The Brooding Duke Of Danforth. Christine MerrillЧитать онлайн книгу.
you?’ She had hoped that the words would sound scornful and put the Marchioness in her place. But they came out weak, revealing that she was all too aware that if this was a competition between them, she had lost it in the very first move.
‘I knew that was the problem. Danforth refused to acknowledge that our friendship would be a difficulty. Men, even when they are great and powerful, can be terribly naive when it comes to the hearts of the women around them.’
Abby smiled in amazement at the woman’s audacity. ‘Your friendship?’
‘You think it is a polite euphemism,’ the woman said, with another smile. ‘But it is not. We are friends. Nothing more.’
‘It does not concern me, one way or the other.’ She stopped just short of disproving the statement by telling Lady Beverly that it was far too late to waste the energy to lie about such a thing.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Lenore replied. ‘And do not trouble yourself that Danforth has not declared himself. I know him better than he does himself and can assure you that he is a surprisingly sensitive soul.’
‘Really,’ Abby said, unable to let such a monumental falsehood pass. ‘I have met stable doors with more tender feelings than he has shown me.’
‘You could blame his father for that,’ Lenore replied. ‘The elder Danforth was prone to rages that reduced his family and servants to tears. He saw emotion in others as a weakness and proof of his own strength. The impassivity that his son cultivated must have been maddening.’
‘How unfortunate for him,’ she replied, not wanting to feel the rush of kinship as she thought of her own father’s rants.
‘It was indeed. That is why I am so happy he has found someone who will understand him,’ Lenore said, opening the door in front of them. ‘And here is the library. Is it not every bit as awful as I said? Let us collect your mother and go back to the others.’
* * *
When Benedict returned to his room after breakfast, it was to find Lenore ensconced in the pile of pillows on the bed and reading a book. She set it aside and looked up expectantly.
‘Don’t you have somewhere else you wish to be?’ he said, glancing into the hall before closing the door and wondering how many people had seen her arrive.
‘Nowhere nearly as interesting as this,’ she said, smiling. ‘I have spoken to Miss Prescott.’
He passed an exasperated hand over his face. ‘Did she speak to you in return?’
‘A little,’ Lenore said, obviously quite pleased with herself. ‘She is consumed with jealousy over our relationship.’
‘We do not have a relationship,’ he reminded her.
‘That is what I told her. When you offered for her, you should have told her the same,’ Lenore said, shaking her head.
‘Polite young ladies should not be listening to gossip, much less believing it.’ It sounded like the sort of judgmental nonsense her parents would have told her, had she objected to the match. ‘I meant to explain,’ he said. ‘But I thought there would be more time.’ Instead, he had lied to himself and said nothing at all to her.
‘After her reaction to me last night, it should have been clear to you that some action was necessary,’ she said, obviously exasperated.
‘I spoke to her about it,’ he admitted, wishing that the conversation could end there so that he did not have to admit what a fool he had been.
But now Lenore was staring at him as if she was surprised that he had not told her every last detail of the exchange immediately after it had happened. ‘I offered her the use of my carriage to depart and she declined. I reminded her that you are an honoured guest here and cautioned her to refrain from further ill-mannered behaviour towards you, then we parted company.’
‘After three months of silence, that was all you could manage?’ Lenore’s mouth gaped with an incredulous smile. ‘To tell her she was rude and that you wished her to go away?’
‘I was angry.’ He had told himself that, because he was not shouting, he was in complete control of his temper. But a half day later, his suggestion that she go sounded both cruel and petulant.
‘That would be a surprise to her. She still thinks you care nothing at all about her,’ Lenore said, rolling her eyes.
‘I am not very good at being angry,’ he admitted. It made him feel even more foolish than the attempt had been.
‘Considering the lessons you had from your father, you should be a master of invective,’ she replied. ‘Did you at least learn why she broke from you?’
‘It was clear from our conversation that she had expected a level of intimacy in our early associations that I would not have been comfortable with.’
Lenore laughed. ‘Even if you have become a monk without telling me, I doubt you have forgotten your previous sins. What could a young lady of good character possibly desire that you have not already experienced and enjoyed?’
‘And you are clearly no nun, that your mind immediately turns towards such ideas,’ he replied. ‘She complained that I did not talk to her. She feared that the lack of communication between us during our betrothal was proof that the impending union would fail.’
‘She noticed that it would be easier to pull your teeth than to get conversation out of you?’ Lenore replied.
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