Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
On Saturday afternoon, I find myself scrolling through my phone as I stand beside the Duke of Wiltshire at the bar in a Lewes pub.
Miles is nearby but discreet as ever. We’ve just placed our lunch order.
If anyone recognizes us, no one has approached or seems to pay any attention so far.
We get our lagers from the burnished bar beneath the dark timbered ceiling and sit outside at the small picnic table in front of the pub. Today’s a warm spring day at last.
I’m doing my best to ignore Stef’s listicle he emailed last night.
To: Theodor
From: Stefanos
Subject: Top Five Reasons You Can’t Marry a Duke and the Last Reason Will Shock You
Marrying a British duke makes no sense when you’re a Danish royal.
He’s a lot older than you.
He hasn’t sunk a yacht together with you.
He doesn’t feel about you like the way I do.
He’s not me.
Stef’s obviously forgotten he’s not even out, and I’m going to be King soon enough. The list is adorable, but it doesn’t change facts. For now, I put it out of my mind.
I stretch out my long legs, my back to the pub as I give said duke a sidelong glance.
“So,” I tell Eddie, “Google tells me that dukes spend their time managing accounts, engaging in correspondence, and going on hunts. Also, dispensing justice and raising armies. Does any of this stuff check out?”
“Hmm.” Eddie considers as we settle at a wooden table in front of the cobble facade of the old pub. In the sunshine, it’s easy to see the resemblance to James in his complexion and something about his jawline. He gives an easy smile. “I don’t raise too many armies these days.”
“I guess there’s a whole defense department now.”
“Yes, rather. However, I do have the correspondence down.”
“All emails, all the time?”
“Actually, I’ve been told I have very fine cursive handwriting, as well as recognized as being ‘surprisingly adept’ at calligraphy, as my college tutor told me. My aunt’s doing.”
“I bet all the rugby boys would love something From the desk of the Duke of Wiltshire.”
Eddie smiles. “They’re an appreciative crowd, it’s true. The last time I wrote something in calligraphy was a series of invitations for my Winter Ball last January. A few even went to my former teammates and friends I’m still in touch with from college.”
“Aha. So there really is engaging in correspondence, but also parties.” I nod my approval.
“So, what’s the plan today?” I ask him curiously.
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m somehow betraying Stef, even though he ended things—things that weren’t even happening officially or unofficially—between us.
Pushing that thought aside, I refocus on Eddie.
“Well, thanks for coming down from London, for starters. And as for the day, I have a couple of ideas.”
“No problem. James is a good sport about loaning me his vehicle lately.” My lips are sealed about my Edinburgh trip. Another pang strikes me in the chest.
“I thought we might go horseback riding in a conservation area,” Eddie explains over his drink. “Provided, that is, you’re not allergic or don’t have an aversion to horses.” He glances at me in question.
“No and no. Though, as long as this isn’t an episode of Renaissance Man… I hear the steeplechase is something else.”
Eddie laughs. “I promise it isn’t. Poor Auggie. He was terribly lucky his injuries weren’t any worse. At any rate, I wasn’t sure how often you get out into the countryside, and I thought it could prove an interesting change from London. Do you know how to ride a horse?”
“Absolutely. It’s a life skill all princes require.”
He laughs again. “Well, good news, then. Luckily for us, the stable’s not too far from here. Once we’ve eaten, I figured a couple of hours on the trail might be a fine way to enjoy the day and get to know each other a little more.”
“Okay, sounds great. Also, I feel I must say something—sorry about attacking you with my mouth. At James’ birthday,” I explain, as if I need to distinguish this from other times I’ve attacked the Duke of Wiltshire with my mouth. Or in case he’s forgotten, somehow.
There’s a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. “Well. I did have to explain to my elderly mother who the handsome young man was who snogged me so thoroughly in Tatler.”
“Oops,” I say carelessly. Though in truth, it’s my turn to feel a little flustered.
I love being called handsome, but I wasn’t prepared for news of media coverage of James’ birthday as a society event, though I should have expected it.
But no one warned me about Tatler, and I can’t help but wonder if James deliberately sent them pictures from the night, taken by his official photographers.
I wouldn’t put the idea past him. I keep my tone light despite the buffet of misgivings.
“I hope I’m not causing any scandals again. ”
He chuckles. “No. And for the record, I don’t feel like you attacked me with your mouth. Though it was unexpected. Albeit not unwelcome.”
“Well, that’s lucky for me, then.”
“And James encouraged it. I understand why.” Eddie gives me a meaningful look. “I understand I’m meant to be a good moderating influence on you. I’ll take it as a compliment rather than James typecasting me as a boring old man.”
I cough. “Yeah, well. I could totally use a moderator,” I say sheepishly. “Or, fairly regularly, an intervention. And you don’t seem boring, for the record.”
“Is it really so bad that you believe you need a moderator?”
“Well, I did sink a yacht, don’t forget. Also, apparently, I’m a philanderer, according to my ex and Hello!”
“Mm. Neither are particularly credible sources, I must say.”
“They’re not,” I say flatly.
Thin cloud passes by overhead, and the sun filters through.
Eddie gives me a sympathetic look as our food arrives, and we dig in.
The sunshine is welcome, though the fleeting thought of Aidan in this idyllic setting and reasonably easy company with Eddie is unsettling.
Like, I don’t need thoughts of Aidan to ruin a meal.
And I can’t help but wonder what Stef’s doing this weekend up in Edinburgh alone. Or even if he is alone. He’s got to have a heap of friends up there from his uni days. What if he has a roster of friends with benefits? Though obviously not any other men, from what he’s told me.
I push some remaining peas around my plate.
Or maybe he skipped the country altogether and went back to New York. There’s something bittersweet about the idea of Stef being so far away.