Page 46

“Well, have you been here before?” he countered.

She looked over at him. “This is my third season.”

His eyes met hers. “True. But this is the first time when you are actually taking it seriously.”

Eleanor scoffed. “Who said I wasn’t serious in my first two seasons?” There was something about his insinuation that perturbed her.

“If you were serious, you would be married by now. It’s really a simple assumption based on your current situation.”

Graynor’s tone was so matter of fact, it grated on her nerves.

“Well, I do have someone in mind if you must know,” she said, quickening her steps. Childish but necessary. She needed to feel like she had some control over this conversation.

The change in pace didn’t affect Graynor. He lengthened his stride. “That’s wonderful news. Who is the lucky chap?”

“Simon Hawkins.”

“The Viscount of Hountshire?” Graynor’s voice rose in disbelief.

“Yes, the Viscount of Hountshire. He is the perfect example of a schooled gentleman. He’s intelligent, witty, a good conversationalist?—”

“Green,” Graynor supplied.

Eleanor halted her charge and looked up at him. “Green? What do you mean by that?”

“He is just one-and-twenty; he doesn’t have enough experience to handle all that life throws at a married man and his family. I’m not sure he is capable of supporting you and your potential family.”

Eleanor gawked at the Duke. “Considering I am just twenty years, I like the idea of wading through the waters of marriage together as we help each other learn our roles.”

Graynor sneered. “Your naïveté is your flaw.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “That’s a low blow even for you, Your Grace. A flaw is something one can work on and correct. How can I correct my age other than by having experiences? The same goes for the Viscount.”

The Duke let out a groan which Eleanor ignored.

“He comes from a good family,” she supplied.

“Ha!” Graynor interjected.

Eleanor threw her hands up in the air. “Ha? What ‘ha’?”

“Where did you get your information about the Viscount?” The Duke’s eyes narrowed.

“The Viscount,” Eleanor stated.

The Duke laughed and continued to walk. Eleanor quickened her steps to catch up with him. “You’re doing it again.”

“And what is that?”

“Making me feel as if I am the punch line in some joke.” She bristled.

The Duke looked down at her. “Of course, what you hear from the man himself is going to be all pleasant things. Who would talk badly to you when you’re the prize? Not him.”

Eleanor’s steps slowed. “You think I’m the prize?” Her stomach did a little flip at the thought.

Graynor appeared flustered but waved her off. “Of course, the woman is always the prize. Most men are complete imbeciles.”

Eleanor brought a hand up to her stomach which now felt as if it was sitting in her feet after hearing his reasoning.