Read Online Between the Duke and the Deep Blue Sea by Sophia Nash - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sophia Nash
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sigh. “Will you do me the great honor of tossing the first bit of sod on my dearest wife’s coffin?”
Alex looked down at the proffered hand shovel and pail of earth. He had the strongest desire to throw the bucket of dirt in Paxton’s face. “Oh, no, no. I can never accept such a privilege. Is it not a husband’s right to throw dirt on the coffin of the wife who served him dutifully for eight long years? Polishing his boots, laying out his journals, pouring his wine, and the like? That is what all good wives do, yes? Not that I would know the slightest thing about the duties of a wife. But you must honor her with this mud first, before the rest of your friends and neighbors.”
The good earl paled. “I, uh, appreciate your good understanding of the matter. Thank you.” As if on cue, Roxanne’s husband allowed a fresh wave of waterworks to trickle down his face.
Perfect.
The assembled crowd offered murmurs of encouragement. And Lawrence Vanderhaven, the handsome Earl of Paxton, drew in an unsteady breath before he strode to the open grave at the same moment the gray-haired man sauntered away. Paxton stuck the shovel into the pail and sprinkled a large amount of earth onto the plain coffin.
A few handkerchiefs unfurled in the slight breeze but it was mostly for show, the duke guessed. Whoever said people from Town were more callous than countryfolk had obviously never been to this corner of Christendom. Tin should never try to mix with gold—even tarnished fool’s gold such as all those before him. She had probably been considered lower than a governess, that poor creature who was neither of the servant class nor of the upper class.
The great show continued, each person grasping at the chance to put a few more inches of sod on Roxanne’s false pyre. Whoever had thought of this grim custom was surely half devil.
A chill raised the hair on his arms. And then he heard it. The one thing that could bring a smile at this moment.
A dog barking.
A very particular dog with a very particular sort of bark that melted into an earsplitting high whine. Eddie darted into view, a blur of white and black that weaved in and among the fake mourners until he reached the edge of the grave. He put on quite the show and howled like a lost soul at midnight.
It was almost as good as the show that ensued by the Earl of Paxton.
“Good lord, ’tis Edward. Come here, dog. Where have you been? Oh, I’ve been searching, and searching.”
The canine evaded all the different assortment of arms attempting to capture him. He bounced and leapt and almost turned a cartwheel in the air. And each time the earl approached, he growled.
Alex would bet his last farthing that Roxanne was enjoying it all, but he could not spot her.
And then, in one last display of familial disloyalty, Eddie took a huge leap and landed in Alex’s arms whether he liked it or not. That was obviously his reward for secretly feeding the hound the French cook’s overly rich delicacies. He immediately placed the mutt on the ground.
“Oh, do hold on to his scruff, Your Grace,” the earl implored. “I do beg your pardon. I hope he did not ruin your coat.”
“Of course not,” Alex said, trying to nudge the dog aside.
“Edward,” the earl said in an I-am-not-to-be-disobeyed voice. “Come here now.”
The dog practically climbed up Alex’s leg.
“You must be one of those sorts of people who dogs naturally like and obey.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “You think?”
“Will you not give him to me? He is my only link to my dearest, most beloved wife.”
“I think you already used those words on the headstone. Repetition is tedious.”
The earl squeezed out another tear and held out his arms for the dog. “I am in mourning, Your Grace.”
“But, he doesn’t like you.” It was one of the perquisites of being at the top of the food chain of nobility—the advantage of speaking your mind. Plainly. Bluntly. Loudly.
A few murmurs rose from the breathless
Alex looked down at the proffered hand shovel and pail of earth. He had the strongest desire to throw the bucket of dirt in Paxton’s face. “Oh, no, no. I can never accept such a privilege. Is it not a husband’s right to throw dirt on the coffin of the wife who served him dutifully for eight long years? Polishing his boots, laying out his journals, pouring his wine, and the like? That is what all good wives do, yes? Not that I would know the slightest thing about the duties of a wife. But you must honor her with this mud first, before the rest of your friends and neighbors.”
The good earl paled. “I, uh, appreciate your good understanding of the matter. Thank you.” As if on cue, Roxanne’s husband allowed a fresh wave of waterworks to trickle down his face.
Perfect.
The assembled crowd offered murmurs of encouragement. And Lawrence Vanderhaven, the handsome Earl of Paxton, drew in an unsteady breath before he strode to the open grave at the same moment the gray-haired man sauntered away. Paxton stuck the shovel into the pail and sprinkled a large amount of earth onto the plain coffin.
A few handkerchiefs unfurled in the slight breeze but it was mostly for show, the duke guessed. Whoever said people from Town were more callous than countryfolk had obviously never been to this corner of Christendom. Tin should never try to mix with gold—even tarnished fool’s gold such as all those before him. She had probably been considered lower than a governess, that poor creature who was neither of the servant class nor of the upper class.
The great show continued, each person grasping at the chance to put a few more inches of sod on Roxanne’s false pyre. Whoever had thought of this grim custom was surely half devil.
A chill raised the hair on his arms. And then he heard it. The one thing that could bring a smile at this moment.
A dog barking.
A very particular dog with a very particular sort of bark that melted into an earsplitting high whine. Eddie darted into view, a blur of white and black that weaved in and among the fake mourners until he reached the edge of the grave. He put on quite the show and howled like a lost soul at midnight.
It was almost as good as the show that ensued by the Earl of Paxton.
“Good lord, ’tis Edward. Come here, dog. Where have you been? Oh, I’ve been searching, and searching.”
The canine evaded all the different assortment of arms attempting to capture him. He bounced and leapt and almost turned a cartwheel in the air. And each time the earl approached, he growled.
Alex would bet his last farthing that Roxanne was enjoying it all, but he could not spot her.
And then, in one last display of familial disloyalty, Eddie took a huge leap and landed in Alex’s arms whether he liked it or not. That was obviously his reward for secretly feeding the hound the French cook’s overly rich delicacies. He immediately placed the mutt on the ground.
“Oh, do hold on to his scruff, Your Grace,” the earl implored. “I do beg your pardon. I hope he did not ruin your coat.”
“Of course not,” Alex said, trying to nudge the dog aside.
“Edward,” the earl said in an I-am-not-to-be-disobeyed voice. “Come here now.”
The dog practically climbed up Alex’s leg.
“You must be one of those sorts of people who dogs naturally like and obey.”
Alex rolled his eyes. “You think?”
“Will you not give him to me? He is my only link to my dearest, most beloved wife.”
“I think you already used those words on the headstone. Repetition is tedious.”
The earl squeezed out another tear and held out his arms for the dog. “I am in mourning, Your Grace.”
“But, he doesn’t like you.” It was one of the perquisites of being at the top of the food chain of nobility—the advantage of speaking your mind. Plainly. Bluntly. Loudly.
A few murmurs rose from the breathless
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