Page 14 of Never a Duke
“The situation is hopeless, isn’t it?”
Yes.“Nothing is hopeless,” Ned said. “You can give up all you please, but some corner of your heart will still hope.” Hope that a miracle might spring a small boy from prison, hope that a brother condemned to die might be given a reprieve.
“Do bankers frequently deal in hope, Mr. Wentworth?”
“Never.” Walden had pounded that lesson into Ned’s head early and often. Ned had thus asked to be kept away from any aspect of the bank’s dealings that related to extending personal loans, and His Grace had mostly obliged him.
“But you hope anyway,” Lady Rosalind said. “I do too.”
Ned liked that about her, liked that she had an indomitable streak, and if the discussion had proven anything, it was that Lady Rosalind was not the typical self-absorbed Mayfair miss. Ned wasn’t sure exactly what she was, but he had gained some sense of what she was not.
The curricle rolled along through dappled shade and leafy pathways, birds flitting overhead. Ned’s duties at the bank called to him, and yet, he resisted. An hour in the fresh air with Lady Rosalind was an unlooked-for gift, and if he could not bide in the country, he could at least enjoy this hour.
“I attended Lady Barrington’s musicale last night,” Lady Rosalind said. “The cellist was excellent, the pianist even better.”
What had this to do with anything? “You enjoy music?”
“Some music.” The horses shied at a darting squirrel, and her ladyship soothed them back into a placid walk. “Not bawdy songs that compare the fair Ros-a-lind to the full-rubbish-bin.”
Ouch.“Tell me about the musicale.”
“Miss Cadwallader’s friend, Lady Amanda Tait, allowed as how she might consider your addresses, provided you agreed to join her uncle’s shipping business.”
Ye gods, the Yorkshire countryside was calling to Ned more and more strongly. “Somebody certainly ought to introduce the concept of management into Apollonius Tait’s affairs. He rackets from feast to famine, and since Waterloo, the fare hasn’t been feast.” That much was common knowledge in the City.
Amanda Tait was another young lady who’d not bagged a proposal in her first Season. She was more sensible than most, but she gazed upon Ned as if she were considering bidding on him at Tatts. They all did. She was simply more honest about it than most.
“Then you might consider approaching Miss Tait?”
“I have no interest in Miss Tait, or in the thankless task of rescuing her uncle’s business, but I appreciate the warning.” Jane would likely have passed along the same warning had Ned paid a call on her.
“Do you appreciate the warning enough to escort me to a Venetian breakfast on Thursday? We could compare notes while I tend to a social obligation.”
Ned was coming to understand that Lady Rosalind was honest about her opinions, but much less forthcoming about her feelings.
“My lady, I earn my bread as a banker, but you need not make everything a transaction with me.”
She sat up straighter, which, given her perfect posture at the ribbons, should have been impossible. “I have no idea what you mean, Mr. Wentworth.”
“You won’t ask me to escort you outright, instead you have to offer me some sort of bargain. A bit of gossip for an hour of my time. You are a lady. You can simply say what you need, and any gentleman should be honored to oblige you.”
That inquisitive, alert countenance cooled to a fascinating degree. “No, Mr. Wentworth, I cannot.”
“With me, you can.” A gentleman didn’t argue with a lady, but Ned had no desire to hear the terms upon which half the young women in Mayfair would tolerate his marital overtures.
“And tell me, Mr. Wentworth, what do you want?”
“I have everything I want.”
Her ladyship guided the horses through another turn, so the curricle completed a pleasant loop through the park’s less-traveled byways.
“Then tell me, Mr. Wentworth, what do youneed?”
***
“I would give anything for a bath,” Francine Arbuckle muttered. She had never realized how badly she would miss Lady Rosalind’s insistence on cleanliness.
“For me, a nip of gin wouldn’t go amiss,” Catherine Campbell replied, dividing the deck of cards in half and passing a stack to Francine. “You know they’re getting ready to move us when they start giving us the gin, or worse.”
