The Clarendon Rose (8 page)

Tina returned his smile.
 
Despite her painful awareness of the appeal of his gestures—the endless reminders of how stunning the line of his jaw could be when he turned his head to grin at her and the never-distant thought of how his thick, dark hair might feel, slipping between her fingers—she had actually begun to relax a little in his presence.
 
Or perhaps, fool that you are, you’re simply allowing yourself to fall under his thrall.
 
This man is out of your reach.
 
He is a duke.
 
You are the daughter of disgraced parents.
 
Your mother was regarded as a fallen woman.
 
Nor would he give you a second look even if your background were unimpeachable.
 
Do not mistake his civility for something more.

But of course, she did not—not at all.
 
She simply found his smile, his movements and even his teasing manner impossible to resist.
 

“If I recall correctly from the days of my misspent youth, there is a charming copse of trees, surrounding a small pond not far from this place…” he commented, squinting towards a distant grove.
 

Tina followed the line of his gaze.
 
“Blakney’s pond is down that way.”

“Indeed, that’s the very place.
 
Edmund and I used to go there when we were lads.”
 
The smile that touched his lips was reminiscent, and devoid of the darkness that had underlain his expression at other times during their conversation.
 

“I know,” she replied.
 
“Edmund speaks of those times with great fondness.
 
We can certainly go there now.
 
And I promise that I shall not utter another word about the estates until you have finished your lunch and declare yourself ready for it.”

“I accept your terms, Miss Merriweather.
 
And now, might I suggest a race to the proposed spot?
 
You may well have the advantage of me this time, for I’m not certain I remember the exact way.”

And so, laughing, they set out towards Blakney’s pond.
 
The horses, having recently refreshed themselves at one of the tenant’s troughs, were ready to oblige, but not so eager to work off their high spirits as they had been in the morning.

Once the sun came out, the chill of late spring had dissipated with the advancing day.
 
As they neared the grove and slowed their horses to negotiate the rougher terrain, Tina began to have second thoughts about their plan.
 

She had always come to this spot alone or with Edmund, but today, riding in with Clarendon, she saw the place from a fresh perspective.
 
Blakney’s Pond was a beautiful area, notwithstanding its prosaic name.
 
As she and Clarendon dismounted, she noted the mossy banks, slanting motes of sunlight and sparkling water.
 
It really was the ideal spot for a romantic
tête-à-tête
.
 

She forced herself to look away from the soft carpet of moss, all too aware that it was not the moss that disturbed her but the thought of what she and Clarendon might
do
on the moss, had they the time and the inclination.
 
Tina tried to conceal her flush by making the task of tethering Achilles far more complex than necessary.

Clarendon, meanwhile, had produced a picnic blanket.
 
He was now in the process of laying out the small feast of culinary riches Cook had packed for them: red wine, pasties, fresh bread and a selection of meat and cheeses.

Once he had finished, he straightened with a grin and a flourish.
 
“Please sit, Miss Merriweather.”
 

He poured the wine into the two wooden cups Cook had included, then passed one to Tina.

She watched his sun-browned fingers as he used a small knife to cut the bread, meats and cheeses into small morsels.
 
His movements mesmerized her as she thought of how those callused hands might feel against her skin.
 
Then, she frowned.
 
Callused?
 
It’s not too many noblemen I’ve seen who have callused hands.
 
What could he have been doing, in the course of those travels of his, that would have roughened his hands in such a way?
 

But then, he glanced at her, proffering a selection of carefully sliced tidbits with a grin that distracted her from the question.

“Thank you.”
 
She selected a portion of bread and cheese, then washed it down with wine.
 
Her heightened senses told her that the combination of flavors and textures had never tasted quite so rich, so full, so intense as it did today.
 

Holy Cleopatra,
she thought to herself.
 
If this is what just one day in his presence has done to me, how am I ever going to see the week out?

Clarendon watched Miss Merriweather with a discreet fascination.
 
Everything about her drew him in, though he could hardly begin to say why.
 
It was not simply the lush exoticism of her features, that few in the fashionable world would recognize as beauty.
 
Her voice was smoky enough that he could listen to it for hours, even when the subject of her speech was mainly concerned with such subjects as gravid cows and the manufacture of ploughs and drills.

Then, there were her eyes, which hinted at another, hidden story.
 

Her reticence captivated him even as it made him want to coax her out of that shell of detachment.
 
He suspected that most people hardly even noticed her ability to steer the conversation away from subjects that would reveal too much of herself.
 
But, though he knew that allowing her evasions would be the gentlemanly thing to do, he simply couldn’t let them pass.
 
He wanted to learn more about the subjects that triggered such defenses.
 
And, in striving to get past the protections she had set, he found himself oddly tempted lower his own long-standing barriers, as if his own honesty might make her more willing to confide in him.

Those brief glimpses he had gotten of the woman hiding behind the façade enchanted him.
 
But then again, it might just be his incipient infatuation that engendered such fanciful notions.
 

He ripped off a piece of bread and helped himself to some cheese. Then, sitting back, he watched her shift on the blanket, staring absently at the mossy banks of the pond.
 

He frowned to himself as he contemplated the enchanting picture she made in this idyllic setting.
 
The fact that he was developing these feelings for her bothered him.
 
After all, what was infatuation, if not a kind of insidious self-delusion?
 

Still, this blossoming fascination surprised him, for he had long come to the conclusion that he was too cynical for such idealistic sentiments.
 
He had been certain—with no evidence to contradict him over the years—that he had lost most of his ideals on the Iberian Peninsula and had discarded the rest during the years that followed.
 

But, given his intense and instant attraction, he could not make any kind of claim to detachment when it came to Miss Merriweather.
 
Rationality, then, was largely out of the question, at least insofar as his feelings were concerned.
 

But that’s no reason to allow those feelings to affect your actions.
 

She took another sip of wine.
 
His body responded to the sight of her licking her lips and he made himself look away, glad he was sitting in such a position that she was unlikely to notice his reaction.
 
Still, his entire being sang with the desire to close the gap between them and taste her full, wine-seasoned lips.

He even delighted in the way she had opened up when explaining the matters of the estate.
 
Her expression had become vividly animated as she talked about the plans she and his father had sketched out—he actually found himself feeling slightly jealous of the old duke.

But of course, that didn’t begin to compare with how he had started to feel towards his absent brother.
 
Jealous, guilty, infuriated.
 
Profoundly frustrated by the situation.
 

He glanced at her once again, noting that since they arrived at the pond, she had grown strangely reticent.
 
She seems almost nervous,
he reflected, his eyes narrowing as he watched her movements.
 

He wondered if perhaps she was starting to have doubts about being alone with him in such a private place.
 

Distract her, you fool.
 
Set her at ease,
he told himself as he took another sip of wine.

“So do you truly feel women are able to compete successfully with men outside the field of strength, Miss Merriweather?”

Tina started, jolted out of her troubled thoughts to glance over at their subject.
 
He was smiling at her, leaning languidly on the blanket.
 
The afternoon was neither warm nor overly brisk, and he had removed his jacket, revealing breathtakingly broad shoulders and a firm, tapered torso.
 
With his hat laid neatly on top of his jacket, his dark curls fell across his forehead.
 
She turned her gaze to the pond, willing herself to stop thinking about brushing those dark curls aside with her fingers.
 
About cupping his handsome face in her hands.
 
About allowing him to lean in and kiss her breathless.

“Compete successfully?”
 
She frowned.

“Indeed, you had earlier expressed your view that no false advantages should be given to competitors.
 
That people should be allowed to advance on their own merits.
 
From what you implied, it seemed you felt women as well as men ought to be given this opportunity.”
 

Tina blinked and pulled her thoughts in order.
 
She sipped her wine to moisten her dry throat.
 
“I do, I suppose.
 
I know there are complex reasons why women are not, generally.
 
But I do not believe they are inherently stupider than men.
 
Still, from what I can see, gently bred women are reared to be silly, to expect protection and to believe they are weak.”
 
Of course, her own mother had learned the inadequacies of such an education first hand.
 
She had also been forced to find her own strength, even as a younger Tina watched, trembling in a corner.

“And why would that be?”

Tina shrugged, unsure as to whether to continue or not.
 
The subject of her conclusions, she knew, would be considered scandalous at best and heretical at worst if ever they were aired in polite society.
 

Still, something in the tone of the duke’s questioning made her wonder if he would be similarly taken aback or whether he would actually listen to what she had to say, despite the rather risqué subject matter.

“Miss Merriweather, I am convinced you do have some ideas as to why you think this might be so.
 
I should like to hear your opinions, whether or not I end up agreeing with them,” he commented, as if reading her mind.

His expression was intent as he waited for her response.
 
She wanted to lean over and kiss him.
 
Instead, she sighed.
 
“I have made a small and very incomplete study of history over the years.
 
From that I have come to the conclusion that the reason women never acquired and held positions of power has to do with the fact of childbirth.”

“Childbirth?”
 
Clarendon raised an eyebrow, but his tone was inquiring, rather than condemnatory.
 
Nor did he seem shocked by the indelicacy of the subject matter.
 
“In what way?”

“Childbirth is a difficult, risk-laden process.
 
It’s possible that for this reason, women have been cosseted and sheltered.
 
Even attempting to give birth means risking illness and death.
 
How can a woman acquire and hold power while still trying to establish succession through her offspring, if that very attempt could bring an end to her grasp of power, due to a complication in the pregnancy or the birthing process?”
 
Tina glanced at the duke, who was frowning darkly as she spoke.

“So you believe that the only reason women are the way they are today is because of childbirth?”

Tina shook her head impatiently.
 
“I do not.
 
I know the world is far more complex than that.
 
But it seems to me that a significant portion of their role in society is derived from the fact that if they choose to have children, they have suddenly added a significant element of uncertainty to the security of their power and authority.”

She noticed that he continued to watch her with interest, so after a pause, she continued,

“As an indirect result, women of property are now denied even the inherent right to assume any position of authority or to decide upon the fate of their own holdings so long as a man is present to make those decisions for her.”
 

“And you feel that some of this, at least, is derived from the notion that once they start thinking along the lines of heirs they might not live long enough to implement those decisions?”
 
The duke had straightened from his languid repose, his expression thoughtful.
 
He nodded, a slow smile brightening his face.
 
“A fascinating, albeit morbid, notion, Miss Merriweather.
 
I’m not certain if I agree with you—I certainly cannot do so without giving the matter further thought.
 
But it’s an intriguing theory.”