permit me to.”
He blinked. “Well, I admit, what little I know of her so far seems to confirm that. You then, I take it, are not evil?”
Tilly smiled. “I did dump a pot of tea on her once. Her dress was ruined and her hands scalded. They were red for days. I wasn’t sorry.”
He chuckled, a singularly warm and engaging sound. “So, you aren’t an angel, either?”
“I’m far from angelic, but I’m not so low as to seduce a man for his title, so I really won’t be using the swing any longer.” She suppressed a sigh. Her sanctuary’s ruin wasn’t truly his fault. Now that he’d alerted Prudence to Tilly’s love of the swing, her sister would put an end to the happy activity anyhow.
His look shifted to dismay once more. “You must. I didn’t mean to stop you.”
She shook her head, the light breeze tumbling her curls. “Swinging would be too scandalous, now that I realize...” She glanced toward his windows. “It wouldn’t be right.”
He contemplated her for a long moment. “I’ll close the curtains. That way, you’ll know I’m not looking.”
“If you’re telling the truth, you won’t know if I use the swing or not, so what good does my agreement do?” she countered.
“I suppose I would have to take you at your word,” he said with an easy shrug.
“Would you?” Tilly asked, surprised.
“Certainly.” He frowned. “Why do you look so confounded? Is there a reason I should not?”
“No.” How could she explain? “No one ever does, though. They all think I must be like my sister. Everyone dislikes her so greatly, no one likes me.” She swallowed, aware of the lump that had formed in her throat.
Lord James extended his long legs, once again silent. Eventually, he said, “You have the opposite trouble I do. Now that I’m a duke, everyone likes me, or pretends to, but I’ve no true friends.”
“But you must have a few true friends, made before you became a duke.” Unlike her, who’d never known a time before Prudence.
“I had acquaintances, but they all changed, I’m afraid.” He shrugged, but she saw the sorrow in his eyes. “Some wanted money, some pressured me for gifts, others insisted I throw lavish affairs. All of the girls I knew threw themselves at me.”
Tilly took in his well-nigh perfect features. “If I may be frank,” she said wryly, “I imagine women were always throwing themselves at you.”
He grinned. “You say that now, but what you see is the made-over me. When I inherited, my mother and aunt decided I must propagate the family line. They brought me here, to London, and let the city’s finest have at me.”
She shook her head. “It’s impossible you changed that much.” Or that any woman wouldn’t see at a glance how perfect he was.
He fumbled in his pockets. From one, he removed a pair of spectacles, from another, a slim volume with a title that indicated animal husbandry. He donned the spectacles and lifted the open the book so that it covered much of his face. “Now picture unfashionably long hair, tied back; country tweed, handed down, much mended and rumpled, and you have the general look.”
Tilly laughed. He lowered the book. In truth, the spectacles made him more attractive. “I am unconvinced, unless the women you grew up around are very shallow.” His grin wavered and she pressed on. “Why animal husbandry?”
His expression lightened. “I am rarely asked that question.” He leaned forward, eager. “You see, since I was fifteen, I’ve been helping my uncle’s steward manage his country seat. In three years, we’ve begun to turn things around. The estate should show a profit this year, for the first time in nearly a decade.”
Tilly was a bit surprised he was only eighteen, the same as she, and that she could manage simple addition while he watched her so intently. He was the most adorable man she’d ever encountered. He met her eyes without guile, eager to hear her reply. A sort of giddiness filled her as she gazed into those blue depths.
“You enjoy living in the country?” she managed, her voice only a touch breathless.
“I do.” He snapped the book closed, looking worried. “You do not? Do you…” he frowned, “prefer London?”
She’d never stopped to consider the matter. Her family didn’t have a country home. They remained in the city year-round. “You know, no one has ever asked me that.” Or awaited her reply with such attentiveness. She pressed her lips together, thinking.
“Well, I’m asking now,” he said, his tone oddly insistent. “Miss Philmont, do you prefer living in London, or would you consider residing in the country?”
She looked about, taking in the bright green grass, climbing roses and soaring oak. Beyond that small paradise, encircled by protective walls, the general clatter of London intruded. “I don’t believe I do like it here. The part I find most bearable is this garden.”
