“How are you?” he asked, as her maid went to the far end of the room and took a seat.
“I am well. To what do I owe this wonderful surprise?”
A nicer greeting than Miss Rare-Foure had given him earlier, to be sure, when the chocolatier practically demanded he state his intent as if he were bothering her.
“I simply wanted to see you and speak with you. That is, if you’re not too busy.”
“Never too busy for you. Later today, I am going to tea at Marlborough House. I’ve been assured the Princess of Wales will be there, and perhaps the Prince himself. I have spent the morning deciding what to wear.”
How could she question her perfection? “The dress you’ve chosen is precisely right.”
In a flash, that statement earned him a withering glare.
“This?” she asked disparagingly. “This is my day gown for seeing you and other visitors. I would never wear this to Marlborough House!”
He didn’t know what to say. In some way, she had insulted him as being less important than her tea gathering, even if it was with royalty. On the other hand, he supposed it meant she was comfortable enough with him she wasn’t worried about looking her best.
“In any case, dear lady, I cannot imagine you looking any better than you do right now.”
Her smile returned, and it was a flawlessly symmetrical smile. How perfect! And yet, he wasn’t sure it lit her eyes, not the way Miss Rare-Foure’s crooked smile made her soft brown eyes sparkle.
Rich brown eyes made him think of delicious chocolate, reminding him of his mission. However, asking Madeleine about her taste in confectionery suddenly seemed as though it would be inappropriate. Better to start with the banalities.
“Will you sit?”
Henry waited for her to take a seat, then sat opposite, realizing at once they were too far apart. Except for the single time in his carriage, when her chaperone had run back indoors for Madeleine’s forgotten dance slippers and he’d attempted a hurried kiss — and was rebuffed — he hadn’t found an opportunity to be alone with her or even close. The lady seemed always to have a wall of propriety encircling her. Some might say she had the air of frigidity, but he appreciated a little reserve in his woman. A little.
He neither wanted her to be an ice princess, nor a lightskirt, just something pleasurably in the middle.
Thinking he should test the waters and see her receptiveness, he suddenly stood and moved around the low table between them, taking a seat beside her on the sofa. She didn’t flinch or cringe, but she did seem to hold her breath and look askance.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked.
“I trust you, Your Grace. It’s only that I wouldn’t want any hint of scandal.”
“I don’t believe our sharing a sofa could cause one.” He guessed that kissing was out of the question, even if the maid weren’t there.
“Also, I wouldn’t want you to think ill of me. If I sat close to you, what would stop me sitting close to another man?”
He frowned. Hopefully her regard for him, some affection in her heart, perhaps, would stop her. Since that was a thought he couldn’t say aloud, he nodded in agreement.
“I trust you keep your distance from anyone of the opposite sex, except when dancing,” he added. Henry tried to remember if she’d allowed him to hold her closely when they’d waltzed but seemed to recall she’d kept space between them even then.
How would he know what she did for the sake of appearances, and what was because she didn’t have an interest in him at all?
For the first time, he wondered if his proposal might be turned down. Then quickly dismissed the shadowy uncertainty. He was a duke, and a young one, at that. He had all his hair and teeth. What more could she want?
Not a vain man, Henry had every logical reason to believe he was more than adequate to win her, even without the chocolate gift, which was planned more as a lark than a serious offering. While she had a high level of beauty, he wasn’t a bridge troll. Nor would he mind when someday, his dark hair turned gray at the temples and his face became lined with the joys and sorrows of life. Be that as it may, he knew, currently, they would make a well-suited couple.
“Lady Madeleine, do you have another name? Besides your family name, I mean.”
Frowning, which, if possible, made her look even more beautiful, she said, “I do. Why?”
“Merely curious.” He had no way of knowing if she even knew his given name, nor had she ever asked him much about himself, but he assumed that would come later.
“Elizabeth, for our virgin queen of centuries past,” she said proudly.
They could hardly name the chocolate after Queen Elizabeth, as it would entirely overshadow Madeleine. He would have to settle on the Brayson. Still, he could ask his other questions.
“Do you like to stay in Town all the year round?” he asked her. “Or are you amenable to country living, too?”
She blinked. “I suppose I have not given it much thought, Your Grace. I have no doubt your estate in Kent would make any inconvenience of leaving Town worthwhile.”
So, she was thinking of blending their lives. That was a good sign.
“I prefer carriages,” she continued, “to riding horses, as you know.”
Did he?
“And I am not fond of too much thin air. I think the thicker air of London has more substance. I also don’t care for farm animals, but I imagine if you have flocks, I won’t need to go near them. Their smell can be so offensive, don’t you think?”
Unlike the stench of London’s Thames?
He was still trying to imagine what she thought was “thin air” when she added, “I also don’t care for carriage travel as much as by train. I assume your estate is on one of the rail lines?”
He had learned a great deal about what she didn’t like, as usual. Carriages over horses, but trains over carriages.
“There is a station not too distant, that’s true. My flocks, as you call them, are all downwind. The air is not too thin as my estate is close to the sea. I think the salt thickens it?” He knew that had come out as a question, but he wondered if she would agree.
She nodded, and thus, heartened, he added, “I believe you will find the air to be perfectly satisfactory.”
That statement left him feeling a little foolish. Inwardly, he sighed. Again, she had told him more about her dislikes than her likes, and he’d been reduced to insignificant babble. He must try harder.
“What are your feelings on children?”
Lady Madeleine gasped and put her hand to her chest. “That question might be considered brazen,” she protested.
Might it? Henry couldn’t see how. Unless her mind had flown directly from the existence of children to the creating of them. Interesting! Perhaps a passionate nature lay buried — deeply buried — beneath the surface of her genteel and cool exterior.
“However,” she continued, “since I believe we are heading toward an understanding, I shall answer.” Madeleine stared straight ahead instead of looking at him. “I am prepared to provide an heir and two extras, just in case of tragedy. And I shall require a wet-nurse as well as a nanny.”
That seemed reasonable, if rather businesslike, for a woman talking about her own offspring, ones he hoped she would love with all the warmth she could muster.