Page 16 of The Duke's Spinster

Despite a faint sense of a sinking in her shoulders, she was relieved. Quite relieved, she confirmed to herself.

“I shall call on you tomorrow then. We’ll go for ices.”

“Typical,” she muttered. Did he think that just because he was a duke that he could call on her any old time that he wanted and that she would just have to accept his call? Well, yes, that was the way of society. So yes, she expected she would accept his call. Again.

Ices didn’t seem so bad. If it weren’t for the fact that it was all just so typical. A home visit. A carriage ride. Ices. It’s what every courting couple did. Boudicca assumed that if one day she were to ever find a love match, it wouldn’t be so deuced typical. If she were to ever accept that a man was truly interested in her for herself, he would have to be different than the other men that had courted her. She would have a sense of who he was, before he even told her. And he would somehow know things about her as well.

Caught in her ruminations yet again, Boudicca started when the carriage lurched to a stop in front of her house. She would see him tomorrow. For ices. Well, for that, she was already forming a plan in her mind. So it would likely not be typical at all tomorrow.

And then he had to go and say something that almost made her rethink her scheming.

“Just for the record, I find you nice…enough…as well.”

Chapter Seven

Early afternoon thenext day, Boudicca sat in the drawing room ready and waiting for the duke. It couldn’t be helped. She was actually…could she admit it…excited for the outing. Oh, not because of the duke himself per se. More so, she was anticipating her little ploy for the day. Her fingers were restless, smoothing her skirts for the fifteenth time. Make that fourteen and a half, she refused to let her nerves get the best of her, so she stopped mid-smoothing halfway down her thighs. There was nothing to smooth anyway.

But the anticipation was wreaking havoc on her calves. She couldn’t stop her heels from bouncing on the ground. Up and down and up and down. This was a perfect way to lose weight, should one want to shed a stone or two.

Finally, the knock on the door came. The butler was swinging open the door and Boudicca was at his side.

“Thank you, Arnolds. I’ll take it from here.”

Before the duke could even open his mouth to utter the expected morning salutation, Boudicca grabbed his arm. “No time to dally.” Though no dallying was being done.

“I wouldn’t imagine dallying with you.” She could feel his eyes boring into the side of her head while she pondered the meaning behind what he had just said.

Choosing to give him the benefit of the doubt, though not entirely sure why, she replied, “Wonderful. Then we won’t waste any time.”

“I have to ask. Is your appetite for ices always this strong?”

He couldn’t have asked a better question to set her up for her scheme if she had provided the question for him. With a wide grin on her face, not plastered at all, quite natural in fact, she simply said, “Always.”

He chuckled as he helped her up into the carriage.

It was a short ride to Gunter’s at Berkley Square and an even shorter wait to put in their order. It was the moment Boudicca was most looking forward to. It was the moment she had lost sleep over the previous night. And it was the moment in which she hoped to finally shake the duke from her hem.

They were sitting at their round table with a small flower arrangement between them. A lace tablecloth lay atop cream linen with a cloth napkin.

It was all quite lovely and proper, so when the confectioner asked, “Which flavor would you like, my lady?”

It was glaringly improper for Boudicca to reply, “All of them.”

Taken aback, the man prompted, “We have white coffee, lavender, elderflower, brown bread, pistachio, parmesan, coriander, cinnamon, and artichoke.”

“Sounds delicious.” She smiled up at the balding man who now had a very curious look on his face.

He darted a glance at the duke. Then back to her. Then back at the duke. After deciding to land back on her, because really, he wanted a clear answer, he asked again, “Which one?”

“All of them, thank you.” She dropped her head, mostly to prevent herself from releasing the chuckle that was lodged in her throat.

A throat cleared. “But which—

The duke interrupted. “All eight will do.”

“There are nine.”

“Even better,” the duke bandied. “Bring us all nine flavors of ice.”

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