Page 12 of The Duke and his Muse
“It is!” She smiled. “How wonderful that you could tell.”
There was a short silence. He felt as if the sun had shone on him when she’s smiled, leaving him at a loss for words. Graham eventually shook himself and said, “I will send a missive within a sennight telling you of my decision regards writing the book.”
“Excellent.” Jane took a long sip of tea and placed her cup and saucer on the table in front of her. “I look forward to your correspondence.”
The young woman took her leave soon after, and Mrs. Blight took Daniel upstairs for his bath. Graham was left alone in the parlor with his mother.
“That was an interesting development.”
He didn’t bother to ask what the dowager referred to but merely sighed and sat back against the cushions of the settee.
“What will you do?” his mother asked.
“I will decide within the next few days.” He closed his eyes.
The dowager chuckled, and his eyes flew open. “Is there something you wish to say?”
“You will write the book. For Daniel.”
She had the right of it. He would do anything for that little boy.
* * * * *
Jane found the return journey home just as comfortable as the trip to Bartlett House, despite being peppered with questions by Maisie.
“Everyone below stairs says the dowager and her son are ever so nice.” Maisie winked. “What do you think, Miss?”
“They were very kind to me,” she replied softly, still thinking about the little boy Daniel.
The child sported his father’s black hair, but his eyes were hazel, whereas the duke had blue eyes. Daniel looked well-groomed and well fed. She smiled to herself, remembering how gentle the duke had been with his son.
“You like the duke,” Maisie said with a sly grin.
She threw up her hands. Her maid was a hopeless romantic. “Maisie! If we are to work together on a book, I think it is a good thing I like him.”
Two days later she received a missive from the duke telling her he would like to write the children’s book and that he would call on her on the morrow.
Despite the high-handed tactic of assuming she would be home to receive him, she was rather excited at the prospect of seeing the man again.
* * * * *
Alone in his study, Graham twisted the signet ring, a symbol of the Wayward Duke’s Alliance, on his left hand pinky, thinking back to the day he’d met his now deceased wife. Caroline had been a vision in white satin, her blonde hair dressed high and glowing in the candlelight at the ball given by the Duke of Cranbrook.
The duke’s estate was in northern England close to the Scottish border. Rarely did the Duke’s Alliance meet en masse, but the occasion of the ball was the duke’s 65thbirthday. The duchess had wanted to celebrate the momentous occasion with as many friends and family members as possible.
Caroline was the eldest daughter of a marquess and lived at a nearby estate. He’d at first thought her shy and prided himself on bringing her out of her shell.
Once they were wed, he’d learned she wasn’t shy at all. She merely didn’t care for the company of men. She was verbosewhen with members of her own sex, but what he thought was shyness was a lack of interest in most things not involved with herself.
Pretty manners and fluttering eyelashes had put him under her spell, and before he knew it he was wedded to a fortune hunter. Instead of asking for advice from the Duke’s Alliance, he’d proceeded headlong into marriage, sure the lady had finer feelings for himself despite his not being sure what he felt for the lady.
“Why the hurry?” his mother had asked. “Is there a reason you MUST wed quickly?”
He’d replied truthfully, “The lady is suitable and we get on well together.”
Although they’d had no physical interaction than a chaste kiss, Graham was convinced by her blushes that his bride to be was as eager to wed as he. She was lovely, sweet, and everything he thought he wanted in a wife.
On their wedding night he’d been appalled to find his willowy blonde bride shivering in her bed.
