had once lived there. Oddly, he could picture her as a flaxen-haired girl little girl, performing pianoforte pieces for the guests or playing in the garden. He wondered if she missed it, or even remembered it.
“It’s a wonderful house. It deserves an owner who loves it,” he said.
“ A RE YOU ENJOYING your stay, thus far, Miss Danforth?”
While Genevieve and Ian were chatting about her, the duke had called Tansy into the study for another chat, and they were sipping tea together.
“I’m having a lovely time, and everyone is so very kind and generous.”
“I saw the flowers sent to you. I think your father would have been proud. And worried.”
She smiled at that. “Oh, I’m certain it’s nothing but generosity. The people of Sussex are just being kind.”
The duke’s eyebrows went up skeptically at that. “The male people.”
This made Tansy laugh. “And the Everseas are such a lovely family. Everyone is so warm and kind. And charitable, it would seem.”
She crossed her fingers in her lap over this little lie.
“Charitable?” This word bemused him.
“We stopped into town, and I met the vicar, Reverend Adam Sylvaine, and Mr. Ian Eversea was on the roof, hammering. It seemed a charitable pastime for a wealthy gentleman.” She said this as innocently as she could muster.
“Was he.” The duke had, rather quickly, gone so cold and remote it was like being thrust out of a warm cabin into a frigid winter. “I’m not surprised he was on the roof. Ian Eversea excels at climbing.”
She wasn’t certain what to say about this, but it definitely sounded ironic.
And hadn’t Genevieve said something very similar in the churchyard?
“I was surprised to see him at work with the others . . . not of his station.”
“I suppose it would be surprising.”
She sensed their conversation would rapidly end if she continued her Ian Eversea fishing expedition. It was all very interesting.
“My brother was a soldier,” she said.
The duke softened.
“As many of the Eversea men were. You must miss your brother.”
“He was irritating and bossy and protective and quite funny.”
“He sounds just about perfect.”
She dug her nails into her palm and smiled.
She would not cry. She could feel the urge pressing at the back of her throat. She was tougher than she looked, and she would not. She simply nodded.
He seemed to know it. How she liked him, even though he still frightened her just a very little.
“After my first wife died, I was a bit . . .” He seemed to be searching for just the right word. “. . . lost.”
He presented the word carefully. As if he was handing her something a bit delicate and dangerous.
It was a gift, she knew, this confidence of his. She was honored by it.
She knew precisely what he meant. But looking at him now, it was nearly impossible to imagine it. He radiated power; he seemed so very certain of himself, so rooted to the earth, it was difficult to imagine him feeling the way she did frequently now, like a bit of flotsam floating on the air.
“I know what you mean.” Her voice had gone a little hoarse. Close to a whisper.
“But I knew, because of my first wife, that I would make a good husband and a good father and that it was what I wanted to be. I didn’t want to make my life a monument to loss. In some ways I think the losses make us better at knowing how to be happy. And at knowing how to make others happy.”
It was a lovely way to put it, and she never would have expected it of him. Which hardly seemed a charitable thought, but there you had it.
“Do you think so?”
He smiled slightly. “I know so. And I think losses help you to understand who deserves your attention, too. For life is too short to spend the best of ourselves on, shall we say, people who will not appreciate it or return it in kind. People who do not deserve you.”
The duke fixed her with a gaze that seemed benign enough.
Tansy returned his gaze innocently, though she wanted
“It’s a wonderful house. It deserves an owner who loves it,” he said.
“ A RE YOU ENJOYING your stay, thus far, Miss Danforth?”
While Genevieve and Ian were chatting about her, the duke had called Tansy into the study for another chat, and they were sipping tea together.
“I’m having a lovely time, and everyone is so very kind and generous.”
“I saw the flowers sent to you. I think your father would have been proud. And worried.”
She smiled at that. “Oh, I’m certain it’s nothing but generosity. The people of Sussex are just being kind.”
The duke’s eyebrows went up skeptically at that. “The male people.”
This made Tansy laugh. “And the Everseas are such a lovely family. Everyone is so warm and kind. And charitable, it would seem.”
She crossed her fingers in her lap over this little lie.
“Charitable?” This word bemused him.
“We stopped into town, and I met the vicar, Reverend Adam Sylvaine, and Mr. Ian Eversea was on the roof, hammering. It seemed a charitable pastime for a wealthy gentleman.” She said this as innocently as she could muster.
“Was he.” The duke had, rather quickly, gone so cold and remote it was like being thrust out of a warm cabin into a frigid winter. “I’m not surprised he was on the roof. Ian Eversea excels at climbing.”
She wasn’t certain what to say about this, but it definitely sounded ironic.
And hadn’t Genevieve said something very similar in the churchyard?
“I was surprised to see him at work with the others . . . not of his station.”
“I suppose it would be surprising.”
She sensed their conversation would rapidly end if she continued her Ian Eversea fishing expedition. It was all very interesting.
“My brother was a soldier,” she said.
The duke softened.
“As many of the Eversea men were. You must miss your brother.”
“He was irritating and bossy and protective and quite funny.”
“He sounds just about perfect.”
She dug her nails into her palm and smiled.
She would not cry. She could feel the urge pressing at the back of her throat. She was tougher than she looked, and she would not. She simply nodded.
He seemed to know it. How she liked him, even though he still frightened her just a very little.
“After my first wife died, I was a bit . . .” He seemed to be searching for just the right word. “. . . lost.”
He presented the word carefully. As if he was handing her something a bit delicate and dangerous.
It was a gift, she knew, this confidence of his. She was honored by it.
She knew precisely what he meant. But looking at him now, it was nearly impossible to imagine it. He radiated power; he seemed so very certain of himself, so rooted to the earth, it was difficult to imagine him feeling the way she did frequently now, like a bit of flotsam floating on the air.
“I know what you mean.” Her voice had gone a little hoarse. Close to a whisper.
“But I knew, because of my first wife, that I would make a good husband and a good father and that it was what I wanted to be. I didn’t want to make my life a monument to loss. In some ways I think the losses make us better at knowing how to be happy. And at knowing how to make others happy.”
It was a lovely way to put it, and she never would have expected it of him. Which hardly seemed a charitable thought, but there you had it.
“Do you think so?”
He smiled slightly. “I know so. And I think losses help you to understand who deserves your attention, too. For life is too short to spend the best of ourselves on, shall we say, people who will not appreciate it or return it in kind. People who do not deserve you.”
The duke fixed her with a gaze that seemed benign enough.
Tansy returned his gaze innocently, though she wanted
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