Free Waking Up With the Duke by Lorraine Heath

position, and not she, that caused him anxiety.
    As though sensing the tension, Ainsley asked quietly, “So your foot has recovered enough for dancing?”
    Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara that she and Walfort once dreamed of visiting. “It does not bother me.” She almost reiterated that she had no desire to dance but refrained, wondering if it would indeed add to Walfort’s suffering.
    “You knew of the tumble?” he asked Ainsley.
    Ainsley sipped his wine, leaving her to confess, “He was kind enough to see after Cassie and to escort me back to the manor.”
    “Interesting.” Her husband toyed with the stem of his wineglass as though he were in deep thought. Perhaps he was not as immune to the notion of her being alone with Ainsley as he pretended.
    “How is your mother, the duchess?” he suddenly asked, as though desperate to change the subject.
    “She is well,” Ainsley said.
    Walfort swirled his wine, watching it as though it was the most fascinating display he’d ever seen. “Is she still involved with the painter?”
    “The artist? Leo? Yes.”
    “His mother thrives in scandal,” Walfort said to Jayne, as though she were unaware of the Duchess of Ainsley’s scandalous behavior.
    “She’s earned the right to live her life any way she pleases,” Ainsley said softly, and yet his voice held the promise of a threat.
    He would not have his mother maligned, Jayne realized. She didn’t know why she was so touched by his defense of her. She remembered her conversation with Lady Inwood. It was the ladies’ boasting that ruined reputations, not Ainsley. He had told her that he did not gossip about his lovers. Suddenly she understood at least one reason why Walfort had suggested Ainsley as a possible short-lived lover: he knew how to keep secrets, and he did what he could to keep a woman’s reputation intact. Even his mother’s.
    “How is Lady Lynnford?” Walfort asked.
    “Not so well, I’m afraid,” Ainsley said.
    Jayne was well aware that the Earl of Lynnford had served as Ainsley’s guardian. His wife was very ill. A malignancy of the bone that had been tormenting her for years. Knowing they’d be unable to attend, she had not even bothered to invite them.
    “A pity. She was always kind,” Walfort said.
    “She still is. I say, Walfort, you do know how to go about keeping up one’s spirits.”
    Her husband chuckled low. “My apologies. I did start traveling down a morose path, didn’t I? Jayne, please, take us to lighter topics.”
    “I’ve been reading A Tale of Two Cities .”
    “Ah, yes,” Ainsley said. “ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.’ ”
    “That hardly sounds jolly,” Walfort said.
    “Do you enjoy Dickens, Your Grace?” Jayne asked.
    “I do. He has the uncanny ability to capture the reality of life.”
    “I do not want reality when I’m reading,” Walfort said.
    The conversation moved on to other writers and other works. Other guests began to join in. Soon arguments, laughter, challenges, and opinions were flowing freely. She watched her husband smile, listened as he laughed, and felt bittersweet happiness.
    T he balls held at Walfort’s estate were almost as famous as the hunts. The previous marchioness, Walfort’s mother, had set the standard, and Jayne had picked up the banner and run with it. She couldn’t deny the pride that swept through her as she and her husband greeted their guests as they entered the grand salon. She heard sharp intakes of breath and exclamations of awe. The orchestra was seated in the balcony, their music wafting through the room. The crystal chandeliers sparkled as the candle flames flickered. Flowers and greenery adorned the massive room that accommodated several small seating areas.
    Now she strolled through, ensuring that their guests knew refreshments were available through the open double doors leading into the next room. She partnered young ladies with eligible gentlemen. As she answered questions and