The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Nineteen

With that in mind, she began to sew the initials of his name into it. Whether he threw it out and never looked at it again was up to him. The thought of her doing something to show they were valuable, to her, was worth the effort.

The doors to the drawing room opened and Lord Caldwell entered, hand rubbing his neck as he cracked it from side to side.

"I think my age has caught up to me," he exclaimed, "my bones feel as though they are creaking."

"Stop being so dramatic," his mother responded without looking up from her pillow. "You're, what, twenty eight?"

"Unaware of your son's age? Wow, perhaps I'm not the elderly squab after all."

"Very funny, Richard."

"I do pride myself on my sense of humour." He collapsed onto the sofa diagonal to the one Belinha was sitting on, stretching his legs over the arm rest.

"Those boots are horribly dirty, look at them!" his mother gasped, putting her pillow aside. "Put those feet down before I yank them down myself."

"No need for violence," he drawled, twisting his body so he was sitting up. "I can make it as sparkly clean as they were whence I had first worn them."

"Why, so you can dirty them again?"

"They're garments meant to be worn outside mother, which means avoiding dirt is impossible."

"I never would have guessed," she said with a fake gasp of realisation.

Lord Caldwell snorted, leaning back against the sofa with his arms spread across the back. "You must be proud of having a son so intelligent that he was able to share with you such wisdom."

"And to think Eliza has to handle you."

"If perhaps the thought exhausts her, she handles me very well, actually."

Belinha lightly traced the edges of the pocket square, the small white sewn initials of 'R.C.' gazing up at her. Hands shaking, she opened her mouth to tell him that it was for him, but nothing but air came out. And before she could say anything, he had slapped his knees and gotten up. 

"I'll be out in the courtyard if you need me," he said vaguely. The Duchess didn't ask why and only nodded, looking back down at her work.

"May I be excused?" she asked, repeating the words Sir Pablo had once beaten her for for not uttering.

The Duchess peered at her through her lashes. "You don't need to ask me that, Louise. If you want to get up and go somewhere, do it."

Having so much freedom was unusual. Belinha lifted herself up from the couch and didn't stop to glance over at the older woman, more focused on the art in her hand, as she made her way out of the drawing room. Her feet if it weren't for the covered shoes that she wore would be a sweaty mess, leaving damp footprints in her wake. She went out into the courtyard where Lord Caldwell stood watching the rush of water in the fountain, deep in thought.

"My lord?" she echoed. He pivoted just a little bit to the side, enough to show her half his face.

"My, Miss Price, you've found me already."

"You told us you were headed here."

"...That had slipped my mind. Good grief, I'm a fop, aren't I?"

She didn't know what that word meant but laughed anyway, hearing that same light energy he carried—or forced himself to carry. She extended her hand holding the pocket square that was now not as smooth as she had first seen it since she had been clutching it so tightly in her hands.