Page 31 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

He pushed the swing’s ropes, facing her fully. “What are you looking for in a husband?”

“Oh,” Lavender blinked a few times, trying to dispel her worries about her arm and grasp his question fully. The question ought not have surprised her. She had shared with him her dilemma of marrying quickly after all. “I must have a magnificent library.”

“Of course you must,” Tom chuckled. “I meant to ask about the kind of man you would have give it to you?”

Lavender tilted her head so that it rested on the rope she was holding. “I am not overly picky. I want someone who I can respect, and who respects me in return, ideally someone kind,” she racked her brain, how else could she describe not Lord Chilcott. “Oh, and someone who will protect me from the bees. You’d be surprised at how many people act as if my fear is trivial.”

“It’s not trivial at all. But that is not a very tall order, my lady. A large number of men would fit that description. How can we pare your options down a little? Are you looking for a love match?”

“No,” Lavender sputtered out in an unladylike fashion. “No, that is not necessary.”

Tom walked around to face her. His eyes squinted as if he were trying to see her better in the dark. Despite the glow of the lanterns along the paths, the night was not a particularly dark one. “Rubbish.”

“Excuse me.”

“I said rubbish. Of course you would want a love match. You are only telling yourself you don’t so you don’t set yourself up for failure,” he accused her.

“Or, I have already experienced that particular emotion and I have no good opinion of it in the least.” She hated that she admitted as much to him. “Love is blind, Tom. I’m not going into a marriage in the dark.”

He nodded, but the pity in his eyes was clear. “I’m sorry for whatever made you think you don’t deserve love, Lavender. But you may change your mind one day.”

She shrugged as if his words wouldn’t haunt her, but she knew otherwise. She knew what her heart was doing to her.

She was falling in love with Tom Smith.

She didn’t have time to waste loving yet another man whom she could never have. A servant—of all the men she’d met in London—had hold of her emotions. Stupid, stupid heart.

Tom walked around her swing and gave her a gentle push from behind this time. “It’s your turn to ask a question, my lady.”

It didn’t seem fair that he was able to carry on their conversation as if Lavender’s entire world hadn’t shifted. If anything, it was a sign to her that although his words were sweet, he hadn’t said anything about the two of them being in love. She racked her brain for the question she’d come out here to ask, but the touch of Tom’s hands on her back proved to be too much of a distraction.

“I’m having a difficult time remembering what I was going to ask,” she admitted to fill the awkward silence.

“Would you like to know what I ate for breakfast this morning?”

Lavender laughed. “No, you aren’t getting off the hook so easily as that. But the muffins were quite delicious. Oh, I remember now. Do you believe the rumors? Do you think the Duke of Fenleigh is guilty of treason?”

“No.” Tom’s answer was short.

“Why not?”

“I never saw any evidence of it while I lived there.” Tom pushed her higher. “And to be quite frank, the duke was a little directionless. I don’t think he had a strong enough opinion on matters of the country to do something so reckless. Don’t get me wrong. He is a bit of the reckless sort, but he only ever endangered himself.”

Interesting. “What do you mean by that?”

“He drank and gambled and spent his nights a bit frivolously, but he always settled his debts and made sure to clean up his own messes.” Tom shrugged. “That doesn’t seem like a traitor to the crown to me.” He pushed her higher still, making her insides flop at the top of the arc. “What happened with Lord Chilcott today?”

Lavender gripped the swing ropes tighter. “The ridiculous man decided to announce that we were courting to some women I had never been introduced to before, and without speaking to me about it first. It was infuriating.”

“Who were the women?”

“A Mrs. Carlton and her young daughter.”

Tom groaned behind her. “He didn’t.”

“He most certainly did.”

“The news will spread like the plague.”