The Lonely Duke Waited Months for His Bride — Then She Arrived With His Missing Son
Chapter 4
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She mentioned the novel that had occupied their correspondence. Benedict argued that its most dutiful character had behaved honorably. Marian said duty could become an elegant excuse for cowardice."That is a severe judgment," he observed."Only if the gentleman had another choice. And if he believed his choice would harm someone, then he ought to ask that person rather than write their answer for them."Benedict looked at her closely. It was not a rebuke; she had no reason yet to know the weakness she had named. But the sentence lingered between them.Oliver came running over with a picture of an extraordinarily round horse. Marian praised the expression in its eyes. Benedict protested that the creature resembled an ill-tempered teapot, and Oliver laughed so hard that crumbs fell onto the carpet.After the child returned to his drawing, Benedict said, "You have a most interesting mind, Miss Whitlock.""I have had some practice teaching children to read, Your Grace. One must learn to keep their attention.""I meant that I enjoy hearing what you think."Marian lowered her eyes to her teacup. She knew how to receive approval for work well done; a compliment that asked nothing of her was altogether more unsettling.When the visit ended, Benedict did not ask when she might inspect his household arrangements. He asked whether she still enjoyed poetry as much as she claimed in her letters. She said she did, although she preferred poems that made her feel something to poems that merely proved the poet's cleverness. He promised to find a volume she might enjoy in the library.As his carriage passed out of sight, Marian remained at the window a moment longer than necessary. She had come prepared to evaluate an honorable arrangement. Instead, she had met a man whose rare smile made her want to earn another one—and she was troubled by the word earn as soon as it entered her thoughts.Oliver brought the picture three days later. He had spent an entire morning improving the horse's legs, and now it appeared to possess six."Joseph says a horse must have four," he announced, "but this one is running so quickly that you can see the legs again.""A very advanced theory," Marian said gravely. "I shall not quarrel with an artist."They were sitting in Lady Honoria's small drawing room. Benedict had accompanied his son, and a bowl of late roses stood on the table. Oliver set the paper beside Marian's hand and asked whether she would keep it."If you are certain you can spare it.""Yes. Mama used to keep my pictures. Papa says there is a box."Benedict went still. Marian noticed, but she did not look at him. She gave Oliver time."What sort of box?""A wooden one with a little brass flower. Mama put letters in it. I used to think letters were stories that had forgotten their pictures.""That is a wonderful way of describing them.""Do you remember your mama?" Oliver asked."Yes," Marian answered. "She died when I was older than you, so I remember many things. My father died more recently. Sometimes I can recall the sound of his boots before I can recall his voice."