Page 9 of The Duke's Spinster

Upon entering the space, he stood in the middle of the room as if he owned it, hands clasped behind his back. Waiting. Ready. One might even say battle-ready. He was as rigid as the stones used to build her house, and there were no cracks showing.

“Good morning, Lady Boudicca.” He smiled and gestured for her to sit. In her own drawing room.

Of all the—

“I hope you’re feeling well today. I should love to discuss—”

But there would be no discussion. Her nose sniffed the air. Nothing. Oh, not nothing. A hint of sandalwood. But there was a distinct lack of anything floral, so she tuned him out completely. As her eyes skimmed across the room, she noticed a glaring lackof flowers. The man was a duke. A duke?! He knew to send flowers to a lady he had danced with the previous night. It was etiquette. Pure and simple. If he was not even willing to display the simplest of humilities—argh!—the man had far too much pride. Well, this would just not do.

She raised a hand, palm up, “Did you not bring me flowers?” Clear cut. Direct. There was no other way. The man needed to be taken down a peg or four.

“Flowers?” It was one word, but the tone implied that she couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Yes.”

She let the silence hang in the air. It was one of the best negotiating tactics she had gleaned over the years.

“You wanted flowers?”

“Did I want flowers?” Echoing the last few words of her opponent’s sentence. Another tactic.

“Yes.” And as if that single word jostled him out of some nebulous cloud of pretension, he clumsily added, “Of course, I should have brought flowers. How…ungentlemanly of me to forget.”

“You forgot?” She wasn’t calling him out on a lie…exactly.

He scowled, and she watched his jaw clamp shut. Miraculously, he still managed to grind out a few words. “I apologize.”

Not a few. Two. He managed two words. They were enough. Almost.

“Well, when you remember, I shall take your call.”

“Wh—”

She brought her fingers to her temple, “I do believe I forgot that a small megrim has settled in. Please excuse me.” She turned to leave the room, then threw a look over her shoulder. “I apologize.”

*

Oh, that cursedwoman. She apologized. The gel apologized, did she? She forgot. She forgot a megrim. Cursedest of all females. Of course she was lying. It was patently clear, yet he could do nothing about it. Unless of course he wanted to bury himself further in poor etiquette. Clearly she was a stickler for propriety. Or something.

And why hadn’t he brought flowers? He couldn’t remember exactly. He knew he should have sent flowers. It was etiquette. That was partly why it nettled him so much. She was right. He was in the wrong. And he hated being wrong, almost as much as he hated swallowing his pride. Again.

It was a simple act of neglect. He should have made the arrangements this morning before breakfast, but in his mind he knew he was going to pay her a call. His presence was surely superior to a bouquet.

Regardless, the gel wanted flowers, he would get her flowers. Tomorrow. He had had enough for one morning.

He would take lunch at White’s and see if anyone was there.

As it turned out, Samuel, James, and Chris were all sharing a meal together.

He sank into the last open chair at their table and heaved a sigh.

“Trouble with the lady?” Samuel jested, palms facing and fingertips touching to make the shape of a mountain. As if to say he was on top of it, and Wesley was merely attempting to scramble up it.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” Wesley placed his hand on the wooden table and rubbed its surface.

“She’s a feisty one. That’s for sure.” Chris brought his fork to his mouth, but the food didn’t quite make it in.

“What? You know her that well to know she’s feisty?” Wesley demanded.

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