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Miss Goodenham was clearly pleased. “Bocka Morrow! Why, that is the village near Castle Keyvnor! Will we see you at the castle itself, Your Grace? We attend the weddings of the two daughters of the Earl of Banfield.”

“Regrettably, I am not acquainted with the current earl.”

“But you must come and walk with me,” she insisted, her hand stealing to his cuff again. “I should so like to see you again, Your Grace.”

Their gazes met and clung, and Alexander’s heart clenched.

“Daphne!” Lady North Barrows barked. “You have scarcely eaten a bite and we must carry on.” She inclined her head. “Although the duke has been most gracious in his hospitality, I am certain he desires a little time to himself. Regrettably, we have no leisure for dessert.”

The pudding was set before him again, fairly submerged in a rum sauce, and Alexander hoped the ladies did leave him shortly. There was no way he could eat the entire massive serving, but his disguise meant that he would have to do as much if he were witnessed.

“Regrettably,” Miss Goodenham echoed under her breath.

“That is a shame,” Alexander said, rising to his feet. He acted as if he were unsteady and gripped the table, wondering if he could tip the entire thing without injuring any of the ladies. It was a sturdy table, unfortunately, for the feat would have made a fine display of his apparent shortcomings. The ladies rose and each came to express their thanks, as well as to say farewell, and he would not have been a man if Miss Goodenham’s sweet smile had not sent heat surging through him again.

What would he give for a single kiss?

He bowed and fussed, and they finally left, the beautiful Miss Goodenham last to depart.

Alexander pushed away his dessert with impatience once they were gone, more than ready to have this final victory behind him. He found himself thinking about the allure of watching a lovely girl being introduced to the pleasures of London.

The seed seemed to wriggle in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it, halfway thinking it had changed shape.

As if it grew a root.

He would put it in water when they reached The Mermaid’s Kiss. Alexander didn’t believe in it, but it couldn’t hurt.

And when it came to Miss Goodenham, he was inclined to take a chance.

* * *

“You are shameless,” Eurydice muttered beneath her breath.

Daphne cast her sister a smile. “In the end, you will call me duchess.”

“He’s awful!”

“He’s sweet.”

“He ate with his mouth open!”

“He’s unaccustomed to the company of women.”

Eurydice gave Daphne a skeptical glance. “I suppose you think you’ll be able to charm him into changing his ways.”

“I don’t care if he changes actually.” Daphne paused and looked back at the tavern, hearing the truth in her own words. There was a face in one upper window, watching. She couldn’t make out the person’s features, but there was an unmistakable area of peach-toned fabric. She waved, a little surprised to realize how little the details mattered. She liked talking to him, and the rest was irrelevant. People changed over their lives after all, becoming thinner or heavier, balder or more grey. It was their essence that mattered most and she liked the duke. “He’ll suit me well, just as he is.”

Eurydice climbed into the carriage, her disgust clear. “He hates the country.”

“He hasn’t seen it at its best. The viscount never favored North Barrows until he took a wife.”

“He drank too much.”

“He did not. I watched. He gave the appearance of being besotted but he drank very little.” Daphne bit her lip. “I wonder why he would do that?”

“Perhaps he drinks so seldom that wine affects him more powerfully.”

“Perhaps. But then, how would he have known so much about the vintages?”