And yet, I still came…She hastily swallowed the thought, unwilling to consider the weighted question of ‘why?’
CHAPTER TEN
Duncan should not have mentioned Louisa.
He still did not know why he had, for her escape from cruelty was a private story—herstory. One he had never told a soul, not even his dearest friends, lest it somehow end up in the scandal sheets. All whohadknown about it were dead and gone, aside from him and Louisa herself.
I must drink less brandy.
“You will forgive me ifIimbibe,” he said bluntly. “For this to be a success, we must emulate the conditions as best we can.”
Valeria turned to look at him. “Conditions of what?”
“Balls, parties, gatherings, of course,” he replied, sipping as she tugged on the knotted ribbon at her throat, letting her cloak slide from her shoulders. He would have offered to help, but suspected she would have refused immediately.
She draped the cloak on the arm of his chair. “Whatever for? I came here for a list, nothing else.”
“And as I told you yesterday, a list will do you no good.” He set his drink down. “An old clock will not work unless all the pieces are moving in harmony.”
Her eyes widened in offense. “I am an old clock?”
“A poor choice of metaphor.” He smiled. “That does not happen to me often. Still, the point remains—you have issues that warrant addressing, or you shall never chime sweetly enough to attract a husband.”
She moved to his armchair and perched on the edge of it. “Consider me suitably insulted, but, nevertheless, listening…”
“First, we must address your biggest failing,” he said, walking toward her until he was practically towering over her. He waited until she peered up at him before he added, “How unapproachable you are.”
Her eyes flared with anger, lips pouting. “I am plenty approachable, thank you very much.”
She said it with such sincerity, such confidence, and such fury, that he could not bear it. Laughter bubbled up the back of his throat and spilled out in a hearty rumble, his hand pressed to his abdomen as the sensation grew and grew, becoming an uncontrollable roar of amusement.
Crouching down, his shoulders shaking, he braced his hand against the floor, laughing harder than he had laughed in years. Every time he thought he was done, he pictured her face again—so frosty yet so filled with self-assurance that she was approachable—and it made him chuckle all over again.
“I do not see what is so terribly funny,” she muttered, but it lacked the barbs of earlier.
Indeed, if he was not mistaken, he heard a note of amusement in her voice.
Peeking up, he caught the tail end of a smirk that she hurried to hide behind her hand.
“Yes, I remember you saying you were a delight with your friends,” he remarked, his laughter subsiding. “I should clarify—you are not in the least bit approachable to gentlemen.”
Her mouth opened to protest, but she closed it again. A moment later, she nodded. “No, I suppose I am not.”
“Are you ready to tell me why that might be?” He recalled her speaking of having her heart broken by all men. It had intrigued him then, and it continued to do so.
He sank onto his knees, figuring she might be more comfortable if they were at a similar height. There, he gazed at her, waiting patiently, watching a carousel of doubt and feeling pass across her face.
She really was exceptionally beautiful.
“I thought entering society would open up an entirely new world for me,” she explained, after a while. “I viewed the notion of balls and parties as… forums, where I might learn and listen and be listened to in return. A place for argument, education, and exchanges of ideas and opinions. No one told me that what I had to say was not important, that no one would care.”
He frowned, troubled by her words. In his one-and-thirty years, he had known many women, collecting their stories and thoughts and wit and lively characters like treasured ornaments. He would hear a joke and remember someone, or see a herb in the garden and recall one woman telling him of its benefits, or read a book because a fleeting paramour had waxed poetic about it.
But that is on the periphery of society,he reminded himself.My experience, their experience—it is not the status quo.
“Then, you have been meeting fools,” he said, meaning it.
There was nothing so enlightening in this world as hearing the dreams and hopes and passions of women. In many ways, being in their company had made him a better man—a more sympathetic one, at least.
