The morning was exquisitely beautiful in the manner of cold October mornings. The willows rustled softly in the slight breeze, and Alifford Court was visible over the ridge of the south bank, its chimneys emitting the thin smoke of a household that had been awake for hours and had things well in hand. And here she was, standing in someone else's pond, barefoot, in pursuit of an uncooperative duck. Some days are simply like that. She was still in the midst of rethinking when she heard footsteps on the gravel path bordering the willow bank.
Measured footsteps, not hurried: the footsteps of a man who is surprised, but has chosen not to betray it in his stride. She turned. The Duke of Alifford stood at the edge of his pond. He was taller than she had expected from Constance's description, which had focused primarily on his coldness, and quite neglected his physique. He possessed the kind of face that was inherently serious, finely sculpted, dark-haired, the face of someone for whom ease had always demanded more effort than seriousness, and who had therefore chosen seriousness as the more economical path.
He wore riding clothes that fit him with the effortless grace of garments worn correctly for years, and he regarded her with the expression of a man who has discovered something utterly unexpected in his pond, and is methodically determining whether it is a problem or merely a phenomenon. His eyes were storm blue, she observed, the precise blue of weather that has weighed its options and made a firm decision. She met his gaze. He looked at her. Behind them both, Dioynes paddled serenely.
"Good morning," Felicity said, because it was either that or sink, and sinking seemed the worst choice. The Duke did not return her good morning. This was either terribly poor manners, or the measured response of a man who needed a moment to update his understanding of the morning, and Felicity charitably assumed the latter. She had been in tricky situations before, the incident with the canal in Bath, the unfortunate afternoon at the Warwickshire Agricultural Fair, and had learned that dignified silence from bystanders usually spoke more to their own recovery than any judgment of hers. He looked at Dioynes.
He looked at her. He looked at her boots, sitting neatly at the limestone edge with the air of abandoned footwear that knew it had made the correct decision. "You," he said, "are on private property." "Yes," she replied. "I followed the duck." That duck, the Duke stated in the tone of a man presenting evidence, has been on my pond every morning for 3 days. Felicity processed this.
This is only the first time he has escaped today from our side. "From your property," the Duke clarified. He appears to have his own arrangements on this side. He said this with the careful neutrality of a man reporting a fact he wasn't quite sure how to categorize. I should have reported it.