Much Ado About Dukes

And yet, he could not forget her passion.

She had made such a good argument.

Why could she not simply leave the matter for him to take care of? It’s what he did, after all. Take care of things.

Now, he understood that she had felt discounted.

He could understand why women, and a great many men, might feel thus, since they had no voice in government.

But he was no mad King George or intractable House of Lords.

No. He was a man of reason. Of sense.

Good God, had she not heard a word he’d said?

A war would not gain women their voice in Parliament, and so he had to find a way to do it carefully.

But it was very clear that Beatrice was not going to trust him to do so, and the fact that she was going to be in his family soon made this all the more a coil, for he could not simply dismiss her.

Will stomped down the stairs, and into the breakfast room, where coffee and toast were laid out. He chose not to partake of the toast.

Coffee was what he needed.

He took up the engraved silver coffeepot and poured the black beverage into a painted blue teacup.

Will drank the stuff down as if it was a lifeline. Indeed, it was. The beverage immediately had a positive impact upon him. Or so he convinced himself.

He ground his teeth.

Perhaps a ride in the park was just the thing before his rounds at his boxing club. Eyeing the silver pot, he decided he needed another. He’d barely slept. His sheets had been a blasted tangle after a night with Beatrice on the brain.

He would not recall some of those thoughts. He wouldn’t allow them to be repeated. He could not.

And so, he downed another cup of coffee, headed out the door, and called for his hat and coat. His butler, Greaves, came apace, items in hand.

Will always marveled at the efficiency of his butler, who seemed to know exactly what he needed before he did. He took the items, thanked his butler, and headed out the door and onto the street to find his stallion, Pericles, waiting, reins in the hands of one of his many capable grooms.

With a nod, he took the leather reins easily and swung up onto the animal, who nickered happily at the prospect of exercise.

Luckily, his forebears had planned well when choosing their London seat. His home was adjacent to St. James’s Park.

He adored it.

He also loved the ride down St. James’s Park to Hyde Park. He quickly passed Speaker’s Corner, lest more thoughts of Beatrice descend. It was far too easy to consider her pontificating to a rapt crowd.

As he raced across the green, toward the Serpentine, he drew in long breaths. The trees in London always had a good effect upon him. The city could occasionally work upon his brain, and getting out into the fresh air performed wonders.

Yes, this was exactly what he needed. He drew in breath after breath, attempting to feel the calm that those breaths brought.

Indeed, he must forget that maddening woman. Each thunder of his horse’s hooves calmed him, and he allowed his nerves to relax.

He loathed the fact that his nerves had been irritated at all. He usually thought of himself as a stoic individual unaffected by anything particularly difficult. He had spent most of his life curating such an approach. He’d seen what happened when he was a victim to feeling.

Yet she…she unlocked something with him. It was most aggravating.

He took Rotten Row, glad that few people were riding upon it, though several people were walking on the park side. The water glimmered in the early light, and at last he allowed himself a smile.

This was what would drive her out of his head, and just as he was about to let out a pleased laugh—