Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
My stomach roils for all the wrong reasons. She’s so kind and generous, and both she and the duke have already been so lovely to us I hate lying to them. It was bad enough for the weekend, but somehow it feels worse the second time around. I thought the fact Ben and I have slept together would make it easier, but somehow it makes it worse because the lie feels less necessary. Or maybe the reality of what I’m feeling for Ben and how much I like spending time with him also feels like a lie. I don’t know what’s the truth and what’s for show.
“Thank you,” Ben says. “Honestly, as long as she becomes my wife, I don’t really mind about the wedding.”
Tiny flutters explode in my heart. From his expression and tone, there’s no way anyone could tell he’s lying. He’s entirely convincing. Even to me. But of course, he is lying. If he was telling the truth, it would be absurd. We’ve known each other a few weeks, and I’m going back to New York. But there’s a part of me that wants him to be telling the truth. The flutters turn to churning. Living a lie—even for a few more hours—is more stressful than I anticipated.
“You always say the right thing,” I say, pulling my mouth into a tight smile.
“Long may that continue,” the duchess says. “It’s exactly the opposite affliction my husband suffers from. Speak of the devil.”
The duke comes through the door, dressed smartly in a gray suit, white shirt, and pink tie. “My apologies,” he says. “That call took longer than it should have done.”
“You’ve got to slow down, darling. I keep saying it to you.”
“How are you two?” the duke asks, ignoring his wife.
“I was just reminding Tuesday and Ben that our invitation to host the engagement party still stands,” the duchess says. “I always say to the duke, us not being able to have more children was such a waste. I would have been a wonderful interfering mother.”
The duke squeezes her arm, and I realize I’ve never seen him touch her before.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, then wonder if I should have pretended she hadn’t mentioned her lack of children. Sometimes it’s difficult to know with the British whether they want to talk about something.
The duchess smiles. “I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with it. But it is a huge regret in our lives, isn’t it, George? We love to spend time with and support young couples. I suppose that’s how I’ve channeled my mothering.”
“We’re blessed in many ways, my dear.”
“We are.” The duchess puts on a bright smile and nods toward us. “We get to host lovely young couples like you at Fairfield House.”
“I absolutely fell in love with the place,” I say. It’s the truth but I’m also relieved we’re on safer conversational ground. “It has a magical feel. The house, the grounds—it’s all so very special.”
“You must come to our place in France in the summer. We have a number of friends of all ages who will be joining us.” Another generous invitation. I know I should feel grateful, but my gut fills with guilt like a rain barrel in a storm. We’re tricking two lovely people. This isn’t just business. This is personal. “I’m there on and off between June and September, flying to and fro. We’re not far outside Cannes. It’s absolutely gorgeous and more restful than London, which is all go-go-go.”
Grant comes in to tell us dinner is ready, and we make our way into the dining room. It’s a gorgeous room that manages to balance coziness and formality. Dark-blue velvet drapes frame the three huge windows, and a massive chandelier hangs from the tall ceiling over the polished mahogany dining table.
“I know it’s only the four of us tonight,” she says, nodding at the huge table that must be large enough for twenty. “But I love this room. We’ll have plenty of space to spread out.”
“The table looks beautiful,” I reply.
There are five or six wineglasses at each place setting. The light from the crystal chandeliers rebounds onto the silverware and lights up the flower arrangement in the middle. It looks like we’re on the set of a movie. We could be in a scene from A Duchess for a Duke.
“The flowers are stunning,” I say as we take our seats. “The roses are exactly the same as the ones you sent me this morning,” I say to Ben.
“He sends you flowers even when you’re with him? Or do you two not live together yet?” the duchess asks.
My stomach falls through my chair when I realize what I’ve said. Why would Ben send me flowers if I was living at his place? And what engaged couple doesn’t live together these days? Shit, shit, a thousand shits.