| |
T
he Duke of Whittington paced in some agitation about his private dressing room later that night. Everyone had retired, for after dinner, the baron had returned home while the remainder of the house party had played a few games before seeking out their own beds.
“What has you so restless tonight, dear?” his wife asked from her perch on one of the low, crushed velvet sofas. She’d pulled an afghan about her frame to keep the winter’s chill at bay.
“They never kissed.”
“I beg your pardon? Who never kissed?”
He huffed out a breath of annoyance. “Lord Henshaw and Lettice. They had the perfect opportunity when we left them alone in the drawing room upon arrival, but they didn’t take advantage of it.”
“They were hardly alone, since you and the boys were prowling the corridor outside the room.” Her laughter failed to set him at ease like it usually did. “Besides, they’ve only just renewed their acquaintance. Be patient.”
“It’s difficult.” He crossed the room and then flung himself onto the sofa beside her. “I feel they’re a good match, even if they can’t see their way out of grief.” He rubbed a hand along his chin. “Lettice has had proper time to mourn, don’t you think? She needs to start living again.”
“There is no set timeline for such things, darling.” His wife took one of his hands in her while laying her head on his shoulder. “I suspect she hasn’t afforded herself the time to properly attend to it. Perhaps Lord Henshaw can assist.”
“Interesting thought.” Not content to merely hold his wife’s hand, he settled her into his arms. For years she’d been the unwavering support by his side. In this she was no different; she kept him calm and sane most times. “I need to make certain they’re thrown together. Christmas is in two days. There are plenty of activities we can concoct to encourage that to happen. Perhaps a fondness will spring up.”
“Oh, hadn’t you seen how he looked at her?” She laid a hand on his chest. “I doubt it would take much for him to be properly smitten.”
“Except Lettice is the stubborn sort.”
His wife giggled. “She inherited that from you.”
“Hush, you.” The duke pressed a kiss to her temple. “If the gel hadn’t gone and twisted her ankle, she’d be ambulatory, which would help our cause.”
“Ah, Whittington, how delightfully naïve you sometimes are.” His wife peered upward and smiled. That little gesture had the power to see him undone. “There’s something to be said for an invalid too. It brings out a man’s heroic, noble side. Why, after all, the baron carried her into Ivy Castle. And he was quite defensive when the boys made wild accusations.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” For long moments, the duke sat in silence, content to hold his duchess as they watched the dying flames of the fire. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to have the grooms bring out the sleigh. The countryside is quite romantic in the sun with a blanket of new snow.”
“Indeed.” She played with the tie of his dressing gown. “I wouldn’t mind such a ride, Whittington. Like we used to do when we were younger, and you wished to impress me.”
“I still do.” He grinned when she kissed his cheek. “You shall have your ride, then we’ll give the sleigh over to Lettice and the baron.”
“I’d like that.”
“As would I.” He really ought to make a better showing of romance to his wife. It wasn’t quite fair to bring it about for everyone else if he neglected her. “I’ll tell you my idea to put our stubborn girl together with the baron at that time. As well as how to impress upon him the need to join the house party.” Then, because he could, he claimed her lips in a kiss designed to show her how much he still cared for her.
After all, their wedding anniversary was coming quickly.