by Dayna Quince
“But Father, I’ve known her since she was a child. I couldn’t think of her that way.” He didn't believe the words even as he said them.
“Dammit, Chance, have you seen her lately?”
“Yes.” Chance looked away. His neck felt hot.
“Ha, I knew it. Damned beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Yes, and every bit the hellion she was years before,” Chance groaned.
“Then what is the problem?”
“I just... I’ve never thought of her that way,” he said sheepishly.
“Well, start. Nothing would make me happier. Give this dying man his one last wish. You will see that I am right, and you will be as happy as I was with your mother.”
Chance remained silent. He looked over the gardens, thinking of the mother he barely remembered. He could still hear the sound of her voice, smell the hint of jasmine of her perfume, but her face was blurry. He focused on the garden again and the sun soaked flowers. In the distance, he saw a woman. She weaved through the garden paths like a harvest goddess, steps graceful and buoyant with her spirit and joy. Chance silently cursed his whimsical thoughts. She looked up and smiled at him, an impish smile.
“I will think about it,” Chance said suddenly. He would court her and see if anything could come of it. It was the least he could do for his father. He didn’t know the woman Obedience had become, but he couldn’t deny that she stirred something inside him. He steeled himself as she approached.
“Good afternoon.” She curtsied. “I trust you are enjoying your stroll?”
“Better now that you’re here, my dear. My son has become the proverbial stick in the mud.”
Obedience smiled uneasily at Chance. “Teddy has always been a model of decorum. We should not poke fun at him for it.” She placed a hand on the duke’s chair. “After all, someone around here needs to teach us to behave.”
“Nonsense.” The duke barked with laughter.
Chance laughed too. It was good to hear his father so happy. “How did a comely young woman befriend such a beastly man? This is highly irregular, and I'm sure completely inappropriate on some level,” he teased.
The duke hooted with more laughter. “Make it appropriate, son. I beg you.”
Chance chuckled nervously, catching the confused giggle Obedience politely supplied. Good, Chance thought, at least she was in the dark about his father’s machinations.
“Shall we go inside? I believe it is almost time for tea and scones.” The duke sighed happily.
“You never drink tea, Father,” Chance remarked.
“I’ve taken to the practice of having tea daily with Obedience. It’s a habit I now cherish.”
“Really?” Chance turned to Obedience.
She rolled her eyes. “He takes his tea with brandy.”
“Ah...” Chance smiled. “That sounds more like him.”
The trio was silent as they made their way back to the house. Obedience couldn’t pull her eyes away from Chance. Every time she tried to focus on the path before her, or a pretty flower or statue, her eyes returned to him again and again. She followed behind them as Chance maneuvered the chair over the gravel path. The golden, softly curling hair at the nape of his neck was oddly fascinating, and her fingers itched to touch it. He looked taller and broader in the shoulders than she remembered, altogether more masculine, and that somehow caused an odd sensation in the area of her stomach. She had seen pictures of Greek gods in books in the family library, and he called to mind the depictions of Apollo. Golden-haired, beautiful, untouchable to a mere mortal, but of course, this was her Teddy. Though he had definitely changed into a sophisticated gentleman, surely things would be the same between them. She hoped.
They reached the house and entered a small informal parlor the duke liked to use. The windows were thrown open to emit the fresher air, and newspapers scattered the floor. It used to be the duchess’ favorite room, but the duke had claimed it after her passing and hadn’t changed a single thing, except the messes he made that the staff ignored.
Chance perused the room with a frown.
“He likes it this way. Don’t mention it,” Obedience warned him.
Chance frowned even more but said nothing. Obedience took her place in the chair she always used, a floral wing back chair near the fireplace. Chance pushed his father to the empty clearing where indentations from his chair marked the carpet.
“Amelia will be here with the tea shortly. Obedience, will you pour?” the duke asked.
“Of course.” She nodded. It’s what she usually did on her visits. She was surprised to realize she was nervous with Chance here. She wouldn’t be surprised if more tea ended up on the table than in the cups. She sat quietly with her hands clasped in her lap as Chance spoke of news from London. She felt uncomfortable in her skin, and her fingers and feet itched to move as they usually did when she sat, always tapping and fiddling. It was a constant embarrassment for her mother.
The tea arrived, and the tray was set before Chance on the low table before the sofa. Obedience, hoping she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, moved the chair by the sofa so she could pour. He smiled at her benignly, only to her it wasn’t benign. It was like a king smiling to the court jester before he performed. She was being melodramatic, and she hated melodrama in anything other than Shakespeare. She set out the cups and began to pour, pleased that her hands were not shaking. She looked up at Chance and found him watching her. She smiled weakly. “How do you take your tea?”
“Just a dash of sugar—no milk, please.”
Obedience nodded. She slowly slid his cup toward him and sighed in great relief when she had accomplished her simple task without making a fool of herself. She took the duke his cup of tea and returned to prepare her own. Once again seated, she forced her muscles to relax.
Chance frowned at his father as he watched him pull a flask from inside his robe and add a splash of brandy to his tea. He shook his head and gave his attention to Obedience. “How is your family?”
She froze as she was about to take a sip. “My family? Oh...ah, I suppose I ought to say that they are as pleasant as ever, but that would be untrue.”
The duke chuckled. Chance looked back and forth between them curiously.
“My younger sister Patience, if you remember, is now ten and seven and eager to find a husband. She will debut in London next season when my Aunt Edith, her sponsor, comes out of mourning.”
“My condolences.” Chance vaguely remembered Obedience’s uncle, Lord Vangerhaut from White’s.
Obedience nodded. “Thank you.”
“And your mother?”
“A grand pain in the—” the duke started.
Obedience cut him off. “My mother is quite well and very excited for Patience’s debut.” She smiled nervously. Chance raised a dubious brow—just one—and Obedience found it both unsettling and attractive. “Nothing has really changed around here. Things are just the same as you left them.”
“I will have to disagree with you there.”
His eyes wandered over her body so quickly, she would have missed it if she had blinked.
“You did not debut,” he said. It was more of a statement than a question. “I would have known it if you did.”
Obedience shrugged. “I didn't want to and mother accepted my wishes.”
Again he raised his eyebrows, this time in apparent disbelief. Angry grumbling could be heard from the duke. He took mercy on her and turned back to his father. As they discussed a local farm, Obedience became aware of feeling very hot. He had looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since...well, ever. Dare she hope he no longer viewed her as a brat who chased him through the countryside? She didn’t know what to do now. She was so far out of her element with him. He was a cool and sophisticated London gent, and she was so uncouth that she developed fevers after a single look from him. Perhaps if she had been given a season, she wouldn't feel so overwhelmed by him, but until now, she had never cared. She looked at the
door and contemplated escape. She looked back at him. He was describing some uproar at a place called Tattersall’s and smiling wickedly. She was suddenly glued to her seat, riveted by his lean lips.
His beauty was supremely unfair. How can a man look so perfect? Not a hair or seam was out of place, and it made her feel unworthy. She looked down at her hands to hide a frown. Things had changed, he had changed, and she was nothing but a country bumpkin. She wasn’t used to feeling self-conscious in another’s presence, though her mother made it plain how much she loathed the curvy silhouette her figure had taken. Obedience had never paid much attention to it. She rather liked her curves. They made her feel womanly and mature, but compared to Chance’s elegance, she felt like a drab fern to his radiant foliage.
It was time to leave and bid adieu to her girlhood infatuation. She hoped he would not remain long so that she could continue to visit with the duke as she did most days. It would be good for father and son to have some private time, and then surely Chance would return to his extravagant town life and Obedience could go on with hers. She moved to stand and both men turned to her, ceasing conversation.
Chance stood, and the duke frowned. “Are you leaving already?”
“Ah, yes. I must return home now, and I don’t want to intrude on your time with Ted—I mean, Lord Willowton.” Chance watched her but said nothing. She could feel her cheeks warming under his regard.
“But you will return for dinner? You must celebrate my son’s return with me. It is only fitting.” The duke pinned her with a stare.
“I don’t want to intrude...”
“Bah!” The duke swung an arm through the air as if her words were buzzing bees. “I insist.”
Obedience sighed in defeat. “All right, if you insist,” she said through clenched teeth. Her avenue of escape was dwindling quickly. “Then I shall return home to change.”
Again, the duke waved away her words. “Nonsense. You are lovely as you are. We can dine informally at six thirty. I’ll have a note sent ‘round to your beastly mother.”
“If that is what you want.” She returned to her seat, her fists clenched tightly in her lap. The duke was often overbearing. Normally, she gave the duke as well as she got, but with Chance here, her tongue felt like thick sand. Tonight would be miserable.
At his father’s behest, Chance summoned Gable to inform him of their plans for dinner. They continued with pleasant conversation until a footman arrived to set up a table, and Chance assisted with moving his father out of the way. The majority of the time, Obedience remained quiet and observant. She blushed many times when his father teased and cajoled her, but overall, she remained distant. It was very unlike her. After the table was set, they took their seats, and a footman poured them each a glass of wine. Chance turned his attention to her, determined to bring her out of her shell.
“I must apologize for my father. He can be quite the oaf and about as considerate as a bear.”
The duke chuckled as he took a hearty drink from his goblet.
She turned wide eyes to Chance and smiled tentatively. “He isn’t all that bad, really.”
Chance watched her carefully. Could it be that her lack of enjoyment this afternoon was because of him? Did he make her nervous? It was rubbish. Chance had a reputation of being the most likable fellow in town. He could charm the shyest wallflower onto the dance floor and make her feel like a queen.
“Be honest. Even with his failing heart, he had the gall to bully you into staying for dinner.”
Obedience looked at the duke in concern. At that moment, more footmen arrived with serving trays towering with steaming platters of food. They each served themselves as the footmen retreated, and Obedience took up the conversation.
“You didn’t tell me about your heart.”
The duke tossed a glare at Chance. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“What did you think was happening with the chairs and doctors?” Chance questioned.
Her eyes snapped back to him. “He claimed it was because he was a fat old man and his joints were hurting. He said the doctors were your overbearing idea.”
It was Chance's turn to glare at his father.
“This is precisely what I wished to avoid,” the duke grumbled and took a bite of his food.
“What is wrong with him?” she asked Chance.
Chance met her concerned eyes and didn’t know how much to tell her. “I’ve been asking myself that for years.”
“Ha!” his father barked and continued to eat.
Obedience narrowed her eyes as she looked back and forth between them. “I want to know the truth, or God help the both of you,” she threatened.
Chance smiled. He preferred this Obedience compared to the frightened mouse she was moments before. He sobered. “The doctors say his heart is weak. It could give out at any moment.”
She looked back at the duke. “When were you going to tell me?”
“This isn’t appropriate dinner conversation.” The duke glowered.
“When are you ever appropriate?” Obedience returned.
“My father is right. Let’s talk about something else.” Chance took her hand under the table, and she turned to him in surprise. Later, he mouthed.
Obedience nodded. She was so shocked by the sudden warmth from his hand over hers that she wasn’t capable of doing much else. She would let the matter rest and do her best to act normally the rest of dinner. Chance tried to coerce them into easy conversation, but it was stilted at best. Chance eventually released her hand, but she could still feel the warmth of his touch. She looked down at her plate and pushed her peas around. She ate little as her appetite was chased away by anxiety and nerves. Her mother would be pleased. She was forever pestering her about her figure and kept her on a strict slimming diet when home. Thank the lord she spent so much time away from home, or she would starve to death. She never told the duke any of this, or he would be cross. He already had a strong aversion toward her mother for the things he did know. Obedience was glad to have such a champion, but perhaps her mother was right.
Obedience looked at Chance from under her lashes. She wondered what kind of women he favored. Slim women? Willowy wraiths who danced like elegant swans? Her younger sister received a copy of La Belle Assemblée, and Obedience looked nothing like the women in the sketches. They looked so regal and aloof. Was that what was attractive in London? If it was, Obedience fell far short. She sighed despondently.
“Obedience, are you unwell?” The duke pulled her from her thoughts.
“No.”
“You’ve barely touched a thing on your plate,” he pestered her.
Chance and the duke focused all their attention on her, and she blushed with embarrassment. “Well...” she stammered. “My mother says I must be mindful of my figure—”
“Bollocks.” The duke threw his napkin on the table. “When I get my hands on that woman...” he growled.
“Father,” Chance chastised. “Mind your language.”
“I won’t hear of any disparaging remarks about your person or any more of the tripe she fills your head with.”
“Please,” she begged. “I just want to enjoy this night without discussing my mother. She is not the only reason my appetite has gone amiss. If you had been more forthcoming about being ill then—”
“So ’tis my fault, eh? Well then, my heart is weak, my body is weak—”
“Father.” Chance tried to stop him.
“And my son has returned home to prepare for my passing. Is that what you want to know? The truth of the matter is, I am dying. No one but me wants to face that fact but there it is. Now, if you will excuse me, I have exhausted myself.”
Chance stood to help his father.
“No, no. Do not leave our guest unattended. Summon a footman to take me to my room.”
Chance did as he asked. The footman arrived and wheeled the duke from the room. Just before they reached the door, Obedience bolted from her chair and threw her arms around the
duke. No one made a sound as she hugged him tightly and then reluctantly let go. She watched as they crossed the threshold, folding her arms around herself. “He wouldn’t have told me unless you had said something. I understand that. He would have been here one day and gone the next without any explanation.”
Chance waited, standing just a few feet away from her. He was perplexed by his own urge to comfort her and hold her. “He doesn’t like to show weakness to anyone.”
“Is that why you came home...to prepare?” She turned to him.
“I was summoned by his solicitor.” He watched her swallow with difficulty and then look around the room in confusion.
“I think I should go,” she stated.
“I’ll see you home.” He moved to the bell pull again to ring for the carriage.
“Don’t bother, I can see myself home.”
“I don’t think so.” He grabbed her arm as she walked past him. “It’s getting dark and it’s not safe to go alone.”
“I’ve done it many times. I’m perfectly safe.”
“It makes no difference to me. I will see you safely home.”
“Chance.” She cried out.
“Why are you so anxious to leave? Am I unfit company?” he said imploringly.
“Of course not. I just want to be alone. I’m—”
“Upset?” He looked into her eyes, seeing what she wanted to keep hidden.
“Yes.”
“And you want to cry?”
She blinked away tears. “I don’t want to cry, but it seems I must.”
Chance smiled and pulled her closer to him. “You can cry in front of me. I won’t hold it against you.”
She giggled, but tears filled her eyes and Chance pulled her into a hug. She didn’t fight him, but instead she turned her face into his shoulder and quietly sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her and just held her. He understood her pain. He was still reeling from the news himself. He felt the anguish too, but he couldn’t give into his sorrow when his father needed him.