Chapter 10 #2
“That we walk, and that neither of us is ashamed of doing so.”
A woman in a pale yellow gown slowed as they passed. Her eyes moved from Margaret’s face to the duke’s arm. A man looked to the duke, then looked at Margaret with open interest.
Margaret felt her shoulders tighten.
“Do you wish to stop for a moment?” the duke asked quietly. “I know that this is not easy for you to do.”
“No,” she said. “Thank you. I wish to keep moving before I forget how.”
“Then we will keep moving.”
They walked in step. The gravel shifted beneath their shoes, and Margaret focused on that rather than the way the gentleman beside her was beginning to make her feel.
He seemed to know how she was feeling without her having to say a word. He noticed the subtle shifts in her demeanor, and though it was strange to feel so seen, there was a certain comfort in it too.
“Do you regret agreeing to this?” he asked.
“No,” Margaret said. “I regret that I care what they think, if anything.”
“That will pass.”
“When?”
“When you decide their opinion has no power,” he said. “It takes practice.”
“You speak as if you have mastered it.”
“I have, I rather think.”
They passed a cluster of officers. One of them paused, recognition flaring across his face.
“Your Grace,” the man said, bowing.
The duke nodded his head in greeting. Everyone knew who he was, and though many knew of Margaret, it was not as though she was particularly known, not in the way that he was.
“Captain.”
The captain’s gaze flicked to Margaret.
“Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon,” Margaret said.
As they moved on, she let out a breath.
“They are not frightening if you have not done anything wrong,” he said, chuckling softly. “Do you wish to sit?”
She glanced toward a bench beneath a tree.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she laughed gently, “I am rather enjoying this. I had not expected to, but there is a certain thrill to it.”
“Very well, then. We shall continue.”
They reached a bend where the promenade opened toward the river. The light struck the water, bright enough to make her squint. A woman approached, her expression polite and alert.
“Your Grace. We did not expect to see you here today.”
“I am full of surprises,” he said.
Her eyes lingered on Margaret.
“My apologies, I seem to have forgotten your name.”
Margaret knew it was a slight. The woman recognized her, she could see it in her face, but she wanted to remind Margaret who she was; nobody, especially not in comparison with the Duke of Ravensmere.
“This is Miss Margaret Fairleigh.”
The Duke had responded for her, and it was a warning. The woman smiled, thinly from the response she had received.
“How very pleasant. We are all enjoying the weather.”
“So are we,” the duke said. “Now, if you will excuse us…”
They moved on, and she studied his face. It was perfectly neutral, as though nothing at all had happened.
“You do not seem bothered by the stares,” she commented.
“I am used to them,” he said. “They change when I am with you, but that is all that is different.”
“And if they decide you are foolish?”
“Then they will be wrong,” he said. “It is that simple, Miss Fairleigh.”
They walked past a family with two children tugging at their mother’s skirts. One of the children stared openly. Margaret smiled at the child before she could stop herself. The child hid behind the woman’s skirts and peeked out again, causing her to laugh brightly without thinking.
“See?” the duke said. “Not all eyes are sharp.”
“Some are,” Margaret said. “Most, I dare say.”
“Yes,” he said. “But we will not give those more weight than the others.”
They slowed near the water’s edge. The breeze lifted the hem of her dress. She felt steadier now, the initial rush of being seen easing.
“How did you know that I wanted to stop before?” she asked.
“It was easy to notice. Your breath was shallow, and you were holding your shoulders high. I will also note that you have not loosened your grip of my arm once.”
She glanced down, at last loosening it.
“Is that a problem?”
“No,” he said. “I rather like it, in fact. It tells me you are here.”
She let her shoulders drop. Her grip eased a little more.
“That is better, of course,” he said.
She shot him a look.
“You sound like my mother.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” he said. “She is a lady that knows what she wants, and that is a trait that I admire.”
If he could compliment her mother, then she wondered if he could see the good in anyone.
They continued along the path. The looks did not stop, but Margaret found that the world did not end.
“I am still here,” she said, surprised.
“So am I,” he said. “Would you like to turn back?”
“Not yet,” she said. “I would like to walk past the willow. It is my favorite tree.”
“It is mine too,” he nodded. “Lead on.”
And she did.
They had fallen into an easy rhythm, their steps matching without thought. The Duke leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear it. It felt intimate, in spite of the public setting, and it was the very last thing that she had expected of him.
“There are many eyes on us now,” he said. “It would be wise to play our parts convincingly.”
Margaret’s fingers tightened on her reticule, but she did not look at the people watching them. She looked at him.
“And what part is that?” she asked.
“The part where I am allowed to touch you,” he said. “Please give me your hand.”
The request was quiet, careful. It left her room to refuse, but she hesitated for only a moment.
Then she placed her gloved hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers, slow enough that she felt each point of contact. He lifted her hand between them, not hurried, not performative. His gaze did not leave her face as he bowed his head and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
The touch was proper. The way he lingered was not. His thumb rested against the side of her hand, warm even through the glove. The pressure was slight, deliberate. It told her he was aware of her pulse. It told her he was aware of his own restraint.
The noise of the promenade seemed to soften around them. For a breath, the only thing she could feel was the steady warmth of his hand and the quiet, held space between them. When he straightened, he did not release her at once. His eyes searched her face, as if checking for a change he had caused.
Then he let her hand go.
They resumed walking side by side, the space between them altered.
Neither of them spoke. They did not need to.
The promenade pressed on around them, full of glances and passing voices, but Margaret kept her gaze ahead, aware of Nathaniel beside her, aware of the heat in her hand, aware that whatever this was between them, it had been seen.
She simply wished that she knew just what it was.