Page 19 of The Good Duke (The Licentious Lords #1)

S imon trailed behind Persephone.

Somewhere between the rows of gardenias, carnations, and tulips, he began to doubt whether her planned trip to Covent Garden to deliver a lesson on flowers was actually to guide him in the courtship process or whether she’d brought him here for her own pleasure.

He watched wistfully as she all but danced down each row, smelling each bloom she passed; Simon found he rather didn’t mind at all if the answer was, in fact, the latter.

“And this is, of course, the—”

“Never tell me, a rose,” he volunteered behind her.

Persephone spun about and wagged a finger at Simon. “Don’t be impudent, Your Grace.” The twinkle in her eyes softened any real hint of rebuke. “Not all roses are the same.”

Simon crossed his arms before him so that his dog’s leash dangled over his right elbow. “Do tell, Miss Forsyth.”

“I would be happy to.” Persephone drew her shoulders back and tipped her nose up. “ Especially as this is the very reason for our being here.”

“For a lesson in botany?” he drawled, enjoying himself more than he had in longer than forever. He leaned down and held her gaze. “And here I thought, Miss Forsyth, you were providing me guidance on the courtship process.”

“Absolutely, I am.” Persephone stole a glance about. She returned her attention his way. “Perhaps the reason your past courtships did not go as you’d hoped is because you were unaware of all the very important nuances of the process.”

He snorted. “Oh, I highly doubt it. So much so that I’d wager every land holding, coin, and title. Ladies were most certainly not clamoring for the attentions of a lanky, stuttering, unsure fellow for a husband.”

“Do stop that this instant.”

Her earlier smile had fled; in its place was a disapproving frown that he so very much wished to chase away.

Simon lifted an eyebrow. “What? Wagering?”

“Stop making jests, Simon.”

He stilled. She’d called him by his given name. It’d only been the morning since she’d stopped, but he’d missed hearing her call him Simon. When she did, he felt connected to someone in a way he hadn’t since…her.

Simon cleared his throat. “I wasn’t jesting,” he said. In fact, he’d been deadly serious.

Persephone pinched his arm, and he frowned.

“What was that for?”

“Now, you’re lying.”

Actually, he hadn’t been.

Not yet able to meet Persephone’s long, clear-eyed stare, Simon glanced down and immediately frowned. His faithful companion sat with her tongue hanging out of her mouth. Simon’s pup was a veritable Twin of Silent—the ironical nickname given Lady Jersey, who never missed a morsel of gossip. The dog moved her head back and forth between Simon and Persephone.

He made a show of petting Persephone’s canine gift to him and murmured some kindly words to the small, furry girl. Only when Simon trusted Persephone had eventually given up this cringeworthy discourse, he straightened and, at last, met her eyes.

She moved a stricken gaze over his face.

Oh, hell.

“I know what you are thinking,” she whispered.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he mumbled.

“You think those previous disappointments had something to do with you,” she whispered.

So, she had known his thoughts.

Of course, she had. Persephone could read him as well as when they’d been mere children. Just as he could discern precisely what wild thoughts were whirring in her head. It hadn’t unnerved the hell out of him. Until now.

“Disappointments,” he said wryly. “Is that what we are referring to failures and rejections as?”

“They all mean the same thing. Just…one is slightly less…less…”

He arced an eyebrow. “Accurate?”

“Harsh,” she supplied instead.

She opened her mouth to say something else when a young mother, holding her toddler’s hand, came nearer. Persephone stopped herself.

The small boy, no more than two or three, brought his pudgy palms together in an uneven clap. “P-Pup!” he squealed. “Pup-pup.”

Persephone immediately trained her focus on the lad with his big brown curls and even bigger dimples; she dropped to her knees.

Oh, thank God for children everywhere. This one had saved the proverbial day for Simon. The last thing he’d needed was for Persephone to continue pressing him—

“My, what a sweet boy, you are,” she crooned. “Do you have a name, good sir?”

“Hoooo.” The small babe clapped again.

Persephone cast a glance up at the slender, well-dressed, kind-eyed lady taking in the exchange.

“Hew,” the young mother whispered. “His name is Hew.”

Persephone looked once again at the child. “Hew,” she repeated and held out her palm.

The boy—Hew—grabbed four of Persephone’s fingers and waved them around playfully.

A soft, lyrical laugh spilled from Persephone’s lips, and Simon found himself unable to look away from her with the boy.

He had no memories of his mother, and aside from the mistresses he’d taken or lovers he’d had, there’d been no females in his life. Everything he understood about ladies of Polite Society indicated they weren’t ones to play with babes or care for children. That task was, instead, left to nursemaids.

The little boy tottered on his feet and started to tumble back, but Persephone caught him just in time. Even so, Hew erupted into noisy tears.

Persephone began to sing a soft, lilting song.

Simon’s breath stuck oddly in his lungs.

For everything he did know about her: her favorite pastimes. Her least favorite pastimes. Her favorite foods. The first perfume she’d ever worn; he’d never before witnessed her with a babe…until now.

Simon remained frozen, fixed upon that bucolic tableau of Persephone softly singing some jaunty lullaby to Hew.

He should not be surprised that with her humor, kindness, and tender heart, Persephone had a natural way with children. But something in knowing she’d likely be a loving, nurturing figure to a babe she’d just met was entirely different than witnessing that truth in action.

“She is very good with children.”

Lost in thought, it was a moment before Simon registered that quiet murmur. Confusedly, he looked at the lady who’d uttered those words about Persephone.

The young mother nodded her head toward the woman and child now petting Simon’s pup. “Your wife.”

Simon puzzled his brow.

My wife?

Had Persephone failed to inform him the whole ‘found his duchess and married her’ business had already taken place?

Then the conclusion this stranger had arrived at hit Simon square between the eyes.

Simon managed to find his voice. “She is n-not my w-wife.” He threw his hands up and slashed them at the air repeatedly.

With something akin to horror, he glanced at Persephone—a flushed and scowling Persephone.

The young mother gasped and clutched at her throat. “I—” Her cheeks bloomed with color. “My apologies, I thought…” She nodded slowly. “I thought…” Horror filled the woman’s light blue eyes.

Hurriedly, the woman reached for Hew, who, despite his tender years, took in the exchange with the same zeal of Simon’s still-smiling dog.

What the hell assumption had the lady made that now sent her fleeing like Simon and Persephone were two horned beasts come to hunt her precious babe?

He glanced to Persephone for help.

“What?” he mouthed.

Simon stilled. He whipped his gaze over to the young lady, frantically attempting to end the meeting between her son and Simon’s dog.

He looked to a brightly blushing Persephone for help.

She looked pained as he’d never seen her. What had he said that had so offended…?

Oh, hell.

He blanched. Good God. She thought… “You th-think—?” Persephone is my mistress?!

A perfectly composed Persephone stood and saved Simon from his stammering.

“Forgive me.” She dipped her gaze respectfully and dropped a graceful, elegant curtsy that would have impressed the Queen at court.

“Introductions are in order. My name is Miss Persephone Forsyth, I am His Grace, the Duke of Greystoke’s, ward,” she said before Simon did something so foolish as to discuss the topic of mistresses with not one, but two young ladies in public, and a lily-white babe to boot.

Relief immediately filled the young mother’s lovely features. “Lady Lilian Parker,” she returned with an also respectful curtsy.

Lady Parker looked at Simon. He swept a deep bow. “An honor, my lady.”

The pair exchanged pleasantries a few moments more when a restless Hew started to squirm and sniffle. Making a quick but polite goodbye, Lady Parker scooped her babe up and continued on her way.

While Persephone stared after the departing pair, Simon found his gaze drawn back to the woman who’d invariably rescued him from one embarrassment or another.

Streams of sunlight poured in through the high windows of the brick building and cast an ethereal glow about her that bewitched him.

And yet there was an air of sadness to her radiant features. Not for the first time, he found himself yearning to wipe away the cloud of gloom that had fallen over her.

As if she felt his eyes upon her, Persephone glanced over. At finding him watching her, a delicate blush stole across her cheeks. “What?”

And because he surely couldn’t say the first thoughts in his head, he said the other.

“You were very good with him,” Simon murmured.

That effectively drew Persephone out of whatever melancholic moment had claimed her.

“I’ve had many charges who had younger siblings,” she explained, returning her attention to the roses around them.

She’d been taken advantage of by employers who’d stolen services from her. He fought to rein in his rage as an ugly, insidious thought slithered forth. In what other ways had previous employers abused Persephone…?

Simon flexed his fingers several times. He’d end them. All of them.

An imagined scene played in his mind: Persephone grabbed by some lecher and forced to…

A low growl escaped him.

Persephone plucked a full, vibrant peach-colored rose from the basket and made to draw it near her face but stopped that pretty flower halfway to her nose. She looked at him with a question in her eyes. “Did you just…growl?”

Yes. “No,” he lied through tightly clenched teeth. “It was the dog.”

Simon’s pup whined and looked accusatorily at him.

Persephone glanced at the white ball of fluff and then turned a frown on Simon. “She said you’re lying.”

“She doesn’t talk. Dogs don’t talk.”

Yap-yap-yap.

Persephone let out a sound of exasperation. “Well, now you’ve gone and offended her.”

“I do not like knowing you’ve been taken advantage of, Persephone.” He clipped out each terse syllable. Despised it. Abhorred it. Loathed it with every fiber of his being.

“Oh, she couldn’t take advantage of me, Simon. As you pointed out, she is just a dog, a loving, beautiful, dear girl, but still a pup.”

“I’m not talking about the dog,” he snarled.

Before he detected the glimmer in Persephone’s eyes, the anger went out of him. “You’re jesting,” he muttered.

“I’m attempting to lighten the mood,” she elucidated.

“It’s not helping. You were hired as a matchmaker for their daughters but were required to provide additional services for their unruly children.”

Confusion paraded through her always-revealing eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

“You certainly did. I heard you. You said you were forced to entertain the other siblings of your charges.”

“You heard that, but I certainly did not say it.” She laughed. “Simon, I was not required to care of my charges’ siblings. When I did not have my obligations to see to, I chose to join them.”

That brought him up short.

Persephone nodded. “It is true.”

He frowned. “ Why? ”

“Why not ?” she countered. “Children are honest and unjaded. They tell you precisely what they are thinking and laugh freely and have wild imaginations and fearless spirits, and I’d far rather spend time with a dozen children than one adult who’d become a shadow of what they’d once been. And having lost my father and having no one, I found myself welcoming those children as family, even if they were only a pretend family.” She added that last part as an afterthought.

With that, she meandered on.

Simon stared after her.

Periodically, she’d stop to examine certain roses and add one to the small gathering she made.

Loneliness was something he understood all too well. Over the years, he’d known no other way. Shamefully, he’d become so accustomed to being on his own that when Persephone had reentered Simon’s life, he’d not given thought to how lonely she’d been.

Whereas, aside from Persephone, he’d lived a solitary existence, the same could not be said for her, who’d made every servant, every villager of every age, her dearest friend.

And she’d been forced to leave all that behind to go off and work as some servant to lords and ladies who’d never properly appreciate her.

Something hurt inside. No, everything hurt inside.

Just then, she dropped to a knee; a generous, unguarded smile graced Persephone’s plump lips.

Persephone plucked a snowy white flower from a basket.

“Oh, aren’t you magnificent,” she whispered. Then, as if only just recalling Simon had joined her on this particular trip, she glanced up.

And the room stopped. The conversation of lords and their ladies faded to a distant, muted hum.

Her eyes. He’d forgotten how they sparkled. The tiniest of golden specks danced in their depths. Her irises had long been a window into her soul; they’d offered—and continued to provide—a clear glimpse of her emotions.

In rare instances, she’d been sad—which as children had been rare, and only when Simon had to return to Eton and then Oxford, and Persephone and Simon had been forced apart.

When she was happy—which had been nearly every other time except when they were separated—her eyes captured him.

He’d forgotten how it had made him feel. He’d forgotten how she had made him feel.

Completely ensnared, Simon dropped to a knee and joined her.

Wordlessly, Persephone brought the lush bloom close so he might smell it too. Only the sweet, fragrant scent blended with that of sweet apple blossoms that clung to Persephone. It— no, she —intoxicated, drawing him deeper and deeper under whatever hypnotic spell she continued to weave.

“A white anemone,” she whispered.

Befuddled, Simon looked at her.

Gently, Persephone pressed the bloom that had brought them to the floor of the hothouse into his hand. “According to Greek legend, the anemone grew from the spot where Adonis died and Aphrodite’s mournful tears fell,” she murmured. “From them sprouted the red rose, which became a symbol of love until death.”

She’d brought them full circle, that lesson on flowers and their role in the courtship process. Just as before, he didn’t give a damned fig about the teaching, but this time for altogether different reasons.

Persephone.

Forgetting where they were, forgetting that a sea of people surrounded them, he leaned closer—so close he heard her audible intake and saw the wild up and down movement of her graceful neck as she swallowed.

The pull was broken.

Rather, Simon’s hold on the leash was.

His most obedient dog bolted. With her large, pink tongue lolling out of her mouth, she dashed through the shop, weaving under tables and between aisles and around guests.

Persephone, her cheeks red with merriment, gaily laughed. As if that phantasmic moment had belonged only to Simon, Persephone hopped to her feet and took off after the dog.

Simon, staring bemusedly after her, came slowly to his feet. He stood, unable to look away from the sight she made, a fae fairy flitting among fields of flowers. The peal of her laughter proved infectious amongst all the patrons present, who smiled as she dashed past them, making her apologies.

Somewhere around two rows from where he stood, Persephone must have registered that she alone sought to catch his obedient dog.

“Well?” she called breathlessly from across the shop. “Do you intend to help me, Your Grace?”

Simon cupped his hands around his mouth. “I believed you had it under control, Miss Forsyth. Given you do not, I am all too happy to lend my services.”

From the five paces between them, Persephone’s gasp reached him as did the wicked glimmer in her eyes. “We shall see which of us proves the victor.”

With that, Persephone spun on her heel and raced after the tireless, still-running pup.

And even as he was to go give his own dog chase, he found himself forcibly fighting the urge to follow after Persephone.