He’d assumed being married meant your spouse would be underfoot at all times. He’d assumed he would grow tired of constantly seeing the same person’s face, listening to their thoughts and opinions until those too became tired.
But no. Except for the one night at the music hall, and the evenings, when they came together after dinner—not literally, but usually consecutively, he saw Lavinia only briefly, when she stopped to slurp a hasty cup of tea or snatch a scone from a tray. Other than their nights together in bed, which were beyond what he could have hoped for.
She was, according to Fletchfield, busy planning the dinner party. The dinner party that was tonight.
He suppressed an oddly light feeling when he contemplated having her around more in the upcoming days.
“The black coat, Your Grace?” Hodgkins said, not waiting for Thaddeus to reply.
Of course not. His valet knew far better than he what he should be wearing. If it wasn’t for sitting astride a horse as he issued commands to his troops, he didn’t know.
“And the evening breeches.”
Thaddeus felt his mouth start to open in protest—he hated those damned breeches; they were so snug it felt as though he might burst through the fabric—but kept himself quiet. If Hodgkins suggested the evening breeches, it was not a suggestion, it was mandatory.
Hodgkins was giving a few final pats to Thaddeus’s neckcloth when they heard a knock on the door.
“Enter,” Thaddeus called as Hodgkins stepped back to regard him, giving one small satisfied nod.
Lavinia flung the door open and stepped inside, her eyes immediately on his face.
“If you will excuse me, Hodgkins,” she said in a pleasant voice, not shifting her gaze. Thaddeus felt that look like a physical caress—her eyes held an appreciative gleam that he knew well enough meant she liked what she saw.
She’d made her appreciation for his appearance abundantly clear, both in words and in gestures. He had never much thought about how he looked, but it seemed as though he had a pleasing appearance.
At least according to his wife, which was the most important person to hold that opinion.
“Of course, Your Grace, Your Grace,” Hodgkins said, making her eyes light with laughter.
“Shouldn’t you be supervising the dinner or something?” Thaddeus tried to keep the resentful tone from his voice. He should not be pining over his wife’s absence.
And yet here he was.
She walked up to him, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. She held something in one of her hands that pressed against his neck.
From this angle, he could see straight down into her gown, those full, gorgeous breasts for his viewing only.
She looked up at him with one eyebrow raised, obviously noticing where his eyes had gone. “You are very naughty,” she said in a wicked tone.
He put his hands at her waist. She wore what he supposed was an elegant evening gown—it was a dark blue, so dark it was nearly purple, and had ridiculously tiny sleeves just barely clinging to her arms. The upper part was molded to her body, while the lower part was an abundance of fabric spilling everywhere, seeming to snake around his legs to entwine him.
He liked being entwined.
“I am here because I have something for you.”
He arched an eyebrow, giving her a knowing look.
“Not that,” she replied. “Though it is tempting.”
Since that night a week or so ago, she had learned even more amazing things to do with her mouth, and he appreciated all of them, even though he never allowed himself to climax there. He owed it to her to make a child as soon as possible, and so he invariably came inside her body.
Not that he hadn’t thought about it.
She leaned up and kissed him, those breasts pressing enticingly against his chest. It wasn’t a chaste kiss by any means, but it was a comfortable one, not one that was designed to lead to anything more, just one that was a mark of a comfortable sexual relationship.
A kiss that would be shared between a husband and wife.
“Is that what you have for me?” he said as she withdrew from the kiss.
“No.” She removed her hand from his neck, and he could see what she was holding—a small black box with a red ribbon tied around it.
“This is for you,” she said, handing him the box.
He took it from her, undoing the ribbon and letting it fall to the ground. He opened the box to reveal a diamond stickpin, its simple elegance a perfect match for his evening wear.
“I thought it would match your evening wear,” she said, sounding a bit anxious. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you wearing jewelry, but then I thought perhaps you never had because why would you, what with being in the military and all, and that now you are a duke it wouldn’t occur to you. And I’ve seen many other men who are much less attractive than you wearing jewelry, and somehow it helps them, not that I am saying you need help—”
He bent down and pressed his mouth against hers. “I love it. Thank you,” he murmured against her lips. His chattering wife who kept talking whenever she got nervous. It was truly adorable, and he lov—No. Not that. Never that.
“Thank you,” he repeated, straightening back up. “Would you put it on? I’d rather have you do it than Hodgkins.”
She smiled, taking the stickpin from the box. “I’d rather have me do it also.” She accompanied her words with a sly smile and a raised eyebrow.
His cock reacted predictably, and he returned her smile with one of his own. “You know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” He took the hand not holding the stickpin and placed it on the front of his trousers. “If we didn’t have guests arriving in fifteen minutes, I’d pull up your skirts and find that sweet pussy of yours and lick it until you came screaming my name.”
Her eyes had widened, and she was biting her lip and dear God had he just spoken all those words aloud? To his wife?
“I hadn’t anticipated liking you speaking that way to me so much,” she said in a husky voice. “But I do, and you’ll have to promise to do it again when we have more than fifteen minutes.”
She squeezed his cock through his trousers as she spoke, and then she took a deep breath as she used both hands to slide the stickpin into place on his lapel.
“There,” she said, looking up to meet his eyes. “You look even more remarkably handsome. Thank you for doing this. I know my family is not to everyone’s taste.” She paused, a wry expression on her face. “And I know the McTavishes are not to mine.”
“We can tolerate them together,” he said, taking her arm. “Shall we go downstairs to greet our guests now that I am properly attired?”
She smiled up at him, and it felt as though she had lit a thousand lamps. “Yes, please.”
This was far more than he had ever hoped for, and it was terrifying to him. Because she would leave eventually, and then he would be alone again, only now he would know what he was lacking.
Perhaps he could persuade her—but he’d promised, and he knew full well that even though she was definitely her own person, and capable of speaking her mind, she was still dependent on him for everything because of who he was. He didn’t want her to feel in the least obligated to stay, even if she didn’t realize she felt obligated.
Goddamn it. He wished he wasn’t so thoughtful of others. But if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have listened when she’d asked for more consideration in the bedroom, and he wouldn’t be having the best sex in his life. He wouldn’t be learning what it was to draw pleasure from and for another person, resulting in complete and utter satisfaction.
He wouldn’t be falling in love with her.
“LAVINIA!”
She pasted a smile to her lips at hearing her mother’s falsely warm tone. Her family had arrived before the McTavishes, and the servants were scurrying about taking cloaks and coats and other garments as they all stood in the foyer.
In addition to her parents and Jane, the Capels had brought Percy, Caroline and one of her mother’s cantankerous aunts, which was a surprise since Lavinia didn’t realize either one of them was even aware she was married. This one’s name, she thought, began with a P.
Her mother wore an exceedingly lovely gown in gold, amber drops in her ears, and an amber necklace clasped around her neck. Jane wore one of her debutante white gowns, one with lace and frills designed to enhance her ethereal beauty.
Which it did, of course; Jane would look lovely in a potato sack, which Lavinia actually knew, having dressed Jane in one for one of the family’s amateur theatrical performances.
Percy was immaculately garbed also, his romantically handsome face set off by the severity of his evening wear.
“Goodness, this house is lovely!” Lavinia’s mother exclaimed. Perhaps her mother had determined she would be on her best behavior. “You haven’t had a chance to decorate, have you?”
Or not.
Percy caught her eye and smirked, making her suppress a snort of laughter.
“The house is lovely, Vinnie,” Jane said as she handed one of the maids her cloak. “But you are by far the loveliest thing here,” she continued, stepping up to Lavinia and kissing her on the cheek.
“You are!” Percy said in a surprised tone. “Are you doing your hair differently? Or something? You have this . . . glow,” he said, gesticulating toward her.
“Marriage to a duke must agree with you,” her mother said in a slightly acerbic tone. “Maybe that is why—”
Thankfully her next words were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Lavinia turned in relief.
She wouldn’t say she was ever grateful to see the McTavishes, but this time she was mildly pleased, if it meant her mother didn’t get the chance to fully speak her mind.
“Come in,” she said as Fletchfield opened the door.
The McTavishes and Henry stepped inside, Thaddeus immediately making his way toward Mrs. McTavish and removing her cloak himself. He handed it to Fletchfield before turning to Mr. McTavish. “Good evening, sir. Thank you for coming to dinner. We are honored to have you.”
“It’s our honor, I assure you,” Mrs. McTavish replied. She looked enraptured as she gazed up at Thaddeus’s face.
Lavinia knew how she felt, only she was more likely to have that expression when she was looking at his body. Particularly those thighs.
“It appears we are all here,” Lavinia’s mother declared.
Thaddeus nodded to her, but then looked at Lavinia. “My dear?”
She felt her heart melt a little at his subtle reminder that she was the lady of the house, not her mother.
The countess’s expression froze, and her eyes lit with what Lavinia knew well to be outraged anger. But the truth was, she was in the wrong here; it was Lavinia’s home, and her daughter now far outranked her.
“Your Grace,” she said to Thaddeus, “could you escort my mother into the dining room? My father will take me in.”
The rest of the party assembled themselves to follow, first the McTavishes, then Henry and Jane, then the elderly aunt—Priscilla? Petunia? Pamela?—brought in by Percy and Caroline, one on either side of her.
Mrs. Webb had outdone herself with the dining room—there were flowers on the tables at four-foot intervals, while candelabras were between, sending a glowing golden light into the entire room. All the footmen were in attendance, which meant every guest had his or her own particular servant, while Fletchfield stood behind Thaddeus’s chair.
If she hadn’t already gotten to know them, she would have found even the servants intimidating.
She gave a quick glance over to her mother, whose awed face indicated the majesty of the evening had had its desired effect—if her mother was cowed by how impressive everything was, it was less likely she would state some sort of opinion that would be sure to cause an argument.
If they were fortunate, perhaps her mother would be too dazzled throughout the evening to say much of anything.
“This could have been yours, Jane,” the countess said in a wistful tone, looking across the table at Jane.
Lavinia swallowed the clump of anger that immediately rose in her chest. Was it too much to ask that her mother be happy for her happiness for once?
And she was happy—even though she knew what her future was to be, she was happy now. She was glad to be spending time with Thaddeus, who’d proven to be everything she’d imagined him to be, even if he didn’t himself know all of it: kind, generous, trustworthy, honorable, and respectful. Plus able to take direction when needed, she thought, thinking of certain times she’d told him to go faster or harder or press in a different place.
“We are here to celebrate Lady Jane’s engagement to a gentleman I believe she has long admired. Aren’t we, my lady?” Thaddeus spoke in a warm, firm tone, giving Jane a comforting look that did not hold a bit of regret.
He shot a quick glance at Lavinia, his eyes narrowing as though he were commiserating with her about her mother.
You see why I am like this? she asked silently.
It is a miracle you are as confident as you are, his gaze seemed to reply.
“Lady Jane has been our neighbor for so many years, and yet it was only recently—only on the advent of Lady Lavinia’s marriage to you, Your Grace—that we considered her as a possible match for our Henry.”
Oh, wonderful. Now Mrs. McTavish was joining in on the denigration of one of the young guests to uplift the other. She and the countess had a lot in common, though their objects of admiration were entirely different. And were engaged to one another.
“And we would not have considered it either until Lavinia married the duke. Jane’s beauty and elegance would seem to indicate she had a much brighter future until—” And then the countess gestured toward Thaddeus and Lavinia.
Until the best prize was won by the worst daughter.
“I think it is time for the soup course,” Thaddeus said in a commanding voice.
Are they always like this? his eyes asked.
Always, Lavinia replied.
How did you stand it?
I didn’t. I got married to you.
Thaddeus nearly snorted aloud as he saw her expression, and Lavinia couldn’t help but giggle, shaking her head when her mother demanded to know what was humorous.
“It must be one of those couples things,” the countess asserted. “I can tell whenever my husband is out of sorts or has forgotten to eat.”
“Because that is most of the time,” Lavinia murmured, catching Jane’s and Percy’s eyes. Both of them smiled back at her.
“Eating supplies energy, my dear,” Lavinia’s father said, surprising them. It was a family joke that the earl could go for days without paying attention to anything, and then would suddenly pop up with some prescient remark that entirely solved a situation.
It was unfortunate he hadn’t yet been able to solve the situation of his overbearing wife.
“It would be most useful if a scientist were to invent nourishment that didn’t require the sitting down to dinner,” he continued. “If there was a way to ingest calories while moving, so that no time would be wasted.”
“You’ve just described a food stall at a market, Father,” Percy pointed out in an amused tone.
“So I have!” the earl replied in glee. “See, now if we could just stop wasting time with sitting and having several courses—”
“Then we would not be getting to know one another so thoroughly,” Lavinia said smoothly, giving the McTavishes a warm smile.
Their returning looks were wary, as though uncertain what else the earl might propose.
It was something the Capels were all accustomed to. Sometimes Lavinia wasn’t so surprised the McTavishes had taken their family in instant and perpetual dislike.
Jane took Lavinia’s arm and leaned her head against her shoulder for a moment, as though silently thanking her for salvaging a potentially awkward situation. Likewise, Henry looked grateful, glancing between Jane and Lavinia with an anxious expression on his face. Percy regarded her as well, an approving look on his face as though well aware of what she’d done.
Jane’s and Percy’s presence was a good reminder that this marriage, that everything she had done since that evening was to help them, the two people she loved most in this world. If all went well, Jane would be happily married to her Henry, while Percy could give up pretending to be a scandalous author and go to work with their father, his bastardy balanced out by the addition of a duke in the family.
And the queen, while particular about family and propriety, wasn’t going to turn down as excellent a worker as Percy if there was a reason not to.
THADDEUS EXHALED IN relief as Fletchfield served the first course, a mulligatawny soup that would require everyone’s mouths to be otherwise occupied.
He felt as he used to when on patrol—keenly alert for any danger, wary about seemingly innocuous things that appeared in his vision. Things like the countess, whose sharp tongue and strong opinions seemed designed to cause one of those arguments Lavinia had casually mentioned.
At the time, he’d been certain she was exaggerating, because how could relatively respectable people argue amongst themselves? He’d never seen it done.
But then the countess had made her first words an assault on his wife, and for a shameful moment he’d wanted to clap his hand over the lady’s mouth and tell her to stop talking. That all she was doing was hurting her daughter. Both her daughters, since he knew how the sisters felt about one another.
The earl wasn’t any help; when he had offered anything, it was as though he was carrying on an entirely different conversation, one whose topic sentence related to math and human existence and the relationship between the two. When he was not speaking, he was currently seeming to test out all of the wines in Thaddeus’s cellar. While working them into some geometric theorem, one that perhaps would result in longer lives for everyone.
And on the other side, Lady Jane’s future in-laws were pointedly ignoring the wine while gazing about with avid curiosity. Every so often Mrs. McTavish would regard Lady Jane and her mouth would purse just the tiniest amount.
Thaddeus had to restrain himself from asking what she could possibly see wrong with that lady, since not only would it be rude, but it would remind everyone there that he had initially chosen Lady Jane as his bride, and he didn’t want to subject Lavinia to any more of those comments.
“The soup is excellent, Your Grace,” Mr. McTavish commented, his gaze darting between Thaddeus and his wife. “Your cook must command a pretty penny.”
The countess snorted, and Thaddeus felt a rising sense of panic at what she was about to say.
“When you pay servants what they are worth, you get excellent service.” She gestured toward the various footmen standing behind the guests’ chairs. “Do you suppose you could find men of this quality who would accept wages that I wouldn’t pay to a scullery maid?”
“Mother,” Lavinia said, her voice sounding strained, “perhaps we could discuss the decorations for the engagement party. The duke has generously offered to host it and leave all the details to us.”
“Meaning your family?” Mrs. McTavish interrupted. “Which means we’ll likely have dancing bears and inebriated guests.” She gave a pointed look toward the earl, who didn’t seem to notice the implied insult.
“Bringing bears into a household such as this one would require a substantial amount of preparation,” he said in an earnest tone. “Bears are not generally thought of as being for all polite company.”
“What with refusing to wear proper evening attire and eating all the lobster patties,” Percy said dryly.
“Oh, no, my boy, it is a falsehood that bears eat lobsters! Bears live near fresh water, whereas lobsters are primarily in the sea. Salt water,” he added, as though not everyone was as aware of the differences between oceans and ponds. “Not that they might not try a lobster patty, but it would not be their first choice at a party.”
Mrs. McTavish’s eyes and mouth were wide in horror, and Thaddeus was no longer surprised Lavinia was dreading the evening so much. It would be a debacle before they reached the main course at this rate.
“We will consult with your family as well, Mrs. McTavish,” Lavinia rushed to reassure her. “I only meant to say that we have been given carte blanche to do what we wish.”
Mrs. McTavish’s eyebrows rose and her eyes widened. “Carte blanche? As Lord Scudamore gave whatever woman is this one’s mother?” She jerked a thumb toward Lavinia’s brother Percy, who was doing his best to bury his head in the soup after the lobster patty comment. Smart man.
“Mrs. McTavish.” Lavinia’s voice shook with emotion. “I would ask that you keep the conversation to things we can agree on, such as that the engagement of Jane and your son is a wonderful thing, and that we hope that they will be very happy.”
“They will be happy if they keep far away from your family,” Mrs. McTavish sniffed, apparently undaunted by Lavinia’s pleading for politeness. Apparently also undaunted by the reality that their families would be united in marriage soon.
“Enough.” Thaddeus placed both hands on either side of his plate and rose. He gave each of the parents a pointed stare, except for the earl, who was finishing his soup as though he hadn’t noticed there was a war brewing. “You are guests in our home. Our home,” he repeated, “which means you are required to exhibit good manners to both me and my wife, the duchess.”
He turned to look at Lavinia, whose face was paler than usual. He wished he could tell them all how much it must hurt to have her mother dismiss her so soundly, to listen to the two families bicker about propriety when he knew that Lavinia, Jane, and even Percy—despite the stigma of his birth—were the only kind people in her family.
She must be concerned about Jane’s betrothed, Mr. McTavish who had done nothing to thwart his mother’s clear ill will toward the Capels. In fact, his expression had barely changed during the course of the dinner, and he sat facing ahead, looking at his betrothed rather than doing anything to interfere.
What would he do if—which was to say when—his mother took out her anger at her neighbors on her new daughter-in-law?
“Mr. McTavish,” Thaddeus said in an obvious “I am changing the subject” tone of voice, “what are your plans after you marry Lady Jane?”
The gentleman shifted in his seat as he glanced toward his mother. Not a good sign at all.
“Well,” he began slowly, “there was the thought that Lady Jane and I would live in the country. I find it to be so much more peaceful than London.”
“That is true,” Thaddeus replied. And the couple would be far away from their respective parents, which could only help the prospects of their union.
“Although I do not wish to be too far from Lavinia,” Lady Jane interjected.
Lavinia gave her sister a warm smile. Thaddeus was nearly overwhelmed by the clear love between the two—no wonder Lavinia had been willing to marry him if it meant her sister could have happiness.
Could she have happiness, too? Could he make her happy?
Though that wasn’t their bargain. She would be far happier on her own, away from him. Perhaps living in the country near her sister.
“And we do not wish you to go, not just yet,” Mr. McTavish said with a nervous glance toward his wife.
“No, of course not. Lady Jane will require training in her duties.”
“Training?” the countess said. “What possible training will she require?”
“Ah, the fish course!” Lavinia exclaimed, gesturing hurriedly to Fletchfield. He nodded in understanding, and the footmen removed the soup bowls from the table and began to put down new dishes.
“Our cook makes the most delicious fried soles,” she said as the door opened to admit servants carrying large trays. “With butter, and breadcrumbs, and of course sole.”
“Sole would seem to be a crucial ingredient in fried soles,” Percy said to Lavinia, a twinkle in his eye.
“And that is why he is the author in the family,” the countess said in a proud voice. “Such a clever wit! So quick to make a jest!”
Thaddeus saw a pained look cross Lavinia’s face. Of course. Another example of her mother praising someone who wasn’t her. Not to mention Percy wasn’t even her own son. His heart hurt for her at how clearly her mother favored anyone but her.
“Speaking of which,” Percy added, “my publisher is hoping to have a new book out soon.”
Lavinia stiffened, and he wondered what the issue there was. Was it possible she did not approve of her half brother’s writing? No, that couldn’t be it. He hadn’t missed her look of pride the first time they’d met at the reading.
“You met with him?” Lavinia asked in a strained voice.
“Yes,” Percy replied. “He sent word that the last printing of Storming the Castle was sold out, and that the public is demanding more. He said there was a sizable bonus if you—if I delivered the book within a month.”
“Oh,” Lavinia said softly.
“That is wonderful news, Percy dear,” the countess said. “What will you do with all that money?”
Lavinia snorted. “It is not as though it is all that much money, Mother. Not compared to what you would think was a substantial amount. Maybe just enough to purchase one’s own home and set up a modest household.” She sounded wistful, which was odd, given that she was speaking about her brother’s money.
“You’re not leaving us, are you, Percy?” the countess asked. “I could not bear it if you left, and neither could your father.”
She, Lavinia, Percy, and Thaddeus all turned to look at the earl, who had fallen asleep against the back of the chair. He emitted a soft snore as they regarded him.
“Yes, Father seems desperate to keep Percy around,” Lavinia said dryly. At least she wasn’t currently looking pained or being belittled by her mother.
“So what about it? Do you think I can deliver a manuscript within a month?” Percy asked.
Lavinia picked up a forkful of the fried sole and brought it to her mouth. “I suppose you could, as long as you are still able to help me with Jane’s engagement party.”
“And Henry’s,” Mrs. McTavish said sharply.
“Absolutely,” Percy replied, sounding as though he were making a vow. “I will do whatever I can to make the evening a success. The party is—”
“We should have it on the same night the book publishes!” the countess exclaimed. “Or at least when it is about to be published. That would be excellent advertising for you, Percy, to do a reading during the engagement party.”
“I don’t think—” Mrs. McTavish began, a sour expression on her face.
“It is an excellent idea,” Thaddeus said, surprising himself. But if it would take the attention away from Lady Jane, who was looking more and more uncomfortable, and give the countess something other to do than criticize his wife, it should be done. Percy could handle the attention, whereas it was clear Lady Jane could not.
Could she have handled the attention of being a duchess? a voice asked softly in his head. Could she have handled the attention he was currently paying to her sister in bed?
The answer to both of those questions, he would have to say, was no. She was remarkably lovely, and would have undoubtedly been modestly obedient, but she was obviously shy, and he suspected her choice of the much more subdued Mr. McTavish was a better one than he would be. Much as he would appreciate her delicate beauty, he found he liked it when his partner pushed back against him. Wasn’t hanging on his every movement, had her own opinions for how things should be done.
Life with Lady Jane, while it was what he had thought he wanted, would likely be much duller than life with her sister.
“If I put my mind to it, I should be able to have at least a rough draft to my publisher by that day,” Percy said, giving another quick glance toward Lavinia, who nodded in response.
“How do you come up with the ideas for all your books, Mr. Waters?” Mrs. McTavish asked. That sour look was still on her face.
Percy shrugged. “Daily life, I suppose.”
“I hope I never live the life you seem to have, sir,” Mrs. McTavish said with a sniff.
Percy leaned toward her, an arch look on his face. “But you did read my books.” He sat back in his chair, his hands sweeping out in a broad gesture. “All any author wants is a reaction to their work. Good or bad. Just not indifferent.” He gave a mock bow at Mrs. McTavish. “And I presume you did not enjoy the book, but it did give you an opinion.”
“Quite.” Mrs. McTavish spoke in a sharp, prim tone, glancing away from Percy’s delighted gaze.
“Is everyone finished with the fish?” Lavinia asked, pasting what Thaddeus could now recognize as a false smile on her face. Not the sweetly satisfied smile she wore when he’d just made her scream. Nor the one when she’d done something unexpectedly piquant in the bedroom, as though she were delighted it was so effective.
But the smile she wore when she was struggling to maintain her normal good humor. How often had she worn that smile when living with her parents? At least that was one thing that had improved for her, it seemed—she wasn’t belittled at every turn. Although she also wasn’t living with her closest companion. If anything, he was a sexual stranger.
They knew only the barest amounts about one another. As it should remain, if they were to keep themselves unencumbered by emotion in their dealings. But he had to admit, as she had already said, that he was lonely.
Could they be friends as well as lovers during their time together? Would she even be willing to entertain the idea?
But she had to be lonely, too—she slept every night in that bed by herself, she was up and off planning things like dinner parties and engagement parties and only very occasionally seeing her siblings.
What was the worst that could happen if he asked? She could say no, and they would be where they are now.
“No.”
His stomach tightened. It was her voice, only he hadn’t asked her yet, had he?
“No, thank you, Fletchfield, please serve the duke some of the roast capon first.”
Fletchfield nodded, and approached Thaddeus, who let out a deep breath. Thank goodness for being wrong. Something he’d never thought before. Mostly because he never was wrong. “Your Grace?”
The last thing he wanted to do was sit here and endure more of this agonizingly fraught dinner not certain if the countess or Mrs. McTavish was the worst of the two squabbling ladies. If it was possible for the earl to drink down his cellar as Percy commented on the proceedings with roguish humor.
If Lavinia kept having that strained look around her eyes and mouth, a look he thankfully hadn’t seen since their marriage.
But if she could endure it, he could also. He was the one far more experienced at controlling his emotions—he’d dealt with enough ridiculous government bureaucracy in his previous line of work to make it nearly second nature—and she was his wife, for the moment, so she deserved all of his support.
“Mr. McTavish, I highly recommend the roast capon.” He gestured to Fletchfield to bring it to the gentleman. “The birds are bred at my country estate—or one of my country estates, I should say—and are brought in weekly so they are far fresher than what you will normally find in London.”
“Have you visited your country estates yet?” Lady Jane asked in an interested tone. “I have rarely been in the country, but I am looking forward to living there. When we live there,” she corrected hastily as Mrs. McTavish muttered something unintelligible.
“Not yet. I plan on taking Lavinia there when—” When she is pregnant with my child. When we will lead separate lives. But he couldn’t say that. “At some point when the most urgent matters here are taken care of.”
The most urgent matter being, of course, her getting pregnant.
“The country sounds appealing. Percy, you have written books set in the country, have you not?” Lavinia asked. At his nod, she continued. “But I wonder if it would get dull after a time. There wouldn’t be nearly the same amount of different types of people, and that is one of the things I love best about London. Knowing at any time you might run into someone whose life here is so wildly different.”
“Because not everyone is a duchess,” Percy remarked dryly.
She rolled her eyes at her brother, one of the first times it had seemed as though she was letting herself relax during this evening.
“No, of course not. But I mean more than that—I mean seeing things that point up the varying ways people live their lives. Getting up when the rooster crows as opposed to when the maid comes in to light the fires, or choosing your own bread at the market instead of having a servant present it to you.”
“It is possible to see those things in the country,” Percy pointed out.
“It is, but London is where people of all sorts are thrown together because of celebrations, or church, or just trying to get to their destinations. Do you know the bookstore I buy from has a small section of mechanical engineering manuals? The shop owner wouldn’t carry those if he weren’t able to sell them, which means that somewhere out there are would-be engineers looking for instructions.”
“And what does it matter, knowing those people are out there?” the countess asked, sounding bored.
She nodded when Fletchfield presented a tray to her, and served herself what Thaddeus thought was likely Cook’s renowned fricandeau of veal.
“It matters because they are people like we are,” Lavinia said in a passionate tone. “Because their lives are as important as ours, and we should respect them.”
“Where are you going with this line of conversation?” Percy asked. This time in a mild tone, as though knowing it was important to Lavinia, and not wishing to insult her.
She gave a hopeless shrug. A shrug that cut through Thaddeus like a cold wind. As though she had seen things that had left her more unhappy, not less so. How was her experience so different from his? Why hadn’t he seen what she had seen?
He had lived in relatively egalitarian circumstances prior to becoming a duke—yes, the officers bought their way into the military, but the rest of the men were rewarded because of their talent, not what family they were born from or what money they had.
But he hadn’t thought much beyond that.
“This is delicious!” the countess exclaimed, sounding surprised. “Your Grace, did you instruct your cook to make this?”
This, at least, Thaddeus could control. “No, it was your daughter, my wife, who handled all of the details. And she has done a marvelous job, has she not?” He kept his gaze sharp on Lavinia’s mother, not letting her slide off the compliment hook he’d just baited her on.
“She has. Good work, Lavinia,” she said in a stiff tone. “Though I daresay Jane will do just as well when she has her own household.”
Thaddeus burned with the desire to leap up and tell the countess just what kind of a daughter she had raised, despite her worst efforts. But that would upset Lavinia more than it would defend her.
“Which won’t be for some time,” Mrs. McTavish interrupted in a smooth tone. “We’ll want them to live with us for a time before deciding if they truly want to live in the country.”
“Fletchfield, I think we might want to skip straight to the dessert course,” Lavinia said in a firm tone. A tone that belied the heightened color on her cheeks.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Thaddeus caught the butler shooting a sharp look toward the countess, although that lady was too oblivious to notice, thank goodness.
The desserts ranged from a variety of puddings to blancmange and cheesecake, along with a wide assortment of cheeses for the guests who preferred something savory after dinner.
Thaddeus couldn’t help but watch Lavinia eat her dessert—she’d chosen a pudding with some sort of pink cream spread all over it, and he felt his cock harden at watching her obvious enjoyment of the treat.
Pink tongue sliding out to lick a few bits of the pink cream from her mouth, her closing her eyes as she swallowed, making a tiny noise deep in her throat.
Similar to the noises she made when he’d eaten her up.
For a moment, he imagined bringing a whole pot of that pink cream into the bedroom, him armed only with a spoon and his imagination.
She caught his eye as he was picturing it, and her eyebrow rose in clear comment.
You’re thinking about that with all this family here?
I can’t think of anything else, not when you move your mouth that way.
She chuckled, then bit her lip as she kept her eyes on him, bringing a spoonful of the cream to her lips and opening just enough to slide it in. Closing that perfect, plush mouth around the spoon and letting her lips curl up in pleasure.
He might’ve had to endure the worst evening of his entire life—and that included the nights he’d been on patrol during active shelling—but at least he had the most delicious treat waiting for him at the end of it.