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Rose was staring at Will, sending him a silent message not to say anything, but he didn’t heed her.

“She has beaten me many a time at cards, Your Grace. So much so, I used to accuse her of being a card shark.”

There was a split second’s silence in which Rose was sure her heart had stopped. But then she heard Ernest laugh.

“Really? Well, I shall have to watch her more closely to make sure she is not cheating with me. Is that how you won, my dear?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Rose smiled at him. “Mr. Browning is simply a sore loser and does not have the appropriate skills.”

She stared at Will and could see he was trying extremely hard to suppress his amusement, which was evident in his warm brown eyes. However, when he spoke directly to her, there was no trace of it.

“It has been more than ten years since we played, Your Grace. Perhaps, sometime, we should have a rematch so I can prove to you that I very much have the appropriate skills and am certainly not a sore loser.”

Rose froze under his regard. She had the distinct impression he was no longer talking about cards. She wanted to drop her gaze but couldn’t, as if he was holding her, transfixed. She was aware of Ernest staring at both of them for what felt like ages but was probably only seconds, and then Ernest himself broke the moment as he laughed out loud.

“Well, I would like to see that tournament,” he said as Jennings walked into the room.

“Shall we serve, Your Grace?” he asked Ernest.

“Yes, Jennings, that would be perfect.”

Rose saw Jennings give the Duke an uncertain smile, and she was pleased Ernest was being polite to him.

The conversation turned to canals and barges as the footmen placed plates of potted salmon and toasts in front of each person. Jennings brought a decanter of wine and went to fill all three glasses, but Ernest put his hand over the top of his glass.

“No wine for me, Jennings,” he said firmly. “I have decided this enforced dry spell should continue. I feel a lot better for it.”

Rose looked at him in surprise.

“As I said, I feel calmer,” he explained. “And in a lot less pain.”

She smiled at him. “That’s very good to hear,” she said, aware that Will was watching their interaction very closely.

“So, Mr. Browning, tell me how you became interested in canal hauling in the first place.”

Will proceeded to spend a few minutes telling the Duke how his father had started with one barge and one boat, running loads up and down the River Arun for local merchants and importing goods from France.

At one point in the discourse Ernest turned to Rose and apologized for dominating the conversation with talk of business.

“Actually, Your Grace, the Duchess knows much about the canal hauling business.”

“She does?” Ernest responded with surprise and looked at Rose. “You do?”

Before Rose could explain, Will did.

“She and I would often accompany my father on runs on the barges up and down the river. She would jump off as we approached the locks and operate them, so we didn’t lose time on the route.”

“Really? And how old were you both at this time?” Ernest enquired.

“From about the age of thirteen to seventeen, until Rose had to go away for her season, and her parents sadly died.”

“I imagine you were the only debutante of the season who knew how to work a lock gate.” He said, looking at Rose. “Quite extraordinary.”

Rose was aware that Will was staring at her, so she kept her gaze fixed on Ernest. “I was fortunate, Your Grace,” she said. “I enjoyed a very free childhood and was not forced into the normal womanly pursuits. Of course, that has its downsides because it means I am useless at them now.”

She smiled and spread some salmon on a piece of toast before taking a bite.

“Not all of them,” Will said softly, and Rose almost choked on her toast. She reached for her wine.


Tags: Roselyn Francis Historical