“So, you would meet an eligible man and then what?” His gaze narrowed, and those intriguing lips drew into a tight line. Fierce, he looked ready to defend her to the world.
It took swallowing down her embarrassment several times before she managed a word. He had no right to know, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from telling him. “I would allow him to court me for a few weeks, and then it would become obvious he was better suited to someone else. I would introduce them, and before long the young man would come to me asking permission to end our courtship.”
“And of course, you agreed.” His words held the bite of a personal offense.
“Of course. Why should I stand in the way of someone else’s happiness?” Even if each time a bit of her soul died. It didn’t matter. She knew what her life was about, and it did not include a simple marriage or the meaningless drone of society.
Mrs. Whimple sat back against the cushion, closed her eyes and settled her head against the side of the carriage.
Inching forward, he ran his thumb along her bottom lip and lowered his voice. “I think the only person whose happiness you stand in the way of is your own, Millicent. I think you are afraid to fall in love.”
The touch of his finger on the sensitive flesh sent a bolt of excitement through her and settled between her thighs. Her betraying body be damned. “You are wrong. I’m not afraid of anything. I make my own choices, and I do not require a man to tell me what to do or how I should feel. I certainly need no one to tell me what to think.”
Silent for several beats, he leaned back. “No. I cannot argue with that, Millicent. You do know your own mind.”
* * * *
The sun began to set as they drove into a respectable town with a reportedly fine inn called the Crown and Bull. Preston arranged for two rooms inside and lodging for the servants. He left the horses and carriage for William to attend and made sure all was secured before he handed Millicent down from the carriage. “I thought we might order a meal in the common room if you don’t mind. Mrs. Whimple will have her meal with the servants and then help you get ready for bed. Is that acceptable?”
“I see you have taken care of everything.” The words were neutral, but her tone said she was annoyed with him.
He might have gone too far in the carriage, but he hated how meanly she thought of herself. Perhaps she was oblivious to it, but it was so clear to him. “I have done my best, but if you want another arrangement, I will help. Perhaps you would prefer to eat in your room?”
Those expressive blue eyes told more than she wanted them to as she thought of how to avoid his company. “No. Thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Biting his tongue, he offered his arm. “Would you like to freshen up before we eat?”
“Yes, please.” Her bold independence of the carriage ride gone, she sounded meek and unsure.
A mild Millicent was no good. He hated the thought of her being cowed and him with no choice but to accept it. No. She was just tired, and he had brought up things that upset her. His Millicent was inside this quiet woman, waiting to burst out and tell him how idiotic he was. Thinking about her fire, a thread of joy bubbled inside him. He stopped at the stairs in the common room. “Your room is on the second floor, the third room on the right. I will send Mrs. Whimple up to you directly.”
She made a curtsy and walked up the steps.
Preston did everything he’d promised and found Aimsly, his valet, before going to his own room just two doors down from Millicent’s room. Washing the road dust from his face and hands, he bristled with anticipation of seeing Millicent again. Even having spent the entire day in close quarters with her, sharing a meal was more intimate. He had hoped they would have that moment eating the picnic lunch, but she’d eaten like a bird and had taken a walk rather than staying to talk with him.
That had been a bit of a punch to the gut, but she could not avoid him tonight. He asked for the table in the corner, where they would be afforded the most privacy.
The innkeeper, Mr. Granite, ambled over, tucking his dishtowel into the waist of his pants. The move accentuated the way his stomach lapped over his trousers. “Your Grace, I have a delicious dinner prepared for you and your guest. Please follow me.”
Once they were seated, Granite rushed off toward the kitchen. Preston’s stomach rumbled with both hunger and nerves. His friends would laugh if they knew how much a slip of a girl had sent him into fits.
When she stepped into the common room in a dark red dress, she was clean and bright as a new penny. He ordered himself to be patient and not rush across the room to meet her. Standing as she approached, he said, “Thank you for joining me, Millicent.”
“Thank you for the offer, Your Grace. It was not necessary, you know. I can and probably should eat in my room or with the servants.” She sat across from him.
Hating that she thought of herself as closer to the servants than to him, he had to take several breaths to keep from showing his disappointment. “Millicent, please do not call me by my title when we are alone. I cannot put into words how disquieting that is to me. I believe you do it to protect yourself, but you should know you need no protection from me.” Before she could respond, he continued. “You are not a servant. You are a lady who happens to have a function. It is unusual, I will not deny that, but it does not make you less of a lady. At this time, you are my Everton Lady and shall be treated with respect. It is my honor to invite you to dinner.”
That sweet jaw, which he longed to kiss, worked in a tight back and forth. “I don’t mean to anger you, Preston,” she whispered.
Time for a change of subject. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a meal for us. I hope you enjoy lamb.”
“It is one of my favorites.” Her stomach rumbled, and she rubbed it. “I should have eaten more of that delightful picnic your cook packed.”
“I thought perhaps you didn’t like chicken.” He wanted to watch her take pleasure in food or anything. She was always so even-tempered, yet he sensed passion beneath the surface.
“I like chicken. I have no particular foods that I dislike.” She looked at her hands in her lap.
Lord, how he longed to tip her chin up and have her look at him. “I love food. It is one of my great weaknesses. My cook at Brookhaven Manor is outstanding. I hope you will enjoy the food she prepares.”
“Do you have a favorite food?”
“Are you fishing for information you can give to one of the possible duchesses?”
Her gaze snapped up to meet his. “No. It’s not a bad idea, but I was just curious.”
It was the nicest thing she could have said, and that nugget of happiness, which began when he first met Millicent Edgebrook, grew just a little with her admission. “In that case, I feel free to admit that I love a good roasted goose with mustard sauce.”
Her smile lit the entire room.
The innkeeper arrived with a leg of lamb sliced thick and arranged on a large platter with boiled turnips and roasted potatoes. The rich smell filled the room. A barmaid delivered tankards of ale, and Preston took a long drink without taking his eyes off Millicent, who took a tiny sip before shrugging and putting her glass aside.
“Is that your first sip of ale?”
She nodded. “It’s a bit bitter, but buttery, too. Interesting.”
“I think I shall enjoy introducing you to new flavors if you are always so open to the experience.” Something as simple as her unguarded expression brought him so much joy. This woman undid him.
“Well, it won’t be difficult to find things I’ve not tried. My uncle has a limited palette. We have eaten the same things on the same days of each week for as long as I lived with him. My parents were a bit more adventurous, but I was young and rarely tried anything new.” She sat back to allow the barmaid to place food on her plate. Her lips closed around the first bite of the juicy lamb, and her eyes closed
for just long enough for him to delight.
“I look forward to seeing what things Cook makes that will be new to you.” How this lovely, smart woman had gone nine years without someone demanding she marry him was both a mystery and a miracle.
“Do you eat a lot of goose? At home it was just for Christmas.” She tried the turnips and didn’t seem to love them quite as much as the meat. Her expression was unchanged.
“Goose is usually for special occasions, but we do have it several times a year.”
Her smile melted his heart. “Very decadent.”
“I am a duke. It seems that title should be worth a few geese a year.” It was so pleasant and natural to sit and eat with her. But they had a mission, and as far as she was concerned his goals were the same as hers. “Do you have schemes in mind for discovering who the perfect duchess will be?”
Sitting up straight, she lit up from the inside out. “I have many ideas of ways to determine a person’s character. Do you want me to tell you or do you want to be surprised?”
“Will it be deciding my character as well?” He was teasing, but he suspected he knew the answer.
“If the ladies are paying attention, they too can become aware if you have traits they cannot live with.” She ate the last of the lamb on her plate.
“What about you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Will you participate in whatever plot you’ve devised?” He served himself more lamb. She was right about the turnips; they were boiled until no flavor was left. Though the potatoes were tasty.
“I shall be part of the party. Though my character is of no consequence.” Using the corner of her napkin to dab her lips made him long to take over the job.
No. He would be the perfect client. “I think you are wrong, but I won’t argue the point. Tell me something, Millicent. When this post is completed and I have found a wife, will I ever see you again?”
That tightening in her jaw returned, and she shifted in her seat. “I cannot imagine we will run in the same circle of friends.”
“I thought we were friends.”
“We are, Preston, but do you really think your wife will be happy to have me hanging about?” It was a fair question with no good answer.
“I should hope that my wife would respect my choice in friends.”
Sorrow filled those stunning eyes and then was buried by a mask of indifference. “You will have to be realistic.”
Never had he been told he was unrealistic. He had always been in control of every outcome until he started hunting a wife. This process was maddening. “My mother has decided not to join us until next week. She felt the ladies would be less inhibited with her out of the picture.”
“Her Grace is quite formidable. She may be right. I will be sorry not to have her company though.”
The same maid that had brought the ale returned to clear the table. “Will ya be wantin’ anything else, Your Grace?”
He heard the offer in the woman’s voice but couldn’t spare her a glance. “No. That will be all, thank you.”
Millicent’s cheeks bloomed with color, and she stood. “I can see myself to my room.”
Getting up, he said, “I will walk you up. One can never be too careful in these public inns.”
On the stairs she took a long breath that pushed those lovely breasts up and enticed him beyond reason. “You know, I am not ignorant of the world, Preston.”
“I never said you were. What brought this on?” At the landing he placed his hand at the curve of her back but pulled it away, realizing he had no right to the intimate touch.
“I noted the way the barmaid looked at you. She was offering more than another ale.” She stole a glance in his direction.
“It is not my custom to take advantage of young women, nor do I indulge myself with the hired help. Do you think I chase my maids around the house, too?” Never in his wildest imagination had he thought he’d be having this conversation with his Everton Lady. While he liked her directness and comfort at bringing up a prohibited subject, he didn’t care for the implications as to his character.
In the hallway, she stopped. “I did not mean any insult to you. Perhaps I just assumed most men would accept such a generous offer from a pretty girl.”
He continued to the door to her room and waited until she caught up and faced him. Leaning in, he forced her back against the door without touching her. “Millicent, if a woman I wanted made me that generous offer, I would not hesitate to accept, but I have no interest in random barmaids in posting house inns.”
The soft scent of lilacs and Millicent still filled his head as he walked down the hall to his own room.
Chapter 11
Millie wasn’t at all certain how she had angered Preston. His rage had been so contained, and even the next day in the carriage he had not relented. When they stopped for lunch and to stretch, Doris asked her if they had had an argument, but Millicent just shrugged and said nothing. She didn’t know what to say.
On the third day of the journey, he was back to his normal temperament and even read a few more of the Companion’s rules of conduct as they trekked into the lovely English countryside. Soon, Beatrix, Helen or Wilhelmina would be his traveling companion, and Millie would never see him again.
“Are you unwell, Millicent?” His eyebrows drew together, and he watched her.
She clutched her hand to her chest where the painful knot pressed against her heart. Relaxing her arm and folding her hands in her lap, she forced a smile. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
It was late afternoon when the first crack of thunder drove them to find a place to stay.
William called out about an inn, and he pulled into the yard as the skies opened up.
Preston said, “Wait here, ladies. I will make sure this is an acceptable establishment.”
Sheets of rain flooded the yard while militia dressed in red coats ran in every direction. “I don’t know that we will have much choice. The weather has made our decision for us.”
He frowned. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
For one small village, a great many soldiers toted barrels across the yard and into a building to the left of the inn. By the time Preston returned, she’d seen more than a dozen barrels along with several crates placed inside.
Preston held an umbrella and opened the door. “It seems a spartan but clean place. The proprietor is a good enough fellow. A small military unit was drawn here when the storm struck, but I spoke to their commander and am assured they will behave as gentlemen.”
“I suppose that is settled then.” She took his hand and stepped into the mud. Doris was right behind her, and with Preston’s help they rushed inside the building.
The large open room was broken up in the center by four thick posts. On one side of the posts were tables and seating for diners, and on the other long tables with benches and a bar for revelers. The far side was filled with soldiers drinking ale and laughing. Loudly telling tales of courage and teasing each other about failures. Millie’s exposure to this type of party was limited at best, but she was fascinated by the backslapping and raucous nature of the men.
The innkeeper rushed over. His sparse hair brushed the ceiling, and he had to duck under the beam between the posts. He crossed the dining area with his arms wide in welcome. He looked at Millie rather than Preston, which was not normally what happened when a duke arrived. “I am Phillip Minot, my lady. I’m so happy you have found us in this storm, and we will do all in our power to make you comfortable.”
She curtsied because she wasn’t sure what else to do. “I am Millicent Edgebrook, Mr. Minot. You need not use a title.”
Minot looked up at Preston but then back at her and smiled. “As you wish, Miss Edgebrook.”
Without touching her, Preston eased just an inch in front of her. “Miss Edgebrook and her uncle are dear frien
ds of my family. I am her escort to the country. This is Mrs. Whimple, her companion.”
Understanding dawned, though of what exactly, Millie couldn’t say. His grin widened. “Are you hungry? I have rooms ready for you and your servants. I can have a bath drawn if you like.”
“I would love a bath and a rest before we dine, if that would not be too much trouble.” Millie was covered in dust from the roads and now cold and wet from just the short run from the carriage. Soaking in a hot bath sounded like heaven.
He clapped happily. “No trouble at all. If you will follow my wife, Imogen, upstairs she will show you to your rooms and arrange for the bath.”
“Thank you, Mr. Minot. You are very kind.” Millie and Doris followed the petite, smiling Imogen up the steps to the second floor.
Preston was just behind her, heat emanating from him. He whispered, a breath from her ear, “If you need anything at all, ask for it, Millicent. I imagine this is a tiring journey for both you and Mrs. Whimple.”
Millie nodded. She would see that Doris was taken care of. Despite Millie’s goals, they had not traveled much. Doris’s feet dragged as she walked, and her cheeks were pale.
Preston poked his head in the room and asked, “Is it acceptable?”
Clean, with a bed, dresser and writing table, it would do nicely. “It is fine, Your Grace.”
“Mrs. Whimple, I have arranged the adjoining room for you, so you will be close to your lady.”
Wide-eyed, Doris nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. That is most kind.”
“I will see you both at supper.” He left, and his footsteps faded down the hall.
Mrs. Minot opened the door to Doris’s room. “It is identical to this one, miss. Would you like a bath drawn as well?”
“Oh, not for me, madam. A pitcher of warm water will be enough for me to get cleaned up. Please see that my lady has her bath though.” She stood in the threshold between the two rooms, her grin wide. “This will be a treat.”
“I’ll be sending up the bath and water shortly.” Mrs. Minot made an awkward curtsy and left.
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