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Henry thought about that before answering. "You were right about making friends. I adore Belle. And Lord and Lady Worth have been most kind. I suppose I didn't know what I was missing by remaining so isolated at Stannage Park."
"Good," he replied, patting her gloved hand.
"But I do miss Cornwall," she said wistfully. "Especially the clean air and the green fields."
"And Rufus," he teased.
"And Rufus."
"But are you glad you came?" Dunford stopped walking. He didn't realize it, but he was holding his breath, so important was it to him that she reply in the affirmative.
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I think so."
He smiled gently. "You only think so?"
"I'm afraid, Dunford."
"Of what, Hen?" He stared at her, his eyes intent.
"What if I make a cake of myself? What if I do something beyond the pale without even knowing it?"
"You won't, Hen."
"Oh, but I could. It would be so easy."
"Hen, Caroline and Belle say you're making great strides. They know a great deal about society. If they say you are ready to make your debut, I assure you, you're ready."
"They have taught me so much, Dunford. I know that. But I also know they can't possibly teach me everything in a fortnight. And if I do something wrong..." Her words trailed off, and her silvery eyes glowed large and luminous with apprehension.
He wanted so badly to pull her into his arms, to rest his chin upon her head and assure her that everything would be all right. But they were standing in a public garden, and so he had to content himself with saying, "What will happen if you do something wrong, minx? Will the world fall apart? Will the heavens crash down upon us? I think not."
"Please don't make light of this," she said, her lower lip trembling.
"I'm not. Hen, I only meant—"
"I know," she interrupted, her voice wobbly. "It's just that—well, you know already I'm not very good at being a girl, and if I do something wrong, it reflects badly upon you. And Lady Worth and Belle and their whole family, and they have been so kind to me, and—"
"Henry, stop," he implored. "Just be yourself. Everything will be fine, I promise you."
She looked up at him. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally nodded. "If you say so. I trust you."
Dunford felt something inside of him lurch and then fall into place as he stared into the silvery depths of her eyes. His body was swaying closer to hers, and he wanted nothing more than to rub his thumb against her pink lips, warming them for a kiss.
"Dunford?"
The soft sound of her voice brought him out of his reverie. He quickly resumed walking, his pace suddenly so fast that Henry practically had to run to keep up with him. Damn it, he swore at himself. He had not brought her to London just so he might continue seducing her. "How is your new wardrobe coming along?" he asked abruptly. "I see you're wearing one of the dresses we purchased in Cornwall."
It took Henry a moment to reply, so confused was she by the sudden change of pace. "Very well," she replied. "Madame Lambert is finishing up the last-minute alterations. Most should be ready by early next week."
"And your studies?"
"I'm not certain that one could call them studies. It certainly doesn't seem a terribly noble endeavor to memorize ranks and orders of preference. I suppose someone ought to know that younger sons of marquesses rank below eldest sons of earls, but I do not see why it has to be me." She forced her lips into a smile, hoping to restore his good humor. "Although you might be interested in the fact that barons rank above the speaker of the House of Commons, but not, I'm afraid, above sons of marquesses, elder or younger."
"As I ranked below them when I was a mere mister," he replied, thankful that conversation had been steered back to the mundane, "I won't torture myself over the fact that they are still above me, so to speak."
"But you must adopt an air of lordly imperiousness the next time you encounter the speaker of the House of Commons," Henry instructed with a smile.
"Silly chit."
"I know. I probably should learn to behave with more gravity."
"Not with me, I hope. I like you the way you are."
That familiar giddy feeling returned. "I still do have a number of things to learn, however," she said, glancing at him sideways.
"Such as?"
"Belle tells me I need to learn how to flirt."
"Belle would," he muttered.
"I practiced a bit on her husband this morning."
"You did what?"
"Well, I didn't mean it," Henry said quickly. "And I certainly wouldn't have done so if it weren't completely obvious that he is madly in love with Belle. He seemed a safe choice to try out my skills."
"Stay away from married men," he said sternly.
"You aren't married," she pointed out.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Henry glanced idly in the window of a shop they were passing before replying. "Oh, I don't know. I suppose it means I should practice on you."
"Are you serious?"
"Oh, come now, Dunford. Be a good sport. Will you teach me how to flirt?"
"I'd say you're doing just fine on your own," he muttered.
"Do you think so?" she asked, her face a perfect picture of delight.
His body reacted instantly to the radiant joy in her expression, and he told himself not to look at her again. Ever.