stone gray which eased into a blue that grew lighter and brighter. Atop a hill their vehicle stopped, and they descended into the road.
“Wait for us here,” the duke ordered his coachmen, and then taking Allegra's hand they walked forward until ahead of them they could see the first faint ribbons of pink, peach, and lavender decorating the horizon. These colors were followed by a slash of red orange, and at last the sun. Red gold at first as it rose, mellowing as it slipped over the purview of the distant sea.
Allegra sniffed the fresh country air appreciatively. “Ahh, how good that smells,” she said. “It seems we have been in town so long that I had almost forgotten what good country air is like. We shall go home after Sirena's wedding, and it cannot be soon enough for me!”
“You do not like London?” he asked.
“Oh, the city is a fine place to visit, but I certainly don't want to live there, Quinton,” she told him. “Nor would I want to raise my children in London. Children need the countryside in which to ride, and to run barefoot through the dewy grass of a May morning.” She flung out her arms and spun about. “Just a few more weeks, and I shall go home.”
“Hunter's Lair will be your home soon,” he told her.
“Is it beautiful?” she asked him.
“I think so,” he said softly.
“Then I shall love it,” Allegra told him.
“I think I had best get you home, Miss Morgan,” the duke responded with a smile. “The sun is now up, and you have been dancing all night long.” He took her by the hand again. “You danced very well with Prinny. You were every inch a Duchess of Sedgwick, my dear. I was proud.”
“Were you?” Her tone indicated that she didn't really care if he was or not. “The prince is very handsome, but I think he is already running to fat. Did you see what he consumed at the supper buffet? I was astounded his waistcoat did not burst open with all the oysters he swallowed down so greedily.”
“You will learn not to speak so frankly out of my company, won't you, Allegra?” the duke asked her.
“I am not such a ninny, Quinton, that I would offend the prince,” she told him. “But I assume I may be honest with you.”
“You must always be honest with me,” he said as he helped her back into the coach.
She fell asleep on the ride back into town, her head against his shoulder. What an interesting girl she was, he thought. Mayhap it would not be such a bad match. She might not have a glittering pedigree, but she hadmanners and was as accomplished as any noble lady. Perhaps even more so. While extremely outspoken, he did not think she was flighty in the least. Her father said she knew how to manage her funds, and God knows that was more than most women knew. Quinton Hunter recalled an ancient aunt from his youth, now long dead. She was always saying he should marry someone of less vaunted family than his own.
“Get some new fresh blood into the line, boy,” she would growl at him. “Overbreeding is the ruination of most good families, I tell you. A healthy wench will breed you up more sons than any high-flown miss. Remember what I say, boy!”
Strange that he did remember the old woman's words, but only now that he was betrothed to Miss Allegra Morgan. He turned his head to look down at her. Her dark curls were quite tumbled now. He gently fingered one, and a gentle whiff of her fragrance assailed his nostrils. It was the scent of lilacs, his favorite flowers. How odd, or wonderful, that it should be her perfume. Outside the coach windows the city was coming alive. The vehicle turned into Berkley Square and stopped before Lord Morgan's fine town house. The duke, unable to help himself, bent and kissed Allegra's smooth brow.
“You are home, my dear,” he said quietly. “Wake up, now.”
“Ummm.” The violet eyes opened slowly in confusion and then comprehension, as she realized where she was. “I slept all the way home?” She sounded surprised.
A
“Wait for us here,” the duke ordered his coachmen, and then taking Allegra's hand they walked forward until ahead of them they could see the first faint ribbons of pink, peach, and lavender decorating the horizon. These colors were followed by a slash of red orange, and at last the sun. Red gold at first as it rose, mellowing as it slipped over the purview of the distant sea.
Allegra sniffed the fresh country air appreciatively. “Ahh, how good that smells,” she said. “It seems we have been in town so long that I had almost forgotten what good country air is like. We shall go home after Sirena's wedding, and it cannot be soon enough for me!”
“You do not like London?” he asked.
“Oh, the city is a fine place to visit, but I certainly don't want to live there, Quinton,” she told him. “Nor would I want to raise my children in London. Children need the countryside in which to ride, and to run barefoot through the dewy grass of a May morning.” She flung out her arms and spun about. “Just a few more weeks, and I shall go home.”
“Hunter's Lair will be your home soon,” he told her.
“Is it beautiful?” she asked him.
“I think so,” he said softly.
“Then I shall love it,” Allegra told him.
“I think I had best get you home, Miss Morgan,” the duke responded with a smile. “The sun is now up, and you have been dancing all night long.” He took her by the hand again. “You danced very well with Prinny. You were every inch a Duchess of Sedgwick, my dear. I was proud.”
“Were you?” Her tone indicated that she didn't really care if he was or not. “The prince is very handsome, but I think he is already running to fat. Did you see what he consumed at the supper buffet? I was astounded his waistcoat did not burst open with all the oysters he swallowed down so greedily.”
“You will learn not to speak so frankly out of my company, won't you, Allegra?” the duke asked her.
“I am not such a ninny, Quinton, that I would offend the prince,” she told him. “But I assume I may be honest with you.”
“You must always be honest with me,” he said as he helped her back into the coach.
She fell asleep on the ride back into town, her head against his shoulder. What an interesting girl she was, he thought. Mayhap it would not be such a bad match. She might not have a glittering pedigree, but she hadmanners and was as accomplished as any noble lady. Perhaps even more so. While extremely outspoken, he did not think she was flighty in the least. Her father said she knew how to manage her funds, and God knows that was more than most women knew. Quinton Hunter recalled an ancient aunt from his youth, now long dead. She was always saying he should marry someone of less vaunted family than his own.
“Get some new fresh blood into the line, boy,” she would growl at him. “Overbreeding is the ruination of most good families, I tell you. A healthy wench will breed you up more sons than any high-flown miss. Remember what I say, boy!”
Strange that he did remember the old woman's words, but only now that he was betrothed to Miss Allegra Morgan. He turned his head to look down at her. Her dark curls were quite tumbled now. He gently fingered one, and a gentle whiff of her fragrance assailed his nostrils. It was the scent of lilacs, his favorite flowers. How odd, or wonderful, that it should be her perfume. Outside the coach windows the city was coming alive. The vehicle turned into Berkley Square and stopped before Lord Morgan's fine town house. The duke, unable to help himself, bent and kissed Allegra's smooth brow.
“You are home, my dear,” he said quietly. “Wake up, now.”
“Ummm.” The violet eyes opened slowly in confusion and then comprehension, as she realized where she was. “I slept all the way home?” She sounded surprised.
A
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