The Duke and the Vicomtesse: (Clean & Wholesome Regency Romance Book) by Grace Fletcher

Author:Grace Fletcher [Fletcher, Grace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

A Walk in

the Country

T he country air was replenishing her spirits.

The ball had ended the same way balls always do: with happy guests trailing off to discuss the latest piece of fascinating gossip. Tonight, everyone was abuzz with talk of the Duke’s engagement. Marie-Therese carefully avoided the Duke and his new fiancée and exited the ballroom as soon as she could persuade Emily and Minnie to let her leave. She knew she had no right to feel disappointed, but it hurt. Why, she simply did not know.

The walk back to the Shaw’s was long, but pleasant. Along the way, she stopped to pick some wildflowers, breathing in their wild scent. Just that morning she had been reading Lord Byron’s “And Thou Art Dead, As Young And Fair,” relishing the beauty of the lines. Breathing the wildflowers’ fragrance, she recalled a line from it: the flower in ripen’d bloom unmatch’d/ Must fall the earliest prey. Beauty cut down in its prime, withering on the bud. She caused the death of these lovely flowers, simply by picking them. Trying to capture and imprison their beauty, for her own selfish purposes.

She walked further, dwelling deeply on the lines and their meaning and fingering the petals between her fingers, not aware of where she was going. Suddenly, she lost her footing and fell heavily into a ditch, putting out her hands to break her fall.

She sat up, rubbing her ankle. She had twisted it. She attempted to stand, letting out a cry at the pain. She managed to climb out, sitting beside the road. Her ankle was so sore—how on earth was she going to make it back to Eden Hall? She had lost track of time, as always, and probably was at least two miles from either the ballroom or the Shaw residence. Well, she had no choice. She would sit awhile, hopefully soothing her sore ankle enough to be able to walk, then she would have to attempt the journey back.

She had sat for a half hour when she saw a horse and rider approaching. She breathed deeply in relief, managing to stand and wave to alert him of her presence.

The horse approached her, slowing down.

The Duke of Marlborough stared at her as shocked as if a woodland fairy had suddenly appeared before him.

“Miss Deauchamps?” He dismounted, approaching her.

Marie-Therese smiled weakly. “Your Grace.” She managed a lopsided curtsey.

“Are you hurt?” He was frowning.

“I fear I have twisted my ankle,” she replied. “My own fault, I must admit. I was daydreaming and not aware of where I was walking.” She laughed.

“Are you able to walk?” He came to her, holding an arm out to assist her. She took it gratefully. He led her ten paces, observing her hobble.

“We must get you back to where you are staying,” he said. “You need to rest that ankle and have a doctor examine you. Where are you in residence?”

“I am staying with the Shaw’s. Eden Hall,” she answered.

He contemplated for a moment, then nodded sharply. “Very well.

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