Page 77 of The Scottish Duke
She recognized the name, the same group he’d hosted the night of the fancy dress ball. Curiosity wasn’t an admirable trait, at least that’s what Mrs.McDermott always said at her morning lectures. What balderdash. How could they not be curious about the Russell family?
How was she supposed to quell her curiosity now?
Before he turned and left, she stretched out her hand as if to touch him, but he was too far away.
Oh, how did she say it? How could she possibly form the words?Tell me what business. Talk to me about your day, what you’ve planned, who you’ll meet. Do you like to travel? Will you take the same carriage I rode in yesterday? Are you a sound sleeper? Did you not hear Robbie last night?
What came out was a silly question, but she didn’t call it back once it was uttered.
“What is your earliest memory?” she asked him.
He glanced at her then turned. “Why?”
She smiled. “Must there be a why all the time? Could I not simply wish to know?”
“I was five, I think. I was given a pony for my birthday.”
Her smile broadened. “I was given a quizzing glass. I spent hours staring at the magnified world.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t given drawing materials.”
“That was my sixth birthday,” she said. “A box of watercolor paints and brushes. It had three drawers and a lock and key with the most wonderful colors.”
“Do you still have it?” he asked, coming to sit on the edge of the bed again.
She shook her head.
“So your box of paints was lost in your travels?”
She nodded. “I think I left it behind at our lodgings in Perth. I like to think that someone found it and was able to use it.”
“Why did you want to know my earliest memories?”
“I’m curious about you,” she said, giving him the truth. “What’s your favorite color? Do you have a favorite song? Poem? Play? Food? Book?”
“The last treatise by Sir David Burton,” he said. “A fascinating study of the polarization of biaxial crystals and double refraction. And you?”
“The poetry of Elizabeth Barrett Browning,” she said. “A very romantic volume.”
“I like roast beef, but I’m also partial to chocolate biscuits.”
“Spice scones for me, please,” she said, smiling.
“No favorite song. At least I don’t think so. I shall have to think on it. What about you?”
“Something my mother sang to me when I was a child,” she said. “I don’t know the name of it, but it was about a little boy who wanders down a path into a flower garden, gets lost and then found.”
“Blue.”
“Yellow,” she said. “Although, I do like blue and yellow together.”
“They make green,” he said.
“If they’re combined,” she said, “one into the other. But if they’re aligned next to each other, they’re quite pleasant.”
“You’re the artist,” he said.
She was startled by the comment. “I haven’t worked in days and days.”
