Page 65 of His Haunted Duchess
Philip stuffed another tart onto his bulging napkin.
“I will always have room,” he vowed, solemnly, “especially for pastry as fine and flaky as this decadent confection. Surely, I’ll be able to pour some tea over the top.”
Winifred beamed at the compliment to her preparations.
“I’m grateful you appreciate them, sir. Our cook prides herself on her pastry, and I’ll be sure to carry your compliments forward.”
“Please do. And also tell her that Lord Philip Grandon is one of her most ardent admirers and will defend her and her tarts from all sallies if any such accusations could be made.”
“Careful, sir,” Caroline warned. “These tarts have made you quite forward. I’ve never heard such an attitude from you before.”
Philip took a moment’s break from ravaging the basket to wipe his mouth demurely with a napkin.
“Forward is as forward does. I’m sure Winifred agrees with me, and Cook certainly would.”
Winifred eyed Philip with equal portions of good nature and skepticism.
“As regards the tarts, my lord, I am ever your supporter,” Winifred said tactfully.
Philip sniffed. “I suppose I’ll just have to be confident in my own forwardness then and content myself with consuming the rest of these tarts.”
He was, at least, a fair way towards fulfilling that promise. Thinking of promises reminded Caroline of her own. She turned to Winifred.
“A mysterious package arrived by post today. A special herb, too, that will no doubt settle our minds as well as gratify our palettes.”
“It sounds most intriguing,” Winifred said. “I certainly hope it will please.”
Caroline blinked. Perhaps Aunt Olivia hadn’t told Winifred about the package. She was inclined to be demure about Caroline’s nightmares, in any case, and perhaps had sent the package when Winifred was otherwise engaged.
“The herb looked intriguing,” Caroline continued. “It smelled delicious and quite put me in a mind to sample it today.”
Philip swallowed and coughed.
“A good tart needs something bracing to wash it down, and Frederic is still parsimonious with his wine. I think a special herb tea would be particularly apropos.”
Caroline stifled a smile at Philip’s kingly tone.
Winifred curtsied. “I shall fetch it from the kitchen, then.”
She started her walk across the lawn, white skirts swishing about her like a froth on bay breakers. Philip nodded approval.
“A good woman, that. Very smart about her priorities.”
Caroline watched the sun flicker at the edge of the shadows as the wind tossed the branches back and forth. As frequently happened, her husband’s face floated through her mind.
“Frederic is anything but parsimonious,” she said, a little dreamily. The light breeze moved to tousle her curls and teased at the corner of her napkin. “He truly is everything generous. Only think of the meeting he had last week with?—”
Philip groaned loudly.
“Ugh. No marital affection here— You’ll put me off my lunch. Don’t spoil these excellent tarts with sappy sentiments.”
Caroline raised her eyebrows.
“I have no marital affection to inflict upon you other than my appropriate admiration for my husband—and your brother, I might remind you.”
Philip rolled his eyes and settled the napkin more firmly on his lap.
“Oh, please. Let me speak the words before your affection forces an illness upon my tart-stuffed stomach.”
