The Duchess of Sutcliffe stepped forward and accepted it from her.
The ladies who’d swooped in to protect Everleigh Chatterton when she’d arrived exchanged covert glances, their expressions a mixture of compassion and concern.
Sarah promptly laid her cheek against Mrs. Chatterton’s bosom, stuffed her thumb in her mouth, and began twirling a strand of hair with her other hand.
Now it was Griffin’s turn to gawk like a country bumpkin come to Town for the first time.
Sarah was not a docile child.
What spell had the Ice Queen cast over the minx?
Everleigh’s clear bottle-green gaze roved over the guests, no doubt searching for the child’s father.
Face flushed, Nurse scurried into the room a few moments later. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.”
Ten noble heads swiveled toward the door.
“Oh, dear me. So many dukes.” She choked on a giggle as she fanned her face with her hand. “I meant the Duke of Sheffield, if you please.”
Even more flustered, she twisted her apron, her rounded cheeks candy-apple red.
“Ten dukes under the same roof for weeks.” The dowager chuckled as she slowly scrutinized the guests. “I suggest when we’re gathered, we address their graces by their titles to avoid further confusion.”
A few others murmured their agreement.
Uncle Jerome tucked her hand into his elbow, beaming down at her as if she’d solved world poverty. “Excellent idea.”
She colored prettily under his praise.
If Griffin wasn’t mistaken, his uncle would propose to the dowager before year’s end. They were well-matched, and he expected she’d accept.
Would that Everleigh Chatterton was similarly minded, but le bon ton knew the Ice Queen viewed marriage with the same favor as simultaneously acquiring the pox and the clap.
Griffin made his way to where she held a drowsy Sarah.
Mrs. Chatterton’s winged brows arched high, and her pretty eyes fringed with gold tipped lashes rounded when she realized whose child she held.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Her face rosy from exertion and chagrin, Nurse gave Sarah a fond look, as she dipped into a clumsy curtsy.
“Little Miss was having trouble going to sleep. I brought her below, and we had a cup of warm, honey-sweetened milk in the breakfast room. With all the extra people in the house, I didn’t want the staff to put themselves out on our behalf. She must’ve heard the adults and come in search of you when I returned the cups to the kitchen.”
More likely Mrs. Schmidt had dozed off again, and Sarah had escaped the kindly woman. He’d need to see to hiring a governess sooner than anticipated. Sarah wasn’t an easy child to mind, and Mrs. Schmidt was simply too advanced in age to keep up with her.
“Come, cherub. I’ll see you to bed now.” He reached for Sarah, but instead of launching herself into his arms as was her habit, she burrowed deeper into Mrs. Chatterton’s pleasantly rounded chest and wrapped a thin arm around her neck.
“No, Papa.” She shook her head against Mrs. Chatterton. “I want Angel Lady to tuck me in.”
He smoothed a hand over her dark, silky head, vainly trying to tame the curls.
“Darling, we cannot inconvenience Mrs. Chatterton.”
“I don’t mind.” Everleigh’s face softened in the way only a mother’s does, and she touched a cheek to Sarah’s crown. “Truly.”
The Duchess of Sutcliffe’s gaze swung between him and Everleigh. “I’ll ask Grover to delay serving dinner.”
“No, please go ahead, Thea. I’m sure we’ll just be a few minutes,” Everleigh said.
She met Griffin’s eyes, hers almost shy, and in the deepest depths of those pools he saw an unspoken need.
“Not more than ten,” he assured her. It would likely take that long for everyone to be seated. “Mrs. Schmidt, please make sure the nursery is readied. I don’t want to delay Mrs. Chatterton’s return any longer than necessary.”
With another little bob, Mrs. Schmidt scurried from the drawing room.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to carry her?”
Griffin spoke quietly into Everleigh’s ear as they entered the corridor.
She gave a slight shake of her head as she gazed at the sleepy child nestled against her.
“I don’t think she’d approve.” A tender smile curved her mouth. “I’m rather shocked she’s taken to me so.”
So, by thunder, was he.
A short while later, after pulling a crocheted coverlet over Sarah and tucking it around her shoulder, Everleigh brushed the back of her fingers against the girl’s cheek.
“She’s so precious. You are very blessed.”
Had her voice caught?
Here was the kind of woman he desired for Sarah’s mother. A woman who recognized children were gifts to be treasured, no matter their birth.
“I am indeed.”
Forefinger bent, he caressed the sleeping child’s satiny cheek too, and he accidentally bumped Everleigh’s hand.
An electrical jolt shot to his shoulder and across his chest so strong, it froze him in place for an instant.
Everleigh stiffened and moved away the merest bit, almost fearfully.
“She’s adorable when she sleeps, but has a stubborn streak a mile wide when she’s awake.” He removed her pathetic stuffed doll with few remaining strings of dirty black yarn for hair from her clasp. “She doesn’t like to be told no.”
“I wonder which parent she gets that from?”
The merest hint of sarcasm shaded Everleigh’s murmur, and she slid him a teasing sideways glance.
Wonder of wonders.
All it took for the Ice-Queen to thaw was a child.
“Surely you don’t mean me?”
Affecting a wounded expression, he held his hand with the doll to his chest.
She rolled a shoulder and stepped away, gazing ’round the quaintly furnished nursery. She appeared wistful. Sad.
“Mrs. Schmidt, Maya’s eye is loose again.” He handed the nurse the shoddy doll. “Please sew it on tighter. I’m afraid Sarah might choke on it if it were to come lose.”
Mrs. Schmidt tsked and tutted.
“Of course, sir. I do wish the little mite would take to one of the other dolls you’ve given her. I’m afraid Maya hasn’t many days left in her, and then what will we do?”
“A pox on you for suggesting such an unthinkable thing.” His wink belied his words. On a more serious note he added, “Let’s hope she doesn’t need Maya as much when the time comes.”
With a hearty sigh, Mrs. Schmidt sank heavily into an armchair, then examined Maya’s frayed seams.
Griffin extended his elbow to Everleigh. “We’d best get ourselves to dinner, Mrs. Chatterton. I wouldn’t want to incur the new Duchess of Sutcliffe’s wrath for being overly tardy.”
After the slightest hesitation, she touched her fingertips to his forearm, and another tremor of awareness coursed through him.
“Theadosia doesn’t get angry about things like that. She’s one of the kindest people I know. She won’t mind that we are late.” With a last melancholy glance around the nursery, Everleigh allowed Griffin to escort her from the room.
“How many children do you have, Mrs. Chatterton?”
A look of utter devastation swept her features, before she lowered her eyes and withdrew her fingers from his arm.
“None.”
“But I thought . . .”
He clamped his teeth together, wracking his brain. How many years had she been married? Hadn’t Uncle Jerome mentioned a pregnancy when he spoke of her? Griffin couldn’t recall now, but he’d be asking at first opportunity.
“Forgive me if I caused offense. I assumed you did because of how naturally you took to Sarah and she to you. You have a mother’s instincts.” Oddly bereft after she withdrew her hand, he tucked his thumb inside his coat’s lapel. “She doesn’t often let anyone but Nurse and me touch her.”
Everleigh ti
lted her head, her keen gaze roving his face.
“Then I am honored she permitted me to carry her.” A ghost of a smile touched her soft mouth. “I always thought I’d have made a good mother.”
“You’re not too old to have children.”
She couldn’t be more than five and twenty, and if Sarah was an example, Everleigh clearly adored children.
A noise very much like a derisive snort escaped her.
“True, but I’ve no intention of bringing illegitimate offspring into this world and submitting them to that sort of ridicule, and nothing short of Jesus Christ himself appearing with an acceptable man in tow would induce me to ever marry again.”
Jerome had mentioned her marriage was a misalliance of monumental proportions. If she had married for money, did she regret her choice? If she hadn’t . . .
What other reason could there be for marrying a degenerate nearly old enough to be her grandfather?
Love? Could she have loved the elderly reprobate after all?
“Tell me about your Sarah,” Everleigh said. “How old is she?”
They’d made the landing, and Griffin took her elbow as they began the descent. “She’s almost three. In fact, her birthday is the thirty-first of this month.”
“So is mine!”
When Everleigh smiled with genuine happiness, joy bloomed across her face, making her even more impossibly lovely. She touched a finger to the onyx and pearl locket resting just below the juncture of her throat and collar bone.
Damn him for a fool.
She wore a mourning locket.
Maybe she really had loved the ancient sod she’d been married to and was able to overlook his indiscretions and other deplorable vices. Some swore love covered a multitude of sins.
Grief settled over her as tangible and dense as woolen cloak. “Had she lived, Meredith would’ve been three last September.”
Was he supposed to know who she was?
“Meredith?”
For the second time that night, Everleigh stopped on the last riser.
He truly didn’t know?
“Yes, my daughter, Meredith.”
She touched the locket again. A lock of wispy, thistle-down soft white hair lay tucked inside. Struggling to wrestle her grief into submission, she focused on the long case clock’s pendulum swinging back and forth.
She paced her breathing with the slow tick-tock for a handful of rhythmic beats.
Did a parent ever recover from the loss of a child?
No. Life just took on a new reality.
“Tomorrow is the three-year anniversary of her death.”
Why had she shared that?
The Duke of Sheffield did the most startling, the most perfect thing in all the world.
He drew her into his arms and held her. He didn’t offer condolences or advice. He didn’t try to change the subject or pretend he hadn’t heard her at all.
He simply offered her comfort, and it felt so utterly splendid, just allowing someone to hold her. Someone who permitted her to show her grief for a child conceived in the worst sort of violation and violence, but who had been adored nevertheless.
For this brief interlude, Everleigh didn’t have to be strong. Didn’t have to maintain her frigid façade, and it was wonderful to be herself. That almost brought her to tears as well.
What was more astonishing was she wasn’t afraid of his touch.
How long had it been since she didn’t flinch when a man touched her?
They stood chest to chest and thigh to thigh in intimate silence for several moments until the clocked chimed the quarter hour and interrupted the tranquility. They really must join the others for dinner, or God only knew what sort of unsavory tattle might arise.
“Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace.”
She disengaged herself, more aware of him as a man than she’d any business being.
He simply nodded, though the amber starburst in his eyes glowed with a warmth she couldn’t identify.
At the bottom of the stairs, he once again placed her hand on his forearm, and steered her toward the dining room. Evidently, he didn’t feel the need to fill the stillness with inane chatter.
She liked that about him. It was fine to speak when something needed to be said, but it was equally acceptable to let silence fill the comfortable void when it didn’t. At home, she’d sit with her eyes closed and listen to the quiet, especially in the early morning when the countryside began to wake.
A few minutes later, they entered the dining room. Several people noted their entrance, including Caroline, who raised a superior brow, then murmured something to Major McHugh on her right. The major’s wiry grey eyebrows scampered up his broad, furrowed forehead, and skepticism and disapproval jockeyed back and forth for dominance in his acute regard of Everleigh.
Whether by chance or Thea’s maneuvering, the two remaining vacant chairs were at opposites ends of the table. Everleigh wasn’t certain if she should feel vexed or grateful, but her estimation of the Duke of Sheffield had increased a few degrees this past half hour. Not enough to garner further interest, but she no longer considered him a licentious rake to be avoided at every turn.
An hour and a half later, as the ladies made their way to the drawing room for tea and to play whist while the gentlemen enjoyed their port, she made her excuses to Thea. She’d chew hot coals before enduring Caroline’s unpleasant company any longer.
“I’m going to retire early,” Everleigh said. “I fear my headache from this afternoon never completely went away.”
That was the truth.
Thea took her elbow and drew her aside as the other ladies filed into the drawing room. Ophelia, Rayne, and Gabriella stopped strategically just beyond Theadosia and Everleigh, blocking the view of any curious eavesdroppers.
Everleigh’s heart swelled with gratitude. She truly did have the most marvelous friends.
“You will stay on, won’t you, Everleigh?” Thea looked past the trio quietly chatting a few feet away to Caroline seated on a settee and directing a haughty glare toward them. “I promise, she’ll be gone before you come down to breakfast if I have to bundle her, tied hand and foot, into the carriage myself.”
Pretty doe-like eyes flashed to mind, followed by a black coffee pair set beneath straight brows the same rich shade.
“If Caroline is gone, I’ll stay a couple more days. That’s all I can promise for now.”
Grinning, Thea hugged her.
“Excellent. Tomorrow we’ll attend church, of course. It is also Stir-up Day. I want all the guests to stir the Christmas pudding and make a wish. I’ve charades planned for the evening, along with mulled cider from Ridgewood’s very own apples.” Theadosia’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “The women are going to make kissing boughs—mistletoe has been drying for a fortnight, and the gentleman will go stalking. Cook absolutely insists on fresh venison for the Christmas feast. That’s just to start the festivities. I’ve much, much more planned.”
Theadosia had always adored Christmas.
“It sounds like a great good”—exhausting—“time,” Everleigh managed to say without seeming overwhelmed.
It truly did for someone who enjoyed large assemblies and holiday traditions. She preferred a quiet gathering: family, close friends, a Yule log crackling in the hearth, steaming spiced cider, a mistletoe sprig, and perhaps Twelfth Night Cake.
Another swift perusal of the drawing room revealed Caroline no longer sat on the settee. Maybe she’d crawled back into her hole or rejoined her coven.
One could only hope.
Everleigh bussed Thea’s cheek and wiggled her fingers farewell to the others.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Instead of going directly to her chamber, she stopped at the library. Better to keep her mind occupied than let her musings have free rein. Besides, reading always made her drowsy. Tomorrow would prove difficult enough without a sleepless night.
As she perused the shelves, she removed h
er gloves.
What should she read?
Something entertaining?
Educational?
Or a boring tome?
Once she’d selected one of each type, she continued on her way, shawl over her forearm, and her gloves draped over the books. Laughter filtered down the passageway, and she bent her mouth into the merest semblance of a smile. Tonight had been much more pleasant than she’d expected.
Except for Caroline’s presence, of course.
Just as she reached her bedchamber and grasped the door handle, her nemesis emerged from the shadows near the floor-to-ceiling window alcove. She seemed to have a habit of slithering out of dark corners. Caroline held a glass half full of what looked to be brandy, a favorite and common indulgence.
Been raiding Suttcliffe’s liquor cabinet, had she?
“It wasn’t enough you seduced my husband and persuaded Arnold to wed you to hide the bastard swelling your belly, Everleigh. You managed to manipulate him into changing his will, then turned me out onto the street to starve.”
Caroline had merely alluded to those things before. Either drink or fury had emboldened her to speak them outright tonight. Thank God she’d not done so in front of the others.
“Not a single word of that is true, as you well know.”
One eye on the nursery three doors down, Everleigh opened her chamber.
Caroline took a long pull from her glass, then, eyes narrowed until they were almost closed, advanced toward Everleigh. She pointed the forefinger of the hand holding the nearly empty glass and fairly hissed, “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make you pay, you cold, unfeeling bitch.”
“You’re drunk, Caroline.” Also a frequent occurrence. “Go to bed before you embarrass yourself.”
Again.
Caroline stalked nearer, her once pretty face contorted with hatred and showing the ravages of too much drink and other unhealthy indulgences.
“I’ve heard ugly rumors, Everleigh. Murmurs that someone hired rum pads to kill Arnold and Frederick and make it look like a robbery.”
A December with a Duke: A Regency Romance (Seductive Scoundrels Book 3) Page 3
