***
Hope watched as a shiny black coach pulled up in front of the townhouse, feeling a moment of anticipation at the prospect of riding in such a fancy carriage, for it was far fancier than anything the Parrish’s owned. She allowed the duke to assist her into the carriage, trying hard to ignore the current of energy that surged between them at the contact. She made herself comfortable on the seat as he then assisted her newly acquired lady’s maid, Esther, up into the carriage before getting in himself and sitting on the seat directly opposite of her. She felt uncomfortable having him so close, and the constant way he scrutinized her only added to her discomfort.
They rode the first few miles in silence and though it was early in the day she kept wishing that he would just fall asleep so she could relax and enjoy the ride in peace. But the duke seemed anything but tired as he stretched his legs, crowding her space as well, for she tried to sit as far away from him as possible in hopes of avoiding any further contact with the man.
Apparently he had noticed. “I don’t bite you know.”
“I suppose one can never be too sure—you do snarl and that very well could be a prelude to more worrisome habits.”
“You give me too much credit,” he stated dryly.
They went back to sitting in silence before he spoke once again, reminding her that he couldn’t seem to tolerate the quiet, much to her disappointment.
“So, tell me about your writings.”
“My writings?”
“Yes, you mentioned that I remind you of a gnome in one of your stories. I assume that implied you wrote.”
“Oh that,” she waved impatiently, “it’s nothing really.” She hoped he wouldn’t pry further, for it was something she didn’t talk to anyone about and she wasn’t inclined to begin with him.
“Really? You referred to me in relation to a grumpy gnome, I figure since you were the one who brought it up it was a safe subject to talk about. That is, unless you’re embarrassed.” He watched her face for a reaction, noticing the slight reddening of her cheeks, “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you write frivolous romance stories with dashing heroes and simpering heroines, I would have to agree that would be an embarrassment and a complete waste of time.”
“For your information, your grace, I would never bother writing about something I don’t believe in.”
“You don’t believe in romance?” he asked incredulously.
“Most likely it’s love I don’t believe in. I’ve never pursued it before and I don’t plan to start now.”
Though he was of the same mind, it caused an odd pain in his heart to hear her speak so hopelessly about the elusive emotion, having no desire to experience it for herself. She was too young and much too beautiful to have given up all hope of romance and love, feeling only a sense of honor and duty in the marriage contract. He should’ve felt relieved that she had no such expectations in her marriage to him, but it bothered him all the same.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, “You don’t entertain the idea of meeting a gentleman who would adore you and sweep you off of your feet?”
Hope laughed mirthlessly, “It wouldn’t matter if I did, it’s too late for such trivial fantasies, my future has already been decided and that future is you. There will be no dashing knight in shining armor coming to my rescue, and I never expected there would be. I find you can’t be disappointed when you have no expectations.”
Her feelings mirrored his own. “So, I guess that works to my advantage, if you have no expectations than surely I can’t disappoint.”
Not knowing how to respond, she just shrugged.
“So tell me what you do write, if it’s not romance or poetry like I imagine most females are inclined to do.”
“Goodness, you’re persistent!” It was his turn to shrug. She glanced over at Esther who had her eyes closed. Whether she was sleeping or just pretending Hope couldn’t tell, but either way she didn’t seem intent on the conversation going on around her.
“It’s nothing exciting really, I just write stories of fantasy—faraway lands that are completely made-up in my own imagination, funny little creatures, like the grumpy gnome, who live in these worlds I create and have funny little misadventures.”
Her eyes had taken on a faraway look and Pierce could see how passionate she was about her writing, for it was the first time he had seen her truly interested in something and he briefly wondered what it would be like if she was as interested in him as she was her stories. He shook his head to dispel that thought, reminding himself that he didn’t care whether she was interested in him or not. “That sounds exciting. What inspired you to begin writing?”
Hope was amazed that he seemed genuinely interested. “It wasn’t anything that inspired me, it was actually a man I knew when I was younger. His name was Patrick, an Irishman that used to spend hours telling me stories of fairies that lived hidden in the meadows. He would weave such fantastic tales I would just sit there enthralled listening to him for what seemed like hours. I suppose one day he grew tired of me asking him to relay the tales and he encouraged me to start creating my own. At first I wasn’t sure I could do it but with practice I realized I was surprisingly pretty good. I would just think of something in my mind and start creating a story based on that thing. It was a nice diversion from life and as I got older I began writing the stories down. It gives me something to do, something to preoccupy my mind.”
Pierce narrowed his eyes as he looked at her quizzically, surprised that a lady of the ton would find other ways to preoccupy her mind other than with shopping, dancing, and finding ways to snag a beau. He was astounded by her depth and creativity and blurted out, “I would love to read some of your stories sometime.”
Hope laughed, “Oh, I don’t suppose I’ll allow that. I’ve never let another living soul read a word I’ve written. I’m really no expert, I just do it for my own entertainment.” Then to turn the attention from herself she asked, “Do you have any secret hobbies, your grace?”
He knew what she was trying to do and he decided he would allow her to change the subject, but he made a mental note of someday persuading her to let him read her writings, if only to squelch his curiosity.
Leaning back in the seat he put his hands behind his head as he stretched once more. “I have many hobbies I’m just not certain how many I would consider secret, at least not any I would find appropriate to divulge to a member of the fairer sex.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.
“I appreciate you keeping those sort of hobbies to yourself,” she sounded disgusted and he laughed, sure she was thinking of more sinister activities than he had been implying.
He watched as she turned to look forlornly out the window, obviously trying to hint to him that the conversation was over. He, however, had other ideas.
Placing both feet firmly on the floor and straightening he said, “Oh I suppose it would only be fair if I divulged one of my secrets since you were so kind to share yours.”
“I never claimed my writing was secretive, I just didn’t want to speak of it.”
“Calm down my little minx, do you want to hear my startling secret or not?”
“Since you’re bursting at the seams to tell me, I suppose I should listen. Go ahead.” She was actually more curious than she was letting on but she wasn’t about to let him in on that fact.
“I play the pianoforte.”
Hope raised one eyebrow skeptically, “Really?”
“Well not elaborately but I can plunk out a few songs passably.”
“I must admit I’m surprised, I’ve never met a man who played the pianoforte, much less gloated about it.”
“I am not gloating! And besides, I’ve never met a lady who wrote fantasy stories before, much less one who boasted about it.”
Hope inhaled sharply, “I was not boasting. You were the one who practically forced me to tell you about my writings when I had much preferred to keep them to myself.”
“And you were the one who pried about my secret hobbies. I could’ve told you something much more shocking you do realize.”
“I guess I should consider myself lucky that you didn’t, though I can’t imagine what would be more shocking than a man playing the pianoforte.”
Just as Pierce was about to respond, Esther suddenly awoke and interjected, “Are we getting close your grace?” Hope highly suspected that she hadn’t really been sleeping and had feigned waking up to avoid the possibly scandalous response Pierce had been about to utter from escaping his lips. She would have to remember to thank the girl later.
“Closer, though Ridgecrest Manor is still a ways off.”
“Oh, I wasn’t sure how long I had been asleep,” Esther answered lamely.
The rest of the way to Ridgecrest Manor, Hope had either pretended to sleep or actually slept, trying to avoid further conversation with the duke. Every time they spoke she ended up getting all riled up and she wasn’t exactly sure he didn’t do it on purpose.
When the carriage finally pulled up in front of Ridgecrest Manor, Hope really was asleep. Esther nudged her causing her to jump and look around wildly, momentarily unsure of where she was. When her eyes settled on the duke she suddenly remembered where she was and what she was doing.
Pierce looked at her sleepy face and smiled, “Welcome to your future home Lady Noelle.”