Marquesses at the Masquerade(122)
She was sturdy, lively, and friendly. None of which explained why Adam wanted to kiss her.
“I trust Lord and Lady Egremont will not be in residence?” he asked.
“Off to Paris. We’ll have the place to ourselves.”
To themselves and an army of servants. “Friday, you say?” Adam mentally rearranged lunch with friends as well as four other appointments to see properties for sale.
“Have you a conveyance? We can take my traveling carriage or the landau if the weather’s fine.”
“I’ll drive,” Adam said, lest he find himself plodding through the countryside, when the time could be better spent marveling at the wonders of Petworth. “Shall we leave around eight in the morning?”
“Earlier,” she replied, tidying his sketches and handing them to him. “We have the long hours of daylight, we might as well use them. Leave the picnic basket to me, and plan on a lovely day.”
“The crack of dawn then,” he said, bowing over her hand as best he could with his sketches tucked under his arm. “I’ll look forward to it.”
The prospect of a day bouncing along the lanes of Sussex had her beaming at him, and her pleasure turned an unremarkable countenance luminous. Her eyes lit with such benevolence, that Adam held onto her hand longer than was strictly proper. She had a subtle beauty, not the boring, cameo-perfect appearance of her friend, but a personal loveliness that would make the hours until Friday morning long.
And busy. She saw Adam to the front door, where no servant sat in attendance collecting gossip and spying on the walkway.
“Do you know,” Adam said, “I do believe you are my favorite duchess in the entire world.”
“How many duchesses do you know, Mr. Morecambe?”
“Two.” Not strictly true. As a youth, he’d once been introduced to the Duchess of Seymouth, who’d regarded him as so much dung clinging to her slipper.
“You are my favorite architect.”
“How many do you know?”
She went up on her toes and brushed a kiss to his cheek. “One, and I am looking forward to getting to know him better.”
Adam tapped his hat onto his head, accepted his walking stick from her, and left the house without even taking the time to examine the fine Palladian window above the lintel.