Page 30 of Good Duke Gone Hard

If Margaret had known that she wouldn’t find time to be alone together with Jonathan for at least one busy but hollow chunk of twenty four hours, she might have tried harder to see him. But as it were, not only had the number of footmen seemed to increase, but their alertness had amped up to high with a new guest in the house and more on the way.

So without Jonathan physically around, Margaret took her time fantasizing about him instead. She had known how easy it would be to fall for him. Not that she’d yet fallen for a second time. That was why she guarded her heart so closely when he first came back. But somehow her soul was tied to his. Intricately. Indelibly. Perhaps interminably.

She thought of his cheeky grin. Although it had changed from before, he was still uncannily the same man. The man who challenged her, amused her, aroused her. To passion. To paint. To help others. To be her true self. Hiding nothing. Apologizing for nothing. He accepted that, like water, she was powerful, striking, immersive.

As she fantasized, she allowed Adeline to spend extra time on her dress and hair for dinner. The result was an exuberant lady’s maid, a proud mother, and a delicious look from Jonathan that evening.

JONATHAN STOOD, DRINK IN hand, waiting for the dinner call. He felt somewhat unprepared for a more formal dinner gathering, but he still wrapped a smile on his face and extended as warm a welcome to the new arrivals as he could muster.

Later, feeling a touch uncomfortable around people whom he didn’t remember but who knew him, Jonathan casually attached himself to Dr. Walker’s side. For the doctor’s sake, of course.

Then he saw Margaret enter the room in her sky blue dress with a flowery lace covered bodice that trailed down the tops of each large pleat outlining her slim waist and swelling bosom.

He was eager to sit next to her and whisper to her over dinner. Only, he didn’t sit beside her. Or across from her. The dowager duchess adhered to a table etiquette he didn’t have any interest to decode and which placed him a couple seats down and across from her.

At least he could still see her wide open sky mien and sparkling eyes. Until he couldn’t because Colonel Hastford was sitting to his left, blocking his view. Even he knew it would be rude to attempt a conversation with her at this distance. If only he could just catch her eye.

“It’s good to have you back, Your Grace.” The Colonel pulled him out of his pining.

“It’s good to be back. It’s been too long.”

“It has. Much has changed.”

“Indeed. That is quite the understatement.” Jonathan had trouble staying focused and coming up with a new topic to add to the conversation. “I think–” He heard Margaret’s laugh ring out for all to hear, and he pondered the source of it.

“You were going to say?” Colonel Hastford prompted when Jonathan didn’t pick up his thought.

Jonathan gazed past the Colonel, deaf to his question.

Without hearing a word of the conversation unfolding at Margaret’s corner of the table, he was still quite certain he had interpreted the chatter. Since Margaret was grinning all ears, she must be discussing her new project and how painting might be able to help others. He was glad for her. More than glad. His heart was light. Floating on air for her happiness. Come to think of it, he was particularly interested in her suggested therapy, especially after some of the torturous methods he had heard of for treating mental conditions. He thanked God he had been deposited at Glaston with Dr. Walker rather than someone else who may have tried a more punitive approach to trigger brain repairs, as was the more common practice by leading physicians.

As Margaret grew more animated in her discussion, he noticed the table was steadily declining in formality, and ears were prickling to listen in.

Miss Katherine, true to her impulsively and impolite nature, was the first to lean into the conversation with what appeared to be a genuine curiosity, “A society for painting? What would you do?”

“We would set up paints and easels and facilitate a space for patients to paint.”

“So you would visit asylums?” the Countess of Winchester couldn’t help joining in, albeit dubiously.

“We could visit them or create our own building with our patients.”

“That would be quite the undertaking,” Dr. Walker chimed in. “But if anyone can do it, I believe it would be you.”

Margaret beamed at him. She was surprised at his confidence in her, but she supposed that it spoke as much to the doctor’s character as it did to her own. Afterall, he was the one who had been overseeing Jonathan’s progress since his accident.

“How could you possibly know?”

“Just a feeling,” Dr. Walker tapped his heart.

It seemed as though everyone was joining the conversation, so Lyle had no qualms in adding across from the table, “If McAdam can revolutionize roadbuilding by next year through macadamization, surely you can find someone to design and construct you a common building. Or perhaps simply find one for you to lease or buy.”

Jonathan mistakenly overheard Miss Agatha whisper to her sister, Lady Cross, “Macadamia? I wonder how those nuts the sailors are bringing back from Australia would help in road construction.”

Lady Cross mumbled something indistinct while Bella coughed. Or choked out a chuckle. He thought he saw Margaret exchange a glance with Bella, but he couldn’t be sure.

From there the conversation turned to the feasibility and probability of raising roads and using gravel for drainage while Jonathan continued to discreetly observe Margaret. The rising and falling of her breasts with each breath was enough conversation for him, but at some point he knew he would have to make a trifle more effort.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to briefly catch the dowager duchess’s eyes on him.

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