“I do not mean to jest about Miss Dunn,” James went on. “Anything to get you interested in courtship is good. You are too serious my friend. You need some frivolity.”
“That’s not what this is,” the Duke replied, shaking his head softly.
“Is it not?” James asked.
Gregory had no answer. In his minds eye he found himself comparing Janet and Philippa and that was not fair to the living woman. He needed to learn more about who Philippa was, without thinking of Janet. Miss Dunn was her own self and without comparison.
* * *
6
For her part, Philippa Dunn had spent a great deal of time the past few evenings thinking of The Duke of Chesney. It was with a mixture of pain, sorrow, and interest that she thought of the man, even as she lay in bed, staring at the hanging curtains that surrounded it.
In the morning she woke with a start and a gasp. A nightmare had gripped her in her slumber, but as she tried to recall what exactly she had been dreaming of, the memory left her, dissipating as it fell from her mind like water from an overturned jug. She knew Simon had been involved. When her dreams turned sour, he almost always was.
She swung her legs over the side of her bed and sat like that for a moment, before calling for a bath to be drawn. She soaked in the steaming water from some time, and then she washed. By the time the water had cooled, there was a knock at her door.
“Enter,” she called as Lydia helped her tie her corset. Philippa knew it could only be one person, her father never visited her in her chamber, but Charlotte often did. And indeed her young cousin opened the door and strode in moments later, leaving in a draft of cool air before shutting the door behind her.
“I wanted to speak with you after dinner, last night, but you had retired early,” the girl said as she settled herself for a long talk at the settee in the dressing room.
“I did,” Philippa said lifting her arms above her head as Lydia pulled a gown made of silky blue with white trim and lace over her head. “I did not feel well.”
“Dorothy told me the Duke has called,” Charlotte said a smile plastered across her fast.
“Dorothy should best learn to hold her tongue, lest she find herself out of work,” Philippa replied sharply.
Dorothy was a woman who worked very little in truth, but her father had employed her for years. Both Charlotte and Philippa herself knew the man would never see her go. As much as he paid little attention to his daughter and his niece, he was attentive to the servants, especially the women.
“Are you going to see him?” Charlotte asked.
“Who?”
“Do not be dense, cousin. The Duke of course.”
“I have seen him,” Philippa said cryptically, and ended at that. Charlotte did not push further, though it was evident that she wanted to. Still, she bit her tongue, and Philippa was happy for that.
“I had the most wonderful morning,” Charlotte said without being prompted. Philippa came and sat on a small chair in front of the dressing table, watching Charlotte pull her heeled boots on in the looking glass.
“Ah, so that is why you spoke of Dorothy,” Philippa teased. “Did she fall asleep in the chair and give you a measure of privacy?”
“Dorothy was a perfect peach,” Charlotte said with a smile.
“And which of your charming suitors came by to collect you this morning? Frederick, whose sister’s name is Evelyn correct?”
“Yes. Frederick,” the young girl said.
“He is the one with ginger hair?”
“No, that is Shelby. Fredrick has brown hair.”
“With green eyes?”
Charlotte sighed dramatically. “No, that is William. One of the Williams.”
“I see.”
Frederick took me to the lake. He rowed us out to that island there, and we picnicked. He is so sadly short of funds.”
“I see.”
“He seemed most anxious to get back to London.”
“I see.”
“And he doesn’t seem to get on well with his sister,” Charlotte mused. “She is somewhat of a shrew.”
Philippa gave her a look.
“Oh not as shrewish as you dear cousin,” she teased. “You have the honor of holding the title of most shrewish for all time, or at least the foreseeable future.”
“I see,” Philippa said dryly.
“Is that all you can say?” Charlotte pouted. “I see? I see this, I see that.”
“I see,” Philippa taunted.”
Charlotte sighed and stood up. “Then, I shan’t bore you with the details of my day any longer.”
Philippa felt bad; a stinging regret that Charlotte so often caused to rear up within her. “I’m sorry my sweet girl, please tell me all about Fredrick and his shrewish sister and this island.”
Charlotte could not tell if Philippa was being genuine, so she stood for a moment, searching the woman’s eyes and face for signs of another joke, but when she found none she sat once more and shared the recollection of her day.
“And tomorrow is… William?” Philippa inquired.
“Shelby,” Charlotte corrected.
“Oh, pray tell me we are not going to eat,” Philippa said in a long suffering voice. “He has the worst table manners. The servants were cleaning up what fell from his lips for days.”
“If I married him I should have to get a lap dog, like a French girl, to tend to the scraps,” Charlotte mused.
“Perish the thought. You should strike Shelby from your list.”
“But he is ever so rich,” Charlotte said.
“So is the Earl of Taftwater,” Philippa prompted.
“James?” Charlotte said.
“The very same.”
“I do like him,” Charlotte said. “But he is so sad. I cannot bear it.”
“His father has just passed. Do you not remember the rivers of tears you cried for your own dear parents? He will recover from his sadness. Such emotion is only natural. It shows he loves deeply and truly. Has he called?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No. He has not.”
* * *
The next morning Philippa broke her fast with Charlotte and her father, and afterwards retired to the garden with another book. She sat with her back to the great stone fountain, and held the volume open with one hand in her lap. The early morning spring air was a bit chilly. She pulled her shawl close as a breeze caused her to shiver.
“There is going to be a bit of rain,” a deep voice called, “Perhaps a thunderstorm.”
Philippa startled as she looked up from her reading to see The Duke of Chesney approaching. She stood quickly, tucked her book under her arm and curtseyed to him, before replying. “Certainly not, Your Grace.”
“You do not think we are in for a thunderstorm?”
“No. It shall pass,” she said with confidence. “See, the wind is already blowing away the clouds.” She gestured as the sun peeked through the billowy shroud.
“I bow to your expertise,” he said after kissing her hand. “Another book?”
“Indeed,” Philippa said.
“Poetry?”
Philippa grinned and held the book up. “Mathematics.”
“Mathematics?” the Duke laughed. He shook his head slowly from side to side. “You are surprising.”
“I cannot be interested in maths?”
“You can certainly. Just, most women are not.”
“Most women are rattlebrained ninnies,” Philippa said. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I thought of you, and I wished to know if you would like to accompany me today to my holdings.”
“Your holdings.”
“It is really but a farm. The true lands are north of London.”
“You have a farm nearby?”
“Of sorts. A small property my mother owned, and now I own it. I do not have much with it day to day, I have a good man who lives there. He sees it through.”
“What do you grow?”
&nbs
p; The Duke laughed. “I don’t know.”
“You do not know what you grow on your own farm?”
“It’s been close to three years since I’ve been there. There is a stable there as well, I intended to ride for the afternoon, not help with the current crop.”
“I love to ride,” Philippa said.
“Do you?”
“I do.”
“Then you must join me,” the man requested. Philippa gave it a little thought, and then nodded.
“I shall then,” she said.
She considered asking Charlotte to come or perhaps Lydia, but neither were very fond of horses and riding. Of course, she could coerce either one of them into chaperoning her, but she was Charlotte’s chaperone, not the other way around.
She doubted her father would raise an eyebrow at her going with the Duke, no matter how irregular it was, but he was not at home to object. Anyway, he was concerned with Charlotte, not with her. She was no blushing flower. Surely she did not need a chaperone, when she was one herself!
It was a longer trip than she expected, and by the time the carriage stopped at the end of a long path, just outside a large white farmhouse, Philippa’s backside was sore from the coach jostling over the rutted road. The Duke helped her down from the carriage, and led her to the home. Inside a man named Mr. Stephens served them water with slices of lemon dropped into the glass, and a brief repast; then he led them out to the stables, situated at the rear of the house and some distance away.
Mr. Stephen’s handed them off to a young man named Theodore, the head groom. He had already saddled up two horses, and helped Philippa to mount hers. She sat side saddle on a young bay mare, with large kind eyes. She was a dark chocolate brown. The only other color on the horse was a snip of white at the tip of her nose. Solid black booted her legs and her mane and tail.
“I bought her for Janet,” The Duke said as he mounted his own bay. “I hope you do not mind. The side saddle fits her best, and she’s a gentle thing.”
“Not at all,” Philippa said.
The Duke led the way from the barn, thanking the boy as he went. They got their horses moving at a leisurely pace, the animals stepping lightly side by side.
“It is beautiful here,” Philippa said. As they made their way through a field of sprouting greenery heading towards a spot of trees.
“It is,” the Duke agreed as they took up the path. “I should come here more often.”
“You should,” Philippa said with a smile.
The Duke did not reply to that, he found himself wondering once again just what this woman meant to him. He couldn’t quite put a finger on how she made him feel. He was nervous around her, but simultaneously at ease. It was a strange feeling, his emotions at odds with nothing but themselves.
“My father taught me to ride,” the Duke said, turning in the saddle to look at her. “He always loved horses.”
“My father does not ride,” Philippa said. “Well, not horses at any rate,” she continued under her breath.
“Not horses? Pray tell, what does he ride otherwise?”
“That is between him and the female members of the staff, I am sure,” Philippa teased, always ready with a bawdy comment, no matter who was listening. She chuckled when she saw the Duke let his mouth fall open. “Are you shocked?” she asked. “I thought I was well past shocking anyone.”
“Riding with you is like being at the card table with my male friends,” he said.
“Do you see me as a male, Your Grace?” she asked as he reined in where the trail widened to allow her to walk her horse side by side with his.
Must she always put him off balance “Of course not,” he said quickly
“Am I your friend then?” She asked with a teasing smile.
“Does a man have friends like you?”
“Like me?”
“A woman.”
“A gentleman can do what he wishes, and have what he wants, unlike us poor women who must suffer under every man’s whim.”
“I should not go that far,” the Duke said with a shrug. He picked the narrow trail through a bit of vegetation.
“You must agree, a Duke, at least, may have his way,” Philippa said.
Gregory laughed.
“I am fortunate,” he said. “But I find even being a Duke does not mean I have all I desire.”
“What is it then that the Duke desires?” Philippa teased.
He pulled his horse abreast with hers and considered, looking at her with such scrutiny she felt unaccustomed warmth fill her face. She was no blushing neophyte, but her stomach filled with butterflies and she felt his eyes upon her like a physical touch.
At last he looked away and sighed. After another long moment he said, “What about mathematics? Did your father provide that love?”
Philippa nodded and let him change the subject. “He is good with numbers, but I dare say I passed his expertise when I was a young woman.”
“You are wholly singular then,” the man remarked.
“Am I?”
The Duke laughed as he brought his horse to a stop. They were at a cross roads where the path widened again. Philippa suddenly kicked her horse into a trot and started up the hill ahead of him. Her mare was anxious to move, so Philippa let her. Philippa gave her mare her head, and the willing girl pushed onward, anxious to make it to the top of the rise with long comfortable strides. Once atop the knoll, Philippa pulled her mare up and paused to wait for the Duke.
Philippa had watched as he brought his horse abreast with hers. She noticed several nasty scars on his horse which was obviously older than her own mount. The horse looked as if he had been beaten, and the Duke certainly did not seem the type to abuse his mounts.
“The poor creature. Was he injured?”
The Duke looked to the woman, patting the horse’s neck absentmindedly. He nodded finally. “Yes,” he said simply.
Philippa was intrigued, and no matter what etiquette said, she found herself curious. “How? He has so many scars.”
She was afraid the man would not answer, but he did not seem offended.”
“The stupidity of others,” he said with a grim smile, and that smile alone was enough to make Philippa think twice about continuing her inquiry. She let the matter die and enjoyed the ride. The sun was filtering through the occasional tree, casing shadows, as the breeze blew lightly.
“It seems the stupidity of others is often the cause for distress,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed
They had entered the wood by then, the sparse shade of the springtime trees working wonders against the warm air. They came to a brook swollen from the northern thaw and followed alongside, small silver fish in the shallow stream darted in and out of the sunlight and shadows which fell upon the water.
A bush nearby rustled, and a pheasant flew up into the path of the horses. Her mare startled, but the Duke’s gelding stood solid. It took Philippa a moment to gain control of the mare and she was nearly unseated, but the Duke was there beside her, settling the animal.
“A bit further,” the Duke said, surprising Philippa, who had no idea that the man had a destination in mind.
The brook curved and so did their path, and then they were out of the wooded glen and Philippa smiled. The brook broadened just then, and they stopped their horses. There was a sandy ring next to the water, a small hidden beach made up of smooth pebbles. The Duke helped Philippa to the ground and tethered their horses. He sat down upon a stone, and pulled the boot from his right foot; then his left.
“Your turn,” he said.
“To?”
“Take off your shoes. Let us wade in the water.”
“You expect me to take off my shoes and stockings. Are you mad?”
“And here I thought you were adventurous.”
“There is a difference between adventure and fool-hardiness.”
“Emma took off her stockings,” he urged.
Philippa blushed crimson. She remembered the scene in the b
ook he was speaking of, and it did not include a stream. “She did not!”
“Maybe it was one of Clair Tomalin’s heroines then,” he said thoughtfully putting a finger under his chin.
“I do not know of her.”
“Ah, I see a prospect of a gift.”
“You cannot tell my father,” she said.
“My lips are sealed,” he said, which drew her eyes to his lips. She stood quite still thinking that this ride alone may not have been the best idea. She licked her lips. “Clair Tomalin?” she questioned.
“Ah, she did things that spoke of much more impropriety.”
“Than showing her ankles? Hoyden!” Phillipa teased.
“Truly.”
Her heart was racing. It was one thing to read of scandalous acts and quite another to be involved in one. “I am not Emma,” she said softly, hoping she had not misled him. She was suddenly aware of their complete privacy and his very maleness. Perhaps she should have brought a chaperone.
“Tell me, do you not imagine yourself as Emma? She was such a strong woman as are you, Philippa.”
Her name rolled off of his tongue. It sounded so perfect there. “I have not given your permission to use my given name,” she whispered, thinking she positively needed a chaperone.
“Very well, Miss Dunn,” he said. “Will you come wading in the water with me?” he held out a hand. She blushed and looked at the water. She considered what it would take to bare her legs to the ankles and shook her head. “I fear, I must abstain,” she said.
“It is Sunday, a day of more relaxed rules, even in lent”
“But there are… things in the water,” Philippa said, her voice alarmed.
“Only fish. Fish are allowed.” He said with a laugh.
She shook her head.
“Don’t tell me you are afraid of fish.”
“Not afraid,” Philippa corrected. “Disgusted by.”
Gregory laughed. “Have you never eaten fish?”
“When I eat fish they do not nibble on me.”
Love Springs Anew: A Regency Romance Novella Page 4
