Chapter Eleven
Trajan spent the hour-long ride to Weymouth sitting across from Florence and wishing they were alone so he could kiss her.
But that was never going to happen while Hermia rode with them.
Florence did not even wish to sit beside him.
This was understandable, because he had broad shoulders and would take up most of the seat bench, while her aunt was the size of a pea and took up no space at all.
However, having to sit across from Florence and look upon her was not helping matters. She grew prettier by the day.
Her expressions were endlessly fascinating, which made his thoughts revert to the bedchamber, because there was just something about her that aroused him and left him appallingly distracted.
“Weymouth. Stationery,” he muttered, determined to get his mind off Florence and the wicked things he intended to do with her when he finally got her into his bed.
“I’ve brought the parchment sample and a measure of the silk ribbon,” she said, the amber flecks of her eyes sparkling as they were caught in sunlight.
“Let’s hope the stationer has the matching paper,” Hermia remarked, ever practical because their plan relied entirely on this. “I’m sure the ribbon will be less of a problem. Any haberdasher or ladies’ shop will have ribbons in all colors and widths.”
“They had better, or we’ll have to come up with another plan,” Florence said.
Hermia arched an eyebrow. “Or scrap the plan altogether, especially if the surprise Lady Frampton has hidden for you in the rose cuttings turns out to be something other than those letters.”
“We have come this far,” Florence insisted. “We are not scrapping any plans.”
Hermia sighed. “Stop being so stubborn, child. Nor do we need to argue about it when we have no idea if there will be a problem with the stationery. We are getting ahead of ourselves.”
They engaged in trivial conversation for the remainder of the journey and made it to Weymouth by late morning. There were several stationery shops in Weymouth, but they started with the one the old duke had used for his personal letterhead.
“Your Grace, it is an honor,” the owner said, rushing out to greet Trajan. “How may I be of service?”
Trajan and the Newton ladies kept the shopkeeper on his toes for the next hour, poring over samples and surreptitiously comparing Florence’s sample to those brought out until they found the exact match.
Trajan then ordered personal letterheads for Florence and her aunt, as well as calling cards for the three of them.
He was pleased when Florence made no fuss about it, for he thought it meant she would accept to marry him and assume the role of his duchess.
She had not outright confirmed this to him yet, but Florence was also thrifty by nature, and he could not see her agreeing to the extravagance of stationery she would never use.
She cast him an endearing smile as the shopkeeper totaled their purchases. It saddened him a little that this had started as a fake courtship between them.
There had been no romantic moments for Florence. He had swept her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly that first time to prevent Frampton from killing her. Kissing her in the arbor yesterday also had to do with plots against Frampton.
There had been no instant in time when his kisses had been for her alone. They had merely slipped into a betrothal in furtherance of the plots and intrigues swirling around them.
It would have to do. They would create memorable moments after they married, hopefully none that would end with one or both of them shot dead or seriously bloodied.
“I’ll take some of this parchment stock to tide me over until the embossed letterhead arrives,” Trajan said, glad to have this part of the plan successfully concluded.
The ladies walked next door to the haberdasher’s establishment and had found the ribbon’s exact match by the time Trajan finished settling accounts for the stationery and joined them.
With the ribbon purchase also successfully concluded, it left them free to enjoy the rest of the day and the surprisingly pleasant weather.
Since Hermia was tiring, they decided to stop for lunch at the Weymouth Inn and dine al fresco, because there was a soft breeze off the water and the day was sunny and dry.
Florence seemed to blossom as the day passed.
Perhaps it was merely his falling deeper in love with her. She could be quite captivating when being her natural self, and sparkled whenever she laughed.
He was pleased to see her happiness shine through, even if only for the span of their afternoon sojourn.
He did not think she had been happy in a very long time.
He also learned she could be quite charming when she put her mind to it. In truth, she had it in her to be an impressive duchess.
“Hermia, do you mind if I take Florence for a short walk along the harbor?”
“Not at all, dear boy. I shall be quite content to linger over my cup of tea. I—” Hermia suddenly tensed.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Lady Frampton’s prison guard is here.”
Trajan let out a breath. “Yes, I know. She has been following us since we left the haberdasher’s and stopped for lunch here at the Weymouth Inn.”
Florence pursed her lips. “Do you think she saw us at the stationery shop?”
“No, I had my eye out. No one followed us there.”
She let out a breath. “You really are remarkable, you know.”
He chuckled. “I like to think so. Come on, walk with me. You will excuse us, won’t you, Hermia?”
“Yes, dear boy. I am perfectly comfortable here.”
He and Florence left the inn.
“Nothing slips by you,” she said in obvious admiration as they strolled along the harbor walk.
“That’s part of my training, especially now that I am a duke. One needs to be alert to those hanging about on the edges.”
He paused to give her a soft kiss on the cheek.
“Part of the pretense,” she said with a nod. “That ought to throw Attila the Hun in skirts off and have her believe we are a couple in love, out enjoying a pleasant day in the company of my aunt.”
“I kissed you because your cheek is soft and I wanted to kiss you. No ulterior motive. She can think whatever she likes.”
Florence blushed. “I have no idea why you like me, but thank goodness you do. Would you care to kiss me again?”
“Yes, desperately.” He cast her a smoldering look. “But not here and now. Attila is not the only one watching us. I’ll give you a proper kiss tonight before you retire to bed.”
“Who else is watching us?”
“Oh, anyone looking to make a few shillings and eager to sell a story to the gossip rags about the Duke of Weymouth and the beautiful bit of fluff he was seen kissing by the harbor.” He gave her chin a light tweak.
“I wrote to my mother and sister yesterday about us, just letting them know we were betrothed. No wedding date set yet, and I would let them know more when I saw them in London later this month. I won’t press you to write to your parents, but it is something you ought to do. ”
He realized bringing them up had been a mistake when he saw the immediate shift in Florence’s expression.
Blast.
That was stupid of him. He ought to have left the matter alone.
Florence did not need to have anything to do with them.
He would ask Hermia to attend to the task of notifying them.
After all, anyone could inform them. It did not have to fall upon Florence.
But they did have to be told. Would it not be worse for Florence if her own parents were the last to know of her betrothal?
“They won’t care that I am marrying, other than feeling relief I will no longer be a burden to them.”
“They will care.” Trajan cleared his throat. “Duke here. They’ll care about my status.”
“Only for the advantages they can wrest from a connection to you. They won’t care about me, nor care if we are happy or in love. They’ll just wonder whether you are in your right mind to choose me and praise the heavens and their good fortune that you did.”
The wind picked up a little and the clouds began to thicken.
Trajan glanced up at the sky that was a deep blue earlier but was now fading to gray. “Time to return home before we are caught in a downpour.”
She glanced up as well. “Do you think it will rain?”
“I don’t know, perhaps a passing shower.”
“It would freshen the air and clear out the heat and dampness.”
He took her by the arm. “We ought to get back, in any event. We have those fake packets of purloined letters to prepare.”
They made their way back to the inn, collected Hermia, and were about to climb into their carriage when Trajan spied his cousins walking to the stable to retrieve their horses. He called out to them.
The three of them smiled and started toward him.
“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asked.
“Nothing important. Just a day at leisure.” Trajan laughed. “You look like a trio of alley cats on the losing end of a fight.”
Florence coughed as they got too close, because they reeked of cheap perfume and stale beer.
“See you at home,” Trajan said. “I recommend baths for the three of you. And burn those clothes, they reek. What in blazes did you get into?”
Sebastian winced. “I have no idea. Can’t remember a thing.”
Nathan groaned. “Nor I.”
Trajan sighed. “No after-dinner drinks for you tonight, either. I need you sober for tomorrow.”
“What’s happening tomorrow?” Andrew asked, squinting as he looked at Trajan. “Gad, the sun’s so bright.”
Trajan rolled his eyes. The sun had disappeared behind a fat cloud, but everything hurt one’s head when one had a bad hangover. “I’ll tell you once we’re home.”
He helped the ladies into the ducal carriage and climbed in after them, settling in the seat opposite theirs. But as the carriage rolled away, Florence shifted places and settled beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
He glanced at her, somewhat surprised.
“Thank you for a lovely day.”
He gave her cheek a light caress. “Productive and lovely.”
She nodded.
Hermia said nothing, for she was tired and soon drifted off to sleep.
Trajan did not know whether she was faking, but he did not mind riding in silence with Florence curled up beside him.
He took her hand in his and kept hold of it as they rode back to Gull Hall, the gentle sway of the carriage lulling even him to close his eyes.
But the gentle rocking did not put him to sleep because his mind was too much awhirl. Too many concerns still occupied his thoughts.
But yes, it had been a lovely day. And it felt quite nice that the woman he was growing to love was nestled by his side. He put his arm around her to hold her close as she seemed to drift off.
This was too perfect.
Something had to go wrong, didn’t it?