Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 135
Lord, she thought to herself, hiding her amusement as she smoothly intervened to free his hands.
As he accepted Felicity’s offered handshake, Annabelle stopped digging to watch Portia alight the gazebo steps, where she’d had such fun hopping around a while ago, the little monkey.
A built-in bench ran the perimeter of the dainty garden folly; Portia set Lucas’s books down on it, not far from where Felicity’s servant had left the picnic basket containing the children’s snacks.
He glanced worriedly after his books.
“Don’t worry, Your Grace. No one will steal them, I’m sure,” Portia said. Especially when she saw the titles: Life Cycle of the Gadfly and On Slugs.
Portia gave a mental whistle. Gripping reading, indeed. She should suggest them for Lady Delphine’s next book-club meeting.
Think I’ll just pretend I didn’t see that.
To set his mind at ease, though, seeing his look of distress, Portia moved his precious tomes to the opposite side of the folly, away from the picnic basket, and well out of the children’s possible drink-spilling zone.
Relief washed over his face, and he smiled gratefully at her, looking almost handsome. Then he glanced down at Annabelle, who’d been watching the adults with a serious look in her big, dark eyes fringed with velvet lashes.
She was a beautiful child, doll-like in her pale dress, with fair skin and sable curls down to her shoulders.
From what Portia could tell, Annabelle missed little of what was going on around her, and, at the moment, she was studying the duke.
He looked way down at her and smiled.
“And who is this little person?” Lucas bent down to be at eye level with the child.
“This is Annabelle, and she is very industrious today,” Felicity said.
“How do you do, Miss Annabelle. I’m Lucas. What’s this you’re doing, may I ask? Golfing with gravel?”
“There’s an anthill!” Annabelle said, pointing at the grass on the edge of the path. “The ants are making a line, and they keep going in and out of that little hole on top. They’re trying to steal our picnic!”
Without warning, Annabelle jumped up and started stomping her feet in the dirt, still gripping her stick like a sword and whacking at the wee ant hill with it.
“Ack!” Lucas said. “No, no, my dear! That’s their home,” he told her gently.
She kept jumping, though she largely missed the line of ants hurrying by. “Hannah says that ants are naughty!”
“Who’s Hannah?”
“Our cook!” the child said.
“Oh—well, yes, I suppose one doesn’t want ants in the kitchen. But they’re outside here, and that’s fair enough, i’nt? They’re not hurting anyone. Come, you don’t want to wreck their little kingdom like a big, scary giant, do you?”
Annabelle stopped jumping and turned to him in wonder. “Their kingdom?”
“Why, yes. They have their own little palace down there, with a queen and all. And this path they’re all following, you see that? That’s the trail they must take to find their way home, or they’ll get lost and wander off forever into the dark forest—I mean the grass.”
Annabelle gasped, staring at him, then she looked back down at the ants.
When she peered up at her stepmother to see if she thought any of this might be true, Felicity gave the child a smile. “It’s not nice to destroy things, sweeting.”
“She was only trying to save the picnic,” Portia mumbled, folding her arms across her chest.
“You know,” Lucas said to Annabelle, “I’ll bet it would be fun to golf with this gravel, though. Want me to show you how?”
Annabelle turned to him with a curious stare.
“May I borrow your stick?” Lucas held out his hand to borrow her twig, which Annabelle obligingly gave him.
Lucas held it as though it were a tiny golf club and knocked away a piece of gravel. “Ha!” he said as a pebble flew.
Annabelle laughed uproariously at this new game. Lucas handed her the stick back, and the child set about copying his motion.
The ants were saved, forgotten in moments.
“Bravo!” Lucas said, clapping at Annabelle’s efforts while Felicity arched a brow discreetly at Portia as if to say, Good with children. How about that?
Portia pressed her lips together, then Simon came racing over, unwilling to miss out on the fun.
He beamed at Lucas, wanting to be included. Felicity introduced him, and Lucas gave the boy a courteous bow.
“Hullo, young man.”
“Sir,” the boy said, bowing back, just as he’d been taught. Then he burst out, “Watch me! I can do it, too!”
Simon ran off to find a stick that would serve as a golf club, but he had scarcely returned and joined in the game before he and his little sister began bickering.
“Stop that, you two. Well!” Felicity smiled warmly at Lucas, her eyes dancing as she looked askance at Portia. “I’m sure the two of you have better things to do than play in the dirt here with us.”
“I am quite fond of playing in the dirt, actually,” the duke said.
The children laughed that any grownup would say such a thing, and Felicity chuckled, too; Serena had already wandered back to the park bench to keep Trinny company.
Portia could not deny that Lucas’s ability to amuse the children plucked at her heartstrings. So when he turned and smiled hopefully at her, all earnest and awkward and sweet, she could not help smiling back.
“Would you, um, care to take a turn about the square with me, Lady Portia?”
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
He blinked as though he’d expected a rejection. “Excellent. Right! Well, then. Good.” He gestured toward the wide gravel path. “A-after you, my lady.”
Portia sent her friends the most discreet of sardonic glances, then sallied forth down the path alongside her future mate.
This should be interesting.
CHAPTER 6
A Genteel Promenade
Luke really was having too much fun with all of this, admittedly, though he knew it was bad of him.
Now that he had Portia all to himself, however, it was time to get serious. Things needed fixing between them if this marriage was ever going to work. If not, then he figured they had better quit now, before anyone got hurt.
As a gentleman, he knew it was the lady’s prerogative. Today, he meant to give her a chance to back out, or, at least, open an escape hatch and see if she used it to flee.
Carefully guarding his heart, as always, Luke had mixed feelings about either option. Portia Tennesley intrigued him intensely with her beauty, her courage, her wit.
But she was far cleverer than he had counted on, and that could be a problem. So if he had to let her go, then he would, he supposed. And find himself a proper dimwit to marry.
One who’d leave him alone, do as she was told for the most part, and, above all, not pry into his secretive nocturnal pursuits.
This shrewd little lady already knew too much and had proven herself far too curious for his peace of mind.
Yet, for all that, as they strolled along, he dearly hoped she would still choose to marry silly, bumbling Lucas. The poor chap did need a lady, after all, lonely soul.
If not, Luke wouldn’t really be surprised. Who could blame her? He saw now that he had neglected her shamefully and underestimated the woman to a degree that probably would’ve made her feel insulted if she knew.
Not to mention he was not exactly being terribly honest about himself, either. That obvious fact needled his conscience even as he worried about the clever girl figuring out his deception.
The last thing Luke had ever wanted was for his future duchess to be dragged into his dangerous activities. But Portia had made a point of seeking out his alter ego, enlisting his help.
Now that she had Silversmoke on the hunt for her precious Joel, she might jump at the chance to escape this match—and him.
The thought of missing out on a future with her gave Luke a pang in his heart that he could not account for. But no matter.
In light of all this new information about his future bride, he needed to know where things really stood between them now.
There was only one way to find out.
* * *
Portia gave up on waiting for Lucas to start the conversation. Instead, she dove right in. “I had no idea you were so good with children, Your Grace.”
He flashed a smile as the breeze further tousled his dark blond hair. “I have a little niece and nephew. Bartram and Katie. They’re such amusing youngsters. We get on well. I do hope you get to meet them soon.”
“Bartram?” she asked.
“His courtesy title. His first name’s actually Michael. We all call him Bartram, though. Or Bartie.”
“Ah.” She gave him a friendly smile as they ambled along the path, but when silence dropped again, blast it, it was his turn to think of a topic.
He cleared his throat a bit, searching, she gathered.
“What a fine day, what?” he said emphatically.
“Oh, yes, very fine,” she agreed with all haste.
He pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose, then clasped his hands behind his back in gentlemanly fashion as he strolled along beside her.
“And you are looking lovely as ever, Lady Portia, if, er, one may say so.”
“Why, thank you, Your Grace.” In spite of herself, she found his bashfulness rather endearing.
He seemed taller than she remembered. Walking by his side, it was the first time she’d noticed that his shoulder was higher than the top of her head.
Then he glanced over, his green eyes earnest as he peered down at her through his glasses. “And, um, what have you been doing of late?” he asked innocently, doing his best to chat with her, it seemed.
Hiring highwaymen.
“Oh, nothing in particular,” she said with a smile, then gestured toward her friends, ignoring the pang of guilt. “As you can see, I am altogether idle.”
As Mother often said, men did not need to know everything a woman did.
“Ah,” he murmured.
“You?” she asked.
“Oh, the usual fare. Studies, business, adding to my collections.” He held up a finger as though inspiration had struck. “I did manage to capture a splendid monarch butterfly that was sitting atop a bloom of Queen Anne’s lace last week! Capital specimen. Capital.”
“Really? How interesting.” Your Grace is a fearless hunter. She cringed at the thought of a grown man prancing through a meadow catching butterflies.
Ah, but it was all in the name of science.
“I pinned it myself,” he declared. “Told my assistant to have it mounted and framed, so I can hang it on the wall. You should see it. I think you are going to be very impressed.”
“I already am,” she said sweetly. But when she began to ponder it, the thought of some poor, helpless butterfly dying a slow and agonizing death with its wings nailed down began to make her slightly queasy.
“What is it?” Lucas asked, clearly sensing her dismay.
“Well…it just seems a little heartless, is all.”
“Heartless? How?”
“Catching the poor, innocent thing and nailing it down till it dies. Why, it’s rather sad, don’t you think?”
He blanched. “Good God! Well, no. I-I never really thought of it that way.”
She shrugged. Someone had to stand up for the butterflies of the Earth, after all.
Lucas frowned at her in confused disapproval, and they walked on.
If it were possible, the awkwardness now grew even thicker between them.
Unfortunately, she did not know her fiancé well enough to sense him holding back mirth.
And so, with a valiant mental effort, Portia set out to resurrect their conversation. They reached the edge of the path and turned a corner down the next one. “So, um, was there some particular reason you wished to see me, Your Grace?” Forcing a smile, she brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear as it blew against her cheek.
His eyebrows lifted. “Does a chap need an excuse to call on the lady he’s set to marry?”
“Well, no… It just seems out of the blue. I haven’t seen you in months.”
His smile faded to an uneasy look. He nodded in acknowledgment of her subtle reproach. “Yes. About that.”
Something in his voice made Portia’s ears perk up.
He glanced nervously at her. “I, er, was wondering—don’t take this the wrong way—but I was starting to wonder if I should ask you if…”
“What?” she prodded, sensing trouble. Out with it, man!
“If, um, you’d like to postpone the wedding a bit?”
Portia stopped in her tracks. “What?” She whirled to gape at him, aghast. “Postpone the wedding? Why? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet!”
“No, no, it’s not that! Nothing like that.” He took a step back as though she had frightened him, the big oaf. “It’s just—”
“What?” she demanded. “What is wrong, Lucas?”
“Well, it just occurs to me that we barely know each other!”
Portia set her hands on her waist and glared up at him. “And whose fault is that?”
Lucas lowered his gaze like a guilty schoolboy. “I should think it was both of ours,” he mumbled, and scratched his cheek.
“No. You’re the one who never comes to Town. I’ve been here all this time, making all the wedding arrangements…by myself.” She gestured toward her parents’ home on the square. “You could’ve come to see me anytime. But you apparently had better things to do. Like murdering poor butterflies.”
He looked into her eyes, and she got the feeling he was biting his tongue.
His silence gave her a sinking feeling. She held his gaze, wondering in despair if she was about to be jilted by a man she didn’t even want to marry in the first place.
Don’t do this to me, Fountainhurst. I’ve already been through enough.
“Fine,” he said, “we won’t postpone it, then.”
Relief washed through her.
“All I meant to suggest was that perhaps you and I ought to start spending a little more time together.” They walked on slowly, and he kicked his way through the gravel. “I mean, how will we ever learn to live together if we don’t at least try to get to know each other better?”
She swallowed down her frustration and gave him a grumpy look. “Fine. That sounds sensible enough. It’s not as though I have a very busy schedule. If you are willing, so am I. It is your doing, though—at the risk of sounding like a shrew. The gentleman is the one who must call on the lady. It is not normally the other way around. I don’t know if you know that—”
“Yes, yes, of course I-I know that. You’re quite right. I’ve been most dreadfully neglectful.” He bobbed his head in acknowledgment, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “And you don’t sound like a shrew.”
A fashionable equipage came clattering down the street, and when Portia spotted Lady Dinton peering out the window at them when it passed, she remembered the neighbors.
The two of them had better move on unless they wished to find themselves the topic of local gossip.
The path Lucas and she had taken ran parallel to the road, which meant they could easily be observed from the street or the houses nearby. Although a genteel promenade was permissible for an engaged couple, their discussion had grown rather heated a moment ago.
If they were seen squabbling in the park a month before the wedding, that would make a tale the gossips would love sharing over scandal broth.
Quickly summoning a smile, Portia nodded politely at Her Ladyship as she passed. The aged baroness waggled her fingers in reply as, thankfully, her carriage rumbled on down the street.
Upon turning her attention back to her fiancé, Portia found him studying her with surprising intensity from behind his spectacles.
For a heartbeat, he almost reminded her of someone…
She couldn’t think of whom.
But then that haunting possibility that Silversmoke had pointed out last night wafted through her mind, concerning Joel’s possible abandonment of her. And as self-doubt rippled across her insecurities, a blunt question for Lucas arose in her mind, and she simply had to ask it.
After all, if Joel had indeed deserted her and her own fiancé never bothered with her either, maybe it was her.
Maybe she was just terrible with men.
“Is it that you don’t like me very much?” she asked bravely, glancing at him, braced for any answer.
He turned to her, looking appalled. “No! No—nothing like that!” Genuinely shocked, it seemed, Lucas laid his hand on her arm, his touch gentle. “Please, do not jump to such awful conclusions, my lady. I-I like you very much. Why else would I propose?”
She stared at him; he seemed sincere. “But you always stay away,” she said in a small voice.
He lowered his hand from her arm and, head down, averted his gaze. “That’s not your fault. Believe me. It’s just…this courtship business was never really my forte.”
I never would’ve guessed it. Portia bit her tongue. “Are you sure it isn’t me?”
He nodded. “Very sure. Please, forgive me. I should never wish you to feel that way because of me. I-I will try my hardest to do better.”
It really was impossible to stay annoyed with him when he said such humble, artless things.
Ah well. If she wanted anything resembling domestic harmony once they were wed, Portia saw now she had better take matters in hand herself.
This was unconventional, perhaps, but she didn’t mind helping him along, if that was what it took. He’d catch on eventually, with that big brain of his.
Of course, she never would’ve had to do this with Joel. The worldly, fashionable side of her gave a mental humph. But then again, Joel never would’ve lowered himself to teach a little child how to gravel-golf.
Grr. In spite of herself, her vexation with Lucas melted at the thought of his sweetness to Annabelle.
At least he’d be a good, kindhearted papa to their children, if they had them.
