Page 11 of The Duke’s Absolutely Fantastic Fling (The Notorious Briarwoods #15)

E veryone should enjoy cake. At least that was Teague’s opinion. Life was too hard and too difficult not to indulge in sweetness every now and then. He did not do so every day like some people of his class did.

No, he liked to keep his physique quite hard.

He always felt better, but there were days when one simply had to give in to allowing sweetness to coat one’s tongue and lighten one’s heart, and today was one of those days.

As he sat beside Josephine, admiring the way she took dainty bites of cake, he was thrilled that the young lady, Phoebe, had suggested the outing.

If she had not been there, he was relatively certain that Josephine would have said no. Which was rather frustrating and somewhat confusing.

She was the one who had suggested that they have an affair, so surely she should be quite open to them gallivanting all throughout London.

Well, now they would, and they had a perfect chaperone. And, yes, he would have to behave appropriately. He wasn’t about to be ridiculous in front of a young lady such as Phoebe.

In a way, this was perfect. They could make their meetings this Season all about passion.

But he knew that was a mistake. He wanted Josephine to want him, but not just for the way that she felt when she kissed him, and he knew that she did like that.

No, he wanted her to long for their discussions, for the way they interacted, for the way in which he did everything he could to make those feel at ease around him. Even the English.

Yes, he wanted her to envision what sort of a husband he would be when they were old and grey and possibly deaf, shouting how much they loved each other to be heard.

Phoebe was chattering on about the vast superiority of strawberry cake to chocolate.

He was quite amused as she took significantly larger bites than Josephine. Poor Josephine was taking deliberate bites that kept all crumbs in control.

It was, he supposed, the difficulty of being a young lady out on the marriage mart versus a young lady who was not looking for a husband.

He hoped to God Josephine had stopped looking for a husband now that he had proposed.

Her dainty bites might suggest otherwise, or she was trying to impress him, although he rather doubted that Josephine spent much time trying to impress anyone.

“This is heaven,” Phoebe gushed, her eyes alight.

“I haven’t been here in ages. I’ve spent months and months in the country, and Cook is very good at making all sorts of delightful treats there.

” She continued happily, “But there’s something truly special about this.

Sitting here with Josephine and you, Your Grace.

I have got to be one of the luckiest young ladies in town. ”

He smiled at her. “Why would you say so?” he asked.

“Because you are a duke and everyone is staring.”

He didn’t look about, but his eyes flared with surprise, nonetheless.

Josephine laughed and put down her fork. “You didn’t notice?”

“I did not,” he admitted, cringing slightly. He rather wished he hadn’t been told. He understood everyone watching him at a ball. But in a cake shop? Surely, people had better things to do.

“You must just be terribly used to it,” Phoebe said.

“Not exactly,” he confessed. “Perhaps I am simply oblivious to it on a daily basis. I do go to Edinburgh, and I come to London when required,” he pointed out. “But the truth is I don’t think about the ton much. I just go about my life.”

“Truly?” Phoebe asked, her brows shooting up. “How lovely that must be to just go about life without worrying what anybody thinks of one.”

“Do you worry overly about it, Lady Phoebe?” he asked, surprised. “I was not under the impression that Briarwoods did.”

She sighed and forked up the last bite of her cake.

“I’m a girl , so unfortunately even we Briarwood ladies must think about it.

A little. Not as much as most other girls, but even so, I couldn’t exactly go trodding about in bloomers, now could I?

Not as a lady. I’d have to be in disguise.

Nor can I spout scientific facts at parties and expect people to actually listen to me.

I wish that I could. How marvelous would that be?

But alas, I must at least pretend to be semi-normal.

For a little while. Marriage seems to fix this. Married ladies have all the fun.”

He let out a choked cough. He had never heard anyone say they were attempting to be semi-normal, not even a Briarwood.

And as far as he could tell, Briarwoods did not usually pretend to be anything.

And he feared for the gentlemen of Phoebe’s first Season, because it sounded as if she was determined to leave the boring, unmarried life behind.

If only he could get Josephine to concur.

“Can you verify this to be true, Miss Josephine?” he asked, directing the conversation back to said young lady, being more formal with her since they were in public. “Do Briarwoods pretend to be at least a little normal?”

She grinned. “Sometimes, depending,” she tried to explain. “And certainly when ladies are seeking a husband on the marriage mart, they at least have to be presentable. Yes, our family is…” She paused as if she wasn’t entirely sure what word to use in front of Phoebe.

But Phoebe did not hesitate and blurted, “Notorious.”

Josephine chortled. “Yes. All right. Notorious. The young ladies still have to find husbands and notorious young ladies are only chosen by the most unique men who are happy to have a wife of independent thought. Most men don’t qualify.”

“Well, I’m unique,” Teague said, pleased.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. “That’s obvious, Your Grace.” Phoebe’s brow furrowed, then she suddenly asked, “May I ask why you don’t speak with much of an accent? You sound almost as English as I do.”

He lowered his fork slowly and pushed around a few crumbs. “You may ask.”

Josephine shifted on her delicate chair, placing her own silver fork down. “Perhaps that’s not the best topic for such a day. We should go on to Hatchard’s. Don’t you think, my dear? They have several new…”

“No, it’s all right,” he said. He struggled for a moment, for he had to explain in a way that was not too upsetting for a young English lady.

“Because Phoebe,” he began, “I am one of the most powerful men in Scotland, and powerful people in Scotland often don’t have a Scottish accent at all.

A few do. It’s true. But many of us, because of what happened in the last wars, were forced to become more like the English to keep our power. ”

“Oh,” Phoebe said sadly, “I rather thought it would be terribly romantic of you to have an accent.”

“Lass,” he said with a thick Scottish burr, determined not to let them turn this delightful day into one of sorrow, “I can feign one for ye. I ken that it’s well loved by bonnie readers, and I can tell that ye are a bonnie reader. But lass, no, I was nae born speaking thus.”

Phoebe grinned at him. “Perhaps you should take it up.”

“Like you,” he said, reverting back to his plain speech, “I’m not much for pretending and this is how I was born speaking, and this is likely how I shall die speaking.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad?” Phoebe asked.

“Phoebe,” Josephine exclaimed.

“What?” Phoebe asked, her eyes widening. “It’s just a question, and Briarwoods don’t shy away from feeling. You know that, Josephine.”

Josephine tensed for a moment, and he wondered if perhaps this Briarwood did shy away from some emotion.

He hadn’t thought so when she was in Scotland.

She seemed free and easy, but there was a slight tension to her now, and it seemed that the prospect of marriage was what had done it.

He couldn’t regret asking her because he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but he did regret the shift in her demeanor. Especially if he was the source.

“Yes, well, it is sad,” he replied without self-indulgence.

“There’s no question about it. When an entire country almost loses its way of living, that is something to be mourned.

There’s no question about that. But I’m deeply grateful that my family was able to keep power and money so that they could help the people of Scotland.

Many lords did not, and many Scots had to flee.

That’s just the simple history of it. I’ve had to tell it to many people. They’re very ignorant.”

Phoebe looked aghast.

“Not you,” he rushed, realizing his faux pax.

“Well, apparently I am ,” she said, clearly stunned but not angry with him. “I’ve never been called ignorant in my whole life or thought myself so. What an eye-opening moment. I read so much.”

He inclined his head. “You can read a great deal, but unless you go out looking for the terrible things that the English have done, you might not find them in a typical English library.”

“Our library isn’t typical,” Phoebe returned as if he had just insulted her with far more vigor than his comment about ignorance.

Josephine let out a groan. “She’s quite correct.

The library is very full of all sorts of challenging titles at the Westleigh estate.

But I do understand what you’re trying to say.

At present, the English have to be very proud of themselves.

They’re trying to win a war right now. A war that is destroying the Continent.

A war that has destroyed so many lives.”

“Including your own,” he dared to say.

Her eyes flared ever so slightly and her hands tightened as she reached forward to take a sip of her drink from its delicate glass.

“Not ruined, ” she corrected, “but certainly changed. My mother was a seamstress, and my father was a baker. I often wonder if he ever made anything like what is served here, but I know that can’t be true.

Likely he just made sweet rolls and good bread. ”

Phoebe smiled at her. “Can you imagine waking up in a bakery?”

“Yes,” Josephine said with a slight smile.

“Because I did. Well, not in the bakery, but above the bakery. And I can still remember the scent of bread wafting up towards me every morning. And my mother made all my clothes, and she stitched beautiful things for the finest ladies in town. Nothing like the ladies here, of course. I didn’t grow up in Paris or anything like that.

But I can still remember her work. My parents’ life. My life. A simple life.”

He eyed her carefully.

He loved that she spoke about her parents. He loved that it was easy for her. Her eyes did not fill with tears at their mention. She spoke as if she discussed them all the time.

“Did you learn how to sew at all?” he asked.

“How did you guess?” she laughed. “Yes, I did.”

“Well, children are often apprentices of their parents, aren’t they?” he offered, taking up his own glass and sipping at the tart lemonade therein. “And help out in the shops.”

“How do you know such a thing as a duke?” Josephine queried.

He beamed at her. “I take quite an interest in the lives of the people on my lands, you see, and even the English people’s daily living.

I care a great deal about how people survive and thrive, and I think that more people like me should care.

Which is one reason why I like your family because the Duke of Westleigh clearly does care.

Most of the people in your family care.”

“Yes, they do,” she said, her voice warm with love and admiration. “It’s why I’m here and not dead.”

He choked on his own drink and Phoebe let her fork clatter.

“What a shocking thing to say, Josephine,” Phoebe managed.

“It’s simply the truth,” Josephine replied. “And you know it, Phoebe. We’ve talked about it before.”

“Yes, but to say such a thing here, surrounded by ices and cakes and people in their finest gowns—”

“I think that is one of the best times to say it,” Josephine said. “To remind myself that this world was never meant to be mine. I was meant to grow up in something very different.”

“I don’t know,” Teague ventured softly, knowing it was a risk. But what was life without risk? “I think you were meant for this. It was horrible the way it happened, but this world certainly seems better with you in it. Here in London. With me.”

She eyed him, her mouth tight for a moment. But then her gaze softened, and she replied gently, “Thank you. I cannot allow myself to regret any part of my life.”

“Good,” he said. “It would hurt me very badly if you did.”

She frowned. “What the devil do you mean by that?”

And Phoebe’s gaze swung between them.

“I can’t imagine not having met you here is all I mean,” he said.

Josephine’s face changed then from wary to one of awe. “Oh. I see.”

“Your cousin gives me a great deal of happiness,” he said to Phoebe, hoping to clarify his position.

“Me too,” Phoebe said brightly. “Another reason why I think you’re an excellent choice for her.”

“Good. My plan is working then.”

“Oh,” Josephine said ruefully, leaning back slightly in her chair. “And what is that?”

“Well, it’s obvious,” Phoebe declared with a shrug.

“He’s going to win me over, and then we are going to go home, and I’m going to tell you all the reasons why you must marry him.

Surely, Emily and Anne did that already last night.

” A sheepish look crossed Phoebe’s face. “They told me about the arrangement.”

Josephine poked her in the side playfully, tickling her. “Now that’s enough from you, my dear. But I will say your powers of persuasion are quite good.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Teague said. “Your uncles told me I shouldn’t try to persuade you at all.”

“What?” she gasped.

He nodded. “Yes, they said that I should avoid you.”

“How are we supposed to get to know each other then?” she demanded suddenly.

“Ha! I feel vindicated,” he said before leaning forward and whispering conspiratorially, “I think your uncles are marvelous, but I don’t think they have all the answers in love. And in this particular case, I think I might actually know you better than they do.”

Josephine’s mouth dropped open. “That’s a rather bold thing to say, considering that they’ve known me almost my whole life.”

“Yes,” he allowed, “it’s true, but I think I know you in a way that no one ever has before.”

She sucked in a breath.

Phoebe propped her chin on her hand, her eyes shining with delight, as if she was witnessing the most wonderful scene from a novel taking place before her.

And he knew then that he had said exactly the right thing. But it hadn’t been calculated. It had been the truth.