Once Upon A Dream (20 page)

“Your Grace, good afternoon.” Now what to say to him? Papa’s stack of letters was a reminder that two weeks in the country was as much
time as Anne would ever have for a flirtation with any man, much less the duke. Papa needed her, and always would.

“Hardcastle threatened to call me out for kissing you,” he said, offering his arm. “I claim the same privilege. If he imposes his
attentions on you contrary to your preferences, I will kill him.”

Sedgemere’s tone was colder than the Russian winter, and yet, Anne had the sense he spoke in jest. She accepted his escort and let him lead her away
from the clipped symmetry of the knot garden.

“I can’t imagine His Grace of Hardcastle imposing his attentions on anybody,” Anne said. “He seems a shy fellow.”

Sedgemere’s hand rested over Anne’s, probably the courtesy of a man who’d been married for several years. She liked most married men, for
they tended to strut less and laugh more genuinely.

“Hardcastle will call
you
out,
madam, if you tell anybody else he’s shy, but he is. He inherited the title early, and natural
circumspection became severe reticence as he matured. I would like to kiss you again, though, so tell me now if my attentions are unwelcome.”

Merciful days
. Was this how the nobility went about their affairs? Anne was spared from a reply by shrieking from the direction of Veramoor House’s back terrace.

“Right on schedule,” Sedgemere said, tensing. “I apologize in advance for the noise, the dirt, the lack of manners, the—”

“Over here!” Anne called, tugging off her straw hat and waving it. “Gentlemen, you’ve found us!”

Three little boys came pelting across the garden, Hardcastle following at a more decorous pace.

“Papa! We said we’d find you, and we did,” the oldest called. “We found you in the first instant. Hello, Miss Anne!”

“Hello, Miss Anne!” Lord Richard chorused, elbowing Lord Ralph, who mumbled something.

“Apologize for your noise,” Sedgemere bit out. “If a single guest thought to nap after a long day’s travel, you’ve just woken
them. You’ve probably spooked half the horses in His Grace’s stables and curdled tomorrow’s milk into the bargain. Ryland, I expect
better of you.”

Three little faces fell, three stricken gazes went to the crushed shells of the walkway. Clearly, Sedgemere himself was in need of a nap.

“But you did find us,” Anne said. “And you’re exactly on time, and you’ve brought His Grace of Hardcastle with you, which was
very gracious of you. Might I trouble one of you gentlemen to put my hat on that bench by the roses? The sun is lovely after I’ve been shut up in a
stuffy coach for days.”

“I’ll do it!” Richard yelled.

“I’d be pleased to assist you, ma’am,” Ryland said, stepping in front of Richard.

“Perhaps Lord Ralph could tend to this errand for me,” Anne said. “While Lord Ryland can find me six perfect daises, and you, Lord
Richard, can scout us a patch of clover. I feel the need for some lucky clovers today, and I know just the sharp-eyed boys who can help me find
them.”

Three gallant little knights flung bows at her, then scampered off on their quests, while Hardcastle appropriated a bench some yards away.

“How did you do that?” Sedgemere asked. “You got them to bow, they’re not bellowing, and nobody started a fight.”

“We all like to feel useful, Your Grace.” In Papa’s household, Anne was endlessly useful, which was no comfort at all, weighed against
the prospect of Sedgemere’s kisses.

“I loathe being useful,” Sedgemere said. “I’m useful from the moment I wake to the moment I close my eyes, tending to this estate,
that committee, dodging the Regent’s subtle requests for money. Usefulness can be wearing.”

Out of the mouths of dukes…

“Little boys like to be useful, sir, and they were punctual, and they’re very dear,” Anne said, towing the duke past delphiniums the same
shade of blue as his sons’ eyes.

“Are you perhaps late to an engagement, Miss Faraday? We’re required by propriety and common sense to remain within sight and sound of the
boys. Their nursery maids, whom you will note are only now emerging onto the terrace, will be in a dazed stupor for the next three days. At least one of
them will try to hand in her notice before facing the return journey.”

Anne slowed her steps, though she’d been hauling His Grace in the direction of some shade provided by a pergola laden with grape vines.

“The boys need to run and make noise, Your Grace, while I, having surrendered my hat, need the shade.”

“I am jealous of my offspring,” the duke muttered. “For they get to do as they please, while you’ve yet to give me permission to
share further kisses with you.”

“You are very persistent,” Anne said as they reached the shade. The arbor offered a view of the flowering beds and of three small boys, all
crawling around in the grass in search of Anne’s luck.

“I am very… interested in your kisses, Miss Faraday.”

If Sedgemere opened a discussion of money, of pretty gifts offered as a token of his
interest
, Anne would be sick all over the heartsease.

Though she would be tempted. Papa wouldn’t blame her, but the notion of becoming Sedgemere’s mistress was… wretchedly tempting. Two weeks
abruptly became an interminable sentence to disappointment and awkwardness.

Anne set aside her reticule, which held three fat letters from Papa. “I did not guard my virtue from all the impecunious viscounts and foul-breathed
barons so I could sell it to you, Sedgemere. One kiss, no matter how lovely, doesn’t earn you that much presumption, duke or no duke.”

She took a seat. He remained standing, hands behind his back. Anne expected him to stomp away, taking his consequence, his presumption, and his kisses with
him. She had a handkerchief in her reticule, and the vines roofing the arbor meant she could cry here in peace.

“I have insulted you,” Sedgemere said. “That was not my intent.” Still, he remained by the bench, like the clouds of a summer
tempest hung over a valley, hoarding rain while flashing fire in the sky and threatening thunder from a distance.

“Do not loom over me. I’m tired, and I have correspondence to tend to, and surely, we needn’t create drama so early in the
gathering.” Anne had warned Papa a house party was nothing but a waste of time.

“I’m waiting for you to invite me to share that bench, madam, so that we might have a civil discussion regarding your egregious
misconception.”

His tone said waiting was a significant imposition too.

“Do sit,” Anne said, waving a hand. She’d forgotten her gloves in her haste to meet Sedgemere in the knot garden. The house party
wasn’t formal, so no great scandal would result from her oversight.

Sedgemere came down beside her like a hot air balloon drifted to earth, all slow, inexorable shadows, growing larger as he came closer. He chose to sit
quite
close to her.

“You have been propositioned by royalty,” he said. “My apologies for creating the impression that—hell. I meant you no insult, Miss
Faraday. I’m out of the habit of being attracted to a woman, any woman, and your kiss took me by surprise.”

“As yours did me, Your Grace. Are you attracted to men?” Anne had two good male friends who escorted her regularly to the theater or the opera,
though her primary function in their company was to quell gossip and enjoy the outing.

“You’re not even supposed to know of such goings-on,” Sedgemere said. “I will speak directly, because any minute, Ralph will bloody
Richard’s nose, Ryland will pummel Ralph, or Richard will black Ryland’s eye.”

“If you proposition me, I will do worse than that to you, Your Grace.”

The look he gave Anne was appraising, or just possibly, approving. “I am forewarned. Please recall that Hardcastle must shoot me when you’re
done thrashing me. Wooing you will be exciting.”

“
Wooing me
?” Anne retorted. Pleasure, incredulity, and despair wafted on the fragrant breeze. “You barely know me, sir.”

She and his grace sat side by side, nearly touching, though in the next moment Anne realized that the warmth covering her knuckles was Sedgemere’s
hand. Nobody would see him taking such a liberty, but Anne felt that touch everywhere.

“I like what I know of you so far,” he said, “which is unusual enough that I’m interested in getting to know you better. Notice, I
am not propositioning you, for which you’d beat me, and I am not proposing, for which you’d laugh me to scorn. I am suggesting that we use the
next two weeks to become better acquainted. I’ve never met such a violent woman. Your passionate nature attracts me, if you must know.”

Sedgemere’s fingertips traced along the back of Anne’s hand, the opposite of violence, his touch warm in contrast to his cool tone of voice.

“I’ve never been accused of having a passionate nature,” Anne said. “Quite the contrary, until I met you.” Papa used to call
her his little abacus. Now she was stealing kisses in gardens, and nearly holding hands with Sedgemere in broad daylight. “I am not interested in
marriage, Your Grace. My father’s household is my home.”

Though lately, that home felt more like a prison.

Sedgemere’s fingers paused, then wandered to the underside of Anne’s wrist and from there to her palm. His touch was neither presuming nor
hurried, and yet, all of Anne’s attention was riveted to the question of where his fingers would travel next.

“Then perhaps,” he said, “over the next two weeks, I can change your mind, hmm? Perhaps you’ll consider your options, and include
me among them. Or perhaps you won’t.”

A breeze stirred the vines above, bringing the scent of the stable and forest beyond. Beneath those hearty, earthy scents was the fragrance the duke wore,
which Anne would ever associate with tender, surprising kisses.

“I won’t change my mind,” Anne said. “I might…”

Sedgemere’s fingers laced with hers, like vines embowering a bench beneath a trellis, lovely to look at, but strong enough to tear down stone
edifices, given enough summers.

“Yes, Miss Faraday?”

“I will not marry you, and I will not be your mistress.”

Across the garden, a boy yelled about having
found one.

“Those parameters exactly define the bounds of a thorough wooing,” Sedgemere said, leaning close. “If you think you’ve dissuaded me
from further kisses, you are daft.”

He kissed her cheek and rose just as Lord Ralph came churning into the arbor.

“I found one!” he bellowed. “Miss Far Away, I f-found one.”

“Her name—” Sedgemere began as Anne shot to her feet and approached the boy.

“Lord Ralph, you must show me. It’s been an age since I’ve even seen a four-leaf clover, and you’ve brought this one straight to
me.”

Anne knelt and admired a big, perfect four-leaf clover. “Come,” she said, taking a blushing Lord Ralph by the hand. “We must show your
papa.”

“But your name—” Sedgemere said as Anne led the boy to his father.

She glowered at the duke, brandishing her lucky clover. Her smile promised that if Sedgemere tromped on Lord Ralph’s accomplishment, there’d be
no more shared kisses, not on any terms.

“This is the most magnificent clover I have ever seen,” she said, shoving it before Sedgemere’s eyes. “Don’t you agree, Your
Grace?”

Sedgemere closed his hand over Anne’s, more warmth, more strong, sure wrapping of his fingers around a part of her person. She kept hold of the boy
with her other hand, which left her no means by which to hang on to her wits.

“That is…” Sedgemere’s brows drew down, brows very like those on little Ralph. “That is a fine clover. I’m sure
it’s redolent of good luck.”

“It’s green,” Ralph said.

“Redolent is not a color,” Sedgemere began. “The word comes from the Latin verb
redol
ēre
—
” 

Because Anne was out of hands, she nudged Sedgemere’s boot with her toe. “Of course it’s green. Your papa means that this clover reeks of
luck.” She took a sniff, then held the clover under the ducal nose. “It’s lovely, wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”

Sedgemere took a cautious whiff. “I have never smelled a luckier clover, Miss Faraday.”

Ralph’s smile was bashful. “I found it myself.”

“Then you must keep it,” Anne said, dropping the boy’s hand. “This is the most special lucky clover I’ve ever seen, and you
found it.”

Anne could feel Sedgemere’s lectures ready to rain down, about gentlemanly generosity,
trifolium whatever-um
, and grass-stained knees, of
which Ralph had two.

“You must keep it, Miss Faraday,” Ralph said. “I found it for you.”

Anne fluttered, she gushed, she sniffed at the clover, then thanked Ralph from the bottom of her heart, while Sedgemere shifted from boot to boot. When
Ralph had galloped back to the clover patch, Anne fetched her reticule off the bench and tucked the clover between the folds of one of Papa’s
letters.

“Don’t you dare,” she said to His Grace, “tell me Ralph is a silly little child. He’s a fine boy, and he brought me a lovely
clover. He got my name wrong the first time only because he was excited, you see, and if you must inflict Latin on him, then you make it special, a secret
he shares only with you. He’s a small boy, not a duke, so you must speak English to him, not duke-ish.”

“Miss Faraday.”

Anne jerked the strings of her reticule closed. “Thank you for a lovely outing, Your Grace. I will take my leave of their young lordships before I go
in.”

“Madam.”

Anne had to get away. Had to answer Papa’s letters before she tore them to bits. Sedgemere wanted to woo her, while she wanted… children, a
husband, a home of her own. Mundane blessings every girl was raised to treasure.

“
Anne
.”

 She looked around for her hat, then realized the tongue-tied Lord Ralph had left it halfway across the garden at her request.

“Your Grace?”

He drew her to the back of the arbor, a shady, private place where a lady could gather her composure.