Page 73 of His Haunted Duchess
“And how were your social calls, sir? I didn’t expect you back so early.”
Frederic raised one eyebrow.
“Did you not?” He took one of her hands and kissed it. A pleasant thrill pulsed through her. “I confess that today I was quite antisocial and desired only to be at the one place where I had the most claim: by your side.”
“Here, then, we may gratify your inclination.” She stood and showed him the table she had been preparing. “A light tea with scones and jam?—”
He smiled with an insinuation painted clearly on his lips and leaned in for another kiss. She put a finger on his lips.
“Not another sweetmeat, sir, until you’ve partaken of the ones I’ve so painstakingly prepared.”
Frederic smiled but remained turned towards her as his eyes dutifully scanned the table.
“A truly ample spread to be sure. My eyes are greeted with hand pies, a tureen of cold pork, and a plate of petit fours. Decadence! But where is the tea box?”
“Cook is preparing a special tea—a surprise I’ve made just for you.”
He put his hand on hers and smiled.
If she kept quivering so every time he looked at her, she might be in very strong danger of catching a cold.
“A surprise? Then I shall not divert my attention from it for a moment, however sorely I am tempted.”
Caroline laughed like a bell on the first day of spring. He pulled out her chair for her
Frederic felt, for the first time in many years, as if providence truly had smiled upon him. Caroline spread a bit of jam on a scone and passed it to him.
“I’ve finished the book I was reading.Clarissaif you remember. Mr. Richardson made the ending so tragic—far more than I had supposed. It would have been lovely if some good had come to her before the end.”
Her face took on a troubled note. Frederic hurried to intercept it.
“Then let us not speak of it—not on a day so bright and ready as this one promises to be.”
The clouds cleared. He sunk his teeth into the scone.
“Is blackcurrant still your favorite?” Caroline asked. “The seasons have changed somewhat, and I seem to remember your preferences as being ruled by them.”
Frederic looked out the window, chewing thoughtfully.
“Ruled by them, no—but capriciously linked, perhaps. Blackcurrant speaks of midwinter but fresh strawberry preaches of lush midsummer.”
Caroline leaned forward to push the jar of strawberry jam towards him. He put his hand on hers, and their eyes met.
He could ask her to join him in his room tonight.
Cook coughed from the doorway. “Tea, Your Grace.”
Frederic leaned back in his chair.
“Yes, of course—bring it in.”
He kept his face passive as Cook set a steaming teapot on a trivet near Caroline’s chair. Caroline smiled graciously and dropped a small, white flower into the hot water. Frederic traced the lines of her face like a painter would the profile of a model. No sculptor could have made a face more suited to his inclination. She turned to him.
“This is the herb I told you of. It’s particularly good. Philip and I had some for a picnic, and I enjoyed it so much. I shall pour some for us both.”
“I’m sure it will be delightful.”
A steaming light yellow liquid pooled in the bottom of his cup. Carlyle entered and bowed.
