Page 49 of Sir Andrew and the Authoress

“I suppose not,” he muttered. They left the stairs and walked down the corridor to the room adjacent the less formal dining room. Not the large one where the duke held his grand dinners and invited guests, but the smaller, more intimate dining room on the floor beneath that one.

The family matriarch paused, pulling Andrew to a stop as well. They were in front of a very large painting that depicted the goddess of spring dancing in a grove of trees with her minstrels. Andrew took in the familiar painting, his thoughts unfocused.

“My granddaughter’s birthday is the day after tomorrow,” the dowager duchess said, breaking into his thoughts.

“I know,” Andrew said absently.

The duchess released an exasperated puff of air. “We ought to do something to celebrate. Especially since her parents are not here.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Andrew realized after a moment that Josephine’s grandmother was glaring at him. He turned to her and offered an apologetic smile. “What did you have in mind?”

Her nose wrinkled at him, and she shook her head. “Never mind.” She released his arm and went to the door, which a footman held open for her. Andrew was fairly certain he heard her mutter, “I thought he was an intelligent boy.”

Andrew stared after her a moment, then sighed and pretended to look at the painting again. Josephine’s birthday. Of course he knew it was approaching. Usually, once the upper classes left the schoolroom, their birthdays passed quietly. A favorite meal might be served. Flowers may appear in their rooms. Most considered celebration beyond that as excessive.

Except the duke gifted his wife something thoughtful on the anniversary of her birth, their marriage, and several other times throughout the year. He showered his wife with tokens, small and large, of his affection. He gave his children something to mark their birthdays, too. Even Simon had received his infamous walking stick as a gift from his father.

Lovers often gave one another tokens on such dates, too.

Andrew grimaced. Giving Josephine a gift on her birthday would be tantamount to declaring something he didn’t think he could declare.

“Did Persephone offend you?” Josephine appeared at his side, staring up at the painting. She seemed pale. The look in her eyes somewhat distant. He had hurt her in the tower that morning. Because he could not say she was as a sister to him.

Was that really all she wanted? A siblings’ relationship? His stomach turned over at the very idea. No. That would never be. She didn’t look at him, so he turned his attention back to the dancing goddess.

He kept his voice light. “Yes. She offends me terribly.”

“Really? I always liked her. What has she done to merit your enmity?” Josephine’s tone was cautious. Perhaps she had grown as lost as he in their relationship. What had once been easy, the teasing and banter, now felt contrived.

Andrew took stock of the painting. “Her lack of shoes.”

That startled a smile from Josephine. She arched one eyebrow and turned to Andrew with a quizzical smile. “Lack of shoes?”

Her smile was worth the ridiculous conversation. “Precisely. Look. Even the minstrels are wearing sandals, and she dances about as though spring isn’t a time of thistles and thorns.”

“I think the goddess of spring might be immune to such things.” Josephine looked at the painting again. “And even if she wasn’t, running about without shoes or stockings is delightful. I wish her well in the effort.”

“You would.” He chuckled as a memory came to him of a bright spring day from years’ past. “How old were you when Simon and I caught you walking along the fountain edge without your shoes? It wasn’t too long ago.”

Her cheeks pinked, and she wrinkled her nose at him, the look similar to her grandmother’s. “I was fourteen. And a lady can remove her shoes in her family’s garden if she wishes.”

“Ought she to hurl those shoes at young gentlemen, though?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and tapping his chin in thought. “I’m not certain what Society would think of that behavior.”

“If the boy deserved it, then yes. Throwing shoes at irritating youths is perfectly acceptable.” She sniffed and turned her nose up. “Especially when he implies the young lady has large feet.”

“I didn’t say that, surely.” He chuckled, admiring her profile while wearing a mask of amusement.

“I remember precisely what you said.” She turned toward him, and he mirrored the movement so they stood face to face with less than an arm’s length between them. “You saw me walking along the edge of the fountain, bare footed. Simon asked if I had any trouble balancing on the narrow stone. Before I could answer, you said, ‘Of course not. People with large feet always have good balance.’”

Andrew grinned, though the tips of his ears felt warm. He’d been a rascal. “I was an insufferable brat.”

“I hated my feet for weeks after that,” she scolded. “I wanted to strangle you with the laces of my slippers.”

He stepped back, slowly, and looked down at the slippers she wore right then. They were a pale blue, the same color as her gown. “I’m not sure what I was thinking. Your feet seem perfectly sized now. Perhaps you grew into them.”

She cast her eyes upward as though pleading with the heavens to strike him down, and then she met his gaze, a smirk tilting her pretty lips upward. “My aim has improved, Andrew. Do not tempt me into throwing these at you. I’m rather fond of them.”

He raised both hands as though to surrender. “Peace, Josie. We’re at a ceasefire, remember?”