Page 52 of His Haunted Duchess
“So many berries,” Caroline said, looking over them, a little bewildered. They had never had so many options at home. Philip laughed at her consternation.
“There are always preserves at Highcastle and plenty of them. Carlyle, cook, and the gardener go in cahoots during the summer and make batches of the stuff. They’re famous for it.”
Caroline squinted at the row of little jars.
“Tell me your favorite, then, and I shall work my way through.”
Philip pointed at the blueberry jam.
“There it be—the bluest of blueberries for a boy like me.”
“Then blueberry it shall be.”
Frederic scooped a respectful dab and spread it on a piece of crust. Their fingers brushed as he transferred it to her. She colored but focused on keeping the pie safely in her hand.
“Well?” Philip asked as she chewed. “What do you think?”
She smiled, a little crookedly, with the morsel still in her mouth. She swallowed.
“It was lovely,” she admitted. “A most excellent jam. And you, Your Grace?” She looked at Frederic. “What is your preference?”
Frederic shrugged.
“I like a bit of jam as well as any, I suppose. My favorite varies by time of year.”
His eyes rested on her for a moment, and the blush she had stifled earlier threatened to escape its bounds. She looked at herhands. They were married, it was true, she reminded herself, but given the chance, he very easily would have married another. She was his by necessity, not by choice.
He gestured to the jar of blackcurrant.
“That’s my jam of choice for the present. It’s best on warm scones, but a spare crust of pie—such as we have here—will do.”
He proffered her a piece which she took carefully, having learned from the dismaying crumbles of the earlier piece. She popped it into her mouth.
“Don’t be disloyal, now,” Philip said. “Just because Frederic is your husband doesn’t make the jam he likes better.”
The tips of Frederic’s ears flushed.
“Only just a husband today. Surely the duchess may still maintain her own preferences.”
Caroline winced but smiled at Philip.
“I shall do my best to remain uninfluenced by matrimonial quarters and allow the texture and sweetness to speak for itself.”
She closed her eyes. The rich sweetness worked its way into her taste buds. The tangy, wild flavor spoke of frost on hedgerows and rich fruit ripened in the sun. She opened her eyes.
“Alas, Philip—at the risk of incurring your displeasure, the blackcurrant is also a truly excellent jam.”
Philip smiled but rolled his eyes.
“I might have known. Your favorite?”
Caroline shook her head. Frederic raised his eyebrows.
“Not particularly. I’m mostly partial to raspberry.”
Philip picked up another piece of pie crust then laughed.
“You might have fooled me. You have blackcurrant preserve left still on your cheek!”
