The Irish Duchess by Patricia Rice Page A

the earl turned and gave him a beatific grin.
    “Well, your noble lordship,” Aberdare said cheerfully into the silence left by Fiona’s declaration, “shall we find her some jewels and acquire a most unique carpet for our ballroom?”

Ten
    “I understand you and His Grace are cousins of a sort,” Lady Gwyneth commented the next day. She and Fiona strolled down a grassy hill toward their companions, who watered their horses at a stream.
    Fiona liked Lady Gwyneth, but she never felt quite comfortable being dwarfed by a woman. Some other undercurrent bothered her also. Mayhap it had to do with the lady’s interest in the duke.
    Fiona scowled at that wayward thought and glanced toward Morton and the duke laughing over some jest. The late autumn light caught the gold in the duke’s hair and gave his pale features a sun-kissed color much more pleasing to the eye than Morton’s uninspired dark coloring. Fiona hoped they did not laugh over her, but she had the uneasy feeling that all London laughed behind her back. She imagined she and Gwyneth made a laughable picture when they strolled together. But Gwyneth was the only lady her own age who would condescend to speak more than two words to her, and they ended up in each other’s company more often than not.
    “We’re cousins by marriage only,” Fiona answered. “I’m quite certain the duke would denounce the relationship entirely were it his choice.”
    “He’s a proud man, and not a bad one, I think,” Gwyneth responded, halting before they reached the men.
    Remembering Blanche’s hint that Neville courted this woman, Fiona sought placating words. “He means well,” she agreed. In truth, she knew little enough about the man other than that he forced her to face what she didn’t want to face.
    Gwyneth smiled. “You mean he’s so conservative he makes you want to scream and knock his head against a wall. I’ve heard you too well on your theories of the British Parliament, and the duke is a staunch supporter of the forces controlling government now.”
    Fiona had the grace to blush. She’d said entirely too much, but she had no more control over her tongue than the trees had over the wind. Politics were not an acceptable social conversation, particularly for women, but they were the only topic of particular interest to her. “He means well,” she repeated.
    And she meant it. From what little bits she’d skimmed from dinner discussions, she understood the duke’s position. She just didn’t agree with it. Reform was needed now, not in some distant future.
    “It’s all right. I understand. He’s a good man, but it’s only natural to protect one’s own interests first. Until Parliament consists of men who represent all the population instead of just the wealthy landowners, we’ll never have fair legislation. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in joining a small group of mine who share similar interests in changing the way things are?”
    Fiona immediately went on the alert. Seamus had once belonged to a group of men who wanted to change things, but their means had been violent, and he’d almost hanged for his flapping tongue. She saw no peaceful means of accomplishing change, and she threw the lady beside her a wary look. “By what means?” she asked bluntly.
    Gwyneth waved a placating hand. “Oh, peaceful ones, to be certain. We’re just women, after all.”
    “Does the duke know you belong to such a group?” Fiona sent an anxious look to the two men waiting for them. She’d rather they didn’t hear this exchange.
    As if reading her thoughts, Gwyneth resumed their stroll. “Oh, he thinks we’re a bluestocking group who have scholarly speakers and literary interests. That’s what they all think. They don’t expect women to have minds.”
    “And that’s for certain,” Fiona muttered as they came within hearing of the men. Unable to respond elsewise, she threw Mr. Morton a smile that left his jaw hanging open. She knew from her