“Can you hear me now?”
“Oh, yes, ever so much better. Thank you, Arthur.” She had to smother a giggle at her own cleverness.
“I said nothing of importance. Just a remark about the weather.”
“Yes, it’s so hot, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
They lapsed into silence.
She looked down. He was ungloved, his hands resting on his long thighs. She slid her own glove off and put her hand on top of his. He started slightly but did not move his hand away.
She turned his hand over so the palm was up and laced her fingers with his, hiding her bitten nails under his hand. “I’m very excited about your house party and coming to your estate on Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“My mother will chaperone me, I think. Will it be a large set of guests?”
“Not too large, no.”
“Well, I’m sure it will be lovely.” She brushed her thumb over his thumb.
“I’ve invited your friends, the Danforths. I thought that might please you.”
Alice and George. At the house party. Strangely, it did not please Phoebe to hear her two best friends were coming.
Phoebe would never win a bid for attention if pitted against Alice. Knowing defeat was inevitable, Phoebe had taken her hat out of that ring a long time ago and resigned herself to being in Alice’s shadow at social occasions.
But this one time, she wanted to be the focus of Thornwick’s regard. She wanted to be the guest of honor in her future husband’s house. The one who was shown the gardens. The one toasted at dinner. And Phoebe couldn’t compete with Alice’s glamour or flirtatious wit. She knew she would lose.
And George. She was so grateful for his lessons in bedding, but would there be any awkwardness being around him and Thornwick at the same time?
No, these were foolish, pointless concerns. Alice wouldn’t steal Thornwick’s attention from Phoebe. In fact, she might distract the other guests so Phoebe could get him alone. And George almost certainly wouldn’t want to come. A house party would interfere with his very full agenda and highly regimented round of duties.
“Thank you, Arthur. That was kind of you.”
“Yes. Well, I thought you would like that.”
He had done something because he thought she would like it. She wanted to cry. No, she didn’t want to cry. She wanted to kiss him.
“I want to kiss you,” she said.
“Yes, well.” He took his hand from hers and her hand curled in on itself and she withdrew it to her lap. “We’re in a carriage. We can’t do that.”
“If we were married—”
“It would still not be proper.”
“Yes, but—” She had been about to say surely there were improprieties and then there wereimproprieties. What was a duke and a duchess exchanging a kiss in a carriage compared to so many other things?
But Thornwick did not like argument. “Yes, Arthur.”
Just so long as he kissed her when they were alone, as they might be at his house party. In his own bedchamber. Or in hers. There might be kissing. There might be more. She squirmed ever so slightly in response to some flutters she felt down below.
Thornwick crossed his long legs. “And I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something. It’s been on my mind since we spoke on Saturday. Something that came up then.”
What could it be? Their blond children? How adorable or enchanting she was? Her meeting his mother?
