Page 5 of Courting the Duke (Reimagined Regency #2)

Hoxton ventured out into the rose garden where a light breeze blew against his face, a hint of a chill in the early morning air.

Although the dinner had lasted well past midnight, the sun and the nightmares had awakened him.

With his journal in hand, he intended to explore the wren’s nest located in one of the trees lining the path after he visited his favorite bitch that had recently had puppies.

When he’d returned to Hoxton House from the continent, his uncle had encouraged him to find something to distract himself from the nightmares.

Since the old gent enjoyed birds, he’d often walk with Hoxton along the property.

Miss Deburgiak’s observation about wrens had sparked a renewed interest in the often-overlooked bird.

“Good morning, Hoxton,” Imogene called.

He turned to see her kneeling in a flower bed, a white apron protecting her pale green gown, her hair covered in a straw bonnet with a plain ribbon. “Good morning.”

“You are out rather early.” Imogene pulled a weed from the ground, dirt clinging to the roots. She placed it in a basket that rested beside her.

Hoxton knelt down next to her. “You know I rise with the sun just like you.” The sweet smell of roses mingled with earth. The country appealed to him, and he hated to think about returning to London to finish out the season. “Despite the late night.”

“Last night was very pleasant. You and Lady Roxanne appeared to have gotten along swimmingly.” She angled her head, studying him with more intensity than he liked.

He debated what to say next. The anticipation that rested in her stare would surely disappear if he told her the truth. “She is pleasant enough, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Imogene cocked an eyebrow, expectation brightening her knowing eyes.

She had been his uncle’s second wife, and twenty years his junior.

At thirty-eight, she was closer to Hoxton’s age.

Since he lost his own parents, she’d been more like an older sister than an aunt.

His uncle hadn’t been blessed with a son; therefore, Christian had inherited the title.

He adored his cousins, four girls, and all still in the schoolroom. Now they were his responsibility.

Rocking on his feet, he settled on the truth. “She is much younger than I am and na?ve, which is to be expected.”

“She is a gently reared lady and a bit intimidated by your title, I believe.” Imogene tugged at another weed, the stubborn leaves slipping through her gloved hands. A fat bumblebee hovered over the nearest rose bush, its black and yellow body in contrast to the pink flowers.

“I understand that.” Hoxton moved the journal to his other hand, gripping the leather.

While in the military, he’d made tough decisions, some life-threatening.

Marriage wasn’t a matter of life and death, but it was equally important.

“Her lack of artifice I can contend with...” He trailed off, unsure how to phrase what he was feeling.

She stopped her task and angled her head. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that—at best—she lacks any interests above the superficial.” Guilt continued to rush through his mind, but it needed to be said.

“At worst, I worry she would never be up to the task of doing her duty as a duchess. The lady seemed devoid of any opinion save the cut of her dress or the latest London gossip.”

Imogene nodded slowly, an unamused smile tilting her mouth. “Sadly, that is all most people expect of her.”

His discomfort increased. A lady’s qualifications for most gentlemen were decorum and agreeability, which Lady Roxanne readily exhibited. While Miss Deburgiak possessed those traits, she also engaged in witty conversation. “Are you saying that I am asking too much?”

“I am saying most ladies of quality strive to be what Lady Roxanne is, accomplished in music, art, and possessed with an agreeable countenance.” With a shake of her head, she exhaled a long, pained breath.

“That being said, I think that she’s an appropriate match for you.

Right now, she’s under Agatha’s thumb. Once she is free from her mother’s yoke, then I believe she will come into her own.

She’s a lovely girl with the right pedigree and connections to make the match of the season.

I know you have reservations, but I beg you to give her another chance. ”

“Are you in league with Grandmother?” His grandmother was particularly insistent that he marry her goddaughter.

Queen Charlotte had expressed her desire for the match as well.

In exchange for him picking Roxanne as his choice of bride, his grandmother had promised to bend the queen’s ear in hopes of gaining funding for a veterans hospital.

“Lady Diana hopes to see the houses merge.” Imogene dusted the dirt from her apron.

At his grandmother’s wish, she had married his uncle, a widower with three girls.

Although two of the three older cousins from his uncle’s first marriage were settled, his aunt was still trying to find a match for her eldest stepdaughter, Daisy.

“While I understand her choices, I am not certain if I want the match.” Resignation and rebellion warred against each other.

As much as he wished otherwise, one didn’t dismiss his grandmother out of hand.

Nor was he ready to give up just yet. He had given himself until the end of the house party to make up his mind and there were still more days until it ended.

A tiny gasp sounded from somewhere beyond the hedge.

He looked around, the soft crunching of heels against the gravel drawing his attention to the path beyond.

Bloody hell . A familiar, petite figure in a serviceable white dress was walking away hurriedly.

Had she heard his comment? From Miss Deburgiak’s stiffened shoulders, she had.

If Imogene noticed Miss Deburgiak’s gasp, it didn’t show in her expression. “Of course you do. If you find someone else more to your liking, you can pursue her.”

“Beg pardon, Imogene. Let’s return to this topic later.

I believe Miss Deburgiak might have overheard our conversation, and I must speak to her before she tells anyone what we discussed.

” Without waiting for an answer, he pushed through the hedges, his strides long.

His heart rate picked up, and he wasn’t sure if his need to catch her had more to do with Lady Roxanne than his desire to speak with her again.

Foolish, yes. He couldn’t conceive of any reason to remain in her company other than as an intermediary for her charge.

She was way ahead of him on the trail and was moving at a fast clip for someone of her short stature.

“Miss Deburgiak,” he called out, realizing that he might never catch her otherwise. The sun continued to beat down on him, the warmth of his activity welcome after the chilliness of the morning.

Back stiff, she faltered in her steps, her head angled in his direction before she halted. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her expression chilled but polite. His heart hammering, he had a mad urge to lift her rather pointed chin and stare deep into her buttery eyes.

He reached her side, more eager than he should be simply to speak with her. This growing infatuation was unexpected and unreasonable, yet there it was.

“Lord Hoxton,” she said, her smile brittle.

Either he could pretend that she hadn’t overheard him, or face her censure head-on. “I saw you beyond the hedge.”

“I can assure you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation.

” A flush colored her rounded cheeks, and she stared down at her feet, her face hidden from view by the brim of her bonnet.

While she wasn’t as great a beauty as her cousin, she had appealing eyes and a kissable mouth, no matter the imperfection caused by her scar.

“I believe you. I simply wasn’t expecting to see anyone outside so early after last night’s dinner.” He sounded breathless to his own ears and nervous. She had a way of unnerving him without saying a word. “I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you.” She continued to walk, and he fell into step beside her.

Silence settled between them, and he scanned the surrounding area.

There was an abandoned castle on the hilltop.

He often walked there to explore the different birds that nested in the area.

Since returning to England from the war, interacting with birds had soothed his jangled nerves and helped ground him from the nightmares.

Politeness said not to follow up with his earlier question, but he’d moved past that with Miss Deburgiak.

“I am sure you didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you did. ”

She glanced over at him. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me, your grace.”

“No, I don’t, but I would like to try.” He continued to match her strides along the rows of purple flowers.

They had moved out of the rose garden and into another section of the garden that was still under construction.

“I find Lady Roxanne pleasant, but marriage is not something to take lightly. Look around you, Miss Deburgiak. This is merely one of two houses and a castle that is under my stewardship. The estates carry a heavy burden.”

“Lady Roxanne has been schooled in household management, if that is your concern.” She pressed her lips together, her profile to him. The whiteness of her scar increased at the gesture, a stray strand of honey hair blowing across her face. She lifted a slender gloved hand and brushed it back.

“I am not discounting that.” He kicked a small rock off the path.