Page 2 of Lavender’s Lost Duke

His blue eyes pulled wide. “Oh, oh, of course.” He put a hand on Lavender’s elbow and smiled.

Her heart beat erratically in her chest, the tension within her body building every moment. She held out the package with heat in her cheeks. “This is for you.”

Mr. Lanscombe guided her to the sofa, and they sat with their legs pressed together. “Thank you, darling.” He winked at her. “Only, I didn’t come today to exchange gifts.”

Lavender’s cheeks heated for a very different reason. She looked toward the rug, at a loss for words.

“I have one, of course,” Mr. Lanscombe added, hastily. “Only, I was going to bring it tonight, like we usually do.”

“Of course. How silly of me,” Lavender pulled the parcel to her chest once again. “I’ll just bring this to you later on.”

“No, no, don’t do that. This is just right.” He looked around the empty room and at the open doorway. “It is quite cozy here. Your family is all distracted, and we get to be together.”

Lavender looked into his blue eyes, hope filling her chest once again. “You’re right. Now,” she straightened her skirts, “what brought you here this afternoon?”

Mr. Lanscombe set his large hand atop of Lavender’s own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I can’t think about that when there is this perfect package between us. Might I open it now?”

Lavender hesitated. It felt odd to give him the gift when it wasn’t an exchange. But this way she wouldn’t have to think about his reaction all day long. She handed him the package.

“My, it’s heavier than I expected.” Mr. Lanscombe fingered the lavender ribbon. “You’ve wrapped this with no small amount of care.”

She shrugged as if her wrapping wasn’t something she’d questioned just this morning. There was nothing for it now. “Perhaps you ought to open it.”

Mr. Lanscombe removed his gloves—unknowingly making Lavender jealous of the way he freely did so—untied the ribbon and tucked it carefully into his jacket pocket. As he began to unfold the paper, Lavender’s stomach tightened. What would he think?

The paper fell to the floor and Mr. Lanscombe turned over the book to see the title. “A Bible?” Confusion and surprise colored his voice.

Lavender felt as though she would catch fire. “A family bible. I thought it might be useful.” She stared at the leather-bound book, hoping he would say something . . . anything.

He cleared his throat. “I am speechless. You always . . . you always seem to know precisely the right gift to give a person.”

The tightness that had filled Lavender’s stomach dissipated all at once, like sugar disappearing in a hot cup of tea, and she felt herself smiling like a fool. She’d tried to think of a gift that would let Mr. Lanscombe know what he meant to her—that she was prepared to weld her life with his, that she didn’t mind that he was only the second son of an unwealthy gentleman. All the details of how they would live would fall into place once they were able to converse freely. This gift was perfect—a bible to keep track of their future family and posterity.

“How did you know I was planning to find a wife?” Mr. Lanscombe asked, tugging at his collar.

Lavender laughed. “I suppose it was a lucky guess.” She nudged his shoulder with her own in an attempt to lessen his nerves.

“You guessed that I am about to leave for London to find a bride?”

The laugh fell from Lavender’s lips. “What?”

“My father is sending me to London next week to find a wife. He wants to see me settled down and to give him grandchildren.”

Lavender raised her eyebrows and blinked at him. “So you are going to London? That wouldn’t make sense at all. I’m going to be here.”

Mr. Lanscombe scooted further away from Lavender, and dread pooled in her stomach. A cold rush of air cut between them. “You didn’t think that we . . . that I . . . did you?”

Lavender felt a tightness in her throat and hot tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She placed a hand over her mouth. “What else would you have had me think?” she asked in a strangled whisper. All those evenings he’d spent visiting with her in the garden, every gift he’d sneaked to her, every touch of his hand, and his declarations of love had meant nothing? She pressed her hand to her lips. He’d even stolen a few kisses these past months. Her tears fell freely—she hadn’t even recalled them starting. “What of the plans we made for our future together? What was I supposed to think?” she asked again.

He stood suddenly, leaving her alone on the sofa. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up like he was still a boy. “I feel like it’s time for me to move on. I can’t stay here forever. I either need to marry into money or learn how to make some myself. Besides, my father has taken away my allowance until I fulfill his wishes.”

“I have a dowry. You know that,” Lavender argued.

“Yes, but it is uncertain. Your parents have been known to withhold the dowry of their daughters in the past. And your mother is terrifying. There are plenty of women in London with money that would come without any of those complications.” Mr. Lanscombe paced in front of her, guilt written in the lines of his face.

“Then why have you been courting me these past three years?” Lavender clenched her teeth together so tightly, she started seeing black creep into the edges of her vision. She curled in on herself as the ramifications of what he was saying began to sink in. “You have used me ill.”

“Don’t be like that, darling—”