Page 66 of A Temporary Bride for the Duke

Harry frowned. “Why not?”

“Because—” He stopped.

Because there is no answer that will stay the same once spoken aloud.

If he told Harry she had been kind, the boy would build a saint. If he told him she had been clever, or stubborn, or quick to laugh, Harry would shape a story around it and carry it as the truth. If he told him too little, there would only be absence, and Edmund knew what absence did when a child was left alone with it.

And if he told him everything—the strange, careful agreement that had made Mary his wife, the trust that had bound them, the fact that love had existed in a form that did not look like what people expected, Harry would not understand any of it. He would only feel the edges of something he could not place.

Harry’s voice broke through Edmund’s thoughts again. “But I want to know.”

“I’m sure that is true,” Edmund mused. “But why now?”

Harry shrugged. “Lady Daisy said I ought to ask you about my mother. She said you would know best.”

“Oh.”

That was the only response Edmund could muster. He understood why Mr. Oswalt had encouraged Harry’s curiosity toflourish, but it was presumptuous and most unhelpful for Lady Daisy to urge Harry to learn more about his mother.

“Come.” Edmund stood abruptly and held out his hand to his son.

“What is wrong, Papa?” Harry looked startled.

“Nothing,” he sighed. “It is only that night is closing in and we ought to rejoin the others.”

“But…my mother…” Harry stood slowly but kept his earnest eyes locked on Edmund. “Will you promise to tell me something about her soon?”

Edmund nodded stiffly. “When the time is right, I will answer your questions.”

Chapter Sixteen

“What are you doing here, Your Grace?” Daisy asked.

She had retired to bed around the same time Lydia had gone to her chambers, but unlike her friend and all the other guests, Daisy had been unable to sleep. She tossed and turned until it struck her that she might as well go outside and sit for a spell.

In the garden, reclining against a stone bench, with only a silver slipper of a moon beaming overhead, was where the Duke crossed her path.

He was evidently lost in thought and quite nearly walked right by her. But at the sound of her voice, he straightened. “I thought I might come here to think with a view of the skies.”

She made to stand. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“No,” he blurted, then cleared his throat. “That… that isn’t necessary.”

“I wouldn’t wish to disturb you, Your Grace,” she insisted, then stood and walked hastily toward the path that would lead back to the house.

The Duke took one step to the side and blocked her way. “Daisy. Stay.” His voice was soft, far from the stoic tone he’d used when she’d tried to talk to him about their kiss.

Part of her tutted loudly, urging her to return to her room, to avoid being found alone with him there. Yet another ached to see why he’d asked her to stay.

“All right,” she said, then returned to her seat without another word.

He came over and sat by her, then looked up at the sky. “It is truly a beautiful view.”

She nodded. “It is…” She turned to look at him and found him staring straight at her instead, and her cheeks heated.

“Lady Daisy… What I said earlier. It was hurtful,” he hesitated, and she was tempted to jump in and deny it. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You wish to apologize?”