“What do you mean?” Stephen halted in his pacing, turning to look at his friend once more.
“No? I see.”
“What? What are you talking about, Allan?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Allan seemed to reconsider his next words. He sat back once more, shaking his head. “It is very simple. She cannot escape the ton forever, and a trip of this kind, where she is forced into the ton’s presence every day, could be a great way for her to become accustomed to their company and to behaving a little more…”
“With poise?” Stephen offered.
She is not one for poise.
Dorothy never had been. She was rough, ready to tumble in gardens, and he had seen her many times running through those gardens, with her hair strewn wildly behind her and her skirts tangled around her knees.
Rather hurriedly, Stephen sat down in the chair Dorothy had vacated, not knowing what that feeling had meant. He pushed the image of Dorothy’s skirts out of his mind, fast.
“Look, you said yourself earlier this year that you would be looking for a wife, did you not?” Allan’s words were like a cold bucket of water over his head. He downed quite a bit of the claret, trying to distract himself. “Or have you changed your mind on that score?”
“No, I haven’t.” Stephen stared into his claret glass. “It is the duty of a duke to continue his line. My father said as much, many times. So, I will marry and produce an heir.”
When he looked up, he found Allan’s expression somewhat bemused.
“I know that look,” Stephen whispered. “You think I’m mad again.”
“You know well enough the questions I have regarding some of your father’s teachings. I also think it wiser to marry for affection rather than convenience. That being said—” Allan paused and raised his hands in the air. “I also know the world doesn’t always work in that way. You can marry for whatever reason you wish to.”
Stephen nodded his thanks and fiddled with the claret glass.
It was something that had happened to him repeatedly as of late, imagining what his wedding would be like. He kept seeing himself at the altar, Allan standing beside him as his best man and a woman walking toward him with a veil over her face, her features entirely concealed.
Who are you? Who will you be?
“Please,” Allan said in a softer voice. “All I want is for Dorothy to be escorted to this event in some relative… peace. You can keep that peace—when you are not arguing with her, that is.”
“Because I’m sensible and proper?”
“Yes. Dorothy is not proper, and she’s also… well, she’s innocent, is she not?” Allan gripped his wine glass a little firmer with these words. “She thinks the worst thing the ton is capable of is gossip. You and I know they are capable of much worse.”
“That they are.”
Stephen knew of many such tales, of gentlemen getting ladies alone at events, and the mere thought that Dorothy could fall prey to such men disgusted him.
“It’s all I ask, you watch over her whilst you are there,” Allan pleaded again. “If I am done with my business sooner, I will join you. Besides, you have an invite, do you not? Surely you will go if you are looking for a wife?”
Stephen saw that woman with the veil once more, stopping beside him at the altar. Still, he could not see her face.
He nodded. “Very well, Allan. You are right, I must go if I wish to marry any time soon. I might as well keep a cursory watchful eye on Dorothy as I’m there.”
“She’ll be delighted,” Allan added with a wry tone and lifted his wine glass in a toast. “To Lady Webster’s retreat. May you find a wife, and may my sister find a husband, swiftly indeed.”
Stephen raised his glass and toasted with his friend.
* * *
“I do not believe this,” Dorothy muttered for what felt like the thirtieth time on their journey to Hampshire.
She tore her gaze away from the window, where she had been admiring the lush green leaves beyond and the first sign of spring, with early daffodils poking their heads above the ground and tulip heads coming alive with red and pink blooms. She instead looked across the carriage at Stephen, now the Duke of Stotbury, as he was known to others. Beside them was her lady’s maid, who was fast asleep and taking no note of them.
Stephen stared back at her, his top hat immaculately positioned, his frock coat just as perfect. There wasn’t a speck of dust on his person, a button out of place, nor a wisp of hair that hadn’t been combed properly.
