Page 82 of How Not to Marry a Duke

“It’s not the tea I want to talk about, but what the other women discussed. The talk was not just about you and the duke, although you two did come up once or twice. They talked about the upcoming Kirkland ball.” Hasmik helped Adeline into the plainer dress and began working on the row of buttons on the back of the garment.

“It is a big event. The last big ball of the Season.”

“Many of the beau monde will stay in London for a short while, then leave for their lavish country estates. It made me think of your future.”

Adeline knew Hasmik was referring to the end of her “courtship” with the duke. “The Season isn’t over yet.”

“Hmm. Why do I sense you are glad there is more time?”

“Not glad. Just pointing out the truth. There are a few less formal events remaining, and most do not immediately seek the relief of their country estates.” Once fully dressed, Adeline reached for a pair of well-worn brown boots that allowed her to stand for long periods of time in comfort while she worked.

“How long will you wait after the ball?” Hasmik asked.

Adeline sat on the edge of the bed and began lacing the boots. “Wait for what?”

Hasmik shook her head. “To return to Chilham and the cottage. Or have you forgotten about your plans to heal the villagers?”

Hasmik watched her carefully. The woman was wise, and she knew Adeline better than even her own mother had. Adeline had a distinct feeling she was being tested. “I suppose I shall attend one or two more events after the Kirkland ball before returning. Not longer.”

Hasmik’s eyes met hers, challenging. “It’s not too late to turn the false into something real.”

“I don’t know what you mean. It takes two to make this decision.”

“Time is running out, habibti.”

“Even if I agreed, which I do not, the duke has not expressed even the slightest desire to marry.”

Or that he loves me. Love was the most important requirement. It was what she wanted, had always wanted. Her parents had it. Why couldn’t she find it as well?

“Hmm. Then I do think Lady Heywood is right when it comes to her godson. He may need…what do the English say…” She snapped her fingers as the word came to her. “Prodding.”

Adeline held her breath. Their attempt to convince Warwick’s godmother was hard to forget. “And if I don’t want to prod the man? My plans were always to return to my cottage.”

“Yet I sense conflict in you. Tell me the truth. Have your intentions changed?”

“No.” Yes. Sometimes. She wasn’t sure. That was the crux of her dilemma. Now that she had come to know the man, could she walk away forever?

Even more important, was she willing to settle for less than love?

…

Adeline met Mary at Gunther’s in Berkley Square. Above the shop was a wooden sign that featured a pineapple, a luxurious fruit that was often used in confections, beneath the confectioner’s name. The shop was bustling with customers, lords and ladies. It was one of the only places a lady could be seen alone with a gentleman in the afternoon as they enjoyed the sweet delights. A few waitstaff served those seated inside. Others carrying trays of sweets hurried across the road, dodging carriages, to serve customers who preferred to remain seated in their carriages or who wished to sit outside. Adeline had fond memories of her parents taking both herself and Mary to Gunther’s. They’d sit outside under a shady tree as the waitstaff delivered thick custards and refreshing ices.

Wide-eyed, Adeline and Mary stared at confections behind the glass counter inside the bustling shop. Thick custards, ices, mousses, candies, and small cakes tempted customers of every age. The flavors were as varied as the sweets, chocolate, lavender, Parmesan, bergamot, chamomile, pineapple, saffron, and others.

“What would you like today?” Adeline asked Mary.

“Pistachio.”

“Good choice. I’ll choose lemon.” The combination of the sweet and tart was Adeline’s favorite anytime she visited here.

Once they ordered they sat at a table in the corner. Adeline set her reticule on the table. “Tell me what is so exciting that you insisted we meet here.”

“I submitted my manuscript to Mr. Winter. He wants to publish it using my name—my real name.”

Adeline’s mouth parted and she reached out to clutch Mary’s hand across the table. “Oh, Mary! That’s wonderful news. I’m proud of you.”

“I owe Warwick my thanks for the introduction.”