Page 51 of The Favourite

“Now, do not lie, Jane,” he said, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. “Not for conventionality’s sake. You described your uncle as a buffoon who made your childhood miserable.”

“I was overly sensitive as a child,” she insisted, turning her gaze toward the window. “My mother always valued him highly.”

“Yes, but your mother sounds a stupid, shallow sort of woman.”

Jane gasped, whipping her head around. “I never described her in such terms, and I never would!”

“I made no such claim.” He shrugged. “I reached that conclusion by my own deduction.”

“You are offensive, my lord!”

“Frequently,” he agreed, turning his head to look at her. “Tell me,” he asked softly, “did you write to her? On the occasion of your sister’s death?”

“Of course, I did,” she answered stiffly. “I would hardly leave her in ignorance of such a fact.”

“And her response?” Jane pressed her lips together before turning her head away to look once more out of the window. The oil cloth there flapped about, but at least it was not raining today.

To her surprise, she felt her hand lifted from the blanket and pressed to warm lips. “Don’t be cross with me, Jane,” he murmured. “I’ll behave.” Her hand tingled. He did not release it but carried it to his chest, where he pressed his palm to hers, interlacing their fingers. “Tell me, how much do you know about child-rearing?”

“Next to nothing,” Jane admitted.

“Excellent. We can make up our own rules as we go along. We have already made a most satisfactory start.”

“Have we?” Jane asked.

“When it comes to balking tradition, certainly. Everyone knows children thrive in the country, not the town.”

Jane regarded him skeptically. “Is that an acknowledged fact?” she asked.

He shrugged. “How many courtiers do you see dragging their offspring to court?”

“There are some,” she insisted. “Besides, I am not so sure that it is always for the child’s benefit that the parents leave them behind.”

He smirked. “So critical, Jane. A mother for all of three days and already you think yourself far superior to the other mothers at court.” Jane felt her face turn bright red, her words lodging in her throat. Was that how she appeared? She stared down at her lap, suddenly mortified. “Now don’t turn tongue-tied,” he sighed. “I’d rather have you arrogant, than dull.”

“I am not remotely arrogant!”

“My dear Jane, you are objecting to entirely the wrong insult,” he murmured.

Jane ground her teeth. “I meant no criticism of our fellow courtiers—” she started doggedly.

“I should not care if you did,” he interjected smoothly.

Jane glared at him. “Are all our journeys together to be like this?” she demanded. “With you endlessly needling me?”

“That, my sweet wife, is entirely up to you,” he answered.

That brought her up short and she regarded him suspiciously. “How is it up to me?”

“You have only to stop reacting in such a delightful manner, and I will stop at once.”

“Delightful?” She regarded him a moment with frustration. What was he saying? Essentially, that he liked annoying her. “You are so childish!” she flung at him. “I can’t understand how you ever became a diplomat!”

“Now, as I recall, our last journey passed most amicably. Let us emulate those circumstances.” He tugged on her hand and Jane found herself being gathered into his arms and hauled across the seat. “Let us while away the time by having a nice nap together,” he suggested. “Lift up your feet and set your head down here.” He patted his shoulder.

Jane complied but eyed him suspiciously all the while. “I am starting to think this is why you did not wish to share a carriage with anyone else,” she said darkly as he settled an arm about her waist.

“Ah,” he answered with a smirk. “You are beginning to understand me at last, wife.”