Page 50 of Taken By the Icy Duke

“They seem politely indifferent,” she remarked with a light shrug.

Gilbert’s mouth twitched in what might pass for a smile. “Precisely why I chose it.”

When their refreshments arrived, the steward served Diana’s tea in a delicate porcelain cup, alongside a small silver dish of sugar lumps. Gilbert’s coffee came steaming hot in a tall pot, its aroma robust enough to make Diana’s mouth water slightly, even though she was not ordinarily partial to coffee. On a plate between them lay neat slices of currant cake. The steward bowed once more and withdrew.

Diana lifted her cup, savoring the subtle fragrance.

“This is delightful,” she murmured, sampling a spoonful of tea that was indeed well-brewed, its flavor smooth and comforting. Glancing at the pastry, she helped herself to a slice, breaking off a morsel to enjoy with her tea.

Gilbert, meanwhile, took a hearty sip of his coffee, exhaling with approval.

“One can trust these places to serve something respectable,” he observed. “Though I will say the relaxed hush here is a welcome change from the usual clamor of crowded assemblies.”

“True. I am glad for the chance to have a quieter moment together,” She gave a soft laugh, recalling grand balls where the throng and noise could quickly become overwhelming.

From time to time the sound of carriage wheels drifted into the coffee house and joined the light clink of silverware from adjacent tables. Diana watched as two gentlemen debated the merits of a recent parliamentary proposal, their voices hushed but intense.

Nearby, another lady of obvious rank perused a fashion journal, occasionally glancing up at Diana with polite curiosity. Yet no one disturbed them. They were ensconced in a sophisticated, respectful realm where titled patrons were a common sight.

Their conversation roamed through easy topics: a letter Diana had received from Alison, who was considering a visit to London, and Gilbert’s steward’s updates on estate matters that needed his signature.

It was not the weighty gossip or scandal that usually enveloped them in society, but comfortable, everyday talk shared by two people with growing ease in each other’s company. When Gilbert occasionally met her eyes, Diana felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the steaming tea before her.

At length, Diana ventured a playful comment. “I do say, I did not expect we would be seated together in such an establishment, like any other couple enjoying coffee and conversation.”

Gilbert set his cup down, regarding her thoughtfully.

“Nor did I. But I confess,” he added, “I have come to relish these smaller freedoms. Not every moment must be a spectacle.”

She lowered her gaze and took another sip of tea to cover the pleasant stir of emotion that his admission had caused.

Eventually, after a last shared bite of currant cake, Gilbert signaled the steward. Though the staff offered to bring the bill to his seat, Gilbert simply handed over a folded note of payment without fuss, his readiness to conclude their quiet interlude matched by Diana’s contentment.

As Diana rose, her gloves and reticule in hand, she noticed a young staff member near the door trying not to gawp. For all that prestigious coffee houses in London were accustomed to titled patrons, a duke and duchess still stirred some excitement. Diana found it strangely endearing. She spared the staff member a mild, gracious nod, and the lad managed a quick half-bow before darting away.

Gilbert guided Diana through the doorway, and out into the bright afternoon. A mild breeze ruffled the edges of her bonnet. They stood for a moment on the broad pavement, letting the city’s energy flow around them.

A handful of passersby glanced their way but continued on. In that part of London, titled couples were neither unseen nor entirely mundane, but at least no one stopped to stare outright.

“Well,” Diana said, turning her face up to meet Gilbert’s gaze, “I daresay that was…rather pleasant.”

He lifted his brows. “I should hope so.” His voice carried a muted amusement, as if relieved that the outing had indeed suited her. “Shall we see what else occupies the fashionable streets this afternoon?”

“Yes,” she agreed, letting her smile deepen. She slipped her arm through his, stepping nearer in a gesture that felt at once proper and intimate. “I am curious to see where else you might choose to whisk me off without ceremony.”

Gilbert only answered with a slight quirk of his lips, guiding her onward into the throng of well-dressed pedestrians and elegant carriages, merging with the London crowds while maintaining the dignity befitting their rank.

And, as they strolled away from the coffee house, Diana carried a gentle gladness in her chest; an awareness that not every shared moment required pomp and grandeur for two hearts to find quiet contentment in each other’s company.

They ambled from shop to shop, browsing everything from millinery creations to rare books. A tiny glass figurine displayed in a window caught Diana’s eye.

She paused momentarily, admiring how the sunlight reflected off its delicate edges. The piece depicted a swan with wings partially spread, an elegant and fragile work of art. She hardly planned to purchase it—merely found it charming. But Gilbert, noticing her lingering gaze, promptly signaled his intent to buy it.

Flustered, Diana tried to protest. “There’s no need?—”

He shook his head with a smile. “You gave it more than three seconds’ worth of admiration. That is reason enough.”

Her cheeks heated with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. She allowed him to escort her inside, where the shopkeeper, already bowing in excitement, wrapped the figurine in tissue. Such thoughtfulness from Gilbert made her chest constrict with emotion.

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