Dukes Prefer Blondes (The Dressmakers 4)

She shivered. “Is that what you were thinking?”

“I had to do something to keep myself occupied, so I planned. The future.”

“Interesting plan so far,” she said.

“There were others along those lines, but I’d rather spring them on you unexpectedly,” he said.

There was a pause, a palpable pause, before he added, “I was thinking about more mundane matters, too.”

“I think you were doing much too much thinking,” she said. “But I suppose you can’t help it, your brain being so large. It wants a good deal to keep it fueled and going. I reckon you must get bored more easily than other ­people.”

He came up onto one elbow and looked at her. “Yes. You’ll have your hands full, keeping me excited.”

“I don’t remember anything about that in the marriage vows,” she said. “There was obey—­I noticed that came first—­but I privately added a lengthy footnote to that item.”

“This surprises me not at all. But there was the part about serving me.”

“It, too, needed a footnote. Then love and honor and keeping you and sticking with you and nobody else. I remember all those. But I don’t recall the minister mentioning anything about keeping you excited.”

“That was the serve part. It had an asterisk and some fine print.”

“I did not hear any fine print.”

“You weren’t listening very closely. You closed your eyes once or twice.”

“I was trying not to cry.”

“I should hope so. At that point, it was too late for regrets.”

“Don’t be thick,” she said. “I nearly cried because of all the feelings. I wanted to laugh, too, but a lady does not indulge in vulgar emotions at her own wedding in front of all the wedding guests, especially when they include royalty. I hope you didn’t mind them too much. Mama had to have them, for the show.”

“I know,” he said. “Pretending she was delighted with your choice of mate. Clara, your mother is not ­entirely—­or even very much—­misguided, you know.”

She sat up. She had an idea what was in his mind. They would have to settle some things, sooner or later, but this morning the sun seemed to be shining, and it was the day after her wedding, and her husband had made perfect love to her. Twice.

The arguments could wait for later.

She gave a regal wave of her hand. “I’m not in a humor to talk about my mother. I’m starting to feel hungry, and everybody will tell you I become cantankerous if not fed promptly.” She raised an autocratic eyebrow, in the way her grandmother used to do. “I trust your plans include a delectable breakfast for your wife, Mr. Radford?”

The argument started in the afternoon, in the course of a drive in Richmond Park. The drive, if not the dispute, was meant to keep them occupied for a time. Then they’d dine somewhere in the vicinity. After which they’d need to find something else to do, to while away the long hours before the promised supper.

Since debate with Radford demanded all of Clara’s mental resources, it was an excellent way to keep her mind from dwelling on what the supper entertainment would entail.

Her husband drove her cabriolet. Like Davis, it—­along with her horse and tiger—­had come with her into the marriage.

Naturally, he drove to an inch, even though the vehicle had been tailored for her and the seat wasn’t the right height for his more long-­legged self. But this could hardly incommode him.

He drove perfectly because of course he would have studied the art of driving in the same intently focused and thorough way he studied everything else: facial expressions, the precise distance from here to there and the amount of time required to cover the distance, identifying marks on silver, and so on and so on. Raven Radford was a walking encyclopedia.

Clara was hopelessly infatuated with his intellect. Yes, of course she loved his body, and had admired it even when she had only a hint of what it could do to hers. Still, she was only in the early stages of physical appreciation. His brain was a longer acquaintance. It had captured her attention, perhaps from the first day she’d met him, at Vauxhall. It stimulated her, challenged her, and demanded her utmost.

It excited her to match wits with it. And to match her will against his.

“Malvern House?” she said with calm curiosity, when she wanted to shriek, Have you lost your mind, the wondrous mind I love? She silently thanked her years of ladyship training in self-­control.

“It stands empty,” he said.

“I’m not surprised,” she said while she tried to fathom what was in his wondrous mind. “The last tenant was a visiting foreign princeling, one of the rare royal cousins who aren’t impoverished. One needs a ducal income to maintain and staff it. But other dukes have their own London residences.”

“Bernard hates London, and doesn’t care what becomes of anything or anybody but himself,” he said. “The house is handsome and spacious.”

“Spacious enough to want, at the bare minimum, a staff of thirty servants,” she said.

“You know Malvern House, then?”

“Of course I know it. Ducal residences formed a part of my studies. I know what it takes to run them, certainly.”

“I thought it would suit you,” he said.

She looked at him. Even owning an enormous brain, he could be as obtuse, at times, as ordinary men.

“My dear Mr. Radford, O light of my life,” she said.

He gave her a sharp glance, and she caught the slight twitch of his mouth. “Yes, my precious one.”

“Were you not attending on that day in Mr. Westcott’s office, when I engaged in high drama? Did you forget my splendid imitation of my mother in one of her more highly strung moments? Did the rant about my life simply pass through your brain like a puff of air through an open louver?”

“I remember it all vividly,” he said.

“And probably word for word,” she said. “And so I’m puzzled. After witnessing that explosion, what leads your powers of logic to think of placing me in Malvern House?”

“You can’t live in chambers,” he said.

“I don’t see why not.” She could see very well why not, but she wanted to understand what had set him on this path.

“For the reasons you gave in the course of the drama,” he said. “You don’t know how to put on your stockings and untying your bonnet is uphill work—­”

“I have Davis for that,” she said.

His mouth twitched more visibly.

“What amuses you?” she said.

“You, my—­erm—­treasure,” he said. “You come to me with your dashing cabriolet, your splendid horse to draw it, and your tiger to look after the ensemble.”

The cabriolet represented freedom and a sort of power. “If you minded, you ought to have said so,” she said.

“I don’t mind in the least,” he said. “Driving provides exercise in the open air, requires a level of skill stimulating to the brain, and allows a measure of independence. I never wished for you to leave your vehicle or your near and dear servants behind. This, however, is merely one aspect of the life you’re accustomed to.”

“I didn’t like that life,” she said evenly. “It was stifling me.”

“O jewel in the crown of my happiness,” he said. “That much I perfectly comprehend. It doesn’t change the fact of your having spent your life wrapped in cotton wool, as you acknowledged. You’ve no notion what it’s like not to have an army of servants at your beck and call. Do you expect Davis to do your laundry—­or even take it to the laundress? Who’ll prepare your meals and see to the clearing and washing up after?”

“Not Davis,” she said. A lady’s maid never performed such lowly tasks. “But you have a woman who comes in to clean.”

“She cleans after a fashion,” he said. “But let’s talk about cooking.”