“Let’s put this behind us, and from now on we will try harder, won’t we?” she said.
He nodded, sniffing again. “I’m sorry, Miss Peaton.”
Such a sensitive child. He really did seem the opposite of his parents in so many ways. Elizabeth’s previous teaching experience had been in a classroom full of rambunctious children to whom a scolding was something to be snickered at and ignored. The Marquess was something entirely different, and she was still getting to know the best way to bolster his confidence.
“Let’s take a break,” she had said. “Would you like to play in the nursery while I finish mending your trousers from the other day?”
He brightened at this prospect, and they were on their way to do just that when The Duke of Hadminster rounded the corner. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. He took her breath away, despite all of her self-reproaches against making a fool of herself by falling in love with a Duke. His beauty was something unearthly. Even if he had been unpleasant and cold as his reputation had suggested, his looks alone could have won over any woman.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said to the Marquess. Though, Elizabeth noticed with a flush, his eyes were trained on her when he said it.
“Uncle!” the boy said, dropping Elizabeth’s hand and running to him. The Duke crouched down to scoop the child into his arms, lifting him easily.
The sight warmed Elizabeth as she folded her hands demurely in front of her. To think that only yesterday the two of them had been so awkward and uncomfortable with one another. The Duke, looking over Lord Limingrose’s head to make eye contact with her, seemed to be thinking the same thing. He smiled, as if astounded that the boy had run up to him so warmly.
“Why were you looking for us?” Lord Limingrose asked.
“Oh, just to say hello. I thought you might be down at the pond again.”
“Miss Peaton says it looks like rain,” the child said, a tinge of disappointment in his voice.
“Ah. So it does, so it does. She’s a sensible one, that Miss Peaton.”
This last was said with a wink in her direction that caused Elizabeth’s heart to thud in her chest. How could this gentleman, so timid and yet so warm with his nephew, and so friendly, even with someone as lowly as herself, have such a foreboding reputation? She guessed that it must have been the brightening influence of the child that made him so pleasant.
“Where are the two of you off to, then?” he asked, snapping her back from her wandering thoughts.
“I’m having a break from my work. We were going to the nursery to play. Will you come, too? I can show you my soldiers. Papa brought them for me from France.”
Elizabeth was about to step in, to tell her charge that the Duke surely had more important things to do than spend a morning in a child’s playroom fooling about with toy soldiers. But the Duke was too quick to answer for himself.
“Would Miss Peaton mind? I don’t want to stand between a student and his studies.”
Elizabeth stammered. That he would defer to her was absurd, and she wasn’t sure at first how to respond. “I…of course not. Rather, far be it from me to stand between a boy and his uncle. Especially when you have come from so far away to visit.”
The Marquess cheered and the Duke spun around.
“Point the way, Thomas,” he said, and the boy, still perched on his uncle’s hip, thrust his arm out in the direction of the nursery. Elizabeth walked demurely a few steps behind.
Lord Limingrose’s toys had been moved to a playroom for the time being, while his sister was a babe and needed plenty of time to sleep in the nursery without being disturbed by Lord Limingrose’s play. Elizabeth was constantly instructing Lord Limingrose to pick up his toys, and just as frequently picking them up herself. She didn’t mind the work of staying on top of the mess though. For it was in this room that the young boy became himself. He was just as rowdy and loud in this room as any other child. It was as though his shyness melted away in the safety and privacy that the room afforded.
Elizabeth settled herself into a rocking chair in the corner of the room. Tucked underneath the chair was a basket of sewing, on top of which was a little pair of trousers with a rip in the knee. The Marquess could have new clothes, of course, but having rough clothes to play in without fear of ruining them was healthy for the boy, she thought. So, she measured out a patch of fabric and contentedly busied herself as she watched the other two play.
She was quickly forgotten by the Marquess and the Duke. Lord Limingrose’s voice rose beyond its normal timid murmur as he paraded out all of his favorite toys to show the Duke.
The Duke sat on the floor, his long limbs folded underneath him in a way that looked most uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to mind, though. He watched the young child with such a bright look in his eye that it warmed Elizabeth’s heart.
It was easy to forget that this was a gentleman haunted by painful, violent memories. The image that had been painted for her of the Duke of Hadminster faded to mist when he was around his nephew. Idly, Elizabeth wondered at the fact that he had not gotten married. Surely the grief over the death of his fiancée must have been great indeed, given the evidence that family life would bring him so much happiness.
“Miss Peaton usually plays the princess,” the Marquess was saying. Elizabeth started from her private thoughts at hearing her name.
“Oh? A fair princess, indeed. And the soldiers protect her?” the Duke answered. His dark eyes swept over her in a way that had her breath catching in her throat.
A fair princess, indeed.
Was he teasing her? Elizabeth glanced down at her simple clothing and remembered the plain lines of her face. He was teasing. The jab stung her, and she chewed her lip discreetly as she stabbed the needle through the fabric of her sewing.
“Protect her? Hardly. She is a warrior princess like Joan of Arc. She rides at the front on an armored horse,” the boy continued. Elizabeth’s cheeks grew hot, embarrassment at her innocent games with the boy being exposed to the esteemed Duke.
“Princess militant. I should have known.”
He was looking at her again. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her, though she could not bring herself to meet it. She watched the boy instead, trying to smile. She had a lifetime of experience in training her face into a mask of calm patience, but she wished more than anything in that moment to flee from the room and the Duke’s playful mocking.
“Joan of Arc wasn’t a princess, though.” The Duke turned back to the boy and Elizabeth was able to release the breath she’d been holding.
“I thought she was.”
The Duke shook his head. “No, Joan was a commoner. A simple girl from a simple life. Which makes her story all the more thrilling, doesn’t it?”
Elizabeth trained her eyes on her hands as the needle methodically worked through the fabric. She tried to breathe slowly to calm her nerves which were wound so tightly that she felt lightheaded.
You’re being ridiculous. Duke or no, he’s just a gentleman. Why should his voice and his presence have such an effect on you?
“I suppose so,” the boy said.
“You were born into a life of privilege, Thomas,” the Duke said, his voice lowering gently as a hush fell over the room. “But you must never look down on people who were not. You never know how they might surprise you. Breeding and money and big houses have very little bearing on one’s character. You must remember that.”
Elizabeth had stopped sewing. She stared at the Duke, whose handsome face was tilted forward towards the young Marquess somberly.
“Yes, Uncle. I’ll remember.”
After a moment, Lord Limingrose went back to his playing, but the Duke must have felt Elizabeth’s gaze on him the way she felt his. He looked up at her. Her lips parted and she inhaled. Despite the playful nattering of the child, she suddenly felt very alone with the Duke. She couldn’t look away, no matter how she wanted to or how hard she tried.
His expression shifted minutely. She co
uldn’t have pinpointed what exactly it was that changed. Whether an eyebrow had lowered, or a lip twitched, it was impossible to say. But just then a shadow seemed to lower over his eyes, and he looked, suddenly, terribly sad. He blinked, his gaze becoming indistinct, as though he didn’t see her anymore, but was looking through her. He turned back to the child.
“Thank you, Thomas, for sharing your toys with me. You have quite the enviable army here. But I must go and find your parents.”
“Oh, must you?” Lord Limingrose asked, voicing Elizabeth’s silent plea. As eagerly as she wished for a return to normalcy, his presence was undeniably thrilling.
“Sadly, yes. I’ve…gotten news that may mean that I have to return to Hadminster sooner than I thought.”
The child rose to his feet. “But you just got here!”
The Duke stood slowly, his legs unfurling as he rose to his considerable height. Regret was etched on his face, but with it was the undeniable edge of determination. A coldness had settled back into his demeanor, as he wrapped that air of formality around him once more.
“I know, my boy. But I promise that it will not be so long again before we see each other.”
Lord Limingrose began to protest, but the Duke silenced him with a look. When the Duke approached Elizabeth, something akin to panic went through her as she shot up from her seat.
“Miss Peaton, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.” He bent at the waist in a stiff bow.
Elizabeth, dumb struck and speechless, dipped into a low curtsey, lowering her gaze to the gentleman’s shoes.
His gaze lingered on her face for a tense moment before he left the room.
* * *
Gerard fled. His feet carried him swiftly down the corridor even as he wondered what it was he was running from. Something had come over him in that playroom, something he couldn’t quite name. But all of a sudden, it had felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room. The toys scattered about, the imaginary worlds of a five-year-old, the gentle presence of a woman rocking quietly in the corner.
Patches! She was sewing patches onto the Marquess of Limingrose’s trousers, for God’s sake!
The child could have trunks and trunks filled with the finest clothes from all over the world. And there she was, tenderly laying rows of perfect little stitches into his trousers with those perfect little hands.
He couldn’t comprehend why it upset him so. Before he came here, he’d known that seeing his sister in the home of her domestic bliss would rouse an unfortunate jealousy in him, but he had not expected Miss Peaton. The woman had to have been created just to vex him. Her very presence had the air of the supernatural about it. For how else could he explain the fact that, having known her for only a few scant hours, her glance could unman him so completely?
This is madness. You’ve been alone too long and now the sight of a woman has you upended. You must leave this place.
A new fear gripped him. The fear that, in this weakened state, he really could get talked into a marriage with some lady or other. The ache inside him, for a wife, for a family, had become a gnawing beast in his chest since he had arrived there. The beast was insatiable, devouring every other thought or desire in his heart.
He remembered Christine. His pace slowed.
Christine.
Yellow hair. That curl at her forehead that so stubbornly worked its way out of her pins. The voice. Gerard caught his breath, touching the wall of the hallway as he stopped moving altogether.
She is enough. My Christine. I need no other woman. Not now, not ever.
Chapter Nine
“Ah, there you are, Gerard.” Jonathan said with a smile.
Bridget was seated on a chair nearby, rocking Anne in her arms and cooing gently down at the newborn.
“Good morning,” Gerard said. Jonathan’s smile looked tight—he was clearly wondering if all had been forgiven from the day before. The thought of Lady Margaret brought a fresh wave of irritation over Gerard and he realized that no, all had not been forgiven.
“Have you seen Thomas this morning?” Bridget asked, looking up.
“I have.”
She grinned. “I’m beginning to think that you came here to visit him only. I’m so relieved that he’s come around for you. The last time you were here, I was so worried that his shyness had offended you.”
“Offended me?” Gerard asked, settling himself into a chair. He had to tell her that he was leaving, but the prospect was not pleasant. He didn’t wish to displease her, but he couldn’t stay. “Of course he didn’t offend me. He’s only a child. It was my fault, before.”
“Jonathan has been talking to me about having a ball here at Stonehill in the coming weeks,” she continued airily.
Gerard looked up at Jonathan, who was on his feet and leaning uncomfortably against the pianoforte.
“What is your opinion, Gerard?” she asked.
Gerard sighed. “My opinion matters little. But as you have asked for it, I feel free to say that I think it’s far too much strain on you to be expected to coordinate something like that.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, nodding. “Yes, I feel quite the same way, to tell the truth. I love a ball, of course. But even the thought of holding one here makes me feel like I need to lay down.” She laughed gently.
“All the same,” she continued. “I would like to see my friends. Perhaps not a ball, but a little dinner? Now that I’ve finally got you back at Stonehill, I want to show you off. Everyone has missed you so.”
Gerard forced a smile. He knew her intentions were good, but the thought of a small, intimate dinner with all her accomplished young lady acquaintances filled him with both dread and mild disgust.
“Actually,” Gerard began, steeling his nerves. “I’ve had news from my partner at home. There’s some business trouble and I am needed, I’m afraid. I will have to return.”
Bridget’s face fell, looking perfectly wounded. “Oh Gerard, no. You can’t mean that! You’ve only just arrived!”
Jonathan, seeing his wife’s distress, stepped in as well. “Surely your associates at Hadminster can handle things on their own for a while longer. I can’t believe that you, Gerard, could have entrusted your work to gentlemen as incompetent as all that.”
The muscle in Gerard’s jaw flexed at this. Looking up at the other Duke, Jonathan had come to stand behind his wife and was piercing Gerard with a look that was both pleading and angry. Jonathan looked down at his wife then back to Gerard as if to silently say, “Come on, you won’t really make her unhappy, will you?”
“I’m afraid my duties require me to,” he said, feeling his resolve slipping at the sight of his sister's face.
“Oh, Gerard, I was going to talk to you about this soon but I suppose it must be done now. I want you to stay here for Anne's baptism. I want you to be her godfather,” her voice was pleading but soft, so as not to disturb the slumbering bundle in her arms.
“Godfather?” he repeated. He had not been asked to be Thomas’ godfather. A fact which he had noted but not allowed himself to mourn. It had made sense, at the time. He had been so deeply disturbed by Christine’s death still and was hardly around for his sister at all.
That Bridget was offering this now was an olive branch of sorts. A sign that she had forgiven him for how he had abandoned her during his grief.
“Yes. What do you say? Won't you please stay?”
Gerard tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. His anxiety about staying in this house, where he felt so vulnerable to the ravages of his emotions, had not abated. That he was vulnerable, also, to the machinations of those who would have him paired up to the most convenient bride did not escape his mind, either.
His continued relationship with his sister and his nephew was on the line now, he knew. To say nothing of his relationship to his new niece.
He sighed deeply. Could he stay here and keep his wits about him? It would take a considerable force of will, but would the payoff be worth it? He looked down at the
infant in his sister’s arms.
Perhaps he was being selfish to even think of running back home to the country now.
“I’ll try to do what I can to stay,” he offered weakly. The lie rolled off his tongue with alarming ease, he found. There was no urgent business bringing him back to his estate, after all.
“Oh, Gerard.” Her lips broke into a beatific smile. “You don’t know what this means to me. And to Thomas and Anne, as well. We will give you plenty of time to work without disturbance.”
She looked so happy, so relieved, that Gerard was racked with guilt for ever thinking he could abandon her again. After the deaths of their parents, they only had each other. She was his whole family.
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