His mouth hitched. “Excellent.”
He helped to remove her glove, then slipped the band onto her left ring finger. She held the stones to the light, turning them every which way. The ring was . . . astounding. “You’ve caught me entirely by surprise.”
“Surely not entirely, as I appeared on your doorstep yesterday without warning.”
“Well, perhaps not entirely,” she admitted. “Thank you, Lockwood.”
“You are welcome.” Gracefully rising, he retook his seat on the bench, grabbed her hand and lifted it to his mouth once again. “I shall endeavor to make you very happy, Madeline.”
It was the first time he’d used her given name.
She blinked, a bit jarred to hear him say it . . . which was silly. She would marry this man. They would be intimate, share every life event together, like having children and growing old. Why should hearing him use her name surprise her?
Yet, it did. The way he said Madeline, in his clipped British accent, was so different than the way Har—
No. She would not think about Harrison at this moment. He had no right to intrude on her thoughts during this happy occasion. No right whatsoever.
Swallowing, she said, “And I you, Lockwood.” Does he insist on formality in private, as well? Pushing that voice aside, she squeezed the duke’s hand. “Or, is there another name I should use . . . ?”
“Andrew, but friends call me Stoker.”
“Why?”
“One of those silly prep school nicknames, I’m afraid. It just stuck.”
I met a few dukes during my time in Paris. Generally not the most enlightened bunch.
Dash it, why was she letting Harrison’s comments ruin this moment? He didn’t know Lockwood—Stoker—as well as she did. But the doubts were already seeded in her brain.
Would the duke truly try to prevent her from playing?
Best to begin how she meant to go on. “I do wish to continue competing for another few years, as long as my knees allow it.” She braced herself, not knowing what her fiancé’s response would be.
“Of course. Were you worried I’d object?” After studying her relieved expression, he grinned. “I see. Madeline, as a duchess, you may do and say nearly anything without fear of recrimination. Furthermore, you’ll find that I am not planning to live in your pocket, as I assume you’ll not live in mine once we’re married.”
That last bit should have reassured her, but it sounded . . . lonely. As if he were planning to live separate lives, where they would schedule dinners together through secretaries. She longed for a partner in all things, not a passing acquaintance. The sort of marriage her own parents had.
The duke is not American. They do things differently there.
Yes, she supposed that was true. These adjustments would merely take some time for her to get used to.
Not a cloud floated in the sky that afternoon as Maddie and Katherine Delafield walked along the gravel path. Brisk ocean winds blew their skirts, and Maddie was forced to hold on to her hat so the breeze didn’t carry it away.
Mama had, of course, been thrilled about the engagement to Lockwood. She cried and told Maddie how lucky she was to have such an important husband, one that would elevate their family tree to practically royalty. Your children will influence the course of history, her mother had said. This was quite a lot of pressure for children who hadn’t even been born, but Maddie kept that opinion to herself.
Now she was headed to the gazebo along with Katherine, though she longed to be anywhere else.
She had considered claiming a headache or monthly pains. An upset stomach or organ failure. Anything to get out of going on this blasted picnic. But she was not a coward. A promise of chaperone duties had been made, and Maddie couldn’t desert Katherine, no matter her irritation with Harrison.
And she was irritated. His behavior toward Lockwood had been downright appalling. If this was Harrison’s idea of protecting her, she would need to set him straight. He was about three years too late for that nonsense.
The gazebo rested near the edge of the property, almost at the cliff’s edge, where one could watch the boats and the surf while sitting in the shade. She spotted Harrison there, his hands jammed in his pockets, gaze locked on the ocean. He wore no hat, the wind plastering a cream linen suit to his flat chest and long legs. Her insides jumped as if touched by an electric spark, then everything turned warm. Thank goodness for the cool breeze to chill her overheated skin.
You are betrothed. Stop ogling Harrison.
Katherine pulled Maddie to a stop. “Oh, rats. I realized I’ve forgotten something. I need to return to the house.”
“What? No, wait—”
“It’s important.” Katherine leaned over and spoke from behind her hand. “Woman problems.”
Maddie nodded, completely understanding. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, no. That’s unnecessary. I’ll go to the house, then come back.” She pushed Maddie toward the gazebo. “You go on without me. See you later!”
Without waiting for a response, Katherine hurried in the direction from which they had just come. Maddie considered tagging along, but Katherine could surely find the way herself. Resigned, she resumed her trek to the gazebo. At least this would give her the opportunity to speak to Harrison alone about his deplorable behavior.
His brows lowered as she stepped inside the open wooden structure. “What happened to Miss Delafield?”
“She’ll return. She needed to retrieve something from the house.”
“I see.” He rocked on his heels. “Turned out to be a bit windy. Are you certain we shouldn’t move this outing—?”
“Why do you antagonize Lockwood at every turn?”
He had the grace to appear sheepish. “May we at least sit before you yell at me?”
“No. I am too angry.” Her arms flopped uselessly at her sides, fury robbing her body of its usual coordination. “I cannot understand. You are acting like an ogre and he doesn’t deserve it. Frankly, neither do I.”
He gestured to the picnic basket and blanket on the wood floor. “Please, Maddie. It’s too windy. Sit down.”
She complied, if only to move things along. They arranged themselves on the floor, the sides of the structure blocking most of the breeze, and Maddie held herself stiffly. He opened the large wicker basket and pulled out a bottle of champagne along with two coupes. As he popped the cork, she removed her gloves. “I hardly feel like celebrating with you.”
His gaze flew to her ring finger, his entire body growing very still. “What is that?”
Clearing her throat, she tried not to fidget. “Lockwood has asked me to marry him.”
Harrison sat there, unmoving, for a long moment. Then he filled one coupe to the brim with champagne and downed the liquid in two swallows. After that he poured more. “Would you care for champagne?”
A clear head seemed wise at the moment. “No, thank you.”
Stretching his legs out in front of him, he leaned back and sipped champagne, his expression blank, gaze fixed on the horizon. The gazebo was intimate, not overly large, and they were close enough for her to see the hint of stubble on his jaw. The long lashes that framed his eyes. Slashing brows and high cheekbones. It was a face she knew well, though he remained enigmatic, a mystery since he’d returned from Paris.