Chapter Four #2
She pinched her lips together and tipped her chin upward. “Which I won’t ever be.”
“That is fine, too.”
“Ugh. Must you be so smug about everything?”
“Yes, it comes with the title,” he said, leading her up the grand staircase.
Knowing Florence, she was going to steal a moment to slide down the railing on her rump when she thought no one was watching.
But this was what he liked so much about her. She grabbed life’s adventures and held on fiercely. She was brave and passionate, something he admired even though he was furious with her at the moment for continuing to prod Frampton.
But it was hard to remain angry when he also ached to have her in his bed.
He sighed. That kiss they’d shared was giving him stupid ideas. She needed to be taken to safety, and his bed was no safe place for her to be.
Although it would be an extremely convenient way to keep her close and under his watch during the nighttime hours. If she were amenable, they could—
No, that was a step too far.
Since Florence’s aunt was chirping and twittering in delight in the room next door to the one prepared for Florence, he decided to have them stop in there first.
“I hope it meets with your approval, Miss Newton,” Trajan said.
“Oh, this is so lovely, Your Grace! I shall be happy as a lark settled in here.”
“I’m glad you like it. Florence has been put in the room next to yours. Have you peered out the window yet? You both have views of the Gull Hall gardens and our private cove beyond it. If you find you require anything, just tug on the bellpull and Mrs. Albright will bring up whatever you need.”
Personally, he thought the rose-patterned drapery and bedcovers, in addition to the floral-design carpet, was a bit too much. But Hermia seemed enraptured by the soft pinks and greens of the room’s colors. Florence’s was similarly designed, but in more subdued shades of cream and yellow.
He now turned to Florence. “Care to see yours?”
She nodded, and off they went.
“Oh my.” She paused at the threshold and smiled at him. “It is beautiful.”
He watched her as she began to walk around the large room, lightly trailing her fingers over the furniture as she took in all the details—the large, canopied bed, the massive wardrobe that was painted in the same shades of cream and yellow as the walls, the floral curtains patterned with yellow daffodils.
She paused by the window to admire the view.
“Like it?” he asked, knowing he would not mind her fingers trailing over his body with a similarly light touch.
She smiled and nodded. “Very much so.”
“I hoped you would. But I cannot take credit for any of the splendor of this house, nor could my father. The prior duke, a granduncle of mine, had very definite ideas on what he liked. He ran the Weymouth businesses with this same efficiency and eye for quality.”
“I’m sure you will, too.”
“In time, perhaps. I have quite a bit to learn still. Fortunately, he left most of the properties in excellent shape. Only a few required my immediate attention, and I shall be working on them next. It is more the enormity of the holdings that are burdensome. One man cannot handle it all.”
“Well, your granduncle must have had good estate managers and advisors to assist him.”
He nodded. “Yes, but many of them are getting on in years now. Two passed away just this year and several more are no longer up to the task. I’ve asked my cousins to help me out. You’ll meet them soon.”
“Your cousins? Will they be joining us here?”
“Yes, they should arrive any day now,” he said as his footmen brought in her trunk and other small bags. At his nod, two of his maids who had followed the men in began to unpack with practiced care.
Since Florence did not insist on supervising the maids, who obviously knew what they were doing, he remained engaged in small talk with her while the staff settled her in these new quarters.
“My father had a younger brother, who in turn had three sons. They range in age from eighteen to twenty-four, so they are a bit younger than me. The eighteen-year-old will have to attend university in the fall, but the others have already graduated Oxford with honors, I am proud to say.”
“So, they are eager to roll up their sleeves and work for you? I am surprised. Most would prefer to be in London indulging in all the excesses it has to offer.”
“Well, Andrew, who is the eldest among them and now goes by my former title of Lord Aubrey, fancies himself quite the ladies’ man.
Then there’s the middle brother, Nathan, and the youngest, Sebastian, who are more rakes in training than actually successful in the art of seduction.
But they are clever fellows and hard workers.
They want the responsibility. We Aubreys are not used to being idle. ”
“Hmm,” she said, somewhat cryptically.
He leaned against the bed’s footboard and folded his arms across his chest. “What about your family? Any brothers and sisters?”
She nodded. “One brother.”
She seemed reluctant to talk about him, so naturally Trajan decided to probe further. “Older or younger?”
“A few years older.”
“Does this older brother have a name?”
She sighed. “Yes…Matthew Isaac Newton.”
“Isaac? I ought to have made the connection sooner. Any relation to the Isaac Newton?”
“The renowned mathematician, scientist, and astronomer acknowledged to be one of the greatest minds in all of England?” She nodded. “Yes, we are very distantly related. But the name is all he and my sibling share. My brother is… Well, never mind.”
What was she going to say? That her brother was no genius? A disappointment? Perhaps trouble? Was this dangerous Frampton assignment that she stubbornly refused to give up in any way connected to him?
He tucked that question in the back of his mind for now.
This was one among many he planned to ask her after supper, but not before her aunt retired to her bedchamber and they could speak without interruption.
“I had better wash up myself,” he said, leaving her to instruct the maids on where to place her toiletries and other personal items.
He noticed she had only a tiny jewelry box, no doubt holding a pearl necklace and matching earrings, which it seemed every lady of good breeding had to have.
Even last year at the Bromleigh party, he had never seen Florence wear anything other than a single strand of pearls or a simple gold locket, or another discreet adornment.
She was not one for glittering diamonds or other precious gemstones.
He supposed they would not have suited her.
Florence was not ostentatious, always preferring more subdued articles of jewelry. A cameo brooch or necklace. Jet stone from Whitby or amber from the North Sea coast. Tiny gold hoop earrings or pearl ones for fancier occasions.
She was also quite natural looking, if a young lady could be described that way.
She blended in with these countryside surroundings.
Even her eyes were a reflection of nature.
They were a lovely, dark green and flecked with amber.
Her hair was a deep, rich brown with some mahogany highlights when the sun shone down upon her head.
Even her gowns tended toward the colors of nature, pine-forest greens and earthen browns.
He could not imagine her in a frivolous, sunny yellow or pale lavender, although she probably would look beautiful in those colors, too.
Entering his bedchamber, he hastily poured some water into the basin on his bureau and washed up.
He could have insisted they all change into appropriate evening clothes, but the hour was already late, they were all hungry, and he did not think Florence’s aunt was going to stay awake much beyond the ritual of après-dinner port.
As it turned out, he was right.
Hermia struggled to keep her eyes open once they finished their simple meal of trout, potatoes, and cucumber salad. For dessert, they were served apricot tarts and finished with a lemon syllabub to clear the palate.
They had port on the terrace while watching the sunset over the water. The sky was a mix of fiery colors tonight, streaks of reds and yellows slashing across the darkening celestial expanse.
Hermia excused herself shortly afterward. “You are betrothed now, Florence. To a good man, indeed. I do not think you need me to watch over you. But loosen up, my dear. Enjoy this handsome fellow’s kisses.”
“I have no intention of misbehaving,” Florence insisted.
Hermia shrugged. “Sweet girl, you are only young once. Do not waste this opportunity.”
Florence’s gaze darted toward him, her eyes wide and her expression bordering on panicked. “I am not that young.”
“Yes, almost seven and twenty,” her aunt said with amusement. “Obviously quite ancient. You shall be considered as old as the fossils found in the Lyme Regis caves by next year’s birthday.”
“Do I detect sarcasm, Aunt Hermia?” Florence muttered with a chuckle, taking her aunt’s comment in good nature.
They exchanged kisses on the cheek, and then Hermia walked out.
Trajan offered to escort her to her bedchamber, for his home was large and this was her first night here. But Hermia insisted it was not necessary, so he did not press her on the matter. One of his servants would guide her if she lost her way.
Besides, he was eager to have his talk with Florence.
“We’ll be more private in my library. I can have Timmons bring in coffee or tea for us, or cocoa.”
“Oh, a hot cocoa would be lovely.”
“Done,” he said, and summoned Timmons to give him the instructions. He took Florence’s hand, entwining her fingers with his as they walked to his library.
Only afterward did he realize the gesture was too familiar, since they were not yet husband and wife. Nor would they ever be, but no one had to know this yet.
To his surprise, Florence voiced no objection. Good, because he was not particularly keen to let go of her.