Page 25 of Her Tiger of a Duke
“Might I try?” he asked.
“It is fiddly. Your hands are rather large, so you may struggle.”
“I most definitely will, but I would like to try all the same.”
She nodded, handing him some paste and showing him how to build the petal. As expected, his hands made it harder to shape something so delicate, but he persisted. Beatrice giggled at his efforts, but there was no malice in it.
“You are doing well,” she said gently. “When I first made these, I grew so frustrated that I was tempted to throw them across the kitchen. I could not seem to make them do what I wanted, and it angered me to no end, but now I find something soothing about it. Everything else around me ceases to exist, and I can simply create.”
“I have never had something like that.”
“How is that possible? You have the entire world to explore, and you can do almost anything you please. Do you truly mean to tell me that you have never found something that brought you pleasure?”
“Indeed. It is as I told you, I was expected to be perfect. The ideal duke would not fritter away his time enjoying himself. He must serve, and that is what I have done.”
“Then I look forward to seeing the village, for it must be flourishing under your care.”
“It is my pride and joy. We shall see it tomorrow, if you like.”
She faltered slightly, looking at the sweets in front of them.
“Might we go in two days?” she asked. “I would like to make baskets for the people, and include some treats, and I require time to do that.”
“As you wish,” he agreed, finishing the first flower that he had deemed worthy. “Is this to your standard?”
She took it from him, admiring it.
“It is excellent. You seem to have a natural talent for this!”
There was a flicker of pride inside him, contentment that he had succeeded. She placed it onto one of the sweets and then placed the tray of his biscuits into the oven.
What followed was the longest few minutes of his life. He knew to wait for a slight change in color, and so he stood next to the oven watching intently. Beatrice laughed softly at him every sooften, and he understood that he was being ridiculous, but he dreaded the thought of burning them after all his effort.
Thankfully, they did not burn. They were brought from the oven, and then began another agonizing wait while they cooled. While the biscuits were still warm, he took one and snapped it in half, offering part to Beatrice. She took it from him gratefully, and they ate their pieces.
“It is precisely as I said,” she nodded. “You have a talent. I cannot quite believe that I am saying this, but you are welcome to join me whenever you please. You are a worthy assistant, indeed.”
Owen thanked her, but he knew that he could not hold a candle to her. He had followed her instructions, and accepted her help, while she had done everything alone. She was the one who had memorized everything, and had practiced until she had achieved greatness, and he could not understand why her parents did not think it was brilliant of her to have done it.
“We ought to sleep,” she said, yawning. “It is terribly late.”
“You do this often, do you not?”
“Indeed, but I do not have to awaken early like you do. I assume that you have things to do in the morning?”
“I am to see a friend, yes, but he has seen me in some terrible states. If I am tired, he will not question it.”
All the same, he knew that they needed to sleep. His wife was clearly exhausted and given all the changes she had been dealing with he did not blame her. They placed their goods to the side, for the servants to eat in the morning, and left for bed.
He walked her to her door, their hands brushing against one another as they walked. He did not pull away; he did not want to.
“Goodnight, Your Grace,” she said softly.
“Goodnight, Beatrice.”
She smiled, lingering in the doorway before walking inside. He could not take his eyes off of her.
The following morning, Owen was certain that he could smell sugar on his fingertips still, and when he wandered through the household, he could smell biscuits in the air. It was new for him, and he appreciated the change greatly. Mrs. Forsythe passed him, and he swore that he could see her chewing thoughtfully and discreetly.
