faded away while she listened with her whole being for his response. The insides of her stomach bounced against each other, waiting. ‘Explain.’
She could see it in his eyes. Few people insisted he speak when he didn’t want to. He stared at her, but it wasn’t the knife-cutting stare of his father, nor the biting glare of condemning eyes. He seemed to be pulling the thoughts from inside himself, having trouble putting his feelings into the air.
‘I know you.’ Each word hit the air alone. ‘I was at university and I thought of you and your sister’s laughter, and I studied hard so that when I took my seat in the House of Lords I could do the country well for people like you.’
‘Because of laughter?’ She could hear the squeaking wheel in her own voice.
He bent his head towards her. ‘Miss Hightower, never underestimate the sound of innocent laughter.’
She leaned forward. ‘I wouldn’t have ever assumed it worth a marriage proposal.’
‘I did not propose,’ he said. ‘I merely discussed it with you.’
‘Well, that is totally a horse of a different colour.’
‘Not vastly different, I suppose.’
‘Not vastly.’ She spoke in the same tone, but with a smile at the end. ‘And had I heard your laughter in the past, I suppose the answer might have been different.’ Not true. But she felt guilt for refusing him and interrupting his plans. He planned so carefully.
He didn’t speak.
‘How long has it been since you’ve laughed?’ she asked.
‘No one can easily answer that question.’
‘It’s harder for you than for other people, I would imagine.’
‘I never thought such a simple enquiry would lead to such a long conversation.’
‘Your Grace, you might do well to expect a lot of talk to accompany a marriage proposal, years and years of it, and it shouldn’t all be one-sided.’
‘I try not to clutter the air with unnecessary prattle.’ His brows moved. ‘You’ve never once before called me “Your Grace”.’
‘I’m sure I have,’ she said.
‘I’m sure you have not. A discussion of marriage shouldn’t distance us.’
‘It hasn’t, Edgeworth.’
‘You don’t call me that often. You call me Lord Lionel, or Edge—as my brothers do.’ His eyes were walled. ‘And not long before my accident, you called me Edgy, which served its purpose and took days to forgive. I usually have no reason to forgive anyone.’ He stood like a pillar beside her.
‘That was childish of me. Please forget I said it.’
With the barest of forward movement, he leaned in closer to her face. He’d not really needed to. No one could possibly hear his voice but her.
‘I do have a question. Something I’ve wondered for years,’ he said.
She waited.
‘What is a booby-head?’
She squinted and leaned towards him. ‘What? What is a—?’ She could not fathom what he was thinking.
‘Never mind. I suppose I know.’ She heard a smile in his voice and this time she was included but she didn’t know why. ‘I think it best to forget the question.’
His eyes showed nothing. No humour. No irritation. Just the calm demeanour of a man who might as well have been alone.
If she could change one thing in her life, it would have been the moment she told the newspaper man about his father’s illegitimate child. Edgeworth must never find out she was the one who told. He’d never forgive her.
He left, leaving her with a polite manner groomed from centuries, and she felt as if she had been jilted at the altar.
* * *
Her sister dashed into the room without knocking. ‘Did you notice Foxworthy must have looked into my eyes for a full minute, when our dance stopped?’ Abigail sat on the bed, depressing the mattress. ‘I suppose it could have been longer. What do you think?’
‘It was a night to remember.’ She couldn’t recall much about Abigail’s actions at the soirée. Different memories lodged in her, creating a pleasant and unpleasant feeling mixed deep inside.
Her sister waved a hand. ‘Lord Foxworthy... Really, did you notice how he looked at me? And after our dance we stole away to the library and he kissed me.’ She shivered. ‘That lasted much longer than a mere five seconds.’
‘You do not need to tell me all the gory details,’ Lily muttered. ‘And you are not to be alone with Fenton Foxworthy.’
Abigail sighed. ‘Isn’t Fenton the most elegant name?’
‘No more elegant than, I don’t know, Lionel.’
Abigail grimaced. Then she spoke softly. ‘He looked deep into my eyes. Deep. Something happened. It could have been love. On his part.’
Lily snorted. ‘Don’t fall in love with him. He has had so many women’s names linked with his it would be easier to count the few he hasn’t romanced.’
‘Love.’ Abigail smiled and her eyes lost focus. ‘I could not say I am entirely in love. But enough. Just deliciously in like.’
She whooshed up from the bed and her gaze locked on Lily. ‘I hope you’re not jealous of my friendship,’ Abigail said. ‘I noticed you standing very close to him.’
Lily’s heart thumped an extra beat. The Duke’s face moved through her thoughts.
Abigail’s face peered close. ‘Yes. What were you and Foxworthy talking about?’
Lily glanced at her sister, then answered, ‘Foxworthy?’
Abigail chuckled. ‘That was much more pleasant than when you spoke with the Duke. It is a good thing your faces didn’t get stuck that way.’ She moved to the door. ‘On the other hand, if Foxworthy’s face had locked for ever when he looked at me...’ She took in a deep breath and didn’t complete the sentence.
‘It’s time for breakfast,’ Abigail said. ‘Father’s already at the table and probably finished eating by now.’
Abigail left and Lily rushed through her morning ablutions.
* * *
By the time she stood at the table, her father was lost in his paper. Abigail sat on his left side, hardly touching her food, her fork designing shapes in the jam. ‘Fox seemed to think the Duke is truly not interested in me,’ Abigail said.
Lily slid into her seat. ‘I received the same conclusion.’
Their
