“But it’s not unusual?”
“Not at all, Your Grace.” Laurence pushed his spectacles back to the bridge of his nose, waiting patiently.
Albion straightened up and had a stern word with himself, for it was not long ago that he had been a fearless captain. He would do well to remember that. “Do ladies like to be teased, or is it something that displeases them?”
“Ah.” Laurence smiled. “That also depends, Your Grace. Might I be so bold as to ask what the nature of the teasing might be? It makes a difference, I assure you.”
Albion hesitated. “It was about something she said… or rather, wrote.”
“Have you teased her about the matter before?”
Albion shook his head.
“Did she seem embarrassed?” Laurence had a calm, comforting sort of voice that offered no judgement.
Albion paused, recalling a faint flush to Matilda’s cheeks as he had left her on the staircase. Her eyes, on the other hand, had shown something akin to horror. Her voice, too, had possessed a strained sort of squeak to it.
“Yes, I think so,” he admitted.
Laurence nodded. “I suggest flowers and an apology. Although, before you apologize, you should broach the subject gently—if she recoils, offer a more general apology and perhaps, have some sugared almonds or candied fruits to hand to sweeten the situation. A two-pronged attack if you like.”
“You speak my language.” Albion smiled though it vanished as he glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. He had an hour before he was supposed to meet Matilda in the entrance hall, so they could journey to Lord Sanditon’s ball together—where was he supposed to find candied fruits or sugared almonds in an hour?
Laurence raised a hand, as if reading Albion’s mind. “There is a box of candied fruits in the kitchens. I believe they were ordered by your mother before her departure. As for flowers, I can pick a bouquet from the gardens if you tell me what she likes.” He hesitated. “I hate to assume, Your Grace, but this does pertain to the Duchess, does it not?”
“I… don’t know what she likes,” Albion faltered. The words were uncomfortable in his throat, for by now, heshouldhave known what she liked.
“Not to worry, Your Grace, I can still pick a fine bouquet,” Laurence promised.
Albion nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Algernon.” An idea burst into his head. “Hawthorns!”
“Pardon me?”
“Hawthorns. Include some… uh… twigs of hawthorns with the blossoms on,” he said. “Aside from that, choose whatever you think my wife would find pleasing.”
My wife.With each passing day, it became an easier thought. A more comforting thought.
Laurence bowed his head. “Certainly, Your Grace. An unusual choice, but I will not question it.”
“My wife is unusual,” Albion replied, laughing.
And I would not have her any other way…
The valet headed for the door, but before he could turn the handle to leave, an intrusive thought managed to break out of Albion’s mouth. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen any of what she’s been writing at the summer house, have you? I know it’s probably not what you’re used to, standing guard over her, but it’s the most important duty I will ever give you.”
“Am I supposed to be looking, Your Grace?” Laurence blinked in confusion. “I did not realize that my purpose for being sent there was to observe. Have I misunderstood? Did you want me to report back to you?”
Albion was equal parts appalled and intrigued by the suggestion. But if Matilda was going to tell him what she was writing, he was content to let her do so in her own time… and meanwhile, not make her more hesitant with his clumsy teasing.
“Goodness, no,” he said firmly. “You’re merely there to make sure nothing happens to her when I can’t be there. I wouldn’t even consider you reporting back to me.”
Laurence’s brow furrowed, his confusion visibly deepening. “So, you donotwant to know what she has been writing?”
“Doyou know?”
Laurence shook his head. “I rarely enter the summer house itself unless she calls for refreshment. I have seen her at her writing desk, and she does appear to be writing something, but the rest I know nothing about.”
“Then, that is as it should be.” Albion smiled tightly, grateful they had ironed that out. “You may pick that bouquet now. Remember, hawthorns.”
