Page 3 of The Duchess’s Absolutely Delightful Dream (The Notorious Briarwoods #14)

He looked down at her. “Know what?”

He felt a sudden wave of apprehension, and he resisted the urge to shoot a glance back at her brother as he escorted her to a large table covered with linen and lined with silver cups full of punch and lemonade.

“Oh no,” she said. “If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. I’ll savor this moment.”

“I really do feel as if I have been put into some sort of trap.”

“Perhaps you have,” she teased. “But why do you say—”

“Oh, no reason.” He wasn’t about to tell her that her brother had told him to ask her to dance. Such a thing would be deeply upsetting. Surely, no lady wanted to hear that the gentleman who had asked her to dance had been told to do so, even if it was a common occurrence.

She wasn’t acting like a young lady who’d just come out of mourning. She certainly wasn’t acting like a young lady on the marriage mart either. She was acting quite self-possessed.

He picked up a silver cup and handed it to her. “Here you are, sister of my new friend.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow as she took the silver cup. Their fingertips brushed for the barest of moments. She pulled back quickly and asked, “Which brother do you mean?”

“The eldest one.”

“The bossiest one,” she corrected.

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself. He had no idea what he had expected, but this was not it. “Indeed. He’s quite bossy. As a matter of fact, that’s the only reason I think that I am here in Scotland. He quite insisted you know.”

“He does like to insist,” she replied. “Och, he’s so delightful and charming. Why would anyone resist? And besides that,” she continued, “the Highlands are beautiful.”

Her lips twitched. “But I do think you should change your clothes.”

He let out a low groan. “Alas, it is difficult for me to do so. I am in active service, you see.”

“Not an eldest son then?”

“No, not an eldest son,” he agreed. “Though my older brother, who is an eldest son, did serve in the military for many years.”

“Is he quite all right?” she asked suddenly.

He felt himself soften at her genuine concern. “He is. Yes. Thank you for asking. He was wounded and was married recently. He is quite happy, despite the fact that he was injured, and life is unfolding beautifully for him.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she said, her voice full of honesty and what seemed like relief, though she didn’t know the man at all. “Life should always unfold beautifully, if possible.”

He cocked his head to the side, contemplating her.

It was an interesting and rather profound thing to say. He picked up his own glass of lemonade and savored the tartness of it. They were surrounded by people, and yet it felt like they were on an island, completely apart from everyone else.

It was jarring and yet also…perfect.

“Why weren’t you dancing?” he asked at last.

She groaned, fiddling with her cup. “Oh dear. Must we?”

“We don’t have to talk at all if you don’t wish to.”

She glanced down at the contents of her cup. “I think it’s best that I just say it. I’ll rip it off like a bandage that must be dealt with, and then we won’t have to talk about it again.”

“All right,” he said, his own insides tightening with apprehension.

“I am just out of mourning.”

“For your father?” he queried.

She nodded slowly. “Och, yes. For him…and for my husband. He died just before my father.”

“Oh,” he said suddenly, all his preconceived ideas about her falling away. Ideas he likely never should have formed. Hadn’t his family trained him better than to make assumptions?

She was no fiery young miss hoping for a successful Season.

But the truth was, she didn’t look like a widow at all. She looked like a young lady who had barely had her first Season, if she’d had a Season at all.

She couldn’t be more than twenty.

“Do forgive me,” he said. “People make the most terrible assumptions about people. I never would have guessed you’d been married.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” she ventured.

“It’s not meant as a compliment or an insult. It’s simply an observation.” He drew in a slow breath and said honestly, “You look quite young to have lost your husband. I’m terribly sorry. Was he a soldier too? Was he…?”

“He was unwell,” she rushed. “And he was the Duke of Donaldoon.”

“Another duke,” he dared to tease, because he was certain, deep in his core, she had no wish for him to become morose.

She laughed. “Och, well…my family—”

“No need to explain,” he cut in. “I understand. My uncle is a duke. Several dukes have married into my family too.”

Any sign of wariness or hints of dismay instantly disappeared from her face. “Dukes all around you too then!”

“Indeed. I think dukes like to be with each other,” he said abruptly.

“I think you’re right,” she said, considering this. “I suppose if one can consolidate that much land and power, they wish to keep it amongst themselves.”

“Too true,” he said. “And few can understand what is like to have that much power.”

“Just the great men of our countries, who have killed and had to choose sides, to keep their power.”

“Well said. It sounds as if you have an affinity for politics and history.”

“I do,” she said as if it was quite natural. “I was raised to be a duchess. And I read a great deal.”

He laughed. “So do I. It is one of the beloved pastimes of my family. Is it one of the pastimes of yours?”

“Oh yes,” she assured, her face glowing with excitement at finding a fellow bibliophile. “Long Highland nights require a great love of reading,” she said.

There was a long pause, and he realized he simply had to say, “I am very sorry to hear about the loss of your husband.”

“Thank you. It was very painful,” she replied without artifice. “He was my dearest friend, you see. But it’s now been over a year, and I am attending parties, but no one really wants to ask me to dance. And it is most frustrating.”

“Why don’t they ask?” he queried.

“Because it’s awkward,” she said with a shrug.

“Is it?” he asked, wondering how anyone could resist dancing with her.

“Yes,” she explained. “Because no one wants to have to tell me how sorry they are that my husband has died. But you’ve done it,” she said. “And gamely too.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t think it does any good to be overly silly about death.”

She blinked. “Well, that’s an unusual stance.”

“I’m a soldier,” he said. “I see death a great deal.”

“I’m sure you do. It is my turn to be sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said, his heart beating rather wildly at her kind and sensible response. “And now that we both have gotten our dark pasts out of the way,” he said, “let’s dance again.”

“Oh! Yes!” She plunked her cup down. “Let’s do.”

“How wonderful,” he replied. “Besides, you’re not on the marriage mart, are you?”

She shuddered. “On the mart? No.”

Perhaps the one good thing about being a woman and a widow was the independence one could have, so he asked, “And you don’t need to be worried about a scandal?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Not a whit.”