Page 42 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“She is something of an irritation to me. I… I won’t go into details, but I require her help, and she requires mine, so we are stuck together.”

“How terrible. And yet you are not as horrified as you ought to be? Is it possible that you think of her a little more often than you should? Do you find yourself playing your conversations over in your mind? Interesting.”

He closed his eyes. He saw Thalia’s face, a wide grin curling her lips. He heard her gasp in his ear, arms wound tight around his shoulders. The tug of desire returned, and he realized with a small thrill of horror that he could go to bed with Lottie after all if he kept an image of Thalia in his mind.

But that would be fair to absolutely no one.

Opening his eyes, he met Lottie’s faintly amused gaze.

“I beg your pardon,” he sighed, “but I think that I should take my leave.”

“Yes,” Lottie agreed thoughtfully. “I think you should.”

“I am sorry if I have… if I have aroused any interest.”

She bit back a smile, glancing towards the fire. “I have enjoyed our conversation, short though it was. I doubt that our paths will cross again, but if they do, I should like to meet this acquaintance of yours and judge whether she really does look like me. If she does, I shall take it as a great compliment. If she does not, then I must conclude that you are either a madman or a man in love.” She paused, considering. “Although both are often the same.”

“There is no need to use such a serious word,” Christian said firmly. “I am grateful for your company.”

She bobbed a neat little curtsey and flashed him a grin. “Likewise. It was a pleasure to meet you, Your Grace, and I mean that most sincerely. I wish you the best of luck.”

“And to you,” he responded.

He rose and turned, hurrying back towards the foyer. He faintly heard Maeve call out his name in something of a panic from across the room but managed to snatch his coat and hat from the footman before she pounced on him.

Not quite sure what to make of his jumbled thoughts and feelings, he tumbled out into the night, praying that cold air and a good night’s sleep would clear his head and cure him of this strange new ailment.

CHAPTER 12

There was, fortunately, no sign of rain.

If it were raining, Sister Abigail would regretfully insist that the outing be postponed. It was too much of a risk, she would add. Besides the practical concerns of muddied clothes and wet sandwiches, there was also the more dangerous possibility of slippery ground and children catching a cold.

Twice a month, Thalia and Mabel ventured out to the Park with a handful of children from St. Sarah’s to eat a picnic lunch, play some games, and generally have fun. Thalia, of course, supplied the picnic hamper and any games they might play. The nuns, in turn, carefully made sure that each child had a chance at the treat, as it was generally known, and that they arrived for their outing washed, brushed, and generally gleaming with cleanliness and excitement.

This time, Thalia left the lugging along of the picnic basket to poor Mabel while she herself carefully carried a rectangular, lidded hamper with a wide weave.

Today was extra special because it was Alex, Nicholas, and Sophia’s turn to enjoy the treat. They were all ready at the door in their Sunday best, with Sister Abigail standing behind them.

“Good morning, Lady Thalia,” she greeted. “There are leftover boiled potatoes from supper last night. One each—I have taken the liberty of folding them in wax paper. You’ll find them in Nicholas’s pocket.”

“How kind of you.” Thalia smiled. “We have something for you, Sister. A spare scone. There is jam and cream in little pots. Mabel, would you?”

Mabel wobbled a little further up the front steps and lifted the lid of the picnic basket.

“Help yourself,” Thalia added.

Sister Abigail smiled. “That is remarkably kind of you. However, with your permission, I’ll give it to two of the sisters. I intend to split it between them. They are leaving us, you see. Sister Ethel and Sister Doris.”

Thalia’s smile fell. “What? But how on earth will we manage without them? Poor Sister Ethel managed the infirmary all by herself, and Sister Doris… well, I’ve never once seen her sit down.”

Sister Abigail shrugged. “It is not my decision. Or theirs, for that matter. The board wants to cut costs, so two of the sisters are being sent away. More will follow, no doubt. We will manage as we must, but I suppose that explains my rebellion with the potatoes. They ought to have been saved, not given away.”

Thalia nibbled on her lower lip. She glanced over at the children, vaguely aware that she should not be discussing such matters in front of them. But she did not know when she might see Sister Abigail again. The nuns were so busy.

“This is unfair,” she said. It sounded childish.

Sister Abigail gave a grim smile. “I am inclined to agree, but we can do nothing about it. The decision, as I said, is not ours.” She leaned forward, taking out a single scone.