“Does everyone do this?” There, that seemed like a proper enough question.
“Does every woman want to do this?” A less proper question, but closer to what she truly wished to know.
“How do you make me want to do this?” That question was devoid of pretense entirely.
Why did she feel warm every time he came close to her? Why did her breath feel tight and her heart begin to pound so relentlessly even when looking at him?
Slipping from the bed, she went into the bathing chamber and took care of those necessary morning ablutions. She really should ring for Florie, but she wanted a few more minutes to herself. Standing at the foot of the bed, she looked up at the mussed pillows. The sheets were tangled, and there was an impression on the side of the mattress where Douglas had slept.
Why hadn’t he awakened her? Or had he been as strangely sensitive this morning as she felt? But then, he wasn’t a virgin, was he?
After last night, almost any question should be acceptable to ask.
Evidently, she wasn’t expected to observe a mourning period for her marital duties. Was it entirely proper to feel so delighted at that prospect?
A knock on the door made her sigh, and she grabbed her wrapper and answered it. A young maid stood there, nearly bent over with a heavy tray, and standing next to her was her cousin, exquisitely gowned in a lovely emerald day dress Sarah recognized as French.
She directed the maid to the sitting room and greeted Linda.
“Grandfather says you should be shown Kilmarin,” Linda said. “Shall we meet in the Great Hall? In an hour?”
Sarah nodded, and her cousin turned and walked down the corridor without another word. Did Linda resent her presence at Kilmarin? Or was she just short with everyone? The lamentable fact was that her cousin was not entirely likeable.
Anthony, Duke of Herridge, surveyed himself in the mirror. He was not a vain man, yet for the first time in his life he was conscious of the fact that while hemight possess an acceptable appearance, he was not handsome. However, he was the Duke of Herridge. A heritage of twelve generations preceded him. Chavensworth accompanied him.
Soon, he would have to begin looking for a bride, one with a fortune to bring to their marriage. A fertile girl, as well, one who would give him a son.
He went to the bureau, withdrew the jewelry box, and overturned it on the top of the bed. The pieces were small, inconsequential. Hadn’t he given Morna anything better over the years?
He’d hardly had the money, had he? He’d married her thinking that her wealth would solve his dilemma. Instead, her family had disowned her, and he’d been left with a wife and the same problem: no funds.
If he were a yokel, he could live well at Chavensworth. The family estate had always paid its way. But he was destined for better things, for cosmopolitan life in London, for entertainments. For that he needed money. An heiress was the answer. First, however, he had to bolster his bargaining position. What the hell had Eston been doing all this time?
He walked to the door, opened it, and shouted for Simons.
A half an hour later Sarah was dressed, her hair set to rights, and she was waiting in the Great Hall. Being perennially early was a fault, perhaps, but she’d been taught that it was rude to be late to any meeting.
When she’d agreed to meet in this room, she’d not realized that the chamber would be so oppressive, even on a sunny day. Its dark shadows and weapons of death did not lend itself to pleasant thoughts. She was verymuch filled with pleasant thoughts this morning. In an attempt to retain her good mood, she wandered out a door she’d not seen the night before and into a portico that led, surprisingly, to a garden.
Flowers blossomed along the path, their full-bodied heads bowing beneath the brush of her skirt. Sarah halted, taking in the wonders of this unexpected oasis of beauty: the birdbath in the shape of a giant lily pad, the gurgling fountain with a wolf’s head, the graveled walks adjacent to the walls and cutting through the internal square in an X. Lining the walks were hedges and more plants, left to grow as high as they wished. The whole of Kilmarin’s walled garden was a hodgepodge of types and heights of flowers, in abundant and glorious profusion.
The sound of the birds was comforting although she couldn’t see them. Had they been rendered invisible in this enchanted garden? Or simply perched high in the branches of the trees? Sarah could also feel a soft breeze and suspected it came from another hidden corridor.
Benches were placed against each of the four walls, as if to encourage the examination of the garden. Sarah sat, drawing her skirts around her. Dancing light filtered through the fully leafed branches of the trees and played on the stone path. This was a lovely place to be alone, and she reveled in the peace and silence.
She needed the solitary moment.
Even in the midst of the quiet, with the sound of the birds and the fountain to keep her company, her mind was occupied with recollections of last night.
“You’re the Englishwoman.”
Sarah looked up to find that the garden wasn’tsolitary after all. A man dressed in dark brown trousers and a white shirt stood at the corner of the garden staring at her.
Slowly, he advanced, stopping until he was only feet away.
His eyes were the same shade as hers, and his hair the same color. His nose was not unlike hers as well. In fact, his features were so similar, it was almost like looking into a mirror, if the mirror had been a masculine one.
“Aren’t you?” he asked.
