“I thought you would think it an unnecessary expense. Or that you would want to manage it yourself, take credit for it, turn it into some grand ducal gesture.” She lifted her chin. “I wanted to help because I cared, not because it would look well in the society pages.”
His jaw worked. “Is that truly what you think of me? That I would care more about appearances than about children in need?”
“I do not know what to think of you.” The words came out sharper than she intended. “You are charming and clever and infuriating. You kiss me in gardens and then interrogate me about ledgers. You claim to want the truth but guard your own feelings as though they were state secrets.” She pushed past him, needing space to think. “Forgive me if I find you rather difficult to read.”
She had made it three steps before he caught her wrist, turning her back to face him.
“I want to help,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“The orphanage. I want to help.” He released her wrist but did not step back. “You should have told me. I would have given you whatever you needed without question.”
“You would?”
“Of course, I would. Do you truly think so little of me?”
“I think you are under tremendous pressure. Your father just died, you have an entire duchy to manage, tenants and staff and Parliament all demanding your attention.” She shook her head. “I did not want to add to your burdens.”
“Eliza.” He reached up and tucked one of those loose tendrils behind her ear, his fingers brushing her cheek. “Helping you could never be a burden.”
Something in her chest loosened, unraveling like thread from a spool. She had expected dismissal or at best polite tolerance. She had not expected this. Had not expected him to look at her as though she had done something brave rather than foolish.
“The children need shoes,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “And the kitchen requires a new stove. And the schoolroom has only four slates for twenty children.”
“Then we shall get them shoes and a stove and proper writing supplies.” He smiled, and it was real this time, reaching his eyes. “How often do you visit?”
“Two or three times a week. In the mornings, usually.”
“Then I shall accompany you. Tomorrow, if you like.”
“You want to come with me?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because you are the Duke of Wildmoore. You have meetings and obligations and a thousand better things to do than visit an orphanage.”
“I cannot think of a single thing I would rather do.” He caught her hand, threading his fingers through hers. “Let me help, Eliza. Let me be part of this.”
She looked down at their joined hands, at the way his fingers curled around hers with such certainty. Her heart, which had been guarding itself so carefully for so long, cracked open a little wider.
Twenty-Seven
“Ishould warn you,” Eliza said as the carriage turned onto the lane leading to the village, “the children can be rather… enthusiastic.”
August looked up from adjusting his cuffs. “Enthusiastic in what manner?”
“They will want to touch everything. Your coat buttons, your watch chain, your hair if they can reach it. You are by far the most interesting thing they will have seen all month.”
“I am flattered to rank above the traveling puppet show.”
“There has not been a puppet show in six months. You are competing with a one-legged chicken and a visiting merchant who could juggle turnips.”
He grinned. “Then I believe my chances are excellent.”
The carriage slowed, and Eliza peered out the window. The orphanage was a sturdy brick building that had seen better days though the gardens were neatly kept and someone had attempted to brighten the entrance with flower boxes. It was not much, but it was home to twenty-three children who had nowhere else to go.
August descended first and offered his hand to help her down. His grip was warm, and he did not release her immediately when her feet touched the ground.