Page 40 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ I f you mean to abandon us, Thomas, I warn you: I have memorized the road and will simply walk home,” Hester said as the carriage stopped before a field of heather in the London countryside.

Thomas grinned as the footman pulled the carriage door wide. “I’ve nae gone to all this trouble just to leave ye in the wilds, Duchess. Come, it’s a surprise.”

Behind them, Arabella blinked awake from her nap and stretched. “Are there sheep here?”

“Only the docile sort, lass. You’re safe,” Thomas replied.

He offered Hester his hand and led her down the step and onto the grass, which was not quite dry but soft underfoot. They’d left the smoke of London behind, and he was feeling unusually lighthearted.

“Is this Richmond Park?” Hester asked, scanning the horizon. “Or have you stolen us to the far side of Surrey?”

“It’s nae the place that matters.” He led her toward the oak, the branches arching overhead as if arranging the shade for them alone. “It’s what’s waiting.”

At the base of the tree was a picnic on two tartan blankets, with baskets, a stack of cushions, and even a small table for the wine. The air smelled of heather and, faintly, of honey from the comb that glistened on one of the platters.

Hester stopped short, her hands on hips. “This is an ambush.”

“It’s a picnic,” Thomas laughed. “I was told it’s what people do in London when the sun shines.”

She considered the tableau then said, “It would be criminal to waste such a day inside. I accept your terms, Duke.”

Bella, wide-eyed and already forgetting her decorum, dashed to the edge of the blankets and squatted to peer at the arrangements. She snatched a grape and popped it in her mouth.

“Careful,” Hester said, sinking to the ground with surprising grace. “Eat slower, my dear.”

The child nodded with solemnity, but her next grape vanished as quickly as the first.

Thomas sat, tucking one knee up to rest his arm on. “You’re nae disappointed, then?”

Hester looked at him then smiled. “Not at all. It is perfect. And besides, the city has grown suffocating. If I had to listen to one more of Nancy’s theories about the Marquess of Ridley’s secret past, I would have drowned myself in the Serpentine.”

Thomas watched as she took her first bite, savoring, as always, every layer of flavor. He admired her appetite, her ability to enjoy the world without apology. He envied it sometimes.

Bella scooted closer to Hester. “May I have the apple, too?”

Hester handed her a slice then said, “You must spell it first.”

The girl wrinkled her brow, stuck out her tongue in concentration, and said, “A… P… P… L… E. Apple!”

Hester rewarded her with a second slice. “Excellent. Now, can you spell grape?”

“Easy. G… R… A… P… E. Grape!”

Thomas leaned in. “And cheese?”

Bella struggled then looked to Hester for help.

Hester raised a brow. “Do not look at me. You must learn self-sufficiency. This is why you have lessons with Miss Wilmot.”

“She makes me spell harder things,” Bella complained. “Like encyclopedia. Or chamberlain.”

Thomas barked a laugh. “That’s Hester’s fault. She hired the woman.”

“I regret it already,” Hester said. But her eyes were soft, even as she feigned exasperation.

They worked through the picnic, sampling the various meats and pastries. Hester poured wine for herself and for Thomas then lemonade for Bella, who sipped and managed to dump only half of it onto her skirt.

Later, Bella wandered to the edge of the shade, watching ants at work on a crust of bread, then returned with an acorn and presented it to Thomas. “For you,” she said.

He took it, surprised by the force of feeling the gesture caused. “Thank ye, lass,” he said, tucking it into his waistcoat pocket.

Hester caught the exchange and looked away, busying herself with arranging the next round of food. She stacked another sandwich then regarded it with suspicion. “If I eat any more, I shall be unable to move.”

“That’s the idea,” Thomas said. “To keep you here, so you’re not swept back to London before you’re ready.”

She leaned back on her hands, the sun catching in the brown of her hair. “What if I want to be swept away?”

“Then you should ride it off, Duchess. There’s a gelding waiting, if you dare.”

She brightened. “I have not ridden in weeks. I’ll do it.”

“Will you join her, Bella?”

Bella shook her head. “The last time I rode, I nearly fell off,” she admitted.

Hester reached for the girl’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “You may watch from here, then. I’ll be back before you can spell encyclopedia.”

Thomas waited for Hester to stand and dust her skirts. He offered his hand to help her up the slope, which she accepted, and together they walked to where the footman waited with the saddled gelding. Hester took the reins and mounted in one clean motion.

She looked back at Thomas. “I expect applause,” she said.

He clapped, just once. “You’ll terrify the gentry with your style, Duchess.”

She flashed a grin then nudged the horse into a slow walk, following the curve of the field as it hugged the line of the trees.

Thomas walked back to the blanket and sat cross-legged, watching as Hester circled the perimeter. She looked smaller at a distance, but her posture was perfect, back straight and shoulders loose. The horse seemed to like her.

He reached for his satchel and withdrew a sketchbook and a stub of charcoal. “Will you draw, too?” he asked Bella, who had been eyeing the book with open longing.

She nodded, and he tore out a blank sheet and handed her a softer piece of graphite. “Try not to get it on your dress,” he said, knowing it was useless.

She immediately began an enthusiastic scribble.

Thomas focused on the scene: Hester, horse and rider in silhouette against the grass, the play of light and shadow as she guided the animal along the dip in the land. He began with quick, loose marks then firmed up the lines as he went, capturing the tilt of her head.

He tried not to think about the future—the looming certainty that this, all of it, was temporary. He would wake one morning, and she would be gone, off to her next ambition.

The thought made him press too hard on the charcoal, snapping it.

“You broke it,” Bella observed, peering over his arm.

“So I did,” he said and sharpened the edge on a rock before returning to work.

She watched for a minute then went back to her own drawing. “I made a butterfly,” she said, holding it up.

He took the paper and inspected it. “It’s a fine butterfly.”

Bella beamed then added a second butterfly and a third, until the page was thick with wings.

Out in the field, Hester had coaxed the horse into a slow trot, locks of her hair coming loose and streaming out behind her. She looked so happy, so alive, that Thomas could not help but smile.

He turned back to the sketch, and as he shaded the grass and sky, he found himself adding two tiny figures at the foot of the oak: a man and a child, watching, side by side.

“You’re in my picture,” he said, showing it to Bella.

She studied it then nodded. “This is us. And that’s Mama,” she added, as if proud to have been included.

Thomas let her keep the sketch, and he was about to begin a new one when he heard a yelp. His head snapped up in time to see Hester slipping off her horse. Everything around him slowed, even his heartbeat.

But then his body was propelled into action, and he was lunging across the field to her. “Hester!” He kneeled before her, gathering her into his arms.

“Thomas, I am well. I… I slipped.”

He would hear none of it as he began inspecting her for injury.

“I truly am fine,” she tried to protest. “You are fussing.”

He ignored her and scooped her up into his arm, barking orders at the footmen to pack up the picnic. He settled her into the carriage, helped Bella in, and ordered the driver to hurry them home.

“Edison, fetch the physician at once!” he ordered as he carried Hester into the house, his heart thrumming in a rhythm that both confounded and drove him.

Hester glared at him. “You are making a scene, Thomas.”

He laid her on the bed, his voice pitched low so that only she could hear as he said, “I do not care, Duchess. You will let me fuss, or I will sit and make you rest.”

She almost laughed but grimaced and touched her side. Thomas’ hand followed hers. “I knew you were hurt.”

When the doctor came, he pronounced it nothing more than a strain from her fall. “She needs rest. Water. A little laudanum if she cannot sleep,” the doctor said, packing up his case.

Thomas hovered by the door, unsure what to do with his hands.

Hester, already under the soporific influence, waved him away. “Do not look at me like that,” she mumbled. “I have survived worse than a picnic, you know.”

He sat on the bed and tried to smile. “Aye. But I haven’t. Not like this.”

Only now did he allow himself to admit that she had frightened him. She reached for his hand, and he let her have it, let her curl her slim fingers around his own.

“You are a good man, Thomas,” she whispered.

He could not speak.

After the doctor left, Thomas stood by the window of dim bedchamber, listening to the even breathing of his wife as she drifted to sleep.

You nearly lost her today. You damn fool; you nearly lost her to a horse.

Thomas pressed his forehead to the cool glass then straightened. He understood then, with a bone-deep certainty, that he was in love with Hester. Not the arrangement, not the Duchess, not the clever partner he’d admired since the first day. Her.

He could not tell her, for she would not want to know. It would ruin everything.

He turned from the window, crossed to the bed, and brushed a stray hair from her cheek. He would keep her safe as best he could, but he would keep himself safer.

Thomas vowed, then and there, to never let her see the depth of what she meant to him. Not ever.

Because the cost—if she ever turned away—would be more than he could bear.